Trish returned the handset to O’Neill.
He stepped into the room and took the phone. “O’Neill here.” He listened for a moment. “Thanks for your help, Doctor. Call me at this number when the medevac chopper is cleared to fly.”
He turned off the handset and looked to Deb. “What’s the diagnosis?”
Deb, exhausted by her conversation with the doctor, lay back on the pillows. “Inconclusive until he can examine me.”
“Do you know how to apply a splint?” Trish asked O’Neill.
He shook his head. “Never took a first-aid course. Sorry.”
Trish returned her attention to Deb. “Guess we’ll have to leave your ankle to the doctor.”
Deb’s face was pinched with pain. “Just give me something to make it and my head stop throbbing.”
Trish hurried into the bathroom, filled a glass with water and returned. She handed Deb two extra-strength Tylenol and the glass. Deb placed the capsules in her mouth, washed them down and settled back against the pillows once more.
Trish left the glass and the mug of cider by the bed. “You should drink all of that and then rest. I’ll be close by. Just call if you need me.”
Trish started for the door.
Thanks, sis. I knew you’d come for me.
I love you, Debster. Just hang on until we can get you out of here.
O’Neill followed and closed the door behind him.
THE CLOCK on the mantel chimed midnight. O’Neill laid another log on the fire and settled into the deep chair across from Erin.
No, not Erin Fairchild. Trish Devlin, he reminded himself.
That bit of information and the fact that she was Debra’s sister cleared up one mystery. Her unusual concern for the missing reporter now made sense, although how she’d managed to locate her sister when the rescue teams had failed could only be chalked up to amazing luck.
Unless there was more the secretive Trish wasn’t telling him.
Beneath half-closed eyelids, he watched her by the flickering light from the fireplace. She was a study in contradictions. She’d been strong enough to brave the wilderness and the elements to search for her sister, but sitting there now, staring at the fire, bare feet curled beneath her and the sleeves of the too-big robe turned back from her slender hands, she looked fragile and vulnerable.
And scared.
“Do you believe Debra?” he asked.
“About what?” Her blue-green eyes seemed deep enough to drown in.
“That someone pushed her.”
Her delicate nostrils flared. “Deb doesn’t lie.”
“Unlike her sister?”
“Touché.” A flush stained her high cheekbones.
“Why the masquerade?”
“The Tampa FBI agents made me suspicious—and extra cautious—with questions about Deb’s en emies. I decided I could learn more about what had happened to her if no one knew we were related.”
He grudgingly conceded the logic of her explanation. “So, if you’re not a distant relative of the Fairchild family, who are you?”
“Just a middle-school teacher from Tampa.”
“Married?”
“No! I mean, I wouldn’t have…” She appeared to grope for words, and her flush deepened.
“Kissed me?” He exerted all his self-control to keep himself from going to her and kissing her again.
She shook her head. “Not if I was married.”
“Or engaged?”
She shook her head again.
“Regrets?”
She pursed her pretty lips. “Time will tell. Right now, I’m more worried about Deb.”
As much as he wanted to kiss her again, he forced his attention to the dilemma of the woman in the next room. Leaning forward in his chair, he clasped his hands between his knees. “We have a problem.”
Her remarkable eyes widened, and her irises reflected the flames from the fireplace. The fire shot streaks of gold through her pale blond hair, tousled from the wind. She looked sexy and vulnerable, a knockout combination. “Deb’s injuries?”
“That, too,” he admitted, tamping down his desire. “But I was thinking more about a potential murderer. If whoever pushed your sister learns she’s alive, he—or she—might come after Debra again.”
Trish wrinkled the smooth skin of her forehead in a frown. “I’ve been so worried about Deb’s injuries, I hadn’t thought of that. Can we keep her rescue a secret until we discover her attacker?”
O’Neill shook his head. “We can’t allow the rescue squads to continue the search. It’s dangerous work and someone could get hurt.”
