“Let’s get the woman inside,” Quinn said as he pushed open the door.
The rickety door was attached to its frame by leather hinges. The interior of the cabin looked as uninviting as an animal’s lair. Rusty eyed the opening with trepidation and a sense of dread. Then and there she decided that there were worse things than being exposed to the outdoors.
Cooper remained expressionless as he scooped her into his arms and carried her into the gloomy interior. The small windows were so blackened by grime that they let
in little light. A dim, smoky fire gave off meager illumination, but what Rusty and Cooper saw would have been better left hidden in darkness.
The cabin was filthy. It stank of wet wool, rancid grease, and unwashed men. The only merit it had was that it was warm. Cooper carried Rusty toward the stone hearth and set her down in a cushionless, straight-backed chair. He upended an aluminum bucket and propped the foot of her injured leg on it. He stirred the fire with an iron poker. The desultory flames showed new life when he added sticks of firewood from the wooden box on the hearth.
The Gawrylows stamped in. Reuben closed the door behind them, deepening the darkness inside. In spite of the warmth the fire was now giving off, Rusty shivered and shrank deeper into her coat.
“You must be hungry.” Quinn went to the wood-burning stove in one corner. He lifted the lid on a simmering pot and peered inside. “Stew smells done. Want some?”
Rusty was on the verge of refusing but Cooper answered for both of them. “Yes, please. Got any coffee?”
“Sure. Reuben, start a pot of coffee to boiling.”
The younger man hadn’t stopped staring at Rusty since he’d slunk in and dropped Cooper’s and her belongings just inside the door.
Cooper followed Reuben’s gawking stare back to Rusty. He wished to hell the firelight didn’t shine through her hair, making it shimmer. Pale and drawn as her face was, her eyes looked huge, vulnerable, female. To the young man, who apparently lived alone in this wilderness with his father, a woman wouldn’t even have to be pretty to be enticing. Rusty must have embodied his wildest fantasies.
With his bare hand, Reuben reached into a metal canister of coffee and tossed a handful into an enamel pot. He filled the pot with water from the pump in the dry sink and set it on the stove to boil. Within a few minutes Rusty and Cooper were handed plates filled with an unidentifiable stew. She was sure she was better off not knowing what meat was in it, so she refrained from asking. She chewed and swallowed quickly. It was at least hot and filling. The coffee was so strong that she grimaced as she swallowed, but she drank most of it.
While they ate, Cooper and she had a captivated audience. The older man’s stare was more subtle than his son’s, but possibly more observant. His deep-set eyes didn’t miss a single move they made.
He broke a long silence by asking, “You married?”
“Yes,” Cooper lied easily. “Five years.”
Rusty swallowed the last bite she’d taken, hoping that the Gawrylows didn’t notice how difficult it was to get down. She was glad Cooper had taken the initiative to answer. She didn’t think she could have uttered a word.
“Kids?”
This time Cooper got tongue-tied, so it was left to Rusty to say “No,” hoping that that answer was satisfactory to her “husband.” She planned on asking him later why he had lied, but for now she would play along. His wariness was out of proportion, she thought; but she would still rather ally herself with him than with the Gawrylows.
Cooper finished eating and set his plate and cup aside. He glanced around the cabin. “You don’t have a transmitter, do you? A ham radio?”
“No.”
“Have you heard any airplanes flying over lately?”
“I haven’t. Reuben?” Gawrylow nudged his gawking son in the knee. The younger man dragged his eyes away from Rusty.
“Planes?” he asked stupidly.
“We crashed two days ago,” Cooper explained. “They’re bound to have figured that out by now. I thought there might have been search planes out looking for survivors.”
“I haven’t heard any planes,” Reuben said abruptly and returned his unwavering attention to Rusty.
“How can you stand to live so far away from everything?” she asked. Such self-imposed isolation dismayed her. She couldn’t imagine doing without the amenities a city had to offer, particularly by choice. Even rural living would be tolerable if one could get to a city every now and then. But to deliberately sever all contact with civilization—
“We walk to the river and hitch a ride to Yellowknife twice a year,” Quinn told them. “Once in April and once in October. We stay for a few days, sell a few pelts, buy what supplies we’ll need, and hitch a ride back. That’s all the dealings we want with the outside world.”
“But why?” Rusty asked.
“I got a bellyful of towns and people. I lived in Edmonton, worked on a freight dock. One day the boss accused me of stealing.”
“Were you?”