A Soldier's Pledge Page 15

  “Okay. How about this. We’ll just forget about it. Move on. Just like the other night when I threw you across the tent, right? We’ll forget about both nights, pretend they didn’t happen.”

  “I didn’t mean that. You’re twisting my words!”

  “I get it, Cameron,” he said. “You’re a beautiful girl. You could have the pick of the crop, but your first pick was Roy. Big mistake. Your second pick sure as hell isn’t going to be a disabled soldier suffering from PTSD, and I don’t blame you. We’ll keep things simple, say our painless goodbyes on the banks of the Mackenzie River, and you’ll have your money and your red Jeep and life will be good.”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it!” Cameron shot back. “You’re going back to your army career. You said that’s what you were going to do, and I just thought you should know that I wouldn’t stand in your way, even if I do think that you wanting to go back to Afghanistan to get shot up again is really, incredibly stupid.”

  She spun on her heel and marched to the sink, stacking the dishes in the dishpan. “I can’t believe I’m even saying these things to you. If you want to go back there because you think you have to prove something, then go back and do what you have to do, but it makes me madder than hell when you keep talking about the money because I don’t give a damn about the money anymore or the red Jeep. I can’t think straight right now, so I’m going to do these dishes, and then I’ll go catch that poor starving dog some fish, and I’m sorry she’s not your dog, Jack, I really am. It’s not fair, but nothing in life ever is, and I’m sure you know that better than most.”

  The lump in her throat squeezed her endless babbling sentence into an embarrassing squeak. She kept her back to him, poured hot water from a kettle heating on the woodstove into the dish pan, added a dollop of dish soap, then stirred the water with the greasy spatula. She started washing the dishes even though everything was a blur. She heard Jack push out of his chair and walk toward the door. He paused to give her shoulder a gentle pat on his way past, and she barely held it together long enough for him to leave the cabin.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  JACK PACED TO the river, brooding. Cameron’s outburst had shaken him. He didn’t begin to understand what she’d meant by it all, except that she regretted her behavior last night and didn’t want him to read too much into it. She knew damn well that if he got sweet on her and stuck around, she’d end up looking at him over her coffee one morning, wondering how she could have made another poor choice. He shouldn’t have gotten angry with her. She was just protecting herself.

  He walked along the edge of the river, far enough to find a private place to sit and think. The sound of the river mesmerized him. Mist rose from the back eddies. He leaned back against a smooth rock and let the sun warm his sore muscles. He thought about love and loyalty. He thought about Ky and how she would sleep on his narrow army cot, climbing so carefully onto it, curling around once and lying down so her back pressed against his thigh. She would close her eyes and heave a contented sigh, a sound of pure bliss. He’d lay his hand on her head and stroke her until all the stress and ugliness of war left him and sleep came. A dog had the power to chase the nightmares away. Ky had that power.

  But Ky wasn’t the dog under the cabin. Cameron was right. Life wasn’t fair. Life was beautiful and awful and filled with tragedy and triumph and brief moments of sublime happiness, but it was never fair. There were no rules, no promises. Jack didn’t know why things happened the way they did. They just happened. Life just happened, and you dealt with it day by day and tried to make the best of it.

  The river made a soothing sound, rushing past. Jack thought he should go back to the cabin and see if Cameron was okay, because it really mattered to him that she was okay, but for a few more moments he’d just sit here by the river and watch life flow past.

  * * *

  WALT OVERSLEPT. HE’D never have overslept when Jeri was here. Jeri woke him with the smell of coffee brewing on the tiny office stove. Sometimes she’d sit on the couch and rub his knee. “Coffee’s ready, Walt,” she’d say in her raspy smoker’s voice, and when he opened his eyes, she’d be holding his mug out to him. “Rise and shine, flyboy.”

  She always called him flyboy, referring to his years of being an air force jet jock. He’d been young then, and wild. Now he could barely roll out of bed without groaning like an old man. Hell, he was an old man. Sixty-three in a few short weeks. How had that happened? Time had gone supersonic on him.

  “Hello? Walter?” Tap tap tap on the trailer door. “Walter? Are you in there?”

  He groaned again and sat up. It was that woman again. Lori Tedlow. She kept reappearing just when he thought she’d gone back home. She opened the door and poked her head around, saw him lying on the couch and smiled apologetically.

  “I’m sorry to bother you again, but it’s almost nine o’clock and I’ve been waiting out here for an hour.”

  “Why?” Walt growled, out of sorts. He rubbed his face. His jaw was covered with stubble because he hadn’t shaved yesterday. What was the point of shaving when Jeri was gone? “You should be waiting back home with your husband. That baby could come anytime.”

  “I really needed to talk to you.” Lori opened the door wider and began the awkward process of entering his cramped office. It was almost impossible. She seemed even bigger than before.

  Walt had slept in his clothes, blue jeans and a chamois shirt. He needed a shower. He needed hot coffee even more. He pushed to his stocking feet and padded to the tiny kitchenette, putting together a pot of coffee with the fewest movements possible. He lit the burner under the percolator and rummaged through the dirty dishes piled in the miniature sink for two chipped mugs, rinsing them out with cold water. He was out of dish soap. Jeri had always kept things in stock, and he was out of just about everything, including toilet paper. Life just plain sucked without Jeri.

