“It’s no use,” Cassie insisted. “I’ll never get the hang of this. It’s too hard.”
Once again Laurel decided not to argue. In the long silence that followed, she contentedly drifted back into her reverie, shutting out all thoughts except for her appreciation of the moment. She luxuriated in the feeling of the warm sun on the back of her neck, the cool breeze rising up off the lake as their canoe veered off to the left, following Dr. Wells’s lead....
“Laurel?”
“Yes, Cassie?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something kind of ... personal.”
The strain in Cassie’s voice immediately put Laurel on guard. “Shoot.”
A few more seconds passed before Cassie asked, “Are you interested in Trip?”
Laurel was so shocked by her question that she nearly dropped her paddle into the lake. “What on earth are you talking about? Me ... interested in that jerk? You’ve got to be kidding! I don’t think I’ve ever met someone with a male ego that big. In fact, it’s all I can do to keep from giving him a piece of my mind. But since we all have to work together, I figure that wouldn’t do anybody any good.” Peeking at Cassie over her shoulder, she added, “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Cassie said. “I guess I just noticed the two of you hanging out together a lot.”
Suddenly another thought occurred to Laurel. “Don’t tell me you....” In a gentler voice, she asked, “How about you? What do you think of Trip?”
“Oh, he’s okay, I guess,” Cassie replied, her tone just a bit too casual.
Laurel was tempted to ask more questions—a lot more questions. While she was debating whether or not that was wise, a shriek suddenly cut through the tranquil silence of the lake.
She turned and saw a look of horror on Marian’s face.
“A bear!” she screeched, “I just saw a bear!”
Chapter Seven
While Laurel told herself over and over again that there was probably nothing to be afraid of, she was gripped by a fear unlike any she’d ever known before. She sat frozen in her canoe, her heart pounding, her mouth dry, her stomach in a tight knot. Glancing down, she saw that she was holding her wooden paddle so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
“Calm down,” Dr. Wells instructed the group, his voice surprisingly calm. “You heard what John Torvold said. If there really is a bear on shore, he’s probably more frightened of us than we are of him.”
“I knew coming on this stupid trip was a mistake!” Marian cried. “We’ve got to get out of here—fast!”
Cassie’s voice was reduced to a whimper as she cried, “He won’t come into the water after us ... will he?”
Before anyone had a chance to answer, Russ cried, “That’s no bear! It’s a man!”
Sure enough, a long figure had suddenly emerged from the woods and into the dense growth of long reedy grass edging that portion of the lake. Laurel let out a deep sigh of relief.
While she could see how someone with an overly active imagination could have been confused about the identity of the large, hulking mass moving through the shadows, in full view it was clear that it was, indeed, a man. He was tall and broad shouldered, with jet black hair, dark leathery skin, and piercing eyes that burned like two pieces of coal. He was dressed in ill-fitting jeans and an oversize jacket made of coarse red-plaid wool. Slung over his shoulder was a rifle, and a long knife in a sheath hung down from his belt.
The man stood near the shore, gazing out in their direction. But Laurel grew uncomfortable as she realized he wasn’t looking at them, but rather past them, off into the distance. It was as if as far as he was concerned, they didn’t even exist.
“That must be Jim Whitehorse,” said Russ, shielding his eyes with his hand. “The man John Torvold told us about.”
“For heaven’s sake, Mariah,” Trip said coldly. “He’s wearing a red-plaid jacket. How could you ever have mistaken him for a bear?”
“I can’t help it if I thought he was an animal!” Mariah insisted. “The way he suddenly came rushing toward us—”
“That man doesn’t look as if he’s rushed toward anything in a couple of decades,” Russ grumbled.
“Well, it was a mistake anybody could have made.” Mariah was now pouting. “Besides, if it really had turned out to be a bear, you’d all be glad I’d been such a good scout.”
“If it really was a bear,” Trip muttered, “we’d all be lunch meat.”
Dr. Wells said nothing. Instead, he concentrated on paddling the canoe he and Trip shared in Jim White-horse’s direction.
“Hello!” he called.
The expression on the man’s face didn’t change. Instead, he continued staring out across the lake.
“I’m Ethan Wells. This is my field crew. We’re up here from Vermont for the summer, studying the natural history of the area.” When he still got no response, Dr. Wells added, “You must be Jim Whitehorse.”
