A Soldier's Pledge. Nadia Nichols

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СКАЧАТЬ heavy, soaking rain would drown that forest fire once and for all. If it rained hard for two days, all the better. It had been a dry summer.

      The Lone Ranger’s tracks were quickly being erased by the rain, but they were still easy enough to follow along the shoreline. They made a beeline for the wooded shore on the north side of the headwaters of the Wolf River. She followed them, intending to walk a few miles or until the wind came up and she had to return to the plane. With his pronounced limp and the rough terrain, she figured she’d catch up to him before too long.

      When she saw the tent set up on a small bluff, set back from the edge of the river and not one hundred yards from the headwaters, she came to a surprised halt. For a man whose agenda was to hike nearly eighty miles in eight days, he’d set up camp a good twelve hours early. He could have covered five miles, easy, ten if he pushed hard. It was a blue tent with a darker blue fly, made all the gloomier by the rain, which created such a racket bouncing off the fly she could walk right up to the tent without being heard, so that’s what she did.

      “Hello the camp!” she said outside the tent’s door, which was zipped up tight. There was no response from within. Her sense of uneasiness built. Why had he come out here all by himself? Perhaps he had no intention of walking to the Mackenzie. Maybe this whole trip had been a suicide mission. Had he already done himself in? Was he lying inside the tent, dead? “Hello the camp!” she shouted.

      “Hold your horses,” a man’s voice said, rough with sleep. The door unzipped. He looked out at her, fatigue shadowing his face, and motioned for her to enter. It was a small tent, hardly big enough for the both of them, but she shrugged off her pack, left it in the vestibule created by the fly, and crawled inside on her hands and knees. It was more than a little odd making her way into the Lone Ranger’s tent, but it beat conversing in the pouring rain.

      His pack and rifle case took up the rear wall. His sleeping bag was laid out. He doubled it onto itself and sat on it, one leg straight out, the other drawn up to his chest. She sat down cross-legged on the sleeping mat. The door of the tent was open, and the dark blur of river tumbling past the door made her dizzy.

      “Sorry to bother you, but the weather closed in and I had to turn around,” Cameron explained before he could question her unexpected visit. “Since I have to wait out the bad weather, I thought I’d just make sure you were on the right trail.”

      He grinned wryly at that. They both knew there were no trails except those made by wild animals in this land. “You’re wondering why I made camp when there’s a good ten hours of daylight left.”

      Cameron removed her hat, which was dripping water onto the floor of the tent. “None of my business how far and fast you travel,” she said. “You can camp wherever and whenever you like.”

      “I’ve been on the road three days and drove all night to make the floatplane base first thing this morning after hearing the weather forecast. Figured I had a narrow window of opportunity to get flown in.”

      “You figured right,” she said.

      “My plan is to rest up today and get a fresh start in the morning.”

      “Good plan.”

      They sat and listened to the rain pounding down on the flimsy tent. Cameron hoped the tent pegs held under the strain. “Well,” she said after a long awkward moment, “I’ll get back to the plane, and as soon as there’s a break in the weather, I’ll head home.”

      “Good plan,” he said.

      “I probably could’ve made it okay, but my father always told me that optimism has no place in the cockpit.”

      “Sound advice.”

      Once again he’d succeeded in making her feel foolish. Last night at Ziggy’s, three men had hit on her while she was playing pool. She could have gone home with any one of them, if that was her game. It wasn’t, but she liked knowing that she could have her pick. She enjoyed the attention of men when she wanted it, and was used to flirting, having her drinks paid for, then spurning her admirers, holding them at arm’s length and sometimes breaking their hearts. This guy annoyed her. No ring on his finger, not married and not the least bit interested in her. Wanted her to leave so he could go back to sleep.

      Cameron pulled on her hat. She loved her Snowy River hat and thought it made her look especially sexy. To most guys, anyway.

      “Well, okay then, I’ll head back to the plane,” she repeated. He made no response.

      She crawled back out of the tent and into the torrential downpour, pushed to her feet, gave a small wave to the Lone Ranger and headed back toward the plane. “What a weirdo,” she muttered to herself as she trudged away, not sure if she was talking about Jack Parker or herself.

CHAPTER TWO

      AFTER SPENDING A miserable cramped night sitting in the plane, sating her hunger with four granola bars and her thirst with water from her kit, Cameron was relieved when morning brought a higher cloud cover, lighter rain and the welcome opportunity to head home. She pumped water out of the plane’s pontoons—they both had slow leaks—then pushed the plane into deeper water and hopped back on board. She wondered if the Lone Ranger had already broken camp as the Beaver’s pontoons rocked free of the lake and the plane roared into the air. Would he hear her taking off? Was he still asleep or was he already on the trail? What did she care? Why was she even thinking about him?

      All she cared about right now was getting some coffee. Not Walt’s coffee. His wasn’t fit to drink. When she got back, she was heading to the diner. She was going to order a huge plate of ham and eggs and toast and greasy home fries, and a bottomless cup of very strong hot black coffee. Her stomach growled in anticipation. A stiff headwind slowed her progress, but even so she was taxiing up to the dock by 7:20 a.m. Walt came out to tie off the plane.

      “You owe me,” she said as she climbed out. “Big time.”

      Walt was wearing one of his expressions. “Listen,” he said slowly as they walked down the dock toward the office. “Got a phone call yesterday after you left. It was from that guy’s sister. Lori Tedlow was her name. I couldn’t follow her conversation too good, she started crying, so I told her you’d call her back just as soon as you returned.”

      Cameron halted abruptly and rounded on her boss. “What? I have nothing to tell her. She already knows where he is, right? You told her where I dropped him off, right? What more could I add to what she already knows?” She felt another surge of annoyance at this latest development.

      “She was upset. Crying. You’re a woman. Women are better at handling stuff like that. She’s waiting for your call.”

      “Walt, I’m starving. I haven’t had any coffee, I’m crippled from spending the night in the plane and I want my bonus money.”

      “Yeah, I heard you lost a bundle at Ziggy’s, playing pool the other night.”

      “Hank cheats. So does Slouch.” Cameron entered the office, tossed her ball cap on the desk, pulled the band from her ponytail and finger combed her dark shoulder-length hair. “One of these days they’ll pay, soon as I figure out how they’re doing it. I’m missing way too many easy shots I could make blindfolded when I was twelve.”

      “I won’t be able to get your money till the bank opens. Coffee?” Walt asked, lifting the pot from the hot plate.

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