Page 6 of Echoes of Twilight (Dawn of Alaska #4)

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S tupid snare. Bryony studied it from her position on the cold, hard ground, half tempted to reach out and snap the wooden frame in two.

It was set off again, but nothing was in it. It might be their last morning by the lake, but considering she’d spent weeks trying to catch a rabbit, she’d been hoping to catch at least one, even if they didn’t have time to cook it before they broke camp.

“What are you doing?” a dark voice said from behind her.

She twisted around, her heart hammering as she stared at Mikhail Amos towering over her.

He’d barely spoken a word as they’d all eaten dinner beside the fire, watching them with those intense, unreadable eyes. She’d caught him studying the mountains, the camp, even her, but never letting on what he was thinking.

And now, here he was again—silent, powerful, and entirely too close.

“You shouldn’t be this far from camp,” he said in a voice that sounded cool and controlled, holding nothing of the kindness she’d remembered from last night. “I wanted to leave twenty minutes ago. We don’t have time to spend half the day searching for you if you get lost.”

“I wasn’t going to get lost.” The words were out before she thought better of them. And honestly, it was a ridiculous thing to say, because they already were lost. Very, very lost. That’s why he was at their camp.

She expected him to say something along the lines of what had just been running through her head. But he studied her for a moment, his golden eyes taking in everything about her and the forest, seeming to see more than she wanted him to.

Finally, he said, “What’s behind you?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks despite the cold seeping through her coat. “Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow at her, and something told her he’d stand in that very position for the next ten hours if that’s what it took to get her to show him what she was doing.

And it was stupid to do such a thing, because they truly did need to get off the mountain.

Besides, what was the point in being embarrassed? “I was trying to snare a rabbit, but I’m not doing it right. The rabbits keep setting off the snare without getting caught.”

Mr. Amos came a few steps closer, then crouched beside her, bringing their bodies entirely too close. It wasn’t proper. The heat from his body suddenly filled the cold air that had been surrounding her. Did he notice?

No. He didn’t seem to. Just like he didn’t seem to notice that his shoulder brushed her back or that a few strands of his golden brown hair fell against her coat. He was too focused on the snare itself for that.

“That’s because a fox tripped it. See the tracks there?” He nodded toward a second set of tracks imprinted on the earth.

She tilted her head, studying them closer. She hadn’t paid attention to them at first, since they weren’t as prominent as the rabbit tracks.

“A rabbit came later, after the fox had set it off.”

“So I’m doing it right? I would have snared a rabbit had it come along first?”

He looked at the snare again. “If you had, the fox would have eaten it. But I suspect the bigger problem is that you don’t have the snare set up correctly. I doubt a fox has been along to steal your rabbit every night.”

She shifted. How did he know this wasn’t the first time she’d set a snare?

“Did someone show you how to do this? Or were you trying to replicate what you’ve seen others do?”

She suddenly felt like ducking her head, or shifting her gaze so that she no longer had to meet his. But those golden eyes bored into her. “No one showed me, but I’ve seen snares before. After our guide died and Father said he still wanted to complete the expedition, I tried to...”

Again, her words trailed off, and she half expected him to tell her she was stupid for attempting to catch some meat. Heath surely would have made fun of her for it, and Father would say she was wasting time.

But Mr. Amos only reached out and rubbed her homemade rope between his fingers. “Did you make this yourself?”

Something thick lodged in her throat, and she nodded.

“It’s very good. The rope, the snare, all of it. The problem is that the snare is too high off the ground, and the loop itself is too small. At this size, only a small rabbit would get caught in it, but that becomes impossible given the height of the snare.”

He picked up the snare, then pushed to his feet and extended a hand to help her up. She let him take it, his warm strength surrounding her palm for a handful of seconds before he released her. “I’ll keep this in my pack. We’ll fix it and set it out when we stop tonight. Could be we end up with rabbit stew for breakfast tomorrow. Now let’s head back to camp. We need to get out of these mountains.”

And with that he set off, moving through the trees with the swiftness and stealth she was starting to expect from him.

He didn’t wait to see if she followed, and with anyone else, she would have thought the actions rude.

