Bound to Happen

by Mary Kay McComas

  “I’m not complaining. I like your tenacity, the way you stick to things. When you say you love me, I know you don’t just think you do, you feel it, or you wouldn’t say it. And you’ll see it through to the end, wherever it leads us, because that’s the way you are.”

  Leslie turned her head so she could place a tender kiss on his mouth. “I do love you.”

  The now familiar look of contentment and boyish happiness softened his gaze and gently curved his lips as he regarded her adoringly. “I know you do,” he said before he kissed her in a way that revealed the fathomless depths of his own emotions.

  When he released her so she could get dressed for bed and he had returned to his little computer, Leslie couldn’t shake the feeling of dissatisfaction that crept into her heart. Joe had said he loved her only once and that had been in the throes of passion. She didn’t doubt his love, exactly. His whole attitude toward her was a statement of deep affection. The way he looked at her, his kisses, his touch, other things he said, told of his love for her. But he never came right out and said it.

  While she attached the hose that would drain the water in the small bathtub into the kitchen sink, she wondered if Joe’s previous lover was the cause of his reluctance to say I love you. The woman had hurt him badly, and Leslie, for the first time in her life, actually hated someone she didn’t even know. Then again, love made you think and do and feel a lot of strange and irrational things. And, happily, Leslie wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Had she ever been more satisfied with her life, she wondered, as she crawled up onto the middle of the bed with her next Darkwood novel to wait for Joe. She didn’t think so. She’d never felt more whole. It was wonderful to be the Leslie she was and the Leslie she’d always wanted to be at the same time.

  She and Joe had spent hours discussing a variety of subjects. Those she wasn’t well informed on, she asked Joe about. He would explain or give his opinion without reproach or disapproval. Those she was familiar with she spoke freely and intelligently about and, she suspected, had amazed Joe with how truly bright she was. Neither one of them had given an accurate account of themselves when they first met, she supposed.

  She’d amazed herself quite frequently of late as to how attuned she had become to so many new experiences. Joe was an obvious one, but even the mountain seemed to touch her—and not always with guilt. She found she didn’t have to be a jock to enjoy the mountains and the out-of-doors. Just sitting in the shade by the woodshed, she would find herself in such a quiet, peaceful state of mind, she wondered how anyone survived in the hubbub of the city. She still was leery of the animals, but she enjoyed the birds immensely. She was almost to the point of wishing that she and Joe could stay together in the mountains forever.

  Part of that wish, however, stemmed from shame and cowardice. She hadn’t told Joe of her involvement with the development company that eventually would destroy his mountain and his cabin. She wanted to be truthful. It was her nature to be honest and up-front. But the words she needed to tell Joe didn’t seem to exist in her vocabulary. She’d tried to tell him, more than once, but short of simply blurting it out, there didn’t seem to be an easy way. She found it preferable to think that the right words would suddenly occur to her at the right moment and tried not to dwell on it too much. But the fact remained ever present and very heavy in her heart and mind.

  Then again, if they were never rescued, there was a good chance she’d have to do the laundry again, and her back might not hold out.

  “Now which one are you reading?” Flat on her stomach, her mind wandering, Leslie was startled to hear Joe’s question and feel his long, half-naked body slide over hers. He wrapped his arms around her from behind, his chin coming to rest on her left shoulder. He kissed her cheek and nuzzled her neck. Her stomach muscles coiled into a tight knot of desire, as her heart picked up its pace and began to throb excitedly in her throat.

  “Ah … this one is about …” It was hard for her to think and speak simultaneously when Joe’s hands were moving on a predetermined path to his ultimate goal, that of making her totally senseless with need for him. It was especially difficult when he didn’t play fair and used his tongue and mouth to torment an ultrasensitive area on her neck. He knew every nook and cranny on her body by now, and he obviously had no scruples when it came to getting what he wanted. What they both wanted, she admitted to herself with a wily smile. “Ah … Spit and Max have just … um … found the two orphans, whose parents were—”

  “Were killed by marauding Indians,” Joe finished for her, slipping to one side so his lips could get to the opening of the night shirt she was wearing. “If I tell you how it ends, will you put the damn thing down and let me make love to you?”

