Weren’t they all?
Her face, though lit with joy at seeing her dog, was red and puffy, with dirty streaks running down her cheeks. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Emma had been crying.
“Is that supper?” he asked, pointing at the foil of expertly cleaned trout.
“Yes. They’re all ready to be cooked. Would you mind taking them deeper into the woods and building a fire?”
She must be tired if she was asking for help—or her knee was hurting her badly. Ben reached for the fish. “Just point me in the right direction.”
“It looks dense enough over there. Just set the fire low, and place the fish on top as soon as it catches. Twenty minutes ought to do the trick.”
Ben was gone less than half an hour, and when he returned Beaker and Emma were sound asleep, cuddled together on his parka.
So he ate all three trout himself.
And they were delicious.
He didn’t feel the least bit guilty, because he had decided to have Emma home by breakfast tomorrow morning. He left the two of them asleep while he dragged the canoe down over the beaver dam, loaded their supplies inside, then walked back to the pond to wake them up.
“Come on, Em. We’ve got to go,” he whispered, gently shaking her awake.
“It’s dark,” she muttered, sitting up.
“Your eyes will adjust. Come on. The canoe’s loaded and in the stream.”
She stared up at him in confusion.
Ben sighed. “I’ve never known anyone to sleep as soundly as you do.”
“Beaker would warn me if Wayne showed up,” she said, trying to rise.
She gasped when her knee failed to support her. Ben grabbed her under the arms and lifted her to her feet, reached down for his handgun and tucked it into his belt, then tucked the parka around her.
“My knee stiffened up.”
“I’ll help you. It’s not far. Come on, Beaker.”
“Are you sure you’re ready to run the river at night, Ben?” she asked, hobbling beside him.
“I think it’s the safest way,” he said, guiding her over the beaver dam. “If we wait until morning, we’ll be sitting ducks. Poulin can’t shoot what he can’t see.”
She looked up at him, and Ben could see a brilliant smile slashing across her face. “Why, Mr. Sinclair. I do believe you have the makings of a woodsman.”
“Are there any surprises I should know about between here and the falls?”
She shook her head. “No. It’s mostly flat water. The current will pick up as the stream gathers more tributaries, but we’ll still have to do a lot of paddling.”
Ben helped Emma into the front of the canoe and put Beaker in the middle. The dog whined and tried to jump out.
“Beaker, stay,” Ben commanded, shoving off before the dog could dump them.
Emma picked up a paddle and pulled them into the stream, which was narrow just below the beaver dam, but quickly opened up into a winding dead water. Ben put his shoulders into each stroke, intent on getting to the falls by daybreak.
It was still solid night when they arrived.
Ben heard the roar of the falls at the same time he felt the canoe pick up speed. Beaker sat up. Emma pointed her paddle to the southeastern shore, and Ben guided the canoe to the bank.
“It’s going to be a treacherous portage this time of night,” she said, scrambling awkwardly onto the shore. Beaker wasn’t any more graceful as he jumped and missed, falling back into the water with a yelp. Ben grabbed him by the skin of his neck and hauled him onto dry land. The dog immediately shook, soaking everything within ten feet.
Emma gave a pleasant if tired laugh. “You think Beaker is wishing he was back in the city?”
“No offense, but I wouldn’t mind being back there myself.” Ben looked at the narrowing creek, which disappeared into the blackness a hundred yards downstream.
Damn he was tired. His arms burned so badly, he wished they would just fall off. His back ached. His eyes felt like they were lined with sand, and he had blisters on both palms.
And they still faced eight miles of white water.
“Can you walk, Emma?” he asked, moving closer to be heard over the roar of the falls.
“I will. I just have to work the stiffness out.”
“Do you want me to take a look at that knee? Maybe wrap it with something?”
He thought she smiled, but she could be wincing. The dim moonlight made it impossible to tell.
“Thanks, but I’d rather not know how bad it is until I can do something about it.”
He reached out and cupped her cheek. “You’re amazing, Emma Sands,” he told her, kissing her dirty nose.
She covered his hand with her own. “I’m very glad you’re here, Ben. I might not have made it without you.”
He kissed her full on the lips, and she responded with passion, warmth, and a little desperation.
“You’re sweeter than an Elmer Fudge,” she whispered, then wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed. “You’re freezing! Here, take the parka for a while,” she said as she worked her arms out of it.
Ben stopped her. “Not yet. I’ll be a ball of sweat by the time I get this canoe down the falls. Keep it on,” he gently ordered, zipping it back up.
Beaker suddenly came to stand next to them, his hackles raised and a low growl rumbling from his chest. Ben stilled, his handgun in his fist, his eyes trying to pierce the dense undergrowth as he followed Beaker’s stare.
“Wayne,” Emma said on an indrawn breath, scrambling to her feet. “He could have found our trail and realized I was heading home. We didn’t exactly cover our tracks. He’d try to cut me off by traveling straight through the woods.” She stared up at Ben in horror. “And he’ll know I’m not alone anymore.”
“Is there a reason we didn’t cut straight through the woods?”
“I never would have made it with my bad knee. The terrain’s
