He pauses. "Which isn't how this conversation is supposed to go at all. I think I'd like the city a lot more if you were there, and I'm sure you'd like a civilization break. The way city people take a camping break."
"Am I allowed to suggest alternate vacation plans?"
"Sure."
"Down south, we have what's called staycations, which means you don't travel far from home. That's what I'd like. A five-day hike or horseback trip up here. Would that be okay?"
He looks over. "Is that what you want? Or what you think I do? Because it sounds like backpedaling to me."
He means "backpedaling" to the old Casey. The one who frustrated him because she never wanted anything. No likes. No dislikes. Every choice weighed according to practicality and the needs of others.
I scoop up the marshmallow bag and put one on a stick I've set beside us. When it's in the fire, I say, "If it's just five days of camping, then I might prefer a trip to Vancouver. But if it's five days of scouting for a potential site for a new Rockton, then that's what I want. Not a place to start building right away, but a place we know we can build at. A spot maybe a day's ride away that we can visit over the seasons and see how it seems, for water, game, other inhabitants, and so on."
"That would work."
"Then it's a date?"
"It is."
I pop the roasted marshmallow in my mouth. As I'm moving back, he pulls me into a kiss. Then he licks his lips and says, "Tastes like marshmallow."
"Shall I roast you one?"
"Hmmm." One brow lifts, his eyes glinting. "Tell you what. You roast one. Wherever you put it, I'll take it off."
"Oh?" I take anothe
r marshmallow from the fire, blow it out, and tear off one crisp corner. Then I put my finger in and pull out a dollop of gooey marshmallow. "So if I put this someplace. . ."
"On you."
I laugh. "Okay. Well, let's see."
I lick the marshmallow off my finger. Then I have him hold my stick while I slip out of my shirt. My jeans follow in a striptease. Bra. Then panties. Then I'm kneeling beside him, naked, his breath coming fast. I reach out for the marshmallow, take another fingerful, and lower it down. Then I slowly draw it up, over my belly, past my breasts, careful not to let it drip.
"Anywhere?" I say.
"Uh-huh."
"Hmmm, how about . . ." I streak it across my chin. "There?"
He laughs and his arms go around me as he does indeed lick it off, while toppling us onto the blanket behind.
38
We're sleeping soundly when a scream cuts through the night. Dalton scrambles up with "Casey!" as his hands wildly pat the blankets. I've rolled just far enough away that he's panicking, and before I can say anything, the scream comes again.
"Casey!"
"Here," I say. "I'm right here."
I fumble in the darkness and find him as he turns on the flashlight. He's looking around, eyes still wide, as if getting his bearings. Storm is on his legs, whining.
"Is that a cougar?" I ask.
A moment's pause. Then he nods. "Could be."
The night has gone silent again. I replay the sound. I know what a cougar's scream sounds like only from anecdotal evidence.