  “Don’t you dare tell me how it ends. He hasn’t even met the woman yet.” She glanced at Joe and was going to pretend to keep on reading, but something in his eyes caught her attention. “What’s so funny?”

  “You.”

  Leslie’s eyebrows rose disdainfully, as she failed to see the humor.

  “I never would have imagined that you’d end up a Darkwood junkie. His readers are usually male. He’ll be very hard to live with once he develops a female following as well. I’m not sure he can handle hordes of women throwing themselves at him for his autograph.”

  “You know him?” she asked, ignoring his innuendo about her hero.

  “Why else would I have all his books? You don’t think I’d actually choose to read that junk do you? He gives them to me.”

  “You really know him? Personally?”

  “Yep. And if you’re real nice to me, I’ll get him to give you an autograph,” he said enticingly as he slowly ran his index finger from her bottom lip down the middle of the V of her shirt to the first secured button. He looked up at Leslie with a very evil glint in his eyes.

  “That’s blackmail.”

  “I know.” He confidently slipped the first button through its hole, while his other hand slithered knowingly up her thigh and under the tail of her shirt.

  “I can’t believe you’d stoop to this. I’m … ah … I feel backed into a corner here,” she said, turning slightly so she could touch him, feel him, use him as an anchor to keep from spinning off into nothingness, as her mind grew dark and thoughtless. Ripples of sensation became torrent waves of excitement. “I feel so helpless.”

  “I know.” Joe’s voice was a hoarse groan of desire and passion as he covered her mouth with his, taking what he knew to be his alone. Taking it, not greedily, but slowly and with relish until he had consumed it all. Then just as painstakingly he gave it back, knowing Leslie to be a safe vessel in which to keep it, trusting her with all that was precious to him … their love for each other.

  Emotionally drugged and exhausted, they lay in each other’s arms. Without a care or complaint, they simply were happy to be alive and in love.

  “Roll over,” Joe said suddenly.

  “Why?” Leslie asked lethargically.

  “Trust me. Just roll over and don’t look.”

  She did as he requested and fought hard not to peek as she felt him leave the bed. She listened. He was at his desk for a mere second and then back in bed, bouncing the springs violently with his exuberance. Cool air prickled her skin when he drew the covers off, exposing her nakedness.

  “I’m cold,” she complained weakly, anxious to see what he was up to.

  “Shh. Trust me. I’m a man of my word. I always keep my promises.”

  “What are you doing?” she squeaked as she felt him at her hip … writing on her? She twisted around to get a look just in time to see him underline it with a long zigzag that went all the way down her bottom. “Wha …”

  “There. You see. I told you I’d get you his autograph.”

  “You mean, you’re …”

  Joe smiled smugly. “Max supports me in a style that even a yuppie like you wouldn’t think was too shabby. Which then allows me to write the kinds of books that mean something to me but, regr
ettably, don’t sell well.”

  “You mean all this time—” She stopped short. All the time she’d been falling in love with Max Darkwood and falling in love with Joe Bonner, she’d been falling in love with the same man, over and over and over again. Now that she stopped to think about it, she felt incredibly stupid for not having seen it earlier. The hero was so like Joe: Tough and brassy on the outside and as soft as a marshmallow on the inside. Brave and honest and reliable and … honest? “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “What? And have you falling in love with me because of my money?” When she began to sputter righteously, he laughed. “Think back, Leslie. When I first brought you here, I wasn’t even sure I wanted you around. I wasn’t sure I wanted you to know anything about me. But I do now. I want you to know all about me. And I want to know all about you. I don’t want there to be any secrets between us. Ever.”

