Natural Instincts Read Online Free PDF

anybody from stopping. Hadn’t expected an attack from the sea.
    Before I could respond, he called, “Oh, hey, can you hear me?” It was too dark for long-distance lip-reading, which he’d probably just figured out.
    I raised one hand in greeting and nodded. He was too far away to read my phone, so hopefully he wouldn’t expect a conversation and linger.
    “Oh, okay,” he said, getting the message that I wasn’t deaf. He pulled in his oars as he drifted closer to me. “Are you all right?”
    I nodded again, making the gesture big enough for him to see.
    “Okay. You look really tired. Listen, we’re having a bonfire on the beach tonight. Everyone’s invited if you want to come.”
    I couldn’t help but wonder if Jon was going to be there. Damn it. He was probably long gone. I had no reason to believe that had been him in the bathroom. Not that I cared. My head still hurt so badly that whatever game these two brothers were playing, I really couldn’t care less. Maybe in twenty-four hours I’d worry about things again. Right now, just digesting half a sandwich took all my energy.
    I managed to smile and shake my head.
    “Okay, that’s cool. We’ll try not to be too loud. Have a nice evening.”
    I waved in a kind of general way that meant thanks and the same to you . He waved back and kept going, heading out toward the island.
    I saw the loon surface near him. Hal stopped rowing, and the two drifted close to each other, bird and man. Then Hal kept on his way, and the loon came closer to me.
    Now the loon’s presence I didn’t mind. I gazed at him, so free, so untouched by the things that had scared me. He was powerful and proud, master of his element, sensual as he dipped his head below the surface for a moment, raising it to let beads of water run down his neck. I realized he’d come very close. His eyes were red, burning the way they had in the artist’s rendition on the website, almost as if he had been the model for the painting. He looked back at me. I wondered why he had no fear. Was he just very used to people camping, or was he so regal that we didn’t matter enough for him to deign to deviate from his course?
    He would never allow himself to become a victim. If bad things happened to him, he would refuse to let them scar him. He would swim on untouched, confident and assured of who he was. I wanted to be like him, but I was a far cry from having that kind of strength.
    I felt myself relaxing, though, as some of the pain eased away. Watching the loon did me more good than a month of therapy. I let him imprint very deeply on my memory so I could recall his serene dignity in perfect detail when things got hard.
    Everything had become really quiet. Both the loon and I looked for the rowboat at the same time. Hal had stopped rowing some distance away and was drifting, watching us.
    The loon gave a low warble deep in his throat and dove. I jumped up, grabbed the remains of my dinner, and walked back to my tent.
    After stowing my garbage in a bag in the car so no raccoons would get into it, I slipped into my tent, stripped to my underwear, and crawled under the top sleeping bag. With a sigh, I nestled into my pillow, enjoying the soft fabric against my skin, stretching out and luxuriating in the freedom of movement and the breath of fresh air moving over my face and the gentle wash of the waves.
    Again, the last thing I heard before I slid down into sleep was the call of the loon. He was still close by.
     
     
    I F THERE had been a bonfire in the night, I hadn’t heard it. Or smelled it, which, coming from me, was saying a lot. Usually one whiff of smoke and I was running in the other direction. Fear of campfires was one of the excuses I’d always used for not going camping.
    I slept very late, still worn out from yesterday. It was well after noon when I made my way to the bathhouse. It was a misty, foggy day but warm and windless. I showered and then walked up to the office for more ice. The door was