Page 23 of Smoky Lake

He did as she said, while she avoided directly looking at his chest.

“The pants should really go too, but let’s get inside and see if we can find some blankets.”

“Yes, Doc.”

She stiffened. John used to call her “Doc” when he wanted to belittle her. Even though Gil’s comment held no hint of any mockery, it still triggered her.

“Are you making fun of me?”

Gil was busy wrapping the plaid wool jacket around his shivering body. “The path to the cabin is past those alders,” he said when he was done.

Maybe he hadn’t heard her. Good. She was embarrassed that she’d reacted so quickly to something so innocent.

They picked up their bags and headed toward the path. It wasn’t until they were halfway up that she heard Gil say in a soft voice, “I would never make fun of your profession, Ani. It would never occur to me, and even if it did, I’d rather dive back into that lake than do anything so disrespectful.”

Wow. Okay then.

A sense of warmth spread throughout her system. She’d excused John’s mockery because she knew he was actually insecure about the fact that she had a medical degree. He preferred to demean it rather than respect it, because that made him feel better about himself.

What would it feel like to be with someone who didn’t need to diminish her to pump himself up?

Getting a little ahead of yourself, she scolded herself. She and Gil weren’t…well, anything. Just two virtual strangers brought together by an even stranger twist of fate.

11

In this part of the wilderness, no one locked their places when they weren’t home. Since no one would bother coming all the way out here to rob—the juice wouldn’t be worth the squeeze—anyone stumbling onto the place would likely be in an emergency situation. The attitude out here was, if you didn’t help each other, the ruthless Alaskan conditions would win. Even the most crusty off-grid hermit would grudgingly extend a hand of survival to someone in need.

The owners of the only other cabin still standing along Smoky Lake had inherited it from exactly such a man. He’d died last year, and no one had been out here since. Gil had met the crotchety old Bob Banks several times, and knew that he would have no problem with them taking shelter in his cabin.

“Bob used to row all the way across this lake when he went in for supplies,” Gil told Ani as they approached the trapper’s cabin. “He had arms like Popeye.”

Bob had made it himself from logs he’d floated across the lake from a cedar grove. Its roof was thick with moss, and spruce needles had accumulated on the lower frames of the windows. An air of neglect clung to it, which Gil found reassuring. No one else had been anywhere near here lately.

“Are you sure it’s okay to go in there?” Ani surveyed it dubiously.

“He wouldn’t mind. Also, he’s dead.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”

“I promise you it’s not haunted. Bob always used to say that he intended to haunt his ex-wife when he died. I’m sure he’s a ferocious ghost.”

She shot him a nervous look. “Still not helping. I’m feeling a little like Hansel and Gretel right now, and that’s the witch’s cabin. Does he have an oven in there?”

“No oven, I can promise you that. He did all his cooking with a little camp stove, except when he roasted game in his fire pit.” He gestured at the old steel ring embedded in the ground. “I listened to some wild stories over that fire pit. Come on. We don’t have to stay, but I wouldn’t mind making a fire and warming up.”

She nodded at that reminder that he was still soaking wet and shivering. On the way inside, he made a quick detour to the woodshed, which was simply a few pieces of plywood nailed together, and grabbed an armful of firewood.

The space was so small—barely enough room for a table, rocking chair, and the cast iron stove—that hopefully it would warm up quickly once he got the fire going. The cabin had a dank smell from sitting empty so long. A fire would help with that too.

But first, he had to get rid of the cold weight of his pants.

“I’m going to take my pants off,” he warned Ani. She politely turned toward the window and gazed out the ancient dusty glass at the woodlands outside.

He didn’t have the luxury of being self-conscious, since his wet clothes were sapping the BTUs from his body. Clumsy from the cold, he got his boots off his feet, then his soaking-wet socks. Next came his canvas trousers, which were quite possibly the worst fabric to wear into a lake.

By the time all that was done, he was trembling with the effort. His body was so chilled that he moved stiffly toward his duffel bag. He’d thrown a few changes of clothing in there. Too bad he hadn’t thought of a towel. He’d just have to sacrifice one of his t-shirts. But as he rummaged for one, he cursed under his breath. Damnit, he couldn’t get his fingers to function. They were chilled to the bone.

“Let me help.” Ani spoke calmly at his elbow. “You don’t have to be shy. I’m a doctor, remember.” She crouched next to him and plucked a plain white t-shirt from the bag. “Will this do?”

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