  Leslie’s throat grew dry and tight. She felt as if she were chewing cotton balls. Her heart beat sluggishly and her stomach seemed to have become a bottomless pit of burning acid. Joe was apparently satisfied that there were no more secrets between them. He curled himself around her, holding her close, giving every indication he was about to go to sleep. But Leslie knew her night’s rest wasn’t going to come as easily. She had a secret that had to be told, had to be told soon, or she’d lose the only thing that really meant anything to her. Joe.

  Before she got out of bed the next morning, she vowed that she’d tell Joe the truth about her and the mountain. She wouldn’t close her eyes on another day without telling him. Not that they’d been closed all that long the night before. She had spent most of those dark hours vacillating between her need to tell Joe the truth and the consequences she might have to pay if she did. Since he was bound to find out sooner or later, and her compulsion to tell him was so great that it was depriving her of sleep, she decided to get it over with. She’d find the words to make him understand. She had to.

  The clothes she’d washed the day before had hung out all through the night to dry and had gathered dew in the early morning, which meant that Leslie had to leave them out until the sun was well overhead to redry. Even then the jeans remained damp to the touch. She gathered these first and took them into the cabin to dry, one by one, in front of the fire.

  While Joe worked on the nearly finished report for the forest-service hearing, Leslie gathered the rest of the laundry that hung from the limbs of trees and lay neatly over the tops of bushes. “Joe,” she said aloud, practicing her words for the next time he looked up from his keyboard. “I have something I want to tell you. I have something I need to tell you.” She shook her head. “Joe, I’ve changed a lot since we first met. But there’s something I need to tell you about. Something I did before I knew better.” Again she shook her head. “Joe. Remember the night we met, and you asked me what I was doing up here in the mountains? Well, I never did give you an answer. It really hasn’t come up since then. But I think now would be a good time to tell you.” Her last attempt sounded good to her.

  She began folding a T-shirt that was scented with clean, fresh air and only slightly less rigid than a piece of cardboard. She was going to miss her fabric softener in the weeks to come, she ruminated. She laid it in the box with the others and leaned up against the large boulder it had been draped over to decide how she would proceed with her explanation to Joe.

  As much as he loved her, she didn’t expect to escape unscathed by Joe’s temper, but maybe she could mollify him by getting him to understand. She kicked at the loose rocks that littered the ground around the boulder as words came to mind and were rejected, one right after another.

  A deep sigh of frustration escaped her as she turned back to the laundry. Maybe she could write him a letter, she thought, as she moved around the huge stone to reach another shirt. She’d always been able to express herself better on paper than face to face with another human being. She moved her foot to stabilize her balance as she reached high for a last piece of clothing on the rock. A twig from one of the surrounding bushes slipped up inside the leg of her jeans. It scratched a little, and she shook her leg to rid herself of it, but it wouldn’t come loose. Grabbing at the shirt she’d been reaching for, she came down on firm ground and bent to remove the branch, only to discover that it wasn’t a branch at all.

  Long, tubular, and bent at an odd angle, nearly three feet of black and brown snake hung out from under the hem of her pants. A convulsion of fear and repulsion rippled through her body before her mouth opened to emit a blood-curdling scream. In that same instant, panic seized her and she snatched at the tail of the snake to pull it away. With one fierce, ripping motion she pulled at it. She experienced a sharp, piercing pain above her ankle that brought forth another desperate cry of horror, before the viper came free. She flung it several feet away and sank to the ground holding her ankle, her pulse racing, her breathing rapid and shallow, tears welling and rolling down from her eyes.

  “Oh, lord. Oh, lord. Oh, lord,” she cried, frantic with terror and the knowledge that she was going to die from the snakebite.

  “Leslie!” Joe’s face was a mask of fright and worry as he ran from the cabin toward her. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, falling to his knees beside her.

  “My leg. A snake. It bit me.” Her sobs strained her words and caused her to breathe irregularly. Her hands were shaking uncontrollably as Joe wordlessly removed them from around her ankle and pushed her pant leg up to expose the wound. There were two puncture sites, each oozing blood but not copiously. Already the site was swollen and inflamed and tender to the touch.

