Bible?”
She paused. “No … I don’t think we’ve ever had one up here.”
“Oh.”
She ignored the meaning behind his slow
oh
and grabbed thefirst three books she could put her hands on. Suddenly she just wanted out of the cabin, away from Eli, away from the uncanny sense that he knew where she fell short, knew what she was missing. It was galling. “Okay. You have books, you have water, you have wood to feed the fire. Anything else?”
“No. I’ll be fine. As I said, I can get it.”
Bryn turned to go, but Eli caught her wrist in a firm grasp. Her eyes flew to his thick, masculine fingers that grew more gentle as she paused, to the handsome face of her patient. “Take care out there, will you?”
“Sure,” she said flippantly, pulling her hand from his grip. It was happening again. This thing between them. Bryn stopped at the door before closing it behind her. “You’re making good progress, Eli. There’s no sign of infection, and you’re able to move about some now. Maybe … maybe it would be a good idea for us to get you situated at your own cabin. I could come over to check on you, still make your food …”
“Oh. Sure, Doc. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” she said with a nod, then shut the door firmly behind her as if to punctuate her decision like a solid, rounded period to a sentence.
Bryn hiked back to the riverbed, as irritated with Eli as she was worried about the bears. He had no right to start things with her again. What was he thinking? What about Sara?
And who does he think he is, asking for a Bible as if every household, even cabins, had to have one?
She was on a spiritual journey of her own, taking it in her own time, exploring in her own way, thank you very much. Her grandparents had always been devout Christians; her parents, not so much.She had med school friends who were Buddhist, Jewish, Muslim, Unitarian, far-right Christian—the whole gamut. What was it about Eli that made him think he had it all nailed down?
And why was she so defensive?
She shouted and sang, not wanting to surprise a black bear, a brown bear, any color bear, scouted out the immediate area, then settled in to fish where she had caught her last trout. That fish had been forgotten on the bank in the wake of the attack, perhaps picked up by bears or an eagle or another scavenger. This day, Bryn intended to fish and cook what she caught, come bear or high water. She had a hankering for fresh food, anything fresh.
She unhooked the nymph and drew out the line, preparing to cast. Two weeks out at Summit and she was already salivating at the thought of broasted chicken from Boston Market or a tossed salad from the local delicatessen. It didn’t take long to grow weary of canned beans and corn and tuna and smoked salmon. What she needed was some couscous. That would be great.
Her daydreaming only made her lack of luck at the river all the more aggravating. Four hours later, she gave it up, heaving a stone into the water with a cry of frustration.
“Teaching her a lesson?” came a voice behind her.
She whirled. It was Ben. “What is it about you people? Eli snuck up on me three days ago, and now you.”
“Sorry. You okay?”
“No. No, I’m not. I’m hungry and I’m tired and I can’t seem to catch a thing.”
“I had better luck,” he offered calmly. “Caught a whole string of them this morning. Left a few at your cabin for you and Eli. He sent me down to check on you.”
“I don’t need to be checked on.”
“Said you’d been gone for hours. He was worried.”
“Well, I’m fine, thank you. Ben.” She added his name in a milder tone, hoping to soften the sharpness of her retort. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m all riled up.”
“Can see that. Want me to listen?”
Bryn sat down on a large, rounded boulder the color of a pigeon along a beach boardwalk and sighed again. “Maybe.”
Ben reached for her rod, hooked the fly on the bottom ring, laid it gently beside her,
She paused. “No … I don’t think we’ve ever had one up here.”
“Oh.”
She ignored the meaning behind his slow
oh
and grabbed thefirst three books she could put her hands on. Suddenly she just wanted out of the cabin, away from Eli, away from the uncanny sense that he knew where she fell short, knew what she was missing. It was galling. “Okay. You have books, you have water, you have wood to feed the fire. Anything else?”
“No. I’ll be fine. As I said, I can get it.”
Bryn turned to go, but Eli caught her wrist in a firm grasp. Her eyes flew to his thick, masculine fingers that grew more gentle as she paused, to the handsome face of her patient. “Take care out there, will you?”
“Sure,” she said flippantly, pulling her hand from his grip. It was happening again. This thing between them. Bryn stopped at the door before closing it behind her. “You’re making good progress, Eli. There’s no sign of infection, and you’re able to move about some now. Maybe … maybe it would be a good idea for us to get you situated at your own cabin. I could come over to check on you, still make your food …”
“Oh. Sure, Doc. Maybe tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” she said with a nod, then shut the door firmly behind her as if to punctuate her decision like a solid, rounded period to a sentence.
Bryn hiked back to the riverbed, as irritated with Eli as she was worried about the bears. He had no right to start things with her again. What was he thinking? What about Sara?
And who does he think he is, asking for a Bible as if every household, even cabins, had to have one?
She was on a spiritual journey of her own, taking it in her own time, exploring in her own way, thank you very much. Her grandparents had always been devout Christians; her parents, not so much.She had med school friends who were Buddhist, Jewish, Muslim, Unitarian, far-right Christian—the whole gamut. What was it about Eli that made him think he had it all nailed down?
And why was she so defensive?
She shouted and sang, not wanting to surprise a black bear, a brown bear, any color bear, scouted out the immediate area, then settled in to fish where she had caught her last trout. That fish had been forgotten on the bank in the wake of the attack, perhaps picked up by bears or an eagle or another scavenger. This day, Bryn intended to fish and cook what she caught, come bear or high water. She had a hankering for fresh food, anything fresh.
She unhooked the nymph and drew out the line, preparing to cast. Two weeks out at Summit and she was already salivating at the thought of broasted chicken from Boston Market or a tossed salad from the local delicatessen. It didn’t take long to grow weary of canned beans and corn and tuna and smoked salmon. What she needed was some couscous. That would be great.
Her daydreaming only made her lack of luck at the river all the more aggravating. Four hours later, she gave it up, heaving a stone into the water with a cry of frustration.
“Teaching her a lesson?” came a voice behind her.
She whirled. It was Ben. “What is it about you people? Eli snuck up on me three days ago, and now you.”
“Sorry. You okay?”
“No. No, I’m not. I’m hungry and I’m tired and I can’t seem to catch a thing.”
“I had better luck,” he offered calmly. “Caught a whole string of them this morning. Left a few at your cabin for you and Eli. He sent me down to check on you.”
“I don’t need to be checked on.”
“Said you’d been gone for hours. He was worried.”
“Well, I’m fine, thank you. Ben.” She added his name in a milder tone, hoping to soften the sharpness of her retort. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m all riled up.”
“Can see that. Want me to listen?”
Bryn sat down on a large, rounded boulder the color of a pigeon along a beach boardwalk and sighed again. “Maybe.”
Ben reached for her rod, hooked the fly on the bottom ring, laid it gently beside her,
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