by Ginna Gray
She was deep into the trees when she thought she heard something behind her. She stopped and listened, but there was nothing but the chirp of crickets and the gentle soughing of the wind through the frees.
"Get a grip, Mag," she scolded. "This is Ruby Falls, not New York."
Barely ten yards farther the sound came again—a rustling that had nothing to do with the wind. Maggie stopped, and the sound stopped an instant later. Her heart began to pound. She peered through the darkness behind her.
"Is somebody there?"
Silence.
She started off again, and again the rustling followed her. This time she heard twigs cracking underfoot and the soft thud of footfalls. There was definitely someone behind her, and he was no longer bothering to conceal his presence. Somehow, that frightened her even more.
She stopped and whirled, and the sounds stopped, too.
"Dammit, I know you're out there. Who are you? What do you want?"
She waited, but there was nothing. Even the crickets had stopped their night song.
Uneasiness shivered through Maggie. She picked up her pace, but the footsteps speeded up, too. She walked faster still. So did her pursuer. Her heart pounded in her chest like a tom-tom.
Out of the darkness behind her came a soft, sinister laugh that made Maggie's skin crawl.
After hundreds of hours of self-defense classes, she'd thought of herself as strong, capable of facing anything, but there was something so innately evil in that sound that all her confidence fled. Nearly suffocating with fear, she broke into a run.
Behind her, the laugh came again.
Giving in to panic, Maggie ran headlong, thrashing her way through low-hanging tree limbs, stumbling over roots, bumping into trunks in the stygian darkness. With each ragged breath, small whimpers escaped her. So terrified she lost all sense of direction, she simply tore, pell-mell, through the grove of trees, heedless to everything but the horror on her heels.
Maggie's throat was so tight her breath made a harsh, rasping sound as it tore from her throat. Her lungs began to burn.
The sounds behind her were coming closer. Unable to resist, she glanced over her shoulder and saw the shadowy silhouette of a man running behind her. He laughed and reached for her, and her scream pierced the night.
Dan stood on the front porch of his cottage, one foot braced on the railing, his eyes on the tattered clouds scudding across the night sky. If you could believe the weather channel, a front was due to blow in the next afternoon, bringing rain. Tomorrow he would have to hustle the pickers along to finish the Anderson Road
orchard before the storm.
A noise from the orchard drew his attention—low moaning and thrashing. He frowned and stared in the direction of the sounds. Someone, or something, was in there, and from the sound of it, they were tearing up the orchard.
The hell with that.
He removed his foot from the railing and loped down the steps and into the yard, heading for the orchard on the north side of his house with long, angry strides. Halfway there, he heard the scream.
Startled, Dan stopped in his tracks, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.
Another high-pitched, blood-curdling scream followed, then another and another.
"Jesus!"
Dan broke into a run, but he halted after only a few strides when Maggie burst into the clearing. Not even in the dark could he mistake that glorious red mane.
Looking back over her shoulder, she ran flat out, screaming every breath as though the hounds of hell were after her.
Dan stepped into her path. She slammed into his chest, and her screams cut off abruptly—but only for an instant. Then they resumed at a higher pitch, more frantic than ever, running together like a banshee's wail.
"What the hell—"
He wrapped his arms around her, trapping her arms between them and holding her tightly against his chest.
Maggie went wild. Shrieking, she instinctively bucked and twisted and fought to get free, but he held her close.
"Easy, easy. Dammit, Maggie, stop fighting. It's me. Dan. What the hell is the matter with you? Easy, now. C'mon, Maggie. You're safe now."
At first his words failed to penetrate, but he held on tight and repeated them over and over. Finally her screams stopped and she went utterly still against him, though her breathing remained ragged and harsh.
"Da—Dan?"
"Yeah, it's me. You're safe now. I've got you."
He didn't think it was possible, but she pressed closer to him, as though she were trying to burrow her way right inside his body. Her hands clutched the front of his shirt so tightly he felt two buttons pop.
"Oh, Da-Dan," she gasped, pressing her face against his chest. "Thank God you're he-here. Thank God."
She began to shake.
"Hey, take it easy," he crooned, rubbing his hands over her back. "Just calm down and tell me what's wrong."
"Th-there's someone ou-out there. He fol-followed me from the office, and ch-chased me through the orchard."
"What?" Dan tensed, and his head snapped toward the trees. "You stay here. I'll go have a look."
He grasped her shoulders to set her away from him, but she surged forward again and clutched him tighter.
"No! No, don't leave me. Please … do-don't leave me. He's still out there! I know he is!"
"Maggie—"
"No, please."
Dan cast a frustrated look at the shadowy rows of trees, hesitating. Finally, he sighed and wrapped his arms around her again.
She was shaking so hard now he was amazed that she could stand. Shock.
"Come along, let's get you inside." He tried to ease her back again, but Maggie was so shaky she could barely move. In any case, she refused to let go of his shirt. In the end he swooped her up in his arms.
Inside the parlor of the Victorian cottage he placed her on the sofa. When he saw the angry red scratches on her face and arms he swore under his breath, but what worried him even more was her obvious shock. He quickly pulled the afghan from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her, but when he started to straighten, she grabbed his arm.