Slowly the man’s eyes moved in their direction. “I’m Whitehorse,” the man replied.
“John Torvold told us we might be running into you. We’ll pretty much be keeping to ourselves, but if you find that we’re getting in your way, please feel free—”
He never did finish his sentence. Whitehorse had already turned and headed back toward the woods.
“He’s friendly,” Mariah muttered.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Cassie retorted, “the further away he stays from me, the better. That guy gives me the creeps!”
Laurel just stared. She couldn’t help wondering about him. What kind of man chose to live by himself, having so little contact with the rest of the human race? How had he come to live here on the edge of Wolf Lake? Was he ever lonely, or was it possible for someone to live in nearly complete isolation?
Despite her curiosity, she had a feeling she’d never find out the answers to any of her questions. Jim Whitehorse was forgotten as she turned her attention to the task at hand: maneuvering her canoe through the tall grass, into a tiny inlet that Dr. Wells had just identified as the ideal place to start setting fish traps.
For the rest of the day, she and the others worked steadily. They dropped metal minnow traps to the bottom of the lake, then fastened their long strings to the shore by tying them to the branches of sturdy bushes or thick clumps of grass with fluorescent tape. Their cone-shaped interiors made it easy for fish to swim in, but virtually impossible for them to find their way out. In twenty-four hours, Dr. Wells informed them, the group would come back and check the traps to see what kind of fish were living in the different sections of the lake.
Collecting water samples was a little more complicated. Still, it wasn’t long before Laurel and the others had mastered the technique. First they estimated the depth of the lake at various spots, using a rope that was marked at one-meter intervals and had a rock attached to the end. Then they used a mechanism called a Van Doren sampler to collect water at different depths.
The hours flew by. Laurel was astonished when Dr. Wells suddenly announced, “It’s almost nine. We’d better head back and start thinking about dinner.”
“Nine?” Laurel gasped. “Nine o’clock?”
Cassie cast her an odd look. “For goodness’ sake, Laurel. I’ve been watching the clock for hours. I thought we’d never get around to eating.”
Laurel wasn’t about to comment on the four candy bars she’d watched her put away over the course of the afternoon—or the handful of cookies Cassie had helped herself to around six.
It wasn’t until the caravan of canoes was nearing the edge of the lakeshore and the roof of the log cabin came into sight that Laurel realized how tired she was. She and the others had put in more than fourteen hours on the lake. Everyone was tired; she could tell from the silence that hung heavily over the group. The only sound, aside from the call of distant birds, the buzz of insects, and occasionally, the lonely cry of a loon, was that made by the paddles as they cut through the surface of the water.
Yet as the six of them hauled the canoes on shore and began unloading them, Laurel was struck by the fact that Trip was moving particularly slowly. Glancing over at him, she saw that it was more than fatigue that made him so quiet.
His face, neck, and arms were beet red.
“Trip!” she exclaimed. “You’re burned!”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” he mumbled. “I just got a little too much sun, that’s all.”
But Dr. Wells wasn’t quite as casual. Peering at Trip, he said, “Whoa. You’ve got a bad sunburn, pal. Better plan on spending tomorrow indoors.”
“No way!” he protested.
“I’m in charge here,” Dr. Wells said, his tone unusually sharp. “The last thing I need up here is a bad case of sun poisoning simply because you weren’t willing to follow a couple of simple rules. I’ve got something you can put on that back at the cabin.”
“I don’t need to—okay, fine.”
Trip gritted his teeth as he applied the thick white cream Dr. Wells insisted he use. He seemed considerably more relaxed once the ointment covered his burned skin.
“We’ll let you off the hook—this time,” Mariah informed him as she set the table. “Tonight, you’re off dinner duty. But as soon as you fade from fire-engine red to tomato red—”
“You’re too kind,” Trip shot back from the couch, where he was sprawled out. “Heart of gold.”
It wasn’t until dinner was on the table that Laurel realized how famished she was. She ate her fill of food that tasted better than any she’d ever had before. Afterward, she was still tired. Yet while her muscles were sore, knowing that she’d put in a full day of hard work gave her a feeling of great satisfaction. If her first day was any indication of what lay ahead, her stay in Alaska was going to be all that she’d ever hoped for.