And yet she couldn’t help but remember the kindness in Mr. Amos’s voice when he offered her food last night, or how he’d told her that she’d done a good job trying to feed everyone with so few resources. He’d even told her that her snare was good—though it clearly wasn’t.

There was no question that Mikhail Amos, famous Alaskan explorer, had a layer of porcupine quills covering his back, but beneath those quills, his heart might be softer than she’d thought.

* * *

There was no way to quickly hike down one mountain and over two others. Mikhail looked over his shoulder, his jaw automatically clenching at the sight of Heath and Richard carefully carrying the large wooden trunk over the rocky ground. He understood why the scientists needed it, just like he understood they had originally been planning to stay by the river and not transport the trunk overland. But that wasn’t how things had worked out.

It had taken them over an hour simply to move the trunk through the canyon. He and Richard Caldwell had been the first to carry it, with Mikhail leading the way and Richard taking the handle on the back.

The waterfall inside the canyon had been frozen, meaning they’d had to pick their way over patches of ice. But they’d made it without dropping the trunk or damaging any of the specimens inside.

After that, Heath and Dr. Ottingford had carried the trunk for a bit, but progress was still slow.

Mikhail had been hoping to make it down the mountain by lunch, but at this rate, it would take all day.

“Is something wrong?”

He looked over to find Miss Wetherby still walking beside him. He wasn’t quite sure how long she’d been next to him. The better part of an hour perhaps? Yet she’d been content to walk in silence—until now, apparently.

“Why do you assume something’s wrong?” he growled.

She bit the side of her lip, then ducked her head. “It’s a rather pretty view, and I was trying to figure out why you were frowning at it. Forgive me for being so nosey.”

She wasn’t nosey. She was correct. If any of his siblings had been with him, they would have teased him for being too dour.

Well, except for his oldest brother, Alexei. He didn’t know how to be anything other than serious.

Mikhail had to admit the current section of the trail afforded a beautiful view. Around them, snow-capped peaks stretched upward against a vivid blue sky, the brilliant sun illuminating their rugged slopes. In the valley directly below the mountain, a sprawling forest of deep green blanketed the earth, the tops of the trees swaying in an unusually calm wind for this time of year.

And here he was, frowning at all of it.

Because he was trying to figure out how to keep everyone safe. Not because the scenery itself deserved a frown.

“I want you to know that I’ve read your articles,” she said from beside him.

Miss Wetherby’s voice was whisper soft against the breeze, but he found himself tensing anyway, just as he did whenever a person brought up those dratted articles.

He slanted a glance in her direction, but she wasn’t looking at him.

Probably because he was trudging around the mountain scowling rather than looking like a decent human being.

When he’d written those articles, he’d been trying to convince the people of San Francisco they needed to preserve Alaska instead of opening it up to mining, especially open-pit mining. But the city’s newspaper editors had removed his comments on how mining would damage the beautiful land he’d described and left out descriptions and notes from some of his expeditions. Then other newspapers had picked up his articles, and before he knew it, everyone considered him the foremost expert on Alaska. He’d even ended up with a reporter on the expedition he guided over the summer. The man had wanted to see the tundra for himself. Plus, a publisher from New York City had taken to writing him on occasion, asking if he would write a book on Alaska.

After the publication of those articles, he’d decided to start writing letters to the Department of the Interior instead, asking that certain sections of Alaska be closed to open-pit mining, like what was taking place on Douglas Island. Alaska might be beautiful, but it wouldn’t stay that way if the mountains were opened up from the top down in search of gold or the pine trees lost their needles because the stench of chemicals used to refine the gold was so strong.

“Did you like the articles?” He couldn’t say what prodded him to ask the question, other than he was starting to feel a bit bored tromping down the monotonous trail. The woman beside him was nothing more than a stranger. He shouldn’t care whether she liked his articles.

No. Correction. He didn’t care. Not one tiny bit.

Which was why he didn’t let himself notice when her eyes brightened and her face blossomed into a smile at his question. “Oh yes. I mean, when I first read your articles, I didn’t believe a place like this existed, with mountains rising straight up from the sea, and whales and seals playing in the bays. I didn’t think there was a place where mountains could extend forever either, peak upon peak, broken only by the most beautiful green forests and turquoise lakes in the valleys. At least not until I arrived in Alaska and saw things for myself.”