"Wh-where are you going?"
"Easy, easy. I'm just going to get you some brandy. It will settle your nerves and warm you."
"No! Don't leave me!" Her voice rose in pitch, taking on an edge of hysteria again. She clutched his arm so tight her fingernails dug into his skin.
Dan looked into those panicked emerald eyes, and something shifted and cracked inside his chest. For the first time since he'd known her, all her sparkle, all that maddening, delightful sass and spunk was missing.
And that, he was shocked to discover, infuriated him.
He wasn't convinced that a man had chased her, but something had sure as hell spooked her out in that orchard. And Maggie didn't strike him as the hysterical type who jumped at shadows. Whatever it was, it had reduced this strong woman to a mass of quivering fear.
Hunkering down on his haunches in front of her, Dan pulled the afghan more snugly around her, tucking it under her chin and lifting her hair free, plucking out a few leaves and twigs while he was at it.
Then he took both her hands in his and looked into her eyes.
"Maggie, listen to me. You're safe here. I locked the door behind us. I promise you, no one can get in. Now, I'm just going into the kitchen and get you that drink. I'll be back in less than a minute. Okay?"
Fear still swirled in her eyes and her breath puffed between her parted lips in ragged shudders, but he could see her struggling for control. There were tears just beneath the surface, but she squared her shoulders and refused to give in to them.
No, she wouldn't, Dan thought wryly. Not a saucy rebel like Maggie. Not if she could help it. He'd learned when he'd found her crying outside Jacob's room the day she'd arrived just how much she hated letting her emotions get the upper hand. Especially in front of others. No, her style was to crack a joke and pretend nothing bothered her.
She glanced at the window, and a hard shiver rippled through her. The lace curtains that Lily had hung throughout the cottage offered little protection from prying eyes but, living as he did in the middle of the orchard, Dan had never felt the need for anything more.
Finally, she nodded. "Go ahead. I'm … I'm fine."
She was far from fine, and he wondered if maybe she would be better off if she did cry and let it all out.
Dan left her just long enough to fetch the drink and a first-aid kit. She took the snifter between her shaking hands and eagerly sipped the brandy, so fast, he had to caution her to slow down. He sat beside her on the sofa and watched her closely, monitoring her symptoms, but gradually the liquor did its job. As her trembling eased he could almost see that fierce pride of hers begin to reassert itself.
She swirled the remains of the brandy in the snifter, her downcast gaze locked on the amber whirlpool.
Then she turned her head and gave him a wobbly smile. "You don't have to look so worried. I'm okay now. I'm not going to go berserk or faint on you."
"Good. I'm glad to hear it. Now I can tend to those scratches."
"Scratches?" She looked at the red welts crisscrossing her arms, then gingerly touched her face and groaned. "Oh, great. Val's going to kill me. I have a modeling job in two weeks."
Dan stopped in the act of opening the first-aid kit and sent her a sharp look. "You're leaving?"
"Just for three or four days. Then I'll be back."
He continued to stare at her and she rolled her eyes. "I'm not running out on my responsibilities here, but I do have commitments to fulfill, you know. Legally binding contracts. I can't just ignore them."
"I guess not," he conceded with a shrug, but deep down he was surprised and annoyed at how relieved he was that she would be returning.
He soaked a cotton ball with alcohol, then cupped her chin with his free hand and tipped her face up. "Anyway, I wouldn't worry if I were you. These scratches don't look too deep. They should be gone by the time you leave. So, you want to tell me exactly what happened out there?"
He felt her tense again and dabbed at the welts on her cheek and forehead. Maggie flinched and sucked in a hissing breath but otherwise endured the stinging without complaint.
"I was a hundred yards or so into the trees when I heard something behind me," she began.
While Dan cleaned her wounds and smeared antibiotic cream on them, Maggie explained what had occurred in the orchard.
"And you're sure it was a man?" he asked when she was done.
She didn't answer, and when he'd finished recapping the tube of medicine and returned it to the first-aid kit, Dan looked around and discovered that she was staring at him. Her expression wasn't so much hurt as resigned.
"You don't believe me, do you. You think I imagined it. That I'm just a silly woman who panicked in the dark."
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to, sugar," she said with the first hint of her usual boldness. "It's written all over that handsome face of yours."
"Maggie—"
"Oh, don't worry about it, sweetcakes. It doesn't matter."
Despite her denial, he could see that she was annoyed, but he didn't care. He was too pleased to have the old Maggie back.
She threw off the afghan and stood up, wobbled a bit, then started for the door, doing a shaky imitation of her usual saunter.
"Thanks for the booze and the first-aid. And, of course, for scaring away the bogeyman." Looking back at him over her shoulder, she fluttered her eyelashes. "My hero."
Dan caught her before she'd taken three steps and pulled her to a stop. "Where do you think you're going?"
"Home. I've taken up enough of your time."
"Don't be ridiculous. You're still so weak in the knees you can barely stand."
"Nonsense. I told you, I'm okay."
"Fine, if that's the way you want to play it, but I'm driving you."
"Don't bother. I can walk."