  “I haven’t heard anything since yesterday,” he said, placing the mugs on the little table.

  “Actually, I was hoping you’d be agreeable to flying me out there again just to see how close they’ve gotten to the Mackenzie River.”

  Walt sat on one of the folding metal chairs and motioned to the couch. “Have a seat. Coffee’ll be ready soon.”

  “I’m afraid if I sit down on something soft I won’t be able to get up again,” Lori said. “And I can’t drink coffee. My stomach won’t tolerate it right now.”

  Walt gave her a bleary-eyed stare. “I don’t see how your stomach tolerates what’s in it now. Is it twins?”

  Lori shook her head and laughed. “One baby, believe me. I’ve asked that same question of my doctor several times. Walter, I’m really worried. You should’ve had a phone call from Cameron by now. She’d report in, wouldn’t she? Even if it was just to tell you everything was okay.”

  The coffee had started to perk, and Walt felt better, smelling it. He rubbed his face again, making a silent vow never again to play pool into the early hours with Hank and Slouch. Late nights didn’t set well with him anymore.

  “Look, I’ll pay you, the same amount I did before,” Lori said.

  Walt poured a slug out of the coffeepot before it was ready because he really needed a swallow or two to tide him over and help him think. He carried the mug back to the chair and sat, contemplating her offer while the coffee continued to perk. He’d lost a good chunk of change last night playing pool. He could use the money. He could always use the money. He took a swallow of the strong brew and nodded.

  “Okay, I’ll go have another look to see where they’re at, but you’re not going. There’s too much paperwork to fill out every time we fly a client anywhere, and I hate paperwork, and besides that, flying’s too risky in your condition. That safety harness isn’t big enough to fit around you. If we hit any turbulence, it’s apt to squeeze the baby right out. I’ll go right after I finish th
is pot of coffee. You come back at four this afternoon, and I’ll have some answers about your brother.”

  Lori’s expression was almost worth the trouble. “Thank you, Walter. I knew you’d come through for me. You’re a good man.”

  * * *

  CAMERON WAS GLAD Jack was gone when she came out of the cabin. She needed time alone to compose herself, and fishing was good therapy. She caught four good-sized char one right after the other and killed and cleaned them promptly. Four char would feed all of them for a couple of days. She set aside two for her and Jack in the cooler and boiled the other two at the fire pit to make a fish stew for the dog. She added two cups of rice to the pot after the stew had started to boil. While it cooked, she brought all her laundry down to the river and washed it, strung a line between two black spruce and hung it to dry.

  This should have been a pleasant day of doing nothing but tending the fire, stirring the fish stew once in a while and watching the river flow. No walking endless miles on blistered feet. No paddling a canoe. No making conversation. No thinking. Just the mindless occupation of simple chores. But the negative thoughts kept creeping back in, and she couldn’t build walls thick enough to protect herself. It had been a big mistake crawling into bed with Jack. A huge mistake. It wouldn’t happen again. It couldn’t. She’d made herself far too vulnerable. Caring about someone was dangerous. She’d learned that much and then some from Roy.

  She crouched on her heels beside the river and tossed small stones into the blur of water. The river was really high, almost overflowing its banks. The heavy downpours last night had flooded the entire watershed. She felt dizzy, watching it rush past on its way to the Mackenzie. She rose to her feet and turned back toward the cook fire. The fish stew was done. She lifted the pot off the fire and carried it up to the cabin, where she scooped some into a shallow pan to cool more quickly.

  “Smells delicious, Mama Dog,” she announced to the dog she knew was lying right beneath the floorboards. “I’ll bring you a dish just as soon as it’s cooled off.”

  She set the pan on the cabin table, then walked back outside. Jack had returned and was standing near the cook fire, poking at the bed of coals with a stick. She drew a breath to steady herself, approached with as much resolve as she could muster and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m sorry I got so worked up this morning,” she said. “It won’t happen again.”

  “No need to apologize,” Jack said. “You were right.”

  She frowned. “About what?”

  “Everything.”

  “Perhaps you could enlighten me.”

  Jack’s expression remained carefully neutral. “Well...”

  “You didn’t understand a thing I was trying to tell you. I could tell by your expression.”

  “You were a little emotional.”

  “I never get emotional”

  “No, I’m sure you don’t.”

  “And I don’t think it’s fair that you should trivialize this discussion as being all about me being emotional because I’m a female when it isn’t. It’s about what happened between us last night.”

  “Right,” Jack said.

  “And I can assure you that what happened last night has nothing to do with what you think it did.”

  “Of course it didn’t,” Jack said, but he was wearing that same baffled expression.

  “And there’s something else,” Cameron continued, and was about to explain exactly why it was so important that he understood exactly why she’d been so upset, when she spotted something lodged against the riverbank not fifty yards upriver of the cabin and on the same bank. Something long and low, floating in the water, caught up among the alders because the river was so high it was almost over its banks. Something that looked like a log, only it wasn’t a log because it was the wrong shape. It had an upswept bow and stern. And it had a color. Red.

