Passion's Fire

by Jeanne Foguth

  “We have five days before Stone picks us up.” Link grinned. “If we keep leaving notes, the next couple days he’ll get used to it, and probably figure we don’t want to see him any more than he wants to be seen. He might get a sense of security.”

  “He’ll relax,” she said.

  Link nodded. “Then, in four days, we’ll go to plan B, and hope his camp isn’t too hard to find.”

  Four days seemed like forever, yet no time at all. “Okay, we’ll go with your plan.”

  “You aren’t so upset, now,” he observed.

  Link was right, she felt calmer, but he didn’t need to know how well he’d read her. “I’m hungry.” She picked up the blue enameled coffeepot.

  “So am I.”

  “Tell you what, you pack the gear and I’ll cook.”

  Link looked at her and arched his brow. “Sick of my cooking?”

  For a terrible moment, she wondered if she’d offended him. “What girl wouldn’t be thrilled to find a man who was willing to cook for her?”

  “So it isn’t my cooking?”

  She shook her head. “But when I was a kid, we each prepared part of the meal. Dad cleaned fish and game, Rory chopped vegetables, Mom manned the fire and made sure nothing burned.” For a moment, Jacqueline felt overwhelmed by the poignant memories. Especially of a time when fire had been the center of family life instead of shrouded in fear. She took a cleansing breath. “I baked biscuits. Sometimes, we took turns.”

  “No wonder your biscuits are so good. You’ve had years of practice.”

  She laughed. “You wouldn’t say that if you tasted the ones I bake in an oven. Rory’s dog buries them like they’re a bone.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “You should.” Jacqueline measured the coffee into the basket then added water, and finally put the pot on a bed of embers she’d reclaimed from the previous night’s fire. “Go on. I’ll have breakfast ready in no time.”

  Now that she’d made the commitment to do it, Jacqueline was determined to see it through. Flames and heat or not, she was going to ignore her panic long enough to make breakfast.

  Link gave her a jaunty salute before he ambled off to pack the tent and its contents.

  As she prepared the food, Jacqueline focused on what to write to her stalker. Another dinner invitation was out. Should she write him a long letter that bared her soul and the frustration he’d caused her? It was tempting, but something like that could also give him more power.

  Maybe a blunt, logical approach would be best.

  What to write?

  21

  As Link rolled Jacqueline’s sleeping bag into a tight coil, he smelled … something. He tied the laces then brought the dark green nylon to his face, pressed his nose against the material and inhaled deeply. Lemons and sunshine. Jacqueline. I must look like one of Stone’s huskies. Link tossed her bag out the tent flap, before he could do something ridiculous, like slobber.

  Quickly, he secured his own bag, then began stowing their gear in watertight sacks. Before he’d completed his task, the intoxicating aroma of breakfast cooking invaded the tent. It almost smelled as good as Jacqueline. He whipped off the rain cover, then removed the support poles.

  The thought made him pause in the middle of folding the tent. What was wrong with him? He had never felt like this in his entire life. What was so special about Jacqueline Cardew? He shook the tent’s pouch open with excessive force. Why did so many of his thoughts center on her and her situation?

  Link rammed the tent into its nylon bag.

  Though attractive, Jacqueline was not the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

  But, she might be the smartest.

  Plus, there was an earthiness about her. On the rare occasions when women had been included on his camping trips, they had either been intimidated by living in the wild or expected him to wait on them hand and foot. Jacqueline acted as if she were at home and cooking barbecue in her own back yard. In fact, she probably thought she was. He chuckled as he flipped the tent on top of the pile of things to pack in the canoe.

  “Breakfast in five minutes,” Jacqueline called.

  “Coming.” She had a nice voice, too, Link reflected. Enticing aromas grew stronger until his mouth began to water and his stomach growled. Whatever she was making, it wasn’t his standard fare: fried fish and grits.

  He quickly loaded everything, then approached the banked embers, sniffing as he tried to figure out the sweet, oddly familiar, aroma. “Smells good.” His stomach voiced its agreement.