"Dammit, Red, hasn't it occurred to you that if there was a man in the orchard he's probably still out there waiting for you?"
Dan could have kicked himself the instant the words left his mouth. Every last vestige of color drained from her face. She stared at him, frozen to the spot. Then her chin began to wobble and the tears she should have shed earlier came gushing up into her eyes and spilled over.
"Ah, hell. Come here, Red."
He pulled her into his arms and cradled her against his chest. She resisted, but Dan wouldn't let her pull away, and after a moment she quit trying and sagged against him.
The small surrender opened the floodgates. Huddled against his chest, she let it all out.
At first her cries were so harsh they almost choked her, great, gulping sobs that seemed to tear from some place deep inside her soul. They were awful to hear, and several times Dan winced.
Her shoulders convulsed with each wretched cry. Tears soaked the front of his shirt. All Dan could do was hold her close and rock her and wait for the storm to pass.
She cried so long and so hard he began to worry that she would make herself sick. His gut told him there was more behind the jag than just fright.
Nuzzling his jaw against the top of her head, he continued the gentle rocking, moving his palm over her back in a circular motion. Gradually her cries tapered off into sniffles, then long, hitching sighs.
Exhausted, she remained snuggled against him. Dan wasn't sure if she was too tired to move or too embarrassed. Either way, he didn't mind. As a rule, a woman's tears made him antsy, but, strangely, it felt good to hold this woman in his arms and give her comfort. He was in no hurry to let her go. Beneath her cheek, his shirt was soaked and plastered to his chest, but he didn't mind that, either.
After a while, he felt her stir, and he hooked a finger under her chin and tipped her face up until she had no choice but to look at him. He cocked one eyebrow. "Feel better now?"
Maggie blushed and wrinkled her nose. "Sorry about that. I don't know what came over me. I usually don't lose it like that."
"No problem. You had a fright. It's a perfectly normal reaction."
He still held her close, their bodies touching from knees to chest, but neither made a move to break the embrace. She fit in his arms as though she'd been made for him, her body warm and soft against his.
Slowly, Dan inspected her face. Her eyes were puffy, the tip of her nose red, but not even the ravages of a crying jag or red scratches slicked with ointment could diminish her beauty.
He sensed the change in Maggie, a fine tension that vibrated through her.
He looked into those emerald eyes. Neither moved. Then his gaze drifted down to her mouth. He stared, drinking in the lushness of those lips, full and sensuous and soft, beautifully curved. Exquisite.
He could not have resisted kissing her if the ground had suddenly opened up beneath them. Drawn like a moth to a flame, his gaze fixed on that trembling mouth all the while, he slowly lowered his head. The quick intake of Maggie's breath an instant before his lips settled over hers sent fire streaking through him.
It took every ounce of restraint Dan could muster, but he kept the kiss gentle so as not to frighten her, a sensuous rub of flesh upon flesh, a nibble, an exchange of breath, a quick touch of tongues. Yet, for all its softness, the caress packed a wallop. Dan felt as if he'd been run over by a semi.
It was like drowning in ecstasy—voluptuous and sweet and shimmering with pleasure. It beckoned to him, pulled at him like a siren's song. His heart caromed. His pulse pounded. Every cell in his body cried out for him to lower her to the floor and take her, sate himself with her.
Appalled by the strength of his need, Dan wrenched his mouth from Maggie's.
Disoriented, she hung motionless in his arms for a few seconds, her head still tipped back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. She looked so tempting it was all he could do not to kiss her again.
As though weighted with lead, Maggie's eyelids slowly lifted. Breathing hard, they
stared at each other in the throbbing silence.
Finally Dan grasped her shoulders and stepped back.
"C'mon, I'll take you home."
In the early dawn light all was still, the only sounds the drip of dew from the peach trees and the buzz of bees. Dan walked carefully between two rows of trees, studying the ground. About fifteen yards from the clearing he spied what he'd been searching for and knelt for a closer look.
The previous afternoon the orchard had been weeded, then smoothed with a drag, and the dirt between the rows of trees looked as though it had been swept—except for the two sets of footprints. Maggie's and a larger set belonging to a man.
Dan looked up and down the row. To his right, as far as he could see toward the cannery, both sets of footprints followed the same path, the man's often overlaying Maggie's smaller ones.
"Looks like you were right, Red," Dan muttered. "Some yahoo was definitely following you."
To his left he could see that Maggie's prints continued in an erratic path down the row all the way to the point where the orchard opened into the clearing surrounding his house. The man's, however, continued to follow her for only a couple of feet beyond the point where Dan knelt, then veered off.
He rose and followed the larger footprints. They led him over two rows to a tree adjacent to the clearing. A small area at the base of the trunk was compacted by multiple overlaying footprints. Staring at the patch of tamped ground, Dan cursed. The bastard had hidden behind the tree and watched him and Maggie while they had stood in the clearing.
At least he hadn't crept up to the house and played Peeping Tom, Dan thought grimly, eyeing the trail of footprints leading away from the tree toward the west side of the orchard.
Dan followed the footprints, but, as he had expected, they ended at a set of car tracks on the shoulder of the gravel road that ran along the side of the orchard.