“Medicine Creek starts up on the mountain, and gathers water from various streams as it flows down to Medicine Lake. So we just follow the creek, and come out at Medicine Bay and my camps.”

“How far?”

Emma reached into the pack for some water before she replied. “We’re still about twenty-six miles from home, but beavers dammed the stream about four miles from here and created a nice little pond. There’s trout in it the size of baby whales.”

Ben ate another cookie, his eyes darting up the trail they’d just walked down.

“I keep a canoe stashed there,” Emma said, regaining his attention. “And the stream is navigable below the pond … for a while.”

He lifted a brow, silently asking her to explain.

“About eight miles before home, there’s a monster set of falls and then some pretty mean white water. Do you have any white water experience?”

His frown returned.

“That’s assuming the canoe holds up,” she added before she popped another cookie in her mouth.

Ben looked at the rifle leaning against a tree, then back up their trail, and then at her again. “I’m not sure you’re in any condition for that kind of trip. Your limping has gotten worse the last couple of miles. Maybe I should turn the game on Poulin. Then we can take our time getting out of here.”

“No, you’re nothunting Wayne. I’m not kidding, Ben. The man is too good.” She shoved the package of cookies in the backpack, then held the pack for him to put on. She grabbed the rifle and started off downstream.

“Emma, wait.”

“We’re walking out of here, Ben. And that’s final.” She wondered how seaworthy the old canoe really was.

“I owe you an apology,” Emma said two hours later, collapsing onto a rock by the pond’s edge as Ben sat beside her and shrugged out of his pack. “I really thought you were a ‘take charge’ kind of guy, that in a crisis things would have to be your way or no way.” She leaned against him as she continued. “But you’re going along with my plan, even though I know you’re dying to go after Wayne.”

He wrapped an arm over her shoulders and cuddled her against him, resting his chin on her head. “I like to think I’m man enough to listen to an expert. In fact, I’m betting our lives that you’re more knowledgeable than Poulin.”

She stared up at this man of her young dreams, and her heart started to race. He was hers. He belonged to her, just as much as she belonged to him. “It’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” she asked, gazing into his eyes. “Our getting married, I mean. It’s really going to work.”

He turned her more fully to face him. “You’re just deciding this now?”

Emma ran a finger over his stern jaw. “I know you said I’d still be independent, but you can’t blame me for having doubts. You do get a little bossy on occasion.” She leaned up and kissed his chin. “But you’re being so … democratic today.”

His expression darkened. “Don’t paint me pretty, Emma. If I had a choice, I’d have chained you to that couch this morning to keep you safe. I’m just dealing with the circumstances as I get them. Next time I might not be so cooperative.”

She stroked his clenched jaw and turned to look at the pond. “I’m ready for some supper. Did your son put any fishing tackle in that fancy pack of yours?”

Silence answered her, and Emma knew he wasn’t pleased at how their conversation had ended. She smiled toward the beaver pond. Benjamin Sinclair was practically blanketed in moss.

They sat in quiet companionship, soaking up the peacefulness of the pond as they rested. Emma’s joints soon began to stiffen, however, protesting today’s punishment. She tried to relax them without letting Ben know just how badly she hurt, straightening her swollen right knee as she fought the urge to rub it.

“How are we going to cook the fish we catch?” he asked. “We can’t risk a fire.”

“You can build a small fire in the dense forest,” she told him. “Use dry wood so it won’t smoke, and wait until it’s dark enough so the smoke can’t be seen. The breeze will scatter the smell enough that Wayne wouldn’t be able to find the direction it’s coming from.”

She stirred from the comfort of his lap. “I’m going to check out the canoe.”

He helped her stand, but didn’t let go of her. “I think I should check our back trail first.” He looked over at the forty-foot bluff rising up from the opposite shore of the pond. “If I climb up there, I might be able to see if Wayne’s behind us.”

Emma reached down and got the rifle. “Don’t … oh, just be careful,” she muttered, handing it to him.

She couldn’t tell him not to shoot Wayne; that was Ben’s decision. Given the facts, and the position they were in, she wasn’t sure what she would do herself.

He kissed her, ending it much too soon, then pulled a handgun out of the back of his belt. “I assume you’re familiar with pistols?”

Emma took the gun and nodded.

“And I assume you’re not afraid to defend yourself?”

She nodded again.

“Don’t overcook the trout,” he said as he walked into the woods.

Emma watched until he was out of sight before she walked over to a huge tree that had fallen into the pond. She pushed the dead brush and cattails aside to uncover an ancient green canoe, used what strength she had left to turn it over, and quickly stepped back in case any critter had made her boat into a home. Nothing scurried away, and Emma began examining it for holes.

It was in decent shape, despite the years it had spent exposed to the elements. She pulled out the oars from underneath the seat and tested their strength, and decided they would work. Now to catch some dinner.

Emma found the kit she insisted must be in every pack leaving the house. She pulled out the fishing line and bobber, then turned over a rock and searched for grubs. She found several juicy ones and baited the hook, walked out on the fallen log, and tossed the grub into the water as far as she could. The bobber followed and settled nicely onto the surface of the pond, and she waited for a hungry fish to come swimming along. She split her time between munching on Elmer Fudge cookies and watching the bluff on the opposite shore. There was no sign of Ben yet, so she turned her attention to the handgun he’d given her. It was a neat little cannon, of a caliber that could blow a hole in an elephant.

It was also the weapon of a man who meant business.

Emma knew then, as she held Ben’s pistol in her hand, that he would take advantage of any opportunity Wayne Poulin presented.

Tears fell onto the gun in her lap, large drops that bore witness to ten long years of pain. So many lies and misconceptions, so many moments of despair, when she had silently railed at her sister for abandoning her and Mikey. So much energy wasted on hate.

And now, so much regret.

Mikey would be devastated. Emma knew that he, too, had spent many nights lying in bed hating his mother. What kind of guilt would he place on himself?

And what must Ben be thinking? Did he blame himself for any of this? For her father’s death or Kelly’s? Could he have changed the course of history if he’d stayed?

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, but it did no good. The dam broke on her heart, and giant sobs racked her as she buried her face in her knees.

Chapter Twenty-one

“L ook who I found,”Ben said as he walked into the makeshift camp Emma had put together.

“Beaker!”

“Easy, he’s in pretty bad shape,” he warned, setting the dog beside her.

“Oh, you poor baby,” she crooned as she began inspecting him.