THE FIRE WAS ROARING nicely as she and Ben walked up. There was a pile of logs—hers, that she’d cut that morning—off to the side, and a bunch of sticks and kindling they’d gathered from the woods around their site. A layer of coals glowed underneath as orange flames danced and popped in the dark. It smelled of smoke and wood and earth—the smells of darkness and Bonnet that Casey loved most.
“Ben!” Kristi cried as she strummed the guitar. “We’d thought you’d wandered off and been eaten by a bear.”
“It was a close call, but I sure showed him. Pass me another beer?” Ben extended his hand and a bottle appeared from the cooler. He opened Casey’s and then his own.
“Thanks,” she murmured, suddenly shy around this group of friends who’d known each other for years.
“Guys this is...” He paused a