“So what do we do?”
“Let me talk to Captain Metcalf and fill him in. Maybe he’ll have a suggestion. I’ll call him in the morning.” The moan of the keening wind from the storm penetrated the thick log walls, and heavy snow beat against the windowpanes. “No one’s out in this weather now.”
Trish nodded and returned her gaze to the fire. Her shoulders slumped with fatigue. In minutes, her eyes had closed. If she was half as exhausted as he was, he marveled that she’d stayed awake this long.
Moving quietly, he checked on Debra, also asleep, then returned to the living room and sat across from Trish again. Allowing her past his de fenses had been a mistake, but he couldn’t help himself. Her courage and loyalty were impossible to ignore. From the first moment he’d seen her at the airport, she had roused deep feelings, emotions he’d believed sealed off forever. Watching her now, observing the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, the brush of dark lashes against flawless cheeks, her fragile facade that disguised a backbone of steel, he felt a rush of tenderness unlike anything he’d ever experienced for Alicia. Trish was insistent on taking care of herself, but he wanted to protect her, to shield her from unpleasantness and danger.
Most of all, he wanted to make love to her. He rose, went to her and scooped her up. She didn’t waken but snuggled deeper into his embrace, and he marveled at how good she felt, as if she’d been made for his arms. He carried her into the other bedroom, tugged down the covers and laid her gently on the king-size bed.
Without waking, she curled on her side. O’Neill lay beside her and pulled the blankets over both of them. He slid his arm around her waist, and her crisp, clean scent enveloped him. Fitting his body to hers, he felt her warmth seep into him. In an instant, he dropped into the deep sleep of exhaustion.
A BLAST OF HOWLING WIND awakened Trish. She bolted upright and glanced around in confusion. She didn’t recognize the room and couldn’t remember how she’d gotten there. Dim recollections of lying tucked against a warm, hard body flitted at the edge of her consciousness. At first, she thought she’d been dreaming, but the indentation on the pillow beside hers and the faint scent of balsam confirmed that O’Neill had slept beside her. Not only that, but he had carried her to bed last night, as well.
The intimacy of lying curled against O’Neill, even in her sleep, both thrilled and worried her. Events were moving too fast and, in her concern for Deb, Trish hadn’t been thinking clearly. She had allowed emotions to overrule her reason. Her sharp intuition, as much a part of her as her psychic connection with her sister, told her that, although O’Neill obviously didn’t intend to harm her or Deb, as evidenced by his selfless rescue, the man had deep secrets that he worked hard to hide. Under other circumstances, she would have kept her distance from O’Neill until she’d learned more about him, assessed his character and plumbed his motives, instead of making herself vulnerable to his charm.
And opening herself to his kiss.
Her pulse quickened at the memory until her pragmatic side took charge. She had to resist O’Neill and his magnetic appeal. Her first priority was taking care of Deb and finding out who’d tried to murder her sister. She swung her feet over the bed. Pale gray light seeped through the uncovered windows. Morning had arrived, but the storm hadn’t abated. No helicopters could fly in this weather.
She pattered barefoot across the living room to
check on Deb. Her sister slept soundly, and her color was good and her breathing even. Trish put her wrist on Deb’s forehead and was relieved to find no hint of fever.
Trish returned to the room where she’d slept and headed for the adjoining bathroom. It was as elegant as the one off Deb’s room. Stevens apparently didn’t believe in roughing it. O’Neill had laid out fresh towels, a new toothbrush still in its package and toothpaste. Trish hurriedly washed her face, brushed her teeth and finger-combed her hair. She cinched the sash on her oversize robe, rerolled the sleeves, and went to reclaim her own clothes, even if they were still wet.
After she left the bathroom, the sound of a strange voice drew her to the kitchen. O’Neill stood at the cooktop, frying sausage. The tantalizing aroma reminded her she hadn’t eaten since their picnic lunch yesterday, and her stomach growled with hunger. The voice she’d heard came from the radio, where an announcer was giving the local weather forecast.
