She tried to respond, but her voice failed. She dropped her eyes.
"Wait until you see the rack from this monster," MacArthur continued, nervously. "Horns as thick as my thigh. We found a big herd up at the head of the valley. There's a glacier and a lake, higher up. Tatum and me found a cave, too. Big cave. It'll make a good hunting camp. We can store meat there, with ice, during the summer."
Her stomach grumbled, and she looked up, embarrassed. They laughed.
"Come on in, Mac," she said, standing away from the door. "Glad you guys are back. Tell me about the scouting mission. Mountain goats, eh?"
"Yes, sir, and we saw what looked like a big cat, too. We got us a big, wild valley. Goes way up...way up..." MacArthur said, staring too long into her eyes. She looked away. "Everything okay, Lieutenant?"
"Checking good, Corporal," she said, forcing a smile but avoiding his eyes. "I'm starved. What's it taste like—the meat?"
"Won't lie to you, sir," MacArthur deadpanned. "Like what you think Fenstermacher might taste like, only tougher. Tookmanian wants to use it for shoe leather." He moved past her and set the burden down, pulling back its cloth covering with a small flourish and a bow.
She picked up a chunk with her fingers and took a bite of the tough, grainy meat. It was delicious and still warm. Her stomach churned with a welling appetite. She looked up and smiled, but as she put her finger in her mouth to lick off the grease she started to cry, deep, shoulder-heaving sobs. She could not help herself; the tears came. Ashamed of her weakness, she turned her head to hide behind a fall of her hair.
Minutes went by, the quiet of the hut marked only by the crackling fire and her wracking sobs. MacArthur moved closer. His hands gently pushed her hair aside. His callused fingers trailed delicately along her neck. She tried to turn farther away, but the Marine cupped the side of her face. She closed her eyes and hot tears ran down her cheeks, growing cold.
"Lieutenant, what's wrong?" MacArthur whispered.
She blinked at the tears, tasting the salt on her lips. Again, she tried to twist away, but MacArthur refused to let go. The Marine lifted her, and she rose unsteadily to his beckoning, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand. She opened her eyes. MacArthur' s bright eyes were tragically saddened.
Surrendering, she stepped close, putting her head on his chest. MacArthur' s hand moved gently to the back of her head. As he lifted his other hand the ebony fur slipped from her shoulders. MacArthur deftly caught it and brought its musky silkiness around both of them. At the same time he slipped his arms beneath its warmth, around the small of her back, pulling her into a tender embrace. She shuddered and lifted her chin.
"Corporal MacArthur," she said as firmly as she could. "Yes, sir, Lieutenant," he answered huskily.
"Tonight," she whispered, "please. Don't call be lieutenant." "Aye, sir," he said, bending and kissing her gently on the lips. She responded passionately, desperately. The Marine reacted to her passion with his own, his hands moving with possessive strength, fueling her emotional spiral. Her fur slipped again, and this time it fell to the floor. She shivered but not from the cold. Tears poured down her cheeks, wetting both their faces and seasoning their kisses with salty intensity.
MacArthur slowly, reluctantly, pulled his lips from hers. "What's wrong...Sharl?" MacArthur begged, holding her at arms length.
"Nothing, Mac. Nothing. It's my problem."
"Sharl, let me help you."
"You are, Mac. More than you can ever know. Hold me . . . kiss me."
SECTION FOUR—
DENOUEMENT
Chapter 38
Second Winter
Hudson awoke feeling rested, his sore-throat much improved; the local viruses had played havoc with his sinuses, but he seemed over the worse. He threw back his sleeping bag and rolled from his tent. A thin layer of snow covered the ground, and a gusty breeze brushed the powdery layers in short bursts. Hudson was chilly, but he was also naked. Turning his back on the transparent wall, he returned to his tent and grabbed his konish jumpsuit. Tailored to his human body, the rubbery material was thick and warm—too warm. Hudson would have preferred a pair of trousers and a short-sleeved shirt, but living in a hothouse was better than living out in the snow.
Dowornobb arrived with breakfast. Whatever it was, at least it was not fish. Hudson had finally demanded a respite from the monotonous diet, and it was humorous to the kones, because the kones thought he liked fish.
Dowornobb sat silently, a somber expression on his normally animated features.
"You worry, Master Dowornobb?" Hudson asked in functional konish, paying serious attention to his food. It was quite good.