Edge of Survival by Toni Anderson Page A

loved nature, given enough time this sort of remoteness would drive her crazy.
    Daniel circled a short way from the cabin, radioed his intention to land although no one answered. A dog, some wolf/husky cross, was chained to the side of the house and throwing itself at them in excitement or anger. The chain brought it up short every time. More dogs were housed in pens around the back. A sled team, she figured, even though there was an ATV and a rusted-looking snowmobile sitting outside the shack.
    The helicopter buffeted against a gust of wind as Daniel put it down on a small outcrop of lichen-covered rock and started the shutdown process.
    “I don’t have much time before I’m due at a new slinging site,” he told her, unclipping his harness. She couldn’t see his eyes behind the Ray-Bans, but his jaw looked smooth, clean-shaven, and one-hundred-percent male. “Come on.”
    She scrambled out of her harness and this time remembered to pull off the headphones before hopping down to the ground. The air smelled ripe with sweet grass and pollen, the edge of the pond dotted with white cottony flowers.
    They strode down the hill toward the ramshackle cottage. It was made of split logs on one side, wooden siding on the other, thrown together through necessity rather than design. Various cages were constructed around the back.
    “Who lives here?”
    Daniel said nothing.
    “Aren’t we a little early for a social call?” she persisted.
    “No,” was all he said.
    As they got closer, Cam saw that the dog chained near the front door was wagging its tail, a long pink tongue lolling out of its mouth. Daniel walked over and stroked the mutt. The dog rested its feet on Daniel’s shoulders and aimed that wet pink tongue in the direction of the handsome face.
    “Watch out.” Cam kept her tone dry. “You don’t know where he’s been.” Daniel sank his face into the dog’s thick ruff as she added, “Dog could catch something.”
    He smiled just as she’d hoped he would. Trying to make him laugh was getting to be addictive. She rounded the corner and stopped dead. The empty eyes of a gutted wolf stared out at her from a silver pelt. Piles of smaller brown furs lay outside the front door. Round stretched skins were propped against the cabin in various stages of preparation. Revulsion rose in her throat and slammed into her mouth. This couldn’t be the right place. She backed away straight into a body that didn’t smell or feel anything like Daniel’s.
    Stumbling, she whirled and stared up into eyes so dark they absorbed light. The old man stank of wood smoke and sweat. Grueling lines of age bit into dull copper skin, emphasizing his cheekbones. The epicanthic fold over his eyes gave him an oriental appearance, but his hair was mousy brown with streaks of gray. She fought the reaction that made her shake and didn’t realize she was still backing away until she hit something hard. Daniel cupped his hands over her shoulders, and she instinctively leaned into the protection of his embrace.
    “Doc.” His voice was soft in her ear. “This is Tooly Grant, a local trapper who knows more about this area and the wildlife in it than anyone else on the planet.”
    Hunting was not a luxury in this region. It was a necessity. She knew that. It was life or death out here, and she shouldn’t be so quick to judge. Winn Dixie didn’t get hamburgers from the hamburger fairy, and she’d never been big on hypocrisy. She just hadn’t realized how truly naïve she was until this exact moment.
    Tooly Grant raked his eyes over her as though he was deciding whether or not she had any worthwhile meat on her bones. Her mouth went dry, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. Daniel’s hands branded her arms with welcome heat and she didn’t try to move away.
    “Tooly, this is Dr. Cameran Young, a researcher from Miami.”
    The old guy stuck his hands on his hips and raised his brows in direct question to Daniel. He wore jeans, a