“Good,” O’Neill said when the report ended. “We can fly out of here later today.”
“Fly?” The prospect of hovering high above the mountains in a tiny helicopter filled her with panic and she struggled to control her ragged breathing. As her fear of heights kicked in, her stomach revolted at the smell of food.
O’Neill’s expression turned from jubilant to compassionate. “Afraid of flying?”
She nodded, still fighting for air.
He removed the sausages to a plate and slid diced potatoes and onions into the hot pan. “There’s another alternative.”
“What?”
“I called Metcalf this morning and told him we’d found Ms. Devlin. I also related her claim that she’d been pushed. He agrees we should keep her rescue secret for now.”
Concern for Deb drove away her panic, and her breathing slowly returned to normal. “How do we keep her location a secret without endangering the rescue squad in an unnecessary search?”
“The search is suspended until the storm passes. After that, Metcalf says there’s no hurry, since, had we not found Deb, she wouldn’t have survived this weather. Speed, while desirable, isn’t as critical in a recovery effort, so Metcalf can claim that his squads and volunteers need another day to rest.”
“But the media’s all over this story,” Trish said. “Won’t they report that Deb’s in the hospital?”
“Not if we admit her under an assumed name.” His lips quirked in a wry smile. “You shouldn’t have any trouble coming up with an alias, considering your own experience.”
“I’m not normally deceptive,” she protested.
He stared at her for a long moment before returning his attention to the hash browns. “I believe you. But we’ll have to prolong your deception if we want to smoke out Ms. Devlin’s assailant. And expand it.”
“Expand it?”
“If we accompany your sister to the hospital, once we return to Endless Sky, we’d have a hard time explaining how we traveled to Asheville in a storm. Remaining here and hiking back to the resort when the weather clears makes better sense.”
Trish didn’t like to admit how much being alone with O’Neill appealed to her, in spite of her earlier protestations about remaining objective. “And how would we explain our absence?”
“If we return on foot, no one will know where we’ve been. I told Janine, my assistant, to take charge until further notice and not to disturb me. She thinks I’m at my house on the grounds.”
Heat crept up Trish’s face. “So we let everyone assume I’ve been there with you?”
“You have a problem with that?” His tone was light, breezy.
“I don’t know if I can pull it off,” she admitted, but didn’t concede how the idea of spending time alone with O’Neill stirred her senses and warmed her heart. “I’m not exactly a femme fatale.”
“You can do it to help your sister.” His gaze burned into her. “And no one will have a problem believing I’ve fallen hard for you.”
Was he implying that he had fallen for her? Her heart leaped at the possibility, but she shook her head. “Don’t be so sure. Your imperviousness to women is a hot topic of conversation among female guests.”
“Really?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
“Night before last, Victoria Westbrook was taking bets on who’d be the first to break through the barriers and kiss you.”
“So you’re the lucky winner.” His smile was teasing and threatened to destroy her resolve to keep her distance.
“Why?”
“What?”
“Why me? You’ve made a reputation of avoiding involvement with female guests in the past.” Her heart hammered and she held her breath, waiting for his answer.
He slid the hash browns onto a platter beside the sausages and set the pan back on the stove. Turning, he caught her in his stare, his midnight-blue eyes almost black. “You don’t know me very well, do you?”
He’d hit the nail on the head, and Trish squirmed under his scrutiny. “That’s the problem. I shouldn’t have indulged in kissing a man I know so little about.”
“What would you like to know?” He poured the bowl of eggs he’d been whisking into the heated pan.
“Anything would be a start.”
“Then I’ll begin with your last question. I kissed you because I couldn’t think of anything I wanted more. And, until yesterday, I hadn’t felt that way in over six years.”
The flicker of pain in his eyes was impossible to miss. “What happened six years ago?”
