by Jule McBride
Fritzi was uncomfortably aware of the pulse ticking in her throat. “What?”
Abby laughed again. “Well, we’ve still got no idea what fool managed to drop him here in this weather, but Brownie Mulray was running his huskies when he saw tracks in the woods between the airstrip and Hannah’s. He said they were protected from the wind by a grove—”
Fritzi’s mouth went dry. “Footprint-type tracks?”
“What?” Abby chuckled. “Does your husband have hooves or something?”
Her heart thudding, Fritzi somehow smiled and shook her head. “Hardly.” But was she really going to play along with this madness, to pretend her husband had arrived in town?
Abby smiled. “Then, when J.J. was opening the general store, he saw someone on the mountain above Hannah’s. We figured either you or David had skied to one of the old, abandoned trapper’s cabins up there.”
Fritzi nodded numbly. She’d barely been out of the house, much less skied across a mountain.
“And yesterday when you were working late,” Abby continued, “I glanced up at Hannah’s on the way home. He was in the bedroom.”
Fritzi’s insides quaked. “You saw a man in the house?”
Abby rolled her eyes. “Okay, it was dark. I just saw the curtain being lifted. He was kind of a shadow.”
Fritzi’s heart hammered so hard she felt faint. “A shadow?”
Abby stared at her. “Yeah. A shadow.” She chuckled again. “A very broad-shouldered shadow.”
A chill, like a cold tongue, licked up Fritzi’s spine. Clasping her unsteady hands together, she shoved them into her lap.
“You’re sure a man was in my house?” At this point, Fritzi hardly cared if Abby thought she sounded strange. This confirmed everything—the strange sounds in the house, the missing clothes and knife and gun….
“Oh, no!” Abby shot her a guilty stare. “Was David supposed to be out doing something?”
“Doing something?” Fritzi croaked.
“You know.” Abby sent her a level look. “Chopping wood, shopping.”
“You mean errands?”
“So he was.” Abby nodded. “And now I’ve got him in trouble.”
“Not at all,” Fritzi managed.
In the strained silence that followed, Fritzi’s mind raced. Had David really found her classified ad and come here? Was he keeping himself hidden because he was in trouble? If so, she needed to talk to him, to find out what was wrong. Heaven help her, but she wanted to protect him if necessary.
She couldn’t even consider the other possibility—that the man in the house had been a stranger, lurking in her bedroom while she slept. She suddenly shivered, thinking of the slow, squeaking creaks of Malcolm’s cradle when it rocked at night.
“Fritzi?”
She started. “What?”
“I said, don’t be too hard on David if he was supposed to be out running errands. Anyway, I can’t wait to meet him. And speaking of husbands, I’m supposed to meet mine, so I’ve got to run.”
Fritzi forced herself to nod.
At the door, Abby turned. “Look, are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