Cry of the Wild

by Catherine Anderson

  "Are you sure?" he whispered. "He'll talk your hind leg off."

  "And bug me, you mean?" She leaned closer. "Sam, understand something. I like your son. We're friends."

  Sam slid his gaze to Tip. "Go get your jacket. You'll have to catch up with us. Can you do that?"

  Tip was already racing for the lodge, long legs flying. Sam watched him a moment, then looked at Crysta. There was a wealth of emotion in his eyes.

  Smiling, Crysta turned to look downstream. Her spirits immediately plummeted. It seemed an eternity ago that she had come here to Alaska to find Derrick. Now, the last leg of her search was about to begin. What lay ahead of her? She broke into a walk, her shoulders stiff with tension. Since her dream of Derrick digging the bullet from his chest, she hadn't dreamed of him again or felt anything. It was pos­sible the silence meant her brother was dead.

  She curled her hands into fists. She had once yearned to be free of Derrick. If that thoughtless wish came true, how would she ever manage to live with it?

  Several hours later, the search party crested a knoll. Below them, the cabin sat on a windswept plane of grass­land, stark against the horizon, with a smattering of stunted trees on a slope behind it. Though Crysta had seen similar terrain from the air, it looked vastly different from ground level. Alaska. She had the eerie sensation that she and her companions were tiny specks in this vast land, so inconse­quential that the wind might, at any moment, sweep them away. She had never seen grass so vibrant a green, rolling forever before her. Ribbons of water cut through the marshes, spilling into countless tiny ponds and lakes.

  She focused on the small lake before them. Sam had been right. It wasn't a large enough body of water to land a sea plane on.

  "Is this it?" Sam asked, taking her arm.

  Crysta nodded. She had seen this place in her last dream, and she knew Derrick had to be here. Suddenly, she was terrified. She wanted to race down the incline, but her feet were anchored to the grass. Tip and the other four men hung back, as if they knew she needed to face this moment alone. "I'm frightened, Sam."

  ‘‘You know, no matter what we find down there, none of this is your fault." When she started to interrupt, he rushed on. "I've been doing a lot of thinking about what you told me the other night. It isn't wrong to want your own life, Crysta. You have to put this thing with Derrick into its proper perspective."

  "You make it sound so simple, but it isn't."

  "I know Derrick loved you. Alive or dead, he'd want you to feel at peace with yourself. Don't go down there with a load of responsibility on your shoulders that isn't and never should have been yours. You've lived your entire life feel­ing as if it was somehow your responsibility to not only know when Derrick was in trouble, but to somehow save him. That's crazy. It was wrong of your mother to encour­age that kind of thinking."

  "Put like that, it even sounds crazy to me." She straight­ened her shoulders. "On the other hand, though, my mother has been right, too, Sam. During my marriage and after it crumbled, I tried to be someone I wasn't. This ex­perience has taught me that I can't deny what's between Derrick and me, and I can't shove myself into a mold to please other people—I have to build a life that fits around me. Does that make any sense?"

  "Perfect sense," he said huskily. "Just don't forget that there may be a man who'd be willing to help you build that life."

  She squeezed her eyes closed. "Will you go down with me?"

  "Try to lose me."

  Crysta struck off down the slope, her hand enveloped in Sam's, their clenched fingers pulsating everywhere their flesh touched. She couldn't breathe. Her legs felt numb.

  "If he's dead, I'll never forgive myself," she whispered raggedly. "Crazy or not, it's how I feel."

  She wished she could think of the words to make him un­derstand. Then he gave her hand a squeeze, and she knew, without his saying so, that he did understand. She turned to look up at him.

  "Crysta?"

  The whisper inside her head made Crysta freeze. With a surge of wild hope, she whirled toward the cabin. "Der­rick?" Breaking into a run, Crysta tore down the decline, Sam at her side.

  "Derrick!" She hit the rickety, sagging porch in a leap, grappling frantically at the door, which hung awry from its rotted hinges. "Derrick! Oh, Derrick!"