  “Damn,” Joe muttered under his breath. His eyes, when they met Leslie’s, were grave and tormented with grief. “Listen to me, Leslie,” he said sternly, using his voice to break through her hysteria. “You’re going to be fine. Do you hear me? You’ll be fine. I’m going in—”

  “No! Don’t leave me,” she pleaded. Tears blurred her vision. She reached out blindly and took hold of his shirt sleeve to keep him near her.

  “I have to. Just for a minute. I have to call for help.”

  “No. There’s no phone. I’m going to die. Please, don’t leave me.”

  “There’s a shortwave radio in one of the cabinets. It’s been there all along. Let go, sweetheart, we can’t waste any more time.” He pulled away from her grasping hands and didn’t take the time to look back at her when she called out his name. There’d be time enough to comfort her after he’d called for help—nothing but time—and each precious minute that was wasted would be vital to her life.

  Little had changed by the time he came hurrying toward her with a blanket over one arm and a first aid kit in his hands. She was still crying but quietly, mournfully, helplessly. She was leaning with her back against the boulder, holding her bent leg just below the knee.

  “They’ll be here soon. Half hour, forty-five minutes tops,” Joe said. “The ranger said to keep you as quiet as possible and,” he paused, looking around as if he were trying to find something, “I need to kill the snake so we can take it with us to make sure you get the right antivenin. Do you remember where it went?” he asked gently, kneeling beside her and covering her with the blanket.

  “No. Stay away from it, Joe.” She sat up in her agitation and took a firm grip on his arm to keep him from going after it. “Stay with me.”

  “Shh.” Joe gently pushed her back against the rock and tucked the blanket around her shoulders again. “I won’t leave you. I just want to make sure it’s not around anymore. Where did it go?”

  “I threw it. I threw it over there.” She pointed out the direction for him and cried out again when he stood. “No. Don’t. You might get bitten.”

  “I need to check, baby. I’ll be careful. Don’t worry.” He stealthily moved off into the bushes beside the stone, pushing the brush back as he went.

  “Do you see it? Is it still there?” Leslie called out when she could no longer see him.

  “Not yet.”

  �
�Why didn’t you tell me about the radio? Why haven’t you used it before now? We could have been rescued days ago.” The mental shock was beginning to wear off, but the physical aftermath was evident as she began to shiver even though she knew she wasn’t cold. Her leg ached and throbbed. Her ankle grew tight and hard to move as the swelling continued.

  “I didn’t tell you about it,” she heard a rustling of leaves as he paused, “because I didn’t want to. I didn’t want you to know.”

  She could hear him returning and turned her head expectantly. “But why?”

  “I didn’t want you to go,” he said simply, back at her side, tying a knot in a plastic bread bag.

  “Is that it? Is it dead?” she asked, knowing the answer as she watched the snake’s blood pooling in the bottom of the bag.

  “Well, I put my boot on its head and cut it in half. The damn thing better be dead,” he said with a wry smile. He came down on one knee and began to put a clean, loose dressing over her wound.

  Leslie nodded numbly, still staring at the bag. She was glad the thing was dead. She would have liked to have killed it herself. Recalling the question she had been about to ask, she said, “But you hated me in the beginning. Why didn’t you call someone to come and get me then?”

  Joe laughed unexpectedly. “I’d sure like to know where you got the idea that I hated you. This is the second time you’ve accused me of that.” He sat down beside her, looping an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close and holding her near him. “I think I was in love with you the first time I looked down and found you lying under me. I didn’t want to be, but I was. I could have called the ranger station that first night, but since you were on vacation and no one was likely to worry about you for a couple of weeks, I decided to keep you for a while, to see if I could talk myself out of wanting you so badly. That was a little presumptuous of me, huh?”

  “Yeah, a little,” she said, wanting to sound angry and indignant, while all she managed to do was smile and laugh softly. “So, why were you so nasty? Haven’t you heard that old saying about catching more bees with honey?”