Down River (6 page)

“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 closer. Blueberries and water for breakfast, then we’ll head for the river below the falls. The Wild River’s not so wild there, divides into four or five more shallow braided streams where we can walk across. There’s a road on the other side. We can hike out on it or maybe even hitch a ride.”

“How long a trek?”

“Never walked it before, only seen it from the air.”

He yawned, stretching a bit, flexing his muscles, then relaxing. She was panicked to realize she could feel his merest movement in the pit of her belly. Even in this tight wet suit, her breasts tingled. She had to get him talking, maybe really wake him up so they could push on now.

“I’m sorry I ruined everything,” she told him. “I mean at the lodge, where you had those bonding activities planned for everyone.”

“Yeah. The Bonners’ bonding experiment.”

“It’s not fair if this disqualifies me.”

“Maybe they’ll see you as a survivor who can handle anything after this.”

“I’d like to pretend so—that this is all some sort of test, and they’ll jump out of the berry bushes and say, ‘Surprise! You were just on
Candid Camera,
’ or something like that. Then the emcee will say, ‘Here in the Alaska twilight, we have seen how a wimpy South Florida native was saved from the raging river and taught to survive in the wilderness by—’”

“Shh!”

“Sorry. I’ll shut up and try to sl—”

“Lisa, shut up! I think I hear a plane!”

He yanked their canvas cover open and jumped up. She heard it now, too, a much better sound than wolves howling. She staggered to her feet as he ran back toward the bog, into more of a clearing than where they were with bushes and birch trees.

“Damn!” he shouted, pointing back toward the river. “I think it might be Spike’s plane, though there are lots of red ones. But it’s over the gorge, heading west!”

“Can we wave something? If we only had something for a signal!”

“It may circle back if they’re searching. If they’ve found evidence we put a kayak in the river, maybe they’ll look below the falls, and that’s where we’re heading—right now. Come on. We’ll sleep when we get back to the lodge. Let’s pick some more blueberries and head out.”

She helped him gather their goods and stuff them
in the tent that made his pack. The drone of the plane faded, but at least it wasn’t dark, and Mitch’s shouting seemed to have made the wolves move on. Now they had to move on, too.

“I
t will take us an hour to hike around that lake up ahead!” Lisa cried after they’d walked about two hours. “How did the stream we’ve been following turn into a big body of water?”

“Beavers dammed it up,” Mitch said. “See them over there?”

He pointed to a group of them. Each sleek, brown animal looked busy as a—Yes, an apt old adage, she thought. Every beaver she could see in or out of the water was either moving wood or gnawing at it, and their half-submerged, haphazardly piled homes were visible from here, a village of them.

As they got closer, Lisa saw the mud-and-stick dams were also embedded with rocks and tree trunks. “Amazing,” she said. “And look at their little humped houses.”

“They’re called lodges. I own one Alaskan lodge, but they own a whole chain of them.”

The sleek furry heads made little waves through the water as the beavers ferried logs, propelling them
selves with their large flat tails. Several of the animals were quite close by, gnawing at trees along the bank of the lake.

“They’re smooth in the water but clumsy on land,” Lisa whispered, “but then we all have our own habitats.” She thought of herself, a South Floridian, a fish—no, a beaver—out of water here in Alaska. And had she ever actually seen a beaver, even at a zoo? To be so close up, so intimate, was awe-inspiring. She could even see what appeared to be baby beavers, playing atop the dam, chewing leaves and twigs.

“Do they actually eat wood?” she asked. “It looks like they’re chewing on the sticks for food.”

“They eat the inner bark layer, something like the way we’ve been chewing on the inner birch bark.”

Fascinated despite her predicament, Lisa moved a bit closer to the fringe of the pond, until a big beaver, glaring at her, swam closer and smacked its tail, spraying water. The splash resounded, echoed. She expected to see the other beavers scatter, but they didn’t. The defender flaunted his big square front teeth and smacked the water again.

“Why don’t the others hide if we’re a danger to them?” she asked, despite the fact she could tell Mitch wanted to move on.

“He wants to scare you away, not warn them. Come on. We’re rocking their boat, so to speak, and we have a long way to go.”

“This place is starting to remind me of the Animal
Planet cable channel, but close up and personal,” she said as she turned reluctantly away.

“You must watch one hell of a lot of TV these days—this last year,” he said, flexing his back muscles. “You’ve mentioned a couple of shows since we’ve been walking, including that
Survivor
show—though I could see why—and something about that old movie,
The Wizard of Oz.
Staying home a lot lately?”

That annoyed her. He was goading her, implying that since he’d left, she had no social life. Even out here, even if it was true, she wasn’t going to let him get away with that.

“Of course, now that you’re helping others bond and build great relationships,” she said, her voice dripping sarcasm, “you’re too busy and fulfilled to waste your time on such plebian pastimes as television. You’ve probably been using sad illustrations of your own family and former fiancée to contrast how great you are at personal relationships. Everyone in your past has been shallow and selfish—except you, of course.”

