Wild Man Creek by Robyn Carr Page A

in the woods. He liked to sit on his rough-hewn porch at dawn and dusk, still and quiet, camera at the ready, and watch the wildlife that would gather at the creek—everything from a black bear fishing for trout to a puma looking for a drink. He caught a good shot of a fox; a distant photo of a buck; the head of a doe peeking out of the brush; an amazing American eagle in flight.
    He went out exploring, rain or shine, but was careful with his hiking, and since spotting the bear fishing in his creek, never went out without the gun. He watchedhis step and moved slowly; he wasn’t kidding about the second titanium rod. He had no interest in breaking any more bones.
    Being outdoors in the crisp March spring was energizing for him. It seemed to drizzle two out of three days, but although he couldn’t paint outdoors in wet weather, Colin certainly didn’t mind being exposed to the elements. And watching the new spring growth begin to emerge was a new experience for him. He’d never noticed things like new vegetation, the quality of the air and the perfect stillness of the forest before now. He’d never moved slow enough to take notice.
    On a rare sunny day he took his easel and paints and drove up an old dirt road past a vineyard and a couple of farms. He set up in a meadow and went back to work on the eagle he had started a few days ago. He clipped his photo to the top of the canvas and found himself wondering, What does it feel like up there? Tell me what it’s like to know you can just step off a limb and soar…
    Just then he heard a wild rustling in the trees not far away. He put down the palette and brush and pulled the .357 Magnum out of his belt at the small of his back. He took a stance in the direction of the noise, his pulse picking up speed, and aimed in the direction of the sound. But the creature who broke through the trees was not a black bear. It was a girl in sweatpants, red rubber boots, a dirty tee T-shirt and ball cap with her ponytail strung through the back. He knew it was a girl by her vaguely female shape and her deafening scream as she dived to the ground, facedown, with her hands over the back of her head.
    Colin calmly engaged the safety and tucked the gun back in his belt. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’m not going to shoot you. You can get up.”
    She lifted her head and looked up at him. “Are you crazy?”
    Now there were some pretty big brown eyes, he thought. Very pretty. “Nope. Not crazy. I was expecting a bear.”
    She lifted herself up slowly, sitting back on her heels. “Why in the world were you expecting a bear? ” she demanded.
    “They’re starting to come out of hibernation now, with cubs. I’ve seen a couple. Thankfully at a safe distance.”
    She huffed. “Don’t you know they’re more afraid of you than you are of them?”
    He smiled lazily. “Better to be safe. On the off chance I’m not that scary,” he offered with a shrug. He bent to pick up his palette and brush.
    “Amazing,” she said with an irritated tone. “I have yet to hear anything that sounds like an apology!”
    She was really pissed, and for some reason, it made him smile. He tried to keep it a small smile, asking himself why he found her so amusing. He gave a half bow, partly to conceal his grin. “Sorry if I startled you,” he said. “And sorry you startled me. You weren’t in any danger—I wouldn’t shoot something I couldn’t positively identify.”
    “Very lame attempt,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
    All right, he was standing in front of an easel, holding a paint palette and brush. “Taxidermy?” he responded with just a touch of his own sarcasm.
    She stood and brushed at her dirty sweatpants. “Cute,” she said. “Very cute. I mean, on my property? ”
    “Oh, this is yours? The roads were open and there were no signs. The light’s good here. My place is buried in the forest where it’s pretty dark—all I have is artificial light. If this is a problem,