Expect the Sunrise (26 page)

“Conner isn’t coming to Alaska, Sarah,” Andee said. Conner Young, former Green-Beret-turned-computer-whiz had left the army five years ago to start a computer-security consulting company. In between tending his IT company in Montana and the various SAR jaunts he took with Team Hope, he lived very comfortably on a five-acre plot on Ashley Lake. He had little incentive to trek two thousand miles north for scenery. Or the birthday of a friend, even if it might be a good friend.

“He would if he knew our plane crashed. He worries about you, you know.”

They all worried about her. Andee, the nomad. “He doesn’t worry about me any more than Micah or Dani do.”

“Sounds like you have a lot of admirers, Andee.” Mac’s voice, again low, drifted back at her and stung.

She frowned at him, angry at his assumptions.

Angry and curious.

What did he care who her friends were?

“I don’t have admirers,” Andee said quietly.

Mac didn’t stop walking or respond.

She watched how he climbed over the rocks, his steps sure, his arms easily balancing the weight of his burden. Apparently he hadn’t heard the pain in her voice or her words of apology. How easy it seemed for him to assume the worst about a person. Obviously he hadn’t the faintest idea what it felt like to look back on the choices you made—life-and-death choices, choices of the heart, even choices about your future—and wonder if you’d made them correctly. She’d give her next meal and a warm bed to have a God’s-eye view on life and know that she was headed in the right direction. That at the end of the Granite River, they’d find Disaster Creek, and it would lead her home.

That goal felt like some sort of epitaph of her life. Hoping to head toward disaster. As if she couldn’t hope for better. Well, with her history, maybe not.

She slogged on through the boggy riverbank and gnarled roots, searching for sure footing, listening to her stomach growl. Stunted willow, black and white spruce, and spindly birch clumped in welcome as the group descended toward the tree line of the boreal forest. The sun climbed as high as it could, then held on, fighting the pull to lower ground.

Andee finally called a halt a little after noon and passed around the water bottle, making sure Sarah got something to drink. Then, staring at the weary faces of her passengers, she grabbed the pot from the mess kit. “I’m going to look for food.”

She walked away from the river, through whitened tufts of reindeer lichen, dissected with spruce. She startled a peregrine falcon, and it lifted off in a rustle of feathers and a cry. The thinly forested hillside gave little hope for food, but as she walked farther from the group, she looked for signs of blueberries. This time of year, perhaps they’d still be ripe enough. The smaller plants of this northern region produced the sweetest berries.

From the north, the wind rushed through the trees and brought with it the scent of the river. She spotted Dall sheep, white against the granite cliffs that bordered the valley to the west. She wondered what it might be like to be hind’s feet on high places, navigating like a poet through the rugged Highlands.

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer,
Chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe,
My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go.

Mac’s voice turned her father’s words through her mind. She’d learned too many Robert Burns poems on too many fishing trips. What was it about Scotsmen that turned their thoughts to poetry when they ventured out into the hills? Too much time around Mac would prove painful in so many ways.

She knew she should turn around, but the thought of returning to Mac’s angry airspace made her push on, over downed, decaying trees, stepping carefully over the knotted roots. The last thing she needed was a twisted ankle.

She came out into a clearing, a meadow seeded with buttercups, saxifrage, and mountain avens. Clumped among them she spied blueberries growing low to the ground. Her stomach tightened.

She walked over to the berries and picked a handful. After sorting through them and flicking away hardened, rotten berries, she popped the rest into her mouth.

Flavor exploded, sweet yet tangy, and her stomach roared with greed. She picked another handful, then started filling the pot. Perhaps it would get them through until supper. And then maybe they’d find a squirrel or a—

Andee froze, hearing a whuffing sound, then the sound of breaking trees and heavy feet crushing the forest floor.

Holding her breath, she looked up and turned. Time suspended into long, drawn-out gasps of fear. Some twenty-five feet away at the edge of the meadow and flanked by her two large cubs stood a grizzly sow. Her blonde fur, backlit by the sun, glowed with an ethereal, pagan power.

Andee’s bones felt like liquid.
Move.

She couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe. She stared at the hulking animal, at the black eyes boring into hers. Then the bear opened her mouth, baring fangs, pulled back her black lips, and roared.

Mac stood at the edge of the river, scooping up a handful of rocks. He felt like a heel, arguing with himself that he should be following Andee into the forest and helping her.

Conner, Micah, Danny. How many men did she have in her life? He knew he had to drive Andee from his thoughts. He should have guessed that she’d have an array of admirers.

“I trust you, Mac. And I’d like you to trust me too.”
He pushed Andee’s voice away, but it found footing and dug in. So she had a good reason to lie….

He heard footsteps kick rocks out ahead of him and turned. Phillips approached him, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, as if Mac might not guess the guy had an agenda on his mind.

“Don’t start, Phillips,” Mac said in warning.

Phillips looked up, as if surprised. “I was just wondering if you might need a friend.”

Mac narrowed his eyes. He didn’t know Phillips’s agenda, but he couldn’t help but appreciate the man for his hard work. And that prayer he’d spoken the first night out still lingered in Mac’s soul. Mac turned away, pitched a rock into the stream.

“I don’t know what she did, Mac, but I think she deserves the benefit of the doubt.” Phillips came to stand beside him on the shore.