  “Thanks.” Jacqueline glanced up and gave him a dazzling smile. “I was getting tired of the same thing every day.”

  “You should have said something.”

  “I did.” She winked at him. “I volunteered to cook. Hope you like it.”

  She pushed embers aside and pulled out a pot. When she began dishing up the food, he squinted in disbelief.

  “Blueberry muffins?” He rubbed his eyes, but the vision remained.

  She nonchalantly gestured toward a boggy area. “There are some bushes over there.” Her forehead furrowed as she poked at the contents of a second pan. “I’m not sure how this will taste. I used the leftover dolly varden to make fish croquettes.” She sniffed. “They smell all right.” Jacqueline filled the empty space on the plates with a small heap of fresh strawberries then handed him a plate. “Enjoy.”

  The first bite of croquette melted in his mouth “I think I’m in love.” He stuffed a big bite into his mouth. She laughed. After eating six croquettes, he nibbled the corner of a muffin; heaven melted over his tongue. Groaning with delight, he stuffed half into his mouth.

  “I guess you like the food.” Her musical laughter echoed across the sandbar.

  “You should sign on as a cook on guided backpacking trips.” Much to his dismay, Jacqueline seemed to give the idea serious thought. Link wasn’t sure why that bothered him, but it did. To his vast relief, she shook her head.

  “It might be fun for a summer, but it would get old in a hurry.”

  “Well, whenever I go camping, you’ve got a standing invitation to come along.”

  She shook a finger at him. “Don’t say things like that. I might take you up on it.”

  “I wish you would. You’re good company, Jacqueline Cardew.” He heaped the leftovers onto his plate.

  “So are you, Link Gavallan.”

  For several minutes, they ate in silence until he was down to two bites. The hint of onion in the croquettes was perfect. But how could there be onion, when he’d forgotten to pack the spices? He held up his fork to examine the next bite and noticed bits of green. “Did you buy chives at Fort Yukon?”

  “They’re wild onion tops.” Jacqueline gestured toward another portion of the bank. Link looked from the bank to his fork and back again. Jacqueline’s eyes begin to twinkle with amusement. “Humans have lived off the land for millennia. It’s just the last few generations who lost touch with nature. Link, I hate to tell you this, but other foods besides fish come from nature. And best of all, you don’t have to deal with bait and nasty hooks to get most of it. Of course, the fish cakes wouldn’t have been very good without your fish.”

  “Guess I’d be one of billions who couldn’t survive if I was forced to live off the land.”

  Jacqueline chuckled, then turned sober. “If there was a global disaster, most people would probably poison themselves within the first couple of days. After that, the fights for dominance would kill off most of the rest.”

  “I take it that you don’t think mankind is all that civilized,” Link said.

  She shook her head. “Scratch the surface and you find a predator. Take my stalker for an example: I’ve never seen anyone better at pestering prey. I just wish he’d jump and give me an opportunity to even the odds.”

  “Pretty confident, aren’t you?”

  “Not really. But I’ll be switched if I’m going to take a defeatist attitude. Mind over matter and all that Zenish stuff. S
trange as it sounds, it works.”

  “If you believe you are or will become a victim, you increase your chances of it happening?”

  She nodded. “I prefer to concentrate on winning.”

  Link couldn’t argue with the logic of her statement. Over the years he’d seen too many people with true talent and potential waste it on a pessimistic disposition. His own father had been a prime example of that for almost a year. He still didn’t know what had turned his father around; he didn't even know if the transformation had been one cataclysmic event or simply a gradual change in outlook.

  Now that Link thought about it, he realized he used a similar philosophy when he decided what he wanted, then gave his all to get it. It had worked well in both school and business. Why shouldn’t Jacqueline employ it to achieve her personal goal?

  “You’re awfully quiet,” Jacqueline said.

  “Just enjoying your cooking, the morning and thinking about what you said. By the way, I agree with you.”