  Bursting inside, Crysta hesitated, blinded by the sudden dimness. She heard movement to her left, and a voice rasped, "It sure took you long enough to get here."

  Crysta flung herself across the room. Peering through the gloom, she saw her brother lying on a grimy old mattress. He was thin. His eyes were glazed with fever. But he was alive. Sweeping aside an array of empty cans on the floor, she sank to her knees. With a trembling hand, she reached to touch the blood-soaked bandage around his chest.

  "Oh, Derrick, what did he do to you?"

  With a clammy hand, Derrick grasped her tremulous fin­gers. "He shot me—as if you don't already know." Heavi­er footsteps behind Crysta caught Derrick's attention. He grinned and closed his eyes, clearly exhausted from talk­ing. "Hey, buddy."

  Sam stepped closer, coming to a stop behind Crysta. Leaning forward, he pressed a palm to Derrick's glistening forehead.

  "The fever's broken," Derrick rasped, lifting his lashes. "That's why I'm sweatin' like a plow mule. You're too late to play nursemaid, unless you can find something to brace my leg. Broken, I think, in a couple of places." He licked his lips. "You got any fresh water? I made it down to the lake a couple of times. Don't know if it was the rusty can or the water, but it tasted like—" He broke off and smiled. "The food left here wasn't much better. If I never see another Vienna sausage or com kernel, it'll be too soon. What's the matter? You guys can't talk, or what?"

  Glancing down at the empty cans, it struck Crysta as hysterically funny that Derrick was actually complaining about his accommodations when she and Sam had been worrying that he might starve. She started to laugh, and she couldn't stop. And then she found herself wrapped in her brother's arms, and her laughter turned to tears.

  Aware of his wound, she cried, "Derrick, I'll hurt you!"

  "Never. Nothing ever felt so good."

  A sob tore up Crysta's throat. Then another. "Oh, Der­rick, you'll never know how I felt, not being able to find you."

  "I was out of it most of the time. A high fever. Uncon­scious. I guess that's why you couldn't pick up on me. Crysta, don't do this to yourself. Please."

  "But I couldn't feel you. I couldn't reach you. All I could think was that it'd be my fault if you died."

  " Your fault? It was my fault, Crysta, not yours." Plac­ing his hand on her hair, he tucked in his chin to look down at her. "Why would you blame yourself for something to­tally out of your control? How can you possibly take re­sponsibility?"

  "I couldn't find you." She sniffed and let out a rush of breath. "For so long, I tried to put a wall between us! And then, when you needed me most, I discovered I had suc­ceeded! Mom tried to warn me I'd regret what I was doing, but I was too selfish to listen. Oh, Derrick, I thought I had lost you."

  "Selfish?" Derrick pressed his lips against her hair. "Crysta..." He sighed and hooked a finger under her chin to tip her face back. After studying her for a long moment, he said, "Don't you think it's about time we stopped listen­ing to Mom? If she had her way, we'd be wearing coordi­nating outfits when we were ninety."

  Crysta closed her eyes, smiling at the image that con­jured. Pulling from his arms, she wiped her cheeks with the sleeve of her jacket. "Look at me, bawling all over you, and you hurt." She reached to touch the stubble on his chin. "Oh, Derrick, I love you. Do you realize how much?"

  "Enough to get me some water?"

  "I think I can manage that."

  Over the next hour, while Derrick got some much-needed first aid, he told everyone what had happened. Much of it Sam and Crysta already knew, but Tip sat spellbound on the floor by the newly built fire, arms looped around his knees.

  "One thing bothers me," Crysta inserted. "The staged bear a
ttack wasn't anywhere near the cleaning location. It was at least five miles closer to the lodge."

  "I was tailing them. They must have realized, so they led me several miles downstream, then lost me. I stopped to eat. They crept up on me. I ran back toward Cottonwood Bend, leaving my pack and everything behind."

