Page 46 of Light My Fire

Maybe, right now, she could be glad for someone to soften the steel edge of the eternal Alaskan burning sky.

Still… “Yes, death. This is dangerous country, and if you don’t know how to take care of yourself, you could find yourself alone, in a snowstorm. Or facing down a grizzly. Or—”

“You faced down a grizzly?”

She lifted a shoulder. “It’s no big deal. That’s life in Alaska.”

They had come to a divide in the path, the deer trail diverging. She considered the paths a moment, then— “This way.”

He followed her. “How do you know?”

“My dad taught me to look for clues. Like trampled forest. And broken limbs.” She fingered the stripped leaves of a spindly poplar.

“Archer taught you how to survive in the woods.”

“He’s not Daniel Boone or anything, but yeah, he gave me ample opportunity to learn to fend for myself.”

Tucker fell in step behind her as the path tightened. She brushed past thick spruce and fragrant cedar, her footfalls soft on the thick pine loam. He went silent long enough for her to glance back at him. He was frowning at her. “Were you caught in a snowstorm too?”

“Of course I was. This is—”

“Alaska. You said that. Did your dadleave you alonein that snowstorm?”

“That wasn’t really his fault. Mom and he went to town—and got stuck. I got snowed in.”

“For how long?”

She bent to consider a darkened patch. “I think someone is bleeding.”

He bent beside her.

She picked up a wet leaf. Smelled it. “It’s still fresh. Smells tinny.” She handed him the leaf as if in proof.

“Maybe March got shot,” Tucker said.

She didn’t want to mention that he hadn’tseemedshot when he was on top of her, trying to kill her.

“So, how long?” Tucker asked when they got back up.

“How long—?”

“The snowstorm. How long did you have to fend for yourself?”

“Once, five days. I was about thirteen, I think.” She held a branch so it wouldn’t slap him. “It was early in the season, and some deer came through the yard. I decided to track them. So I went out and I shot a buck. A big one.”

“You shot a buck.”

“I’ve been hunting since I was about nine years old. But this was…well, my first one. I wanted my dad to be proud of me. I field dressed it and started to pack it out when I heard this grunting.”

They had come to a clearing, and she stopped.

He edged up behind her, his body close, the woodsy, smoky smell of him hot and solid behind her.

She ignored it.

Then he put his hands on her shoulders. And what was she supposed to do with the way heat streaked through right to her core, his voice low and close to her skin? “What was the grunting, Stevie?”

She swallowed. “A bear. A grizzly. It had followed the blood smell.”

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