The haunch of venison was cooking nicely, browning and bubbling on the outside, the greasy juices dribbling into the flames, crackling and spitting. The rest of the slaughtered animal was piled at the water’s edge, where Dean and Abe were busily finishing the bloody process of butchery, singing a song together, taking alternate verses. The boy looked over his shoulder to see whether Ryan was listening.
Krysty watched him from by the fire. “You know your dear little boy is singing with Abe?”
“Sure.”
“Know what he’s singing?”
“Sounds like ‘Black On The Outside And Red On The Inside’ to me.”
She smiled. “Disgusting song. The boy’s only eleven. Some responsible father you are, Ryan Cawdor.”
“Least I brought home the meat for the larder,” he protested. “Fine shooting.”
“With that SSG-70 Steyr? Starlite night scope and the laser image enhancer? All to shoot a baby deer from twenty yards from deep cover. You could have thrown the blaster at it and chilled it that way. Saved the bullet.”
“I didn’t” He laid his hand on her shoulder, leaned forward and kissed her on her fire-reddened cheek. “Well, yeah, I guess I did. Not too hard a shot.”
“You think anyone would’ve heard it?”
“Big round, but the trees would’ve muffled it. Shot it over an hour ago. If we were getting guests, I figure they’d have arrived by now.”
“This is really one of the loveliest campsites we ever found.” She kissed him, then leaned back, fanning at her face. “Good fire, that.”
“I don’t recall ever being this close to the sea in old Maine before,” he said. “One of Trader’s stomping grounds, New England. Met Marsh Folsom and the Magus around these parts.”
Trader had gone for a walk along the side of the lake, with J.B. and Mildred. They had just emerged out of the dense forest onto a narrow promontory, a couple of hundred yards away to the left.
“Where’s Doc?” Krysty asked.
“Dozing over there, at the bottom of the tall pine. Seems to have gotten over the disappearance of the woman real well. I was worried.”
“Me, too. I thinkno, I’m sure that they had a brief but active couple days of sex. But she wasn’t right for Doc. Reckon he knew that.”
“Do him good.”
“How about what he was saying about Trader? Seems like Doc can’t stand him.”
Ryan knelt down by her. “What do you think, lover? You like him or not?”
She shook her head, solemn. “Too early to say. Ask me again in a few days.”
Chapter Thirteen
They all ate ravenously from the dead deer, Trader in particular stuffing himself with roasted meat until he could hardly stand.
“Not good for your health,” Mildred said reproachfully. “Starvation and then gluttony are a classic prescription for gut trouble.”
“Trader had some real bad kind of rad cancer in his belly, didn’t you?” Abe grinned at his old chief, until be saw from the expression on Trader’s face that be wasn’t particularly amused by the discussion.
“Yeah. But that was long times ago.”
“You still get problems?” Mildred asked with a professional interest.
Trader controlled himself with a visible effort. “Know you’re a doctor and all that, but what goes on inside my clothes is my own business and everyone else can mind their own. Is that clear?”
Mildred grinned and nodded. “Course. But if you do get trouble, you know who to come to.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
THE AFTERNOON DRIFTED BY, with several of the group snatching at the rare chance of safety and stillness to catch up on lost sleep and relaxation, allowing their bodies to recuperate from the physical and mental horrors of making the double jump.
Dean wandered to the lakeside, picking out flat pebbles and flicking them underarm at the serene water, whooping occasionally at a specially long duck-and-drake skimmer.
Ryan and Krysty were lying together in the shade of a feathery blue spruce, watching the sylvan scene.
He broke the silence. “Know what you’re thinking, lover.”
“Probably.”
“Shall I tell you?”
She smiled, her emerald eyes fixed to his face. “I love you so much, Ryan Cawdor,” she said. “Now, go on and tell me what I was thinking.”
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