Rogue's Revenge - By Gail MacMillan Page 0,48

pot, and headed for the river. Shortly he returned and doused the campfire with its contents. As a cloud of smoke gusted up into the cold, crisp air, he dropped the container and offered a hand to help her to her feet.

“Time to hit the tent.”

“You do that. I’ll be in when I’m ready.” She ignored his gesture.

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged and turned toward the tent. “But it’ll get cold and scary out here without a fire to keep the frost and bears at bay.”

For a few minutes after he’d vanished into the tent, Allison sat stubbornly on the shore. A thin trickle of smoke wafted wreath-like from the smothering embers. Cold night air wrapped about her. In spite of her down-filled vest and flannel shirt, she shivered.

I won’t go rushing to join him. I won’t let him think I’m cold or afraid.

An owl hooted. A coyote raised a cry in the blackness beyond their campsite. Its long, mournful howl invited others to join a chorus. Allison stumbled to her feet, glancing back into the dark trees.

Maybe I should go to bed.

A slight movement to her left caught her attention. She turned toward the river. In the moonlight, something huge and hairy stood slouched and ape-like in the shallows.

A rock-like lump of terror blocked her voice. Rooted in place, she stared.

The creature shuffled toward her, then paused, appeared to sniff the air, and grunted.

A sasquatch. It’s definitely a sasquatch!

She bent and grabbed the end of a stick protruding from the smoldering fire. In the darkness its tip glowed red.

“Get!” She thrust it toward the creature.

“Allison, come on. Enough sulking. It’s got to be cold out there.”

Heath’s voice from the tent stopped the creature. It grunted again, shook a paw in her direction, then turned and waddled off into the darkness downriver.

As it disappeared, Allison dropped the stick back into the fire pit. Turning, she scrambled toward the tent.

“Sasquatch!” she cried as she fumbled with its zippered door.

“What?” Heath bolted upright in his sleeping bag when she burst inside.

“Sasquatch! In the river!”

“Stay here.” He came to his feet, his hand on the knife at his belt, and ducked out of the tent.

She sank down on the bed he’d laid out across from his, drew up knees too weak to support her, and hugged herself into a ball. Shivering, she rocked to and fro.

“Nothing out there.” A dark silhouette against the brighter outdoors, he stooped back into the tent. “I’ll look for tracks in the morning.” He zipped the canvas door flap shut.

“There won’t be any. He…it was standing in the shallows.”

“Right.” Exasperation colored the word. “I should have guessed. Did it dive out of sight…like the Loch Ness Monster?”

“You don’t believe me!”

“You make it difficult. First, a noisy bear. Now an amphibious sasquatch. Do me a favor. Get some sleep. And don’t wake me when you hear a poltergeist.” With a grunt, he climbed into his bed.

Muttering expletives, Allison pulled off her boots and crawled into her own sleeping bag. The bubble mattress crackled in tune with her temper.

Chapter Nine

Allison awoke to bird song and the gurgle of river water. Sunlight filtered through the tent to fall in a warming bath over her face. Freeing her arms from her sleeping bag, she stretched them above her head and drew a deep breath of crisp, clear air, a sense of contentment engulfing her.

She pulled herself up onto one elbow to look over to where Heath had been lying when she fell asleep. He was gone, his sleeping bag neatly rolled up atop his bubble mattress.

Stretching again, she stood. And shivered. She grabbed her vest that had served as a pillow and pulled it on. Spring in this country still boasted frosty nights that left a distinct nip in the morning air.

Coffee. I need a cup of hot, black coffee.

She unzipped the door flap and stepped out into a dazzling green spring morning where water droplets from melting frost glistened jewel-like on grass and trees. The sky boasted a flawless blue, and the river swept past in wild, majestic abandon. And squatted beside it, Heath Oakes, naked down to the waist, was splashing its icy water over his face and upper body. When he stood to towel himself dry, silhouetted against the surging water, he brought the words “noble savage” racing across her mind.

Get a grip. Remember what he did when you were a romantic teenager. Remember the hurt he caused Jack because of it. Remember what a mess you’re in right now