Dr. Wells had been correct in his assertion that it would take at least a full day for Trip’s sunburn to heal enough for him to go outside. The next morning, his skin was still dangerously red.
“If I wear a long-sleeved shirt, I’ll be fine,” he insisted over breakfast.
“Sorry, Trip.” Dr. Wells’s tone was firm. “I’m responsible for you while you’re up here. You’re staying indoors today, and that’s final.”
“Don’t worry about being lonely,” Mariah said sweetly. “Russ and I are taking the sweep nets out into the woods to collect insects. I promise we’ll stop in every couple of hours so our specimens can visit.”
“Trip won’t have to stay here by himself,” said Dr. Wells. “Laurel, I’d like you to stay in the cabin with him this morning—at least for a few hours. That burn is severe, and I don’t want him left alone. Besides, I want you to start keying out the plant specimens we collected yesterday.”
“What does that mean?” asked Cassie, glancing up from her plate, piled high with eggs and toast.
“It’s a system for identifying unknown aquatic species,” Russ explained patiently. “First you get hold of Hulten’s
Flora of Alaska and Neighboring Territories.
It’s kind of like a puzzle. The guide gives questions like, ‘Are the petals joined ... or not joined? If they are, go to A. If they’re not, go to B.’ Eventually, you decide what you think you’ve got and you compare it to the description for that species.”
“Trip,” said Dr. Wells, “you can make yourself useful by reading the key aloud while Laurel checks the specimens. The microscope’s in my room. You’ll need it to examine the tiny flowers of some of the plants.”
“Sounds like fun,” Cassie observed.
It would be fun. Even so, Laurel would have much preferred going out into the woods with the others. Still, identifying the species of plants they’d collected so far was necessary work, an important element of the research they’d come up here to do. If Trip needed a baby-sitter, it made sense for both jobs to get done at the same time.
After cleanup, the others took off, Mariah once again dressed like a model, Cassie dressed in her combat outfit. When they were gone, Laurel sat down at the table, ready to throw herself into the morning’s project.
Behind her, lying sprawled across the couch with his arms folded underneath his head, Trip cleared his throat loudly.
“I sure feel stupid, getting burned like this,” he said.
She resisted the temptation to agree. Instead, in as soothing a voice as she could manage, Laurel said, “If there’s anything I can do to help—”
“As a matter of fact, there is. I feel so parched. I’d really appreciate a glass of water.”
“No problem.” Laurel got up from the table and poured a glassful of the bottled water on the counter. “Here you go. If there’s anything else—”
“Since you offered, another pillow wouldn’t hurt.”
“Another pillow? Sure.” Laurel climbed up the ladder, retrieved a pillow from the loft, and handed it to Trip.
“Maybe you could tuck it under my head?”
Laurel hesitated.
“Gosh, my face feels like it’s on fire,” Trip suddenly said, closing his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt this terrible in my life.”
“Here, maybe having your head higher will help.” Gently Laurel lifted his head, cradling it in one arm as she tucked the second pillow underneath.
“You know what else would help,” he said, his eyes snapping open. “Another coat of that lotion.”
“It already seems pretty thick—”
“This sunburn is so painful, Laurel. I hope you never have to go through anything like this.”
Dutifully Laurel took the bottle of lotion off the table, poured a dollop into the palm of her hand, and began smearing it lightly over Trip’s face. “Does that hurt?” she asked nervously. “I wouldn’t want to rub too hard....”
“You’re doing fine. Just fine.” Trip closed his eyes once again. But this time, the look on his face was one of absolute contentment. “Now my neck ...”
After pouring more lotion into her hand, Laurel continued her gentle massaging of Trip’s reddened skin. “Ah, that feels so good,” he said with a sigh. “You know, Laurel, it was worth getting the worst sunburn of my life, just to have you touch me like that—”
Laurel froze. “You creep! This isn’t designed to help your sunburn at all, is it? You’re just taking advantage of this situation to—”
“Oh, come on, Laurel. You played into it without a protest. I know you’re attracted to me. Maybe you’re not ready to admit it yet, but—” He reached for her hand, clasping it in his. “I think you and I would be really good together. If only you’d quit this little game of yours—”