  “My God!” she said, raising her hand and pointing. “Jack, turn around, look!”

  * * *

  JACK WHIRLED, FULLY expecting to see a large angry grizzly charging toward them along the riverbank, but there was no bear. Then he looked upriver where she was pointing and stared in disbelief when he spotted the nearly submerged canoe lodged against the riverbank. Only the gunnels, bow and stern were above water. The canoe was kept afloat solely by the flotation bags in both ends, and the bow had wedged itself into the overhanging alders. There was no telling how long it had been there, but even as they watched, they could see the stern of the canoe begin drifting farther out into the river. Once the canoe got crosswise of the strong current, it would be pushed downriver and the front end would work free of the overhanging alders that were temporarily anchoring it to shore.

  “Look! Look! It’s our canoe!” Cameron was overcome with excitement. “The high water must have shifted the tree off it last night and floated it down here. My God, what are the odds? I can’t believe it. It’s right here, on our side of the river, but it’s going to pull free any moment. We’ve got to get it before it gets away. Hurry. Let’s go!”

  “Run up to the cabin and get that piece of rope that’s hanging on the wall behind the woodstove,” he said, and while she sprinted toward the cabin, he started up the riverbank. The canoe was only fifty yards upstream, but it was rough going. He heard Cameron bounding back down the cabin steps, and she quickly caught up with him. They plowed through the thick tangle of alders that lined the river, not daring to cut inland where the going was easier because they didn’t want to lose sight of the canoe. Within minutes they were out of breath from the brutal struggle. Jack paused for a breather, and Cameron stopped behind him. “Can you still see it?” she asked, gasping.

  “Yes, it’s still moving. The current’s pulling it out of the alders.”

  “We can’t lose it again,” she said. “Hurry!”

  They plowed forward desperately, but they weren’t moving fast enough. Moments later, the canoe worked free and began to move downriver, slowly at first, but it would soon pick up momentum. Jack cursed aloud when he saw that the current was taking it away from the riverbank. “By the time it gets to us, it’ll be too far from shore to reach.”

  Cameron spun, and before he could question her, she was plowing full blast back through the alders, racing the river. He followed. Whatever plan she had was better than just standing and watching the canoe move past them. By the time he broke free of the alders, she was already racing back down the cabin steps to the river, rope in one hand, the handle of a big cast-iron Dutch oven in the other. She knelt at the river’s edge and quickly lashed the rope to the Dutch oven’s handle.

  “This piece of cast iron weighs about eight pounds, and if I can swing it into the canoe and it fills with water and sinks, it might be heavy enough to catch on a thwart and let me pull the canoe ashore,” she said, rising to her feet, eyes fixed on the submerged canoe as it approached. “Get ready, Jack. She’s coming pretty quick.”

  Cameron swung the Dutch oven back and forth, back and forth, waiting for just the right moment, leaning her upper body over the edge of the riverbank. She made a perfect toss as the canoe drifted past. The Dutch oven landed just ahead of the rear thwart and sank out of sight as she reeled in the slack. The rope grew taut as the pot dragged along the bottom of the canoe. She pulled gently, then not so gently as the river carried the canoe past. The Dutch oven shifted as the pressure on the rope increased, and the stern of the canoe began to angle toward the bank.

  “You’ve got her,” Jack said, moving along the riverbank with her. “Just a little more. She’s coming in.” Jack crouched, reaching and ready. The current swung the stern a little closer but not close enough. She pulled a little harder, leaning her weight into it.

  “Nooooo!” she wailed when the iron pot flipped over the gunnel and out of the canoe, but her final tug had moved the canoe just enough for him to reach.

  “I’
ve got it!” Jack said, gripping the gunnel near the stern. He had both of his hands on it now and was pulling the battered craft against the riverbank.

  “Don’t fall in and don’t let go!” Cameron retrieved and tossed the iron pot onto the ground behind her before threading the free end of the rope through the middle thwart, knotting it off and then handing it to Jack while she searched stem and stern for the other snub line and found it. She pulled the rope into view and began flinging the slack behind her until she reached the free end and stood with it in her hand. She snubbed securely to the nearest thing she could reach with the length of line, a small black spruce near the fire pit. Then she untied the Dutch oven from the other section of rope and tied that line to the same tree.

  “Okay, you can let go. I’ve tied it off.”

  The canoe was captured, pulled up against the riverbank, and full of water right up to the gunnels. They stood side by side, looking at it, dazed with disbelief. After all their struggle trying to free the canoe from the sweeper upriver, it had floated right into their hands. They looked at each other and broke into wide, elated grins.

  Life was good!

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  BY MIDMORNING, THE canoe was bailed out enough that they could haul it up on shore near the fire pit. There was a large irregular eighteen-inch tear in the fiberglass just forward of the middle thwart, no doubt caused when it was pinned beneath the fallen spruce. While Jack examined the damage, Cameron unlashed the spare paddle and retrieved her gear from the bow and unpacked it. She laid her pistol aside and focused on the satellite phone. She wanted to call Walt right away and let him know they were okay, but when she opened the waterproof case, her heart dropped. The case was waterlogged. The gasket had sprung a leak.