And right there he’d heard more words from her than she’d spoken in the past twenty-four hours. Maybe she wasn’t that shy after all. Maybe she just needed to be asked the right questions to come out of her shell.

Like a turtle.

Wait. Had he just compared the woman with creamy skin and wavy red hair and bright hazel eyes to a turtle?

Heaven help him.

“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” she asked as the wind chose that exact moment to catch a strand of her loose hair and sweep it across her cheek.

Because evidently nature itself was determined to remind him that the woman beside him was not, in fact, a turtle.

“Yes,” he gritted. “Why?”

She peeked up at him, then moved her eyes back to her feet. “No reason. Sorry.”

He could feel the scowl on his face. Drat. How had he ended up frowning again? He didn’t need this woman to be afraid of him, not when they were all going to have to work together to get everyone out of the wilderness before the snow came.

He blew out a breath and forced the muscles of his face to relax as he looked around once more, trying to see their surroundings through her eyes, trying to enjoy the splendor of it.

He normally could. That was one of the things he loved most about Alaska, the raw beauty that surrounded him everywhere he looked. But right now, the mountains felt more like obstacles than a scene to admire. “We’re moving slower than I’d like.”

“Is that what has you upset?” Miss Wetherby glanced up at the sky. “I was half expecting to wake to snow this morning. Instead we have sun.”

“I’m grateful for it. It gives us at least one more day without snow.”

“How much longer do you think we have until the snow comes?” She moved her gaze to the towering white peak of the mountain in front of them.

He sighed. “I can’t say. Hopefully five days.”

“Is that how long it will take us to get to the river? Or how long it will take us to get to Sitka?”

Bryony Wetherby might be gaunt, but she was also curious. And after half a day of walking, it looked like she was ready to come out of her shell—which did not remotely resemble the shell of a turtle—and her curiosity was finally getting the better of her.

He found himself relaxing the muscles of his face once more so he didn’t end up scowling again as he answered her question.

It was the least he could do after she’d been trapped in a valley for weeks on end and voluntarily starved herself. “Depending on the weather, we should reach the Iskut River in three days. Then it will probably take half a week to get to the river’s mouth. From there, it should take around four days to reach Sitka by canoe, unless we find a ship headed that direction and hitch a ride.”

“What if snow comes to the river valley too? Will that mean we’re stuck here until spring?” Worry wrinkled the skin between her eyebrows.

Confound it. Now he wanted to reach out his thumb and smooth away the wrinkle. He forced himself to answer the question instead. “No. If the temperature drops suddenly and the river starts to freeze, it will mean we need to camp for a couple of weeks until the river freezes solid and we can follow it out. But it won’t mean we’re stuck here until spring.”

“So we’re not as lost as we thought?”

No. In fact, he was becoming more and more certain that Richard and Heath had known the way out the entire time. That after Jack died, they’d devised a plan to leave the two botanists and Miss Wetherby in that valley so they could search for gold.

Hadn’t Richard realized how dangerous that was? Surely the man was smart enough to understand that he shouldn’t leave people alone in one of the most dangerous places in the world when they’re more familiar with a science lab than the Alaskan wilderness.

“You look upset again.” Miss Wetherby’s brows drew down. “Are you sure nothing’s?—?”

He wasn’t sure what she slipped on. All he knew was that one moment she was at his side, chattering away, and the next she was careening toward the side of the mountain, arms flailing and a shriek erupting from her mouth.

He shot an arm forward, reaching out to grab her before she tumbled any farther. Not that she would have plunged down an angry, steep rock face that meant certain death if she fell. There was just an angled slope dotted with trees and brush. But he didn’t need Miss Wetherby—or anyone else—breaking a leg or some ribs.

He caught her around the middle, hauling her up against his chest and pulling her away from the edge of the trail.

She stood in his arms for a few seconds, her breathing ragged. “There was a... a root. I’m sorry. I should have been watching the trail better.”

“Yes, you should have.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“Good.”

“Ah... you can let me go now.”

He wasn’t sure he wanted to, not with how his mind was replaying the scene. One instant she’d been by his side, perfectly fine, and the next...

“Mr. Amos.” She touched his arm. “You can let me go. Truly.”