He spun back to face her. “I came to a crisis in my life and thought I could count on the woman who said she loved me.” He blocked the path and dropped his pack. “We’ve tiptoed around the big discussion we were supposed to have yesterday, but your sudden attack indicates the time and place is now.” He crossed his arms over his chest. He looked big and forbidding, but so much had been building inside of her that she had to let it out.

She thrust her fists to her hips to counterattack his body language. “I loved the Mitch I knew,” she insisted, “the one I thought was being honest with me about his and our future when we got engaged!”

“Yeah, well, people change and need help sometimes, and if you, of all people, haven’t figured that out by now, I’ll have to tell Graham you’ll make a lousy lawyer in general, let alone a senior partner—or marital partner. You’ve had crisis points yourself and gotten help along the way, but evidently you can’t accept the same for someone else.”

“Oh, now we’re to the nitty-gritty, aren’t we? Back in your element, the man of clever words—talk about an attack!” She found herself flinging gestures despite how her arms ached. That was a nervous habit she’d worked hard to conquer, yet he was making her regress—in so many ways. She spit out the wad of birch bark she’d been babying, because it did help the pain, but it was keeping her from enunciating clearly. Most lawyers knew better than to tangle verbally with Mitchell Braxton, but she was determined to finally tell him off.

“You have no right,” she rushed on, “to blame my childhood trauma for making me sound like someone who was so devastated that she can’t give love or understand someone else’s problems. Your childhood wasn’t as hard as mine, but you’ve never gotten over being overshadowed by an older brother you thought your parents loved more! Well, that’s nothing compared to what I’ve been through, but I’ve risen above it, so—”

“So,
did
someone really push you in the river?” he interrupted. He leaned back slightly on his heels, gazing down at her from his height as if he were about to pass sentence on her. “Or was that just a crazy whim of yours to get attention, sympathy from the Bonners maybe, or to make me feel bad—then, of course, it went awry, and you really did slip in. You told me once that foaming water fascinates as well as scares you. You underestimated the power of the current, didn’t you? You could have killed us both. I rest my case.”

“Your case is flimsy—worse than ridiculous! You think I’d so much as get near that raging river after what happened to my family? You’re the one who’s crazy, not me!”

“Evidently true, since I risked my life to come after you and am still stupid enough to care about y—Oh, hell, forget it. But you’d better be damn sure you don’t get back to the lodge and start accusing someone of shoving you in or start playing detective when this could easily be all your own fault!”

He cut himself off, yanked the pack back into his arms, turned and started away, taking huge strides. She stood there for a moment, stunned. Her own fault…her own fault. Those words, that fear—maybe that truth—swam through her brain. What he’d said was true, partly. She had felt guilt over her childhood losses—not just survivor’s guilt, but the guilt that maybe pulling away from her mother, instead of trying to hold her on the railing, on the deck, might
have been the jolt that sent her loved ones overboard to their deaths.

So could she be punishing herself again by intentionally falling in, maybe even by throwing herself in the river? No, surely not, surely not.

Mitch had stopped and was looking back at her. “We’re wasting time and strength, attorney Vaughn,” he threw back over his shoulder as he started away again. “I suggest you follow in my footsteps here, though. If the Bonners ask me, I’ll have to tell them you’re too unstable to follow in my footsteps at the firm.”

So maybe the Bonners were relying on him to help choose the next senior partner. Maybe she was unstable, but what about his picking up stakes and leaving all he’d ever worked for in Fort Lauderdale?

She wanted to scream that at him, but she was out of breath and had to hustle to keep up. That other Mitch, she had to admit, was not this Mitch who lived in Alaska. And she was indeed crazy to turn him against her, at least until she could get back to the Bonners and explain what had happened. But what
had
happened? They would all think she was demented if she accused someone of a premeditated, attempted homicide on the Wild River, with her as the intended victim.

They didn’t speak for a long time, not until they finally arrived at the spot Mitch knew they’d find the braided river. He was still fuming. He supposed she was, too, and he was trying to convince himself that he didn’t care.

“Damn.” He summed it up when he saw their fording place.

“Oh, no,” she agreed.

All along where the narrow riverbed finally widened to four shallow, snaking streams surrounded by gravel banks, huge brown bears, both in and out of the water, fished for salmon. Fourteen of the beasts ranged up and down the best crossing spots.

“I’ve never seen so many at once,” he told her.

“It’s a far cry from the serene, calm lake with the beavers. Violent but still awesome. So—real.”

“Some of those are unusually massive, up to twelve hundred pounds, I’d guess. They’re taking on fat to survive during the winter hibernation. It’s an absolute feeding frenzy.”