He turned his attention to scrambling the eggs and ignored her question. When the eggs were fluffy, he transferred them to the serving platter, placed the pan in the sink, and sat at the island across from her. “You’d better eat while it’s hot.”
She filled her plate, but the knot of apprehension in her throat prevented her from swallowing. O’Neill helped himself to eggs, hash browns and sausage.
“Six years ago…” His voice was flat, devoid of all emotion. “I broke my engagement.”
“Oh.” He, not his fiancée, had broken his engagement. She wondered what had happened.
“Aren’t you going to ask why?”
She shook her head. “I figure you’ll tell me if you want me to know.”
O’Neill met her gaze straight on and shook his head. “You’re an unusual woman, Trish Devlin. Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold.”
Her hunger overcame her nerves, and she dug into her eggs. For several long minutes, they ate with the muted strains of country music on the radio and the howl of the wind the only sounds in the room.
When O’Neill finished, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and refilled his coffee mug.
“I discovered my fiancée was unfaithful,” he said, picking up the conversation as if he’d never dropped it and revealing no more emotion than if he were discussing the weather. “Until then, I hadn’t a clue that Alicia was an opportunist who wanted me only for my money and the perks of my lifestyle. She loved the good life I lead, not me.”
Trish didn’t need telepathy to sense the pain behind O’Neill’s indifferent facade. “Her betrayal must have hurt.”
“It taught me to guard my heart. Made me suspicious of women and their motives, especially the superficial types I meet at the resort.” His detached demeanor warmed. “Until I met you.”
“And now you know I’m deceitful, too.” Thoughts of what might have been filled her with regret.
He shook his head. “You lied about your identity, but who you are is obvious.”
“A middle-income schoolteacher who doesn’t belong among the rich and famous?” She flashed a self-deprecating grin.
He reached across the island and threaded his fingers through hers. “A woman who risked her life for her sister. That’s about as unselfish as it gets.”
“Deb would have done the same for me.”
He sighed. “I’m an only child. Guess I’ve missed a lot, not having brothers or sisters.”
She squeezed his hand and grinned. “Keep talking, O�
�Neill, and I’ll know all your secrets.”
His expression closed, like a shutter over a window. “We’d better check on your sister.”
Apparently, O’Neill, despite his revelations about Alicia, still kept the secrets he didn’t want to share.
After breakfast, Trish took Deb orange juice and hot tea and sat beside the bed to make certain her sister drank them. She could hear O’Neill talking on the phone in the kitchen, and assumed he was directing activities at the resort.
She must have dozed off in the comfortable bedroom chair, because the next thing she knew, O’Neill entered the room with a pile of neatly folded clothing, still warm from the dryer, including her sneakers. He was dressed in his jeans, sweater and hiking boots from the day before.
“I washed and dried our clothes,” he said. “I’ll sit with Debra if you want to take a shower and dress.”
“Thanks.” O’Neill was becoming harder to resist by the minute. Trish wondered if his thoughtfulness was an integral part of his character or merely an extension of his hotel hospitality.
“You’ll be okay?” she asked Deb.
Her sister nodded. “I’m feeling stronger after a good night’s rest. That must be a good sign.”
Trish hurriedly showered, blew her hair dry and tugged on her clothes. When she returned to Deb, her sister motioned her to sit beside her.
“Did you find my computer?” Deb asked.
Trish shook her head and looked to O’Neill.
“The FBI took it,” he said, “but the rest of your belongings are locked in a storage closet at my house.”
“See if you can get my computer back,” Deb said. “You’ll want to review my notes on the guests and Stevens. The key to who pushed me may be in there somewhere.” She gave Trish her password.
And be extra careful, she warned. If my attacker learns you’re my sister, he may come after you, too.
Why?
I could have been attacked because I’ve learned something someone doesn’t want revealed. If my attacker thinks I’ve shared the information with you, you’re in danger, too. And I’m still not sure about O’Neill.
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