Voices sounded from behind them on the trail, and he looked back to discover that somehow he and Miss Wetherby had walked ahead of the others, putting them out of view of the rest of the party.

He released her, then waited for Dr. Wetherby and Dr. Ottingford to appear ahead of Heath and Richard with the trunk.

“Look out for that root.” Mikhail pointed to where a large, dark root had grown up from the ground, creating a perfect loop to catch a person’s foot.

“I see it there. Thank you,” Dr. Wetherby said.

Mikhail waited until everyone had gone around the root before continuing down the mountain, eyeing the narrow game trail to find the path with the surest footing. He also moved Miss Wetherby to the inside of the trail so if she stumbled again, she’d slide into him rather than down the side of the mountain.

They walked in silence for several minutes, the sound of a raven cawing and squirrels nattering filling his ears.

When she spoke again, her voice was soft, even a bit tentative. “I really am sorry about the root. I don’t suppose you’d ever be so stupid as to trip over something like that.”

“It could happen to anyone who isn’t paying attention.”

“Thank you for saving me.”

He gave her a curt nod. “That’s my job.”

He kept walking, but he could still feel her studying him with those innocent hazel eyes as she worked to keep pace beside him. “Have you ever almost slid off the side of a mountain?”

He gave his head a small shake. He didn’t want to like her, not even a little. Her presence alone posed a risk—and put him in danger of failing to keep the promise he’d made to himself on that very first expedition all those years ago.

He really should tell her to go back and walk by her father, but for some reason, he found himself opening his mouth to answer yet another one of her questions. “It’s been a while since I almost fell off a mountain. I’ve traipsed up and down enough of them to be pretty sure-footed.”

“Like the Indians.”

“Like the Indians.”

“You could almost be one. You’re dressed more like an Indian than a white man, and you move as quietly as one.”

He glanced down at the fur parka and mukluks he’d traded his half siblings’ relatives for. They covered sealskin trousers that were sewn in a white man’s style, but not with white man’s fabric. The only thing not Indian about his clothing was the cotton shirt beneath his parka.

“I dress differently when I’m in Sitka.”

She blinked at him, almost as though she couldn’t imagine him in a town, seated at a dining room table and eating with a fork and knife. “I imagine your clothing is quite comfortable in the woods and keeps you a good bit warmer than wool.”

He stopped midstride. “Are you cold?”

She shook her head, more of those dratted red waves cascading about her face.

Couldn’t she tie them back with a bit of leather or something? Did she really need to leave them hanging free all day long?

“No,” she answered. “Or at least not like I was this morning. Moving helps with body heat.”

She’d been cold that morning? Had she been cold last night too? How had he missed that? “Do any of your extremities feel numb, or possibly like they’re burning? Can you wiggle your fingers and toes?”

Her brows furrowed as she flexed the thin gloves covering her hands. “I don’t have frostbite, if that’s what you’re asking, but I also don’t think this wool coat was made to withstand an Alaska winter.”

Mikhail ran his eyes briefly over her coat. He knew the kind. The wool was lightweight and fashionable more than practical. It would look stylish on the streets of Washington, DC, but wouldn’t keep her very warm in a blizzard. “Next time you’re cold, let me know.”

“Why? Don’t tell me you have another Indian coat in your pack.”

“It’s a parka, and I have two.”

“Two extra parkas?” She stumbled again, this time over her own two feet.

He reached out to steady her, but she whirled around, jerking out of his grip.

“I would have caught myself.”

“Maybe, but I don’t need you getting scraped up or twisting an ankle. That will just cost more time.”

She studied him for a moment, her eyes moving over his face. What did she see when she looked at him?

Besides a man who scowled more than he smiled and dressed like he belonged in the woods rather than at a fancy dinner.

He could belong at both. The trouble was, he didn’t want to be at a fancy dinner, at least not at the moment. He wanted to be here, helping this team escape the wilds of Alaska unscathed.

Even if that meant dealing with the woman in front of him.

A woman he didn’t exactly like, but he had a fierce desire to protect.

Because she reminds you of Livy.

As soon as the thought sprang into his head, he shoved it away. He’d failed Livy, and the mistakes he’d made had haunted him for the past ten years.

He wouldn’t allow himself to fail Miss Wetherby too.