“They’re beautiful in a scary way, so bulky with that huge muscle mass over their shoulders, and they’re not just brown. Some look almost blond and some black, at least where they’re wet. That icy water doesn’t seem to bother them a bit,” Lisa said.

Mitch saw she edged closer to him as they watched two bears rear up on their back legs to argue over fishing territory. She shuddered, yet her gaze on the fighting bears didn’t waver. He was tempted to put his arm around her, but he just pressed his shoulder into hers to steady her.

“The bear version of fast food,” she said, her voice not trembling when he’d expected that. “Takeout but not eat-at-home.”

He almost smiled at her clever comments and the
fact she seemed to look to him for protection, even at this distance from the big beasts. They watched in silence as razor-sharp claws speared the egg-laden fish heading upstream to spawn. Sharp teeth tore them apart, flaying the rich, red meat on the spot. The bears immediately devoured them, except for the big sow who was feeding two cubs.

Mitch finally said in a normal voice, “At least they don’t seem to hear or smell us. With cubs present, you just never know how touchy and aggressive they can be.”

“Like people,” she said. “We really don’t know some people like we think we do.”

He thought about Jonas and Vanessa again, then his mind skipped to Ellie and Graham. He still couldn’t get his mind around the fact that any of them would have pushed her, and no one else had opportunity but Christine and maybe Ginger. But there was no motive.

They both gaped at the bloody mess littering the banks where the bears heaved the fish remains before snatching their next prey. Occasionally, when one got too close to the other’s territory, there was growling, shoving and swatting before they lumbered back to their task of gorging themselves.

“So much for trying to cross here,” she whispered as they stayed hunkered down behind a rock. “Could we try it a bit upstream, even if it’s deeper?”

“You’re sounding brave all of a sudden. No, we can’t take that chance. When you get back home to
peaceful Fort Lauderdale, you can regale your friends with the fact that brown bears are called grizzlies outside Alaska, and that any bear anywhere always has the absolute right of way.”

“Maybe that airplane will come back—or others.”

“Bears or not, if the plane returns, it would be tough to land here even with pontoons. They’d need to send a chopper with a basket.” He heaved a huge sigh. He saw her reach out to touch him, maybe even to try to comfort him, but then draw back. He cleared his throat, willing himself not to just pull her into his arms. “We’re going to have to go downriver a bit farther where there’s another way to get across,” he said.

“But I can see beyond where the valley narrows, and it turns to one river again. Deeper with more rapids. Get across how?”

He turned to look in her eyes for the first time in hours. The mark of a good lawyer was to be inquisitive, to leave no stone unturned, plan ahead, no surprises. But he dare not tell her the truth until they got there and it was too late for her to turn back, or she’d balk for sure.

Why did this stubborn woman exert such a pull on him? Again, as at other points on this journey, he felt a surge of desire for her. He was impressed with her resilience after all she’d been through. But there was no one worse for him in this life he’d chosen and desired, so why did he still want her? He might as well propose to Christine Tanaka, take a chance on her despite her past. At least she loved this life and
place the way he did, and was tough enough to flourish here. Yet soft city-girl Lisa, as banged up and scared as she still must be, managed to look back at him unflinchingly.

“I got us this far,” he said, “so I’m asking you to trust me. Take it or leave it.”

She bit her lower lip, then said, “I have to, of course.”

“I don’t want to hear ‘I have to.’ I want to hear ‘I do.’ You know what I mean—that you really do trust me to get us out of this.”

“All right, to get us back to civilization, I do trust you. But you know what this scene reminds me of? And it’s not some TV show. In a way it reminds me of what we call civilization.”

“Wall Street devouring people’s lives? Lawyers or businesspeople?” he asked.

“That’s scary if we’re starting to think alike. Yes, people doing anything to protect their profits and desires at any cost to others. Frankly, the bears remind me of some of Carlisle, Bonner and Associates’ clients.”

“Or fellow lawyers desperate enough to push a rival into a roaring river?”

Before she could answer, he said, “Come on, partner, we’ve got to push on.” He patted her shoulder, hefted his pack and turned away from this dead end where he’d hoped to cross the river.

The moment Spike’s plane landed, Christine and Ginger, followed by their guests, ran out on the float
ing boat dock to meet it. Christine had gripped her hands together so hard that her fingers had gone numb.

“Any sign of them?” Mr. Bonner called out before she could ask.

“Nothing!” Spike answered as he helped Mrs. Bonner climb down from the cockpit to the dock. He usually tied the plane at the other end of the lake, closer to Ginger’s place.

“But then,” Christine said, “that could be a good sign.”

“Right,” Spike agreed and threw his arm around her shoulders. No one said what they must all be thinking—no bodies or wrecked kayak, at least. She leaned into Spike. If any good came out of this, it was that she and Spike seemed to be more of a team. He’d always been wary of her, almost tiptoed around her, and she knew why.