Chinook, Wine and Sink Her. Morgan Q O'Reilly

people.

      Only a handful of people knew how to access the cabin over land, via a track not worthy to be called a road. Since neither vehicles nor road could be seen from the river, the secret stayed secure. Even with a detailed map, she’d needed GPS coordinates to find the final turn-off from the Steese Highway to travel the last twenty miles over the four-wheel-drive-only track between the trees. A drive that discouraged her from daily trips to the nearest town for groceries. In four weeks, she’d only been out once by the road.

      “Yes, that’s my truck. If you want the cabin, I can set up my tent. I’m prepared to give way to citizens.” Damn. Because Manley and any bears in the area weren’t a good mix in a tent, she’d chosen the cabin. The truck was big enough they could sleep there again. George had assured her Manley knew all about camping. He’d never mentioned whether or not this friend stayed in the cabin or pitched a tent.

      “No, don’t move out. There’s a tent in the shed I can use. Since it’s a good place to park, I hope you don’t mind if I set up near there?”

      “No. No problem.” Yes, there was a problem, but she could bar the door at night and had a couple of weapons handy, not to mention Manley was well trained with voice commands and would attack on order. Creed didn’t look like a murderer or rapist, but you never knew out here in the wilderness.

      Looks, as she well knew, could be deceiving, and she was miles away from anywhere… A moment of panic iced her blood before she shook it off. Manley knew him. Would Manley protect her from a man he knew? Who was more dangerous? The two- or four-legged predator? Nevertheless, Creed was right; it was one of the better camping spots with the flat ground around the cabin, a fire pit and an outhouse.

      “Nice truck.”

      “What about it?” She stared at him through narrowed eyes. This is where he’d say something cute and patronizing about girls out in the wilderness.

      “Hey, I’m not trying to harass you. I just like the decal on the back. It’s wrong, but I like it.” He gave her a boyish smile and she felt one side of her mouth curving up to return it before she could stop herself.

      “Yeah, well, you’re allowed to have your own opinion.” Teasing? Where did teasing come from? Seeking to regain control, she forced her expression to fade into the neutral cop face she was learning to cultivate to hold strangers at bay. “Enjoy the fishing. There are some big ones out there right now.”

      “No kidding. A hog like that one would feed me all winter. I’m not usually so lucky.”

      “Well, remember your limit. Good night.” Feeling as if she fled, she turned and strode into the trees with Manley at her side.

      * * * *

      Good night? Creed glanced at his watch again. Early August meant the days were still long. No, his time sense wasn’t that far off. It was only seven in the evening. Maybe she just knew fishermen. He was likely to stay out here until it grew too dark to see or he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. A couple of times this summer he’d fished all night and not realized it. It was easy to lose track of time out here when the sun didn’t set long enough for even dusk to settle. This close to the Arctic Circle the sun didn’t set at all for a week on either side of the Summer Solstice.

      But not tonight. It had been a long day and all he wanted tonight was fresh salmon cooked over an open flame for dinner. He’d get to the more serious fishing tomorrow. The sooner he caught the fish, the sooner he could get back to camp, set up, and find out more about his neighbor for the next week and a half.

      Intimately familiar with his gear, five minutes later he stood knee deep in the water. As the river pushed at his legs, the soothing flow washed away all the cares of the outside world. Standing on the edge with the mile wide, flat river before him put life in perspective. The sheer vastness of the river and the land around him reduced his problems and worries to specks no larger than the swarm of gnats hovering nearby.

      The last four weeks had seemed endless, but now he was here. Just twelve hours ago he’d eaten breakfast a few hundred miles to the north. Less than an hour off the plane and he’d been in his truck for the four hour drive to the river, the last forty miles pure dust and grit after several weeks of sun and little rain. He’d dreamt about this every night for the last week. This was the life. Just him and the river. One trying to hold onto the fish, one trying to steal them out. An ancient battle. One he was very good at.

      The image of Linnet standing in the current came back to him as he made a deep cast out into the water. He’d noticed right away that she was taller than most women when she stood next to him. Despite the layers of clothing and the life jacket, he’d known she was a woman at first glance. No red-blooded male could have missed the shape of those hips. Not even the wide brimmed hat with concealing netting had hidden her appeal. Wide, light-colored eyes had made his heart thump double time when she’d finally looked at him.

      Gripping the pole, his hands remembered the feel of her arms. Firm and strong. He bet the rest of her was firm as well. Her breasts had made her lifejacket burst open when she’d released the latches. Good thing she hadn’t been looking at him then, or she would have seen his tongue hanging out.

      Get a grip, man. He should just pack up now and hike up stream. Fish far away from this stretch. It had been ages since he’d camped out along the bank, away from the cabin. Maybe he was going soft. Until he had to go back to the North Slope, he wanted to be as far away from people as possible. For a private guy, living two weeks on and two weeks off was tough on his need to be alone. Working a double shift of four weeks was murder.

      Living in Prudhoe Bay housing for the on portion of his work schedule meant little or no privacy. He shared a room with his alternate, so he had no space to call his own while on the job. Sure, it was his during his weeks on, but it didn’t have private facilities. Bathrooms, showers, laundry and dining were all communal experiences. He’d give it all up but for just one thing.

      The money.

      It always came back to the money. The money and the two weeks of seclusion to balance out the two weeks of remote camp life with its twelve-hour workdays. It sure as hell beat the normal day-in-and-day-out, Monday-through-Friday, eight-to-five work schedule. Two weeks off, every month, to do as he pleased.

      In the summer, that meant fishing on a lonely stretch of river. In the winter it meant holing up in Fairbanks. It was a good life and he enjoyed the solitude. Books, DVDs, and woodcarving filled those hours of peace and quiet. At least once a year he’d fly out to someplace warm. Scuba diving in Hawaii was mighty fine in January. Cancun added variety. This winter he wanted to dive Belize. It would be his turn for four weeks off. Could probably do both Cancun and Belize.

      He should move on and leave Linnet in peace to do her job. A little short on sweet manners, still, at first glance, she’d seemed capable enough. Until her foot had slipped. He grinned, thinking of how he’d pulled her from near disaster. That should earn him some hero points.

      Not a delicate little flower, she had some meat on her bones. Not fat, not even stocky, just solid, like she spent a lot of time outdoors or in the gym. What did she look like without the loose fitting shirt? Would the rest of her match her curvy ass? Strong enough to pull in a seventy-six-pound king salmon. Damn, what a fish that had been.

      Who was he kidding? He wouldn’t move on. A woman out here alone was trouble and who the hell had let her come out here? Sure, she had a well-trained dog with her, but Manley wouldn’t stop a determined bear or man. Creed frowned at the river, not really seeing it.

      Like him, George had been raised out here. He knew the dangers, knew how to take care of himself. But this chica looked as if she’d been city raised, and not even Anchorage. Probably from California, if he had to guess. Her truck had screamed city slicker, especially with the decal in the back window.

      “Silly boys, trucks are for girls.” Just saying it out loud made him laugh.

      Without the decal, he wouldn’t have guessed it was a woman’s truck. The decal had sent him wandering down the trail