  “But I suspect you never thought about it in those terms.”

  “Can’t say that I did.” Link grinned. Switching the topic to a more pressing issue, he asked, “What are you going to do? Leave another message?”

  “Since he’s obviously been here, I don’t know whether he’s upstream or down.” She gnawed her lower lip. “What do you think is best?”

  Link rubbed his chin. There was always the possibility that Stalker-guy had gotten in front for an ambush or something. “If you intend to write again, I’d wait. Hopefully by lunch, we’ll have caught a glimpse of him. If we have, and he’s behind us, leave it then.”

  She nodded in agreement. “That’ll give us time to decide how to phrase the next message. I’m tempted to air my frustrations and leave a note that says, ‘Who are you? Why are you following me? How did I trick you?’ But without knowing his personality, I can’t determine how he’d react.” She frowned. “This not knowing who or what I’m dealing with is exasperating as all get out.”

  “It’d certainly make things easier if we knew whether he’s sane or not.” Link stared at his canoe. “Trust your gut instinct. If you leave that message, maybe it’ll get him to show himself.”

  “How?”

  “Everybody wants to be understood. Even babies. If you sound confused, he might come out of the woods long enough to explain himself and his motives.”

  “Then that is what I’ll do.”

  He hadn’t realized she was tense until she made up her mind. Suddenly, Jacqueline smiled. It felt like the sun had burned away a cloud.

  Hours later, as the current carried them past magnificent vistas and rugged rocks, Link focused on the fluid motion of Jacqueline’s muscles beneath her faded green T-shirt as she negotiated the prow around a fallen tree. Suddenly, a branch slapped him in the face. “Crap,” he muttered to himself. “I must look like some ridiculous lovesick cow.”

  Jacqueline glanced back. “Did you say something?”

  “Thinking out loud.” Link felt foolish. “Have you caught sight of Stalker-guy yet?”

  She shook her head. “This may sound crazy, but that worries me. Until now, I thought the worst thing that could occur would be for something dreadful to happen to us. Now I’m thinking that if we go to all this trouble and still don’t come up with answers that would be worse.”

  Link was momentarily speechless at the reminder that Jacqueline put lack of confrontation higher on her list of hazards than facing her adversary. Most women, and several men that he knew, avoided facing unpleasant situations at all costs.

  Not Mavis or her granddaughter.

  In some ways, her boldness was intimidating. It was also one of the things that he admired most about her. “One way or the other, we’ll get you your answers,” he promised.

  She bestowed a smile on him. He suddenly felt hotter than a campfire. Link unexpectedly recalled something he’d barely noticed at breakfast: fire terrified Jacqueline almost to the point of hyperventilation, yet she used it to cook. At least she used the embers. He’d noticed that she tried to avoid looking directly at the flames when she used a stick to move them into their own small, protected area. Yes, she had fears, but she only acknowledged them enough to work around them. She didn’t let them dominate her. He wondered if anything could make her succumb to blind terror.

  He hoped neither of them would ever find out the answer to that particular question.

  21

  Though they still hadn’t gotten a glimpse of her stalker by lunchtime, Jacqueline wrote: Who are you? Why are you following me? How did I trick you? on a new poster board and propped it up against the twisted branches of a bush.

  That night, she dreamed of shadow images and ashen words scrawled in the sand. The next morning, she woke to a reality that mirrored her nightmare. His latest message written in cramped, charcoal letters on the back of the poster board:

  You know as well as me,

  I’m the man you claimed to love

  but used, instead.

  You know what I desire, a confession of your

  guile and the return of my life.

  How did you trick me?

  We both know I lost

  months of my physical life and my

  entire professional existence.

  I want:

  burning desire,

  heat of the night,

  passion’s fire,

  absence of lies,

  scorching strand.

  I KNOW the infernos were for you, but I want

  them back.

  All of them.