“She lied to me.” The words erupted in a bitter, surprising rush. Apparently three days in the bush had taken its toll on his ability to rein in his emotions. He threw another rock.

“Even so, everyone in Alaska can tell she’s sorry. She won’t even look at you. And I have to say, you seem intent on making her suffer.”

Ouch
. Mac sighed.
But shouldn’t she suffer?

“You have to know I died inside.”
Andee’s voice, putting words to his own pain. Maybe she was already suffering. Mac pitched in another rock, then watched the sun ripple off the rock, the flowing water.

“Here’s the deal, Mac.” Phillips faced him, his dark eyes holding Mac’s. “I don’t know what happened in the past, but you can’t live there. You have to go forward. Consider not the woman who hurt you, but the woman who seems bent on taking care of you and all of us. I think she deserves it.” Phillips paused, looked back out over the river. “I would suspect that based on what I see in Andee, she probably had a good reason to keep the truth from you.”

“I’m not hiking out of these mountains without you.”
Mac heard his own words again to Andee. Emma. Whoever. He’d spoken them to the lady who’d nearly gotten killed trying to save the lives of her passengers. Whom he’d accused of being a terrorist. She’d needed him, and he’d led her to believe he’d help her.

Maybe he’d betrayed
her
.

That thought made him wince, one eye closed in realization. Perhaps he’d keep his promise, but only until they reached civilization.

For the time being anyway, maybe he’d try to forgive her.

Oh, who was he kidding? An empty, longing part of him wanted to forgive her. To see her smile and hear her call him FBI, even in exasperation. She’d been faced with hard choices—hadn’t they all? And she’d made them regardless of the costs.

Regardless of her obvious struggle with regret.

Besides, holding on to anger only seemed to dig a hole through him, leaving him hollow. He could at least try to forgive her for the sake of their safety.

He sighed, feeling the tight knot of anger inside him loosen. He turned toward the group. “Stay here. I’m going to help Andee.” He met Phillips’s approving look and saw Nina glance at him. “I’ll be right back.”

As he plunged through a clump of willow, he heard a roar shake the forest and echo against the mountains. His feet responded before thought kicked in, and he ran toward the sound. “Andee!”

He heard her scream, and every hair on his neck and arms raised. “Andee!”

Crashing through the forest, he felt his ankles bend on the gnarled floor, nearly catching him, tripping him. He heard another roar and burst into the meadow in a blur of fear.

A gunshot.

Reflex dropped him to his knees. Breathing hard, he heard another shot break through his thundering heartbeat.

A third shot, and he looked up to see Andee with a handgun. It shook in her hands as she pointed it skyward. She stared to the west, away from Mac, her gaze fixed on a retreating hulk of an animal breaking through the forest, two cubs on its trail.

Andee dropped the gun, shaking.

Mac stared at her, realizing two things: She’d just scared away a grizzly.

And she had a gun.

A
gun.

If she’d been a terrorist, she would have used it on him days ago.

“Andee?” He found his feet and ran toward her, remembering her story of the grizzly. Only this time she hadn’t frozen.

“Andee?” He put a hand on her shoulder, and she nearly jumped through her skin. “You’re okay. It’s gone.”

Breathing hard, she turned toward him, her eyes glassy with fear.

Everything he’d been trying to bottle up or deny since she’d begged him to forgive her broke loose. He pulled her to his chest, nearly crushing her as he closed his eyes, letting his own relief rush over them and yanking the plug on the last remnants of his anger. How could he
not
care about her?
not
forgive her? “You scared me.”

She didn’t move, didn’t speak. She trembled in his arms, and he held her tighter. “You’re okay, Andee. It’s gone. You scared it away.”

“I did … ?” she said. It sounded more like a question. “I did.”

“You did,” he said, a smile finding one side of his face. “You’re amazing.”

“Or stupid.” She shook her head and looked at him.

She was so close to him, so incredibly close he could see every detail of her beautiful brown eyes. Only they weren’t just brown. They were brown around the edges with golden flecks inside that hinted at the treasure of knowing her. Long lashes outlined those eyes, and freckles dotted her tanned skin.

Wow, she is pretty.
She fit into his embrace as if she belonged there, just like she had the first time. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, licking her lips, her voice broken and soft. “She just snuck up on me. I didn’t see her until she roared, and then I knew I couldn’t climb a tree fast enough.”

He touched the side of her mouth, where tiny lines framed her smile. “Climb a tree.”

She seemed startled by his touch, and her smile faded. “I … ah, well … I had the gun and I—”

He couldn’t help himself. He sweetly touched his lips to hers. She stilled, then, amazingly, relaxed. He imagined her closing her eyes as she kissed him back. It lasted only a moment, but he let himself be inside this one perfect tick in time, isolated from the chaos and aches and journey that defined their lives. Andee, in his arms, trusting him. She tasted of blueberries, sweet and tangy, pure Andee.

When he pulled away, she swallowed, shock on her beautiful face.

He gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, but I couldn’t help it. Forgive me.”

She searched his eyes, her face now cresting into a frown. “Forgive you? Oh, Mac, forgive
me
. Forgive me for Brody and for lying….”

He cupped her cheek, running his thumb over it. “I forgive you.” Then he kissed her on the forehead.