  "I found the place were you stopped to eat," Sam in­serted. "There was bear track. The pack was torn apart. The obvious conclusion to draw was that you'd been attacked."

  "There's bear track everywhere here," Derrick put in.

  Sam smiled. "I couldn't believe you had been dumb enough to mess with a grizzly in my experience, you al­ways head in the other direction if you spot territorial markings."

  "Oh, I was dumb. Just wasn't a grizzly I was messing with." Derrick sighed. "I wanted so badly to catch them, find out where they were stashing the ivory. Without proof, I knew they'd get off. Pretty cagey of them, making it look like a bear attacked me."

  Sam pieced together the rest of what had happened. "When they shot you, they must have thought you were dead. They hauled you away, somehow covering their tracks, and threw you down an embankment."

  "Not immediately. First, they threw me into one of their stinking cleaning sheds. I guess they hadn't figured out what to do with my body. I'm not sure how long I was in there. Several hours, because I regained consciousness when they came in to get me. I tried to play dead, but at that point, of course, they realized I wasn't, because rigor mortis wasn't setting in. Lucky for me, Riley didn't have his gun on him, so they settled for throwing me down onto the rocks, which should have finished me, but, by some miracle, didn't." Derrick gestured at his splint. "That's how I got my leg busted."

  Crysta remembered the falling sensation she had experi­enced in her office at the dress shop, the terrible pain in her chest. "And then you lost consciousness again?"

  "Yeah, thank goodness. The pain was—pretty bad. When I came around, I was lying wedged between the rocks. The mud had stopped my wound from bleeding, which was probably all that had saved me from bleeding to death or attracting scavengers. By then, I had lost all track of time. I managed to crawl up the bank. I found a tree limb to use as a crutch and came here." Derrick's eyes drifted closed. "I knew you and Sam would come, Sis. Only a matter of time."

  "It's a miracle you're here to tell us about it."

  "Not a miracle. The belt buckle you had had made for me impeded the bullet and kept the wound from being fatal. By the way, Sis, did you know it was Sam who had given me the silver dollar we used in the buckle?"

  Sam touched her shoulder. "We'd better let Derrick rest for a while. It's going to be rough on him making the trip back."

  Crysta rose, pulling the blankets they had brought high on her brother's shoulders. Tenderness welled within her.

  She and Sam walked outside and dropped wearily onto the porch step, their gazes fastened on the small lake. Acutely aware of Sam beside her, Crysta registered the scenery and realized how soon she would be leaving it all behind. Her time with Sam had been rife with tension and heartache, but now, perversely, she wished it wouldn't end. They had a few hours left, but it wasn't enough.

  "Oh, Sam, it's so beautiful here. Now that I know Der­rick's all right, I can really appreciate it."

  He didn't look at her. "I guess you'll be going back to Anchorage tonight, and heading to Los Angeles from there. I—wish you could stay. It may be pretty here, but it gets mighty lonely sometimes."

  She could scarcely speak around the lump in her throat. "I guess it can get lonely anywhere, even in a crowded place like Los Angeles."

  He turned to look at her. "I got the impression you kept pretty busy with your business and friends."

  She licked her lips. "Yeah... busy."

  Her eyes clung to his. Suddenly, she knew what she wanted, more than anything.

  He dragged his gaze from hers. "You knew what I was asking there in the plane, right after we beached it. I saw the doubt in your eyes when you looked at the lodge. I guess maybe I was rushing you. I'm sorry." He cleared his throat. "I, um, I was thinking, maybe Tip could show his paint­ings in Los Angeles. We could visit you while we're there."

  She studied his profile. He had listened to her, and he planned to take her advice to heart. He was at last prepared to let Tip take risks.

  Footsteps thumped on the porch behind them. "But, Dad, I don't want to see Crysta just on visits!"

  Tip's voice made Crysta leap. Sam, more conditioned to the boy's inappropriate timing, turned his head more slowly. Tip planted himself on the step on the other side of Crysta, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, to look at his father.

