Page 27 of Smoky Lake

They decided to spend the night in the cabin, then Gil would climb a ridge the next day in the hopes of picking up a cell signal. He’d call Sam, who was already planning to fly out in two days. If he couldn’t get a connection, they’d just wait another day and try out a can of bamboo shoots. Neither wanted to risk the beef stew.

Then came the big question. Where were they going to sleep?

Bob must have used that Army cot against the wall. It looked horribly uncomfortable and she imagined that old sleeping bag—the thick cloth kind, not the sub-zero North Face type—was musty and smelly.

“You can have the cot,” Gil said, clearly misinterpreting her reaction to it.

“No, thanks. It’s all yours.”

“I can sleep on the floor. I’ve slept on floors all over the world.”

“Then you deserve a nice comfy cot. I’ll take the floor.”

“I wouldn’t feel right about that.”

“Your feelings aren’t my problem.”

She held his gaze; he seemed surprised by her refusal to back down. Energy crackled between them, hot and bothersome. Right now he didn’t seem at all like a block of ice.

“You’re angry with me,” he finally said.

Yes, she was, weirdly. That whole line about physical contact had made her grouchy. Clearly he didn’t like her and wanted to draw a red line between them. It shouldn’t bother her; this was an unusual situation, after all. But for some reason it did. “It doesn’t matter,” she finally said. “Let’s just get through this situation in the most graceful way possible.”

Which, an hour later, ended up with both of them on the floor. The cot turned out to have mysterious stains they decided weren’t safe for either of them. Gil put together a nest of clothing—mostly his, since she hadn’t brought much.

MacGyver at work.

Even though it was just starting to get dark outside, they decided it would be important to get to sleep early so they could rise at first light. They only spoke of practical things as they readied themselves for bed. Their plan for the next day. How to brush their teeth. How to use the outhouse. Ani was exhausted by the drama and emotion of the day, and she could only imagine that Gil must be even more so. But he didn’t show it.

When it was finally time, they curled up with their backs to each other, several inches of space separating them. No physical contact, just as requested. Hyper-aware of the man next to her, Ani stared at the curved logs that made up the wall of the cabin. She knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep until Gil had nodded off. But Gil seemed to be waiting for her to fall asleep.

“Can’t you sleep?” she whispered after what seemed like an eternity had passed.

“No, can’t you?”

“I’m trying, but it’s all so strange and different.”

“Yeah.”

The next thing she knew, there came a light touch on her head. He stroked her hair in a soothing rhythm, slow and gentle, like a lullaby in tactile form. Her eyelids drifted closed and the tension in her muscles eased. “You said no physical contact,” she murmured dreamily.

“There was a good reason for that. Now there’s a good reason to make an exception. Sleep now.” He smoothed his hand down her hair, a deliciously lingering touch that held nothing but comfort and care.

It brought tears to her eyes. Everything had been so difficult the past few years. She’d fought so hard, for her marriage, against her fears, against the part of her that wanted to give up. And it had all been for nothing. No need for struggle, no need for suffering, his caresses seemed to say. I’m here. You’re going to be okay.

Sleep must have taken her into soft arms, because when she came awake with a jolt, the cabin windows were dark with night. Gil was sound asleep next to her, his arm over her middle. Something had woken her up. A sound.

It came again. A gunshot, not close, but not far either. Immediately another gun fired back. Sweat sprang to her forehead. The sound of a gun always sent her into a state of dread.

She shook Gil’s shoulder. “Gil, wake up.”

He sat up with a jolt. “What, where, what…”

Deep sleeper, apparently.

“I heard guns firing.” The air in the cabin had gone cold since the fire in the stove had long ago gone out. She scooted closer to him, both for warmth and out of fear.

“Could be hunters,” he murmured. He put his arm around her, all worries about physical contact apparently forgotten. They waited in tense silence.

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