River’s End

continued, and changed the tone to light as he dribbled oil in the skillet. “Out of self-defense. My mother believes tofu is all four of the major food groups. You have no idea what it’s like to be a growing boy and be faced with a meal of tofu surprise after a hard day of school.”
    Despite herself, her interest was caught. He’d unearthed the bag of herbed flour she’d packed and was expertly coating the fish. Without thinking, she sipped the wine and found the light Italian white perfect.
    She barely managed to muffle a sigh. “I don’t understand you.”
    “Good, that’s progress. You’ve spent most of our time together this round being sure you did and getting it dead wrong.” Satisfied, he slipped the fish into the hot oil to sizzle.
    “An hour ago you were furious with me.”
    “You got that right.”
    “And now you’re pouring wine, frying fish and sitting there as if nothing happened.”
    “Not as if nothing happened.” For him everything had happened. He just had to wait for her to catch up. “But I figure you’re pissed off enough for both of us, so why waste the energy?”
    “I don’t like to be handled.”
    His gaze flashed back to her. “Neither do I.”
    “We both know you wanted to come up here so I’d talk to you about your book without distractions or interruptions. But you haven’t said anything about it.”
    “I wanted to give you a day, to give us both a day. I wanted you.” He ran a finger down her arm. “I still want you. I’d like it better if you were more comfortable with that.”
    “I’d like it better if you’d keep it simple.”
    “Well.” He poked at the fish. “One of us isn’t going to get what he or she wants. Better get the plates, partner. These boys are nearly ready.”
    “Noah.”
    “Hmm?” He glanced up, a tender look on his face, and her heart wanted to melt. So she shook her head. “Nothing,” she said and reached for the plates. Later, when the meal was finished and the forest dark and full of sound, it was she who turned to him. She who needed arms around her to chase away the dreams that haunted her and the fear that stalked with them.
    And he was there, to hold her in the night, to move with her in a sweet and easy rhythm.
    So when she slept, she slept curled against him, her hand fisted over his heart, her head in the curve of his shoulder. Noah lay awake, watching the play of moonlight over the tent, listening to the call of a coyote, the hoot of an owl and the short scream of its prey.
    He wondered how it was possible that he’d never stopped loving her and what either of them, both of them, were going to do about it.

The Monster
    Deep into that darkness peering, long
    I stood there wondering, fearing,
    Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal
    ever dared to dream before.
    — Edgar Allan Poe
     
    Twenty-seven
    Groggy, achy. Noah woke to birdsong. He sat up, tugged his jeans on and thought vaguely of breakfast. Through the sharp scent of pine and earth, he caught the wonderfully civilized aroma of coffee. And could have wept with gratitude for Olivia’s consistent efficiency.
    She’d built the morning campfire and had the coffeepot heating nicely. He burned his fingers on the handle, hissed a mild curse, then snatched up the cloth she’d left folded nearby to protect his hand.
    One long sip had his eyes clearing and his system revving up. God bless a woman who appreciated strong black coffee, he thought, then stepped closer to the river to look for her.
    Mists climbed up from the water to twine with sunbeams into silver and gold ribbons. A herd of deer drank lazily at the point where the stream curved like a bent finger and vanished into the trees.
    And he saw her, hair wet and gleaming as she floated through the gilt-edged mists upstream, watching him with eyes as tawny as a cat’s and just as wary. She looked as though she belonged there, in the wild, in that unearthly, shimmering light.
    The water rippled as she moved her arms, her shoulders rising over the surface. The mists seemed to open for her, then close again.
    “I didn’t expect you up so soon.” Her voice was quiet, but her eyes seemed full of storms.
    “I’m an early riser. How’s the water?”
    “Wet.”
    And freezing, he imagined. Still, he drank down the last of his coffee, then set the cup aside to pull off his jeans. He saw her eyes waver, then steady. What worries you, Olivia? he wondered. That it won’t be the way it was between us last night? Or the