Page 47 of Light My Fire

He drew in a breath. “What happened?”

She could practically feel his heartbeat through his grip on her. And it compelled the truth from her. Her voice fell, caught, and she was again right there, the air crisp, the snow bright and crunching under her feet. The odor of her kill rising, the heat from the carcass warming under the high sun. And the grizzly, a feral smell souring the air, claws so sharp she could feel them slice the air as the animal rose.

“I…completely froze. I didn’t even think to drop the pack. I just turned and froze. The bear was about twenty feet away, and I had my gun, but I… But I just… I kept thinking, What if I miss? I’ll only make it worse.” She shook her head, cleared the image away. “He would have mauled me if suddenly someone hadn’t shot him.”

“A fellow hunter?”

“My dad.” She walked away from Tucker, escaping the memory. She turned and met Tucker’s eyes. “He was shouting, ‘Shoot the bear! Shoot the bear, Stevie!’ But I just froze. So…he did it for me.” She blew out a breath. “I was so relieved…until I realized how furious he was at me.”

“For not staying home?”

“No. For not shooting the bear. And rightly so. I should have been braver. Stronger. Smarter.”

Tucker just blinked at her. “Are you kidding me? Stevie—you werethirteen years old. You were nearly mauled—”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding, and found the words, the ones that girded her. “Old enough to take care of myself. But I learned that day that therewouldbe a day when no one is there to save me. And I have to be ready for it.” She turned back to the clearing. “It looks okay.”

She stepped out, her heart banging, but no shots, no sounds.

Tucker followed her in silence until they came into the other side of the meadow.

When they reached the forest, however, he grabbed her arm and turned her, such a dark earnestness on his face that it rooted her through to her bones.

“Stevie, listen to me,” he said, his voice a low, almost desperate rumble. “Maybe your dad was just as scared as you were. Maybe he was completely freaking out with the idea that you were nearly killed.”

She shook her head, the thought— “No, Tucker. My dad doesn’t get emotional. Besides, he—”

“Doesn’t love you that much?”

She looked away. “Love is weak.” She couldn’t believe she’d actually admitted that. But, well, “It’s vulnerable and scary, and frankly, there’s no room for weakness out here.”

Tucker said nothing for so long, she looked back at him. He was staring at her with those brown eyes that had so much power to unravel her, her throat simply tightened. She tried to break away.

He wouldn’t let her. “Stevie, you couldn’t be more wrong. At least I hope so because I’ve seen love—the kind of love that holds families together. The kind of love that doesn’t give up, even in the face of danger. Love gives us power, makes us risk everything we have, everything we are. Love is not for the weak. It’s for the strong.” He put his hands on her shoulders, a tenderness in his touch. “And I want that kind of love someday.”

She caught her lip, hating how much his words wheedled into forbidden places.

“Listen. You’re not in this alone. And that day…that day when no one shows up? It’s not today. Because I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

But, no. “Tucker—you mean well, I know it. But…you can’t save everyone.” She gave him a tiny smile. “And I don’t need saving, remember?”

She shrugged away from him. But inside a voice had risen, a tiny scream.

She swallowed it back down. Because she was right.

Alone was best.

Behind her, he sighed.

The sun had begun to arch back into the sky, a glow lighting the western face of the faraway peaks, glacial ice packs glistening in the runnels and crevices of the granite mountains.

An owl hooted, and in the distance, wind rushed through the trees, a hush that hummed through the awakening shadows.

“That’s a river,” Tucker said softly. He moved ahead of her as they came to the edge of the path. The route turned and followed the granite path that edged a cliff. Some twenty feet down from the cliff’s edge, the Troublesome Creek dissected the gorge, tumbling in a white, icy froth downstream. Mist rose from the water, catching rays of the sun, turning them to gold.

Tucker dropped his backpack and pulled out his binoculars. Scanned the forest below.

“There’s a bridge.”

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