Witness On The Run. Susan CliffЧитать онлайн книгу.
thoughts for as long as she could. When she opened them, she was strong again.
Fairbanks, AK65N2 degrees
It wasn’t a pleasant drive from Denali.
Another rig had jackknifed on the icy road before McKinley Peak, causing a major pileup. Traffic was stopped for miles in both directions. There was no way around the wreck, no alternative route. Cam had to sit and wait for several hours. Tala didn’t complain about the delay. She didn’t say a word. The sun set early and daylight faded. They reached the outskirts of Fairbanks in the evening hours.
“Where should I drop you off?” he asked.
“Anywhere is fine.”
He didn’t feel right about abandoning her on a street corner. It was getting late. “You have family around here?”
“No.”
“Friends?”
“I can get by on my own.”
He wanted to ask how, even though it was none of his business. She appeared to have no belongings, other than a serviceable parka and a cheap waitress uniform. She wasn’t carrying a purse or backpack. If she stood out in the cold, she’d get another ride. That much was certain. Someone would pick her up. Someone with ill intentions, most likely.
“I’ll find work.”
“What kind of work?”
Her eyes narrowed at the question. “Not the kind you think.”
“You need a change of clothes before you go job-hunting.”
She fingered the torn fabric at her knees, sighing.
“I don’t want to leave you on the side of the road.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about it.”
That was the problem: he was worried about it. He’d assumed a certain amount of responsibility for her when he’d agreed to give her a ride. He’d decided not to call the police, against his better judgment. Now he couldn’t just walk away. He was standing between her and danger, whether he liked it or not. He felt obligated to see her off safely. If he didn’t, he’d think about her all night. He’d obsess over worst-case scenarios. He’d imagine her climbing into a stranger’s car. Or freezing to death.
He hadn’t been able to save Jenny, and he’d never recovered from the loss. The helplessness. The soul-crushing futility.
He didn’t have to save Tala, per se, but he could at least offer her shelter for the night. He could give her a few bucks for clothes in the morning. She could find a job tomorrow. She was young and resourceful. She’d survive. It was no hardship for him to dig into his pockets, and it might make all the difference in the world for her. A minimal cost and effort on his part could keep her from doing something desperate.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
She moistened her lips, not answering.
“I have to deliver this load first. Then we can grab some dinner.”
“You don’t have to buy me dinner.”
“I know.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Not the reason you think.”
“No?”
“No.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, still wary. “What would your wife say about this?”
He gave her a puzzled look. “My wife?”
“Aren’t you married?”
“No.”
“You’re wearing a wedding ring.”
He rubbed the band on his left hand absently. He’d forgotten it was there. “I’m not married anymore.”
“What happened?”
“She died.”
Her lips parted in surprise. Then her features softened with sympathy. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said, clearing his throat. Saying the words out loud wasn’t easy, even after three years, but he’d learned to swallow the pain. Then the numbness returned to his chest and he could breathe again.
Maybe Tala felt sorry for him, because she didn’t reject his dinner offer. He continued to the stockyard to deliver the trailer. He’d get a new load tomorrow morning before he traveled north on the Dalton. The Dalton Highway was both his savior and his nemesis. The route wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was a death-defying stretch of snowpack, black ice and whiteouts, with avalanche-prone areas and roller-coaster turns. He relished every mile.
He’d come to Alaska to be an ice-road trucker. Nothing else got his blood pumping like the Dalton. There was nothing more exciting, more addictive, or more life-affirming. Except maybe sex. It had been so long since he’d had any, he couldn’t quite remember. He’d stayed true to Jenny’s memory. He still wasn’t ready to move on.
He hadn’t lied to Tala about his intentions. He wasn’t being nice to her in hopes of getting laid. She was incredibly attractive, but he couldn’t imagine hooking up with her. Even if he was in the market for female company, she wasn’t an appropriate choice for a one-night stand. She’d had a close call this morning. She was on the run from someone. She needed protection, not seduction.
He unloaded the trailer and returned to the cab, invigorated by the chill in the air. It was perfect ice-road weather, with temperatures dropping below zero. He climbed into the driver’s seat and pulled out of the yard.
There was a good burger joint off the main drag, so Cam headed in that direction. It was crowded with customers, despite the late hour. Tala kept her hood on as they entered the building. She chose a back booth in the corner, glancing around warily. Cam knew they hadn’t been followed from Willow. He’d checked his rearview mirror at regular intervals. He figured her skittishness was a side effect of past trauma, not an indication of current danger, but he made a point to stay alert.
The waitress arrived quickly. He ordered a salmon burger, iced tea and french fries. Tala asked for chicken strips and a strawberry soda. After the food was delivered, he offered her some of his fries, because he had a mountain of them.
“You like to eat healthy,” she said, grabbing a fry.
“I do.”
“That seems unusual, for a trucker.”
“I grew up on a farm in upstate Washington. My parents made me learn about sustainable agriculture and organic produce. We ate food we grew ourselves.” He shrugged, picking up his salmon burger. “It stayed with me.”
She nodded her understanding. “We ate food my dad caught.”
“Was he a fisherman?”
“He did a little bit of everything. Fishing, trapping, hunting. It was hard in the winter, but we got by.”
Cam swallowed the bite he’d taken. “You lived off the land exclusively?”
“Yes.”
He couldn’t hide his surprise. He thought his childhood had been atypical. Eating fresh farm produce instead of junk food was nothing compared to eking out a meager existence in the Northwest Territories.
“He died when I was sixteen. He was only forty at the time.”
“Jesus,” Cam said.
“He had a good life,” she said. “Short, but not wasted.”
“Is