  “I lost months of my physical life and my entire professional existence,” Jacqueline whispered the words. “Adam?” She shook her head; people only survived infernos like that in fiction. And why did he list all the love/hell images he’d written they were some sort of list? Tears of frustration stung her eyes as she read the message aloud, “I want: burning desire, heat of the night, passion’s fire, absence of lies, scorching strand. I KNOW the infernos were for you, but I want them back All of them.” A cold chill moved through her soul. “Who in Hades is he, and why is he talking about loving me?”

  “How many men have you rejected?”

  Link’s tone cut her to the quick. “You make me sound like some two-bit lady of the evening who had so many customers she couldn’t keep them straight.” He held up his hands in surrender. Jacqueline immediately regretted her outburst, but wasn’t about to apologize. She and Link didn’t speak to each other for the next twenty-four hours and Jacqueline’s stomach remained clenched during their silent feud.

  “At least he’s consistent. Confusing,but consistent.”

  The next day, the round of notes followed the same pattern.

  Jacqueline was so upset that she only managed to doze. She didn’t know which was worse, trying to hide her exhaustion or face the nightmare images of her dreams.

  Link spent every spare moment fishing.

  Jacqueline woke with a jerk from a doze that hadn’t refreshed and lay watching the nylon undulate. They had two and half days left until Stone picked them up, one and a half before they tried to corner him in his camp, assuming they could find it. At this rate, she’d never get any resolution. She turned her head to look at Link, wishing she could relax like he did; wishing she had his faith that there would be a confrontation and that she’d finally understand what the phantom was talking about. The worst thing that could happen was if they did corner the guy and he spoke as strangely as he wrote, so she’d never know. She lay in the shadowed tent; eyes burning with unshed tears, wondering if the tension would ever end.

  Maybe she’d simply have to accept that not every situation was logical or had a logical explanation other than that the guy was certifiable.

  Link’s deep, even breathing made her wish she could find peace in sleep. She knew his doubts increased with every note and Jacqueline understood why. The persistent way the stalker insinuated that he knew her made her doubt herself and her memory.

 
Finally giving up on sleep, she shoved aside her sleeping bag and let the cool air bathe her. Her stalker’s laundry list of demands circled in her mind. Did the blazing lunatic know about the fire phobia Adam’s death had created and if so, was he trying to disconcert her with his choice of the words, or did he love fire? She frowned, recalling that he’d used the same phrases from the beginning. There must be another explanation.

  She should have told Link the truth. Even knowing it was the right thing to do, Jacqueline still didn’t want to admit that her first serious date had come on her twenty-second birthday, when Adam had taken her to dinner. She pinched her eyes shut and shook her head at the thought that she still considered that bucket of chicken as being taken out to eat.

  Yet, it had been her first date, but confessing that men perceived her as undesirable made her feel ill.

  Link made a soft snoring sound.

  This situation was so familiar. It was the same old colleague pattern. The only difference was that this time, the man was Link. When a tear slid down her face, she rolled to her side and faced away from Link.

  Jacqueline didn’t want Link as another pal. She wanted more, but going after what she wanted would be the dumbest thing she had ever considered. Tears burned the insides of her eyelids. Did she truly care about him or was she merely responding to the close proximity of his endorphins? Jacqueline quietly cried herself to sleep, then she dreamed she was back in high school, crying to her brother because boys always treated her like a comrade. Rory chuckled deep within the swirling mist. “Talk less and smile more.”

  The haze thinned as she looked out a window into a familiar back yard. It was prom night, but no one had asked her. The fog twisted around her. “Sweety, you’re just a late bloomer,” her mother said. “Things will be different in college.” The campus solidified out of the swirling cloud. Jacqueline stood in her dorm room, facing her new roommate, Nora, a girl who was bubbly and stylish, everything Jacqueline wanted to be. A huge sprig of mistletoe dropped in front of her. The white berries jeered at her. “No one wants to kiss you.” Then the berries liquefied. The goo reformed into Adam’s sneering smile.