Down River. Karen Harper

her right now, she knew from experience that this physical agony was nothing next to that of the heart and spirit.

      She closed her eyes. Did she doze off?

      “Chew this,” Mitch said, already chomping on a piece of bark when he came back and offered her a short, white strip. “Honestly, it will help. Then, take my knife and cut some of these fireweed greens for us. They make good salad greens, even though I don’t have a variety of salad dressings to offer. I’m going to get the backpack full of berries, and we’re going to have a feast before we go to sleep.”

      “Sleep right here? Will it be safe?”

      “You said you couldn’t go on and neither can I.”

      They ate the last of their smoked salmon, gorged themselves on plump blueberries—the best she had ever tasted—and chewed fireweed washed down by river water. Mitch had made stoppers for the soda cans with plugs of neoprene so it wouldn’t spill out. Neither of them said much, until she watched him spread out their tent, lie down and gesture for her to come into his arms.

      “We can’t sleep the way we did before,” she protested. “Both in there, I mean.”

      Looking exasperated, he shrugged. “Suit yourself, but after being hypothermic, I’d think you’d want to keep warm. This cover is fine for two and, once again, we’ll need the body heat. Nothing personal, Ms. Vaughn. Besides, I’m expecting some voracious females tonight, if I’m not covered up.”

      “What?”

      “Mosquitoes. The females of the breed are vampires, you know, but I think we’ll be safe from everything else.”

      “I’ve got this wet suit on under my clothes, and I’ll put your backpack over my head. I’ll be fine.”

      He snuggled into the canvas tent, and his voice came to her, muffled. “I thought you were exhausted. Say your prayers but quit talking.”

      She lay down about four feet from him. At least he could have let her use the tent he made a big deal of wrapping tighter about himself like a cuddly cocoon. Facing him, she curled up on her side and pulled her knees up nearly to her chest. What if a bear came by after those blueberries? She heard the high-pitched whine of a mosquito, and she swatted at it. But she was so tired, nothing would make a difference now, nothing….

      She drifted away—away on the foam where her mother beckoned to her through the whirling white water.

      “Well?” Christine said to Spike when he hung up after the second call to the authorities. “Can they help?”

      “Yeah, but they wanted to know why he’d be crazy enough to kayak that part of the river. They said he had permission only to put rafts or kayaks in six miles to the west of here which is a good mile before all the rapids get dangerous.”

      “He knew that. I—I can’t understand it either. Unless—”

      “Unless what?” he said, turning to her. He looked into her teary face—he had never seen her cry—and put his hands on her shoulders. Big, warm hands when she was shaking all over. She lifted her hands to clasp his wrists.

      “I don’t know. Unless he was showing her something about the kayak, and it just took off with them in it.”

      “Not like him. Too crazy,” he said, then leaned against the counter. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight.

      For once she didn’t flinch when a man so much as touched her. Her head found a perfect fit under his chin. Mitch always smelled of pine and fresh air, while Spike emanated Lava soap, gasoline, motor oil and his precious sled dogs. But she didn’t care. She needed his strength right now, maybe more than that. She sniffed hard, then, instead of just standing stiffly in the circle of his arms, hugged him back hard, her arms around his waist.

      “I don’t think of you this way—crying and needy,” he murmured, his lips moving in her hair atop her head. “You’re always so strong, even … with everything. Hell, honey, got to get going,” he said, setting her back and avoiding her eyes now as if he’d seen something there that scared him.

      “You and Ginger stay near the two-way. I’m gonna go get the plane and fill it up, then take Mrs. Bonner up with me. Hard to believe it, but that little lady knows cockpits, loves to fly. Keep the home fires burning now,” he added as he made for the door, nearly running into his sister as she came into the kitchen.

      “Spike!” Christine called to him, and he turned back. “If you go right now, you’ll have the sun in your eyes over Denali and the top of the gorge. You may have trouble seeing anyone. Just be careful….”

      Had she called him back for that? He knew this area better than she did. Or was it that she just couldn’t bear to let him out of her sight right now?

      “I’ll be in touch,” he said, and hurried out.

      In touch. She still felt his touch as she turned away from Ginger’s probing gaze.

      Lisa heard herself crying in her grief, howling inside her head like an animal in pain. She felt so alone since Daddy ran off with some woman, with Mommy and Jani dead. Grandma Colleen took her in and loved her, but it wasn’t the same, wasn’t right. Nothing was right until she made friends she clung to and then Mitch. Mitch, let her down, down onto the next ledge.

      She dragged herself from the depths of sleep. Where was she? She saw strange colors overhead, more muted now.

      She jerked fully awake. She was sleeping in the Alaskan wilderness with the man who had ruined her life but then saved it.

      She saw he had moved a bit closer to her in the twilight. Yes, he’d said it never got dark this time of year. The sunset had faded to pale hues with cirrus clouds roped across the heavens. Mitch had been right—she was cold. But nothing compared to being in the river. Yet a chill snaked up her spine when she remembered that someone had shoved her in that river. Hadn’t they? Jonas or Vanessa? Christine Tanaka knew where she was going and maybe knew that Mitch was running a bit late. Surely not the Bonners? Or could she have just stumbled and hit her head? No way had she been so drawn by that white water, felt so strange and guilty and then leaped toward it of her own accord.

      The howling, long, low and lonely, came again. What was it? How close? Surely that was not a bear.

      “Mitch. Mitch!”

      He stirred, then lifted his head. “What?”

      That horrible howling again. The hair prickled on the back of her neck, and her stomach cartwheeled.

      “Just wolves,” he said.

      “Just? Then what are we doing here near them? They hunt in packs to eat big game, don’t they?”

      “My guess is they have plenty to eat out here besides humans. That’s probably their version of a love song to a mate. I think they avoid people.”

      “You think they avoid people?”

      “Yeah. Bears do, too, if you make enough noise—unless they’re protecting cubs. Are you warm enough?”

      “Not really.”

      “Since you won’t sleep with me—you know what I mean—you could take my knife and cut some more fireweed and make a kind of extra blanket for yourself.”

      “I changed my mind. I want in the tent.”

      He said nothing, but unwrapped and lifted the edge of it for her. She scooted close, put her back to him and rolled inside the warmth and safety of his arms. Her cheek was on his bicep, as hard as the ground had been, but so comforting. She felt his hot breath on the nape of her neck, and her bottom pressed against his thighs. What would it have been like to have a lifetime of closeness like this with him, not forced but chosen? A relationship not damaged and broken but healthy and whole?

      “When are we heading out?” she asked.

      “Let’s give it a couple of hours unless those howls get