  "That'd be dumb. None of us'll be lonely if we stayed to­gether."

  A smile tugged at Crysta's mouth. She turned to look at Sam and found his eyes aching with unvoiced messages. I love you. Will you stay with us? With a bit of a shock, she realized that Derrick wasn't the only one with whom she could communicate without words.

  Sam's gaze flicked to his son, rested there a moment, then returned to her. "Tip, I think Crysta and I need to take a walk."

  "That sounds fun. Can I come?"

  Crysta laughed softly and rose from the steps. "Tip, I think you'd better stay here. Your father and I have some talking to do."

  Sam jumped off the steps, capturing her shoulders within the circle of his arm. "And don't follow us. If I see even a glimpse of you, I'll snatch you baldheaded."

  As they neared the lake, Crysta tipped her head back against Sam's arm and closed her eyes. "The answer is yes."

  "I haven't asked you yet. I realize you're a woman of the nineties, but can we do this the traditional way?"

  She smiled. "All right, but if we're going for traditional, I want you on your knees."

  He spun her around and up against his chest, his arm tightening at her waist. "Not that traditional. They can see us from the cabin."

  She arched an eyebrow at him. "Are you going to ask or not?"

  "It won't be easy. Tip demands a great deal of my time. He intrudes at the worst possible moments—always. And he may never grow up. Do you understand what I'm saying? It's a lot of responsibility you'll be assuming."

  She touched a fingertip to his lips. "Sam, listen to your­self. You sound like a recording of me when I was telling you why Dick left me. When something is right between two people, the external difficulties can be worked out. You have Tip in your life, I have Derrick in mine. I think that makes us a perfect pair."

  His mouth curved in a smile, and he nibbled at her fin­gertip. "You know, six months out of the year, the snow gets so deep up here that we close the lodge and live in Anchor­age."

  "You do?"

  His eyes searched hers. "It wouldn't be inconceivable for us to have two businesses—yours and mine. I've been plan­ning to get my pilot's license. With a double income, we could probably afford a small plane. Our travel costs back and forth during the summer would be minimal. I've never turned my hand to designing clothes, but I'd make a great bookkeeper."

  "That's a thought. My partner can handle the shop in Los Angeles, and I could probably use my share of the pro­ceeds to open another shop up here."

  "Could you be happy with leaving someone else in charge six months out of the year while we travel back and forth between the lodge and the dress shop?"

  "Blissfully. In fact, I may hire a manager full-time and simply oversee things."

  ‘‘But you'll be giving up so much..."

  She placed her hand over his mouth and slowly shook her head. "You're forgetting something. I told you, my life­long dream was to have a family. The business, my life in Los Angeles, was filler. I'd like to stay in the fashion indus­try, but that isn't the most important thing to me. I'll want plenty of free time to devote to being a mom. I have a feel­ing that two businesses, Tip and a couple of sets of twins will keep both of us busy. We'll be glad we have a manager for the dress shop."

  "A couple of—" His eyes widened. "Twins run in your family?"
/>   "Obviously."

  His mouth curved into a grin. "Twins?"

  "Would that be a problem?"

  "A problem." He looked a little dazed. "No, not at all. I love kids! I just never considered having more than one at a time. Fortunately, I'm quite a hand at changing diapers."

  "Well, then...

  His face drew closer to hers. "Derrick will be over the moon when we tell him."

  Crysta had a feeling Derrick had already tuned in on the news.' 'You think so?''

  His hps brushed hers. "Positive."

  A little breathless, she whispered, "You still haven't asked me.

  His mouth claimed hers. Crysta melted against him, closing her eyes. Against the blackness of her eyelids, she saw bright little starbursts. Her heart began to slam. With a moan, she gave herself up to the kiss, her senses reeling. The ground disappeared, and there was only Sam.

  Some things could be said without words. Sam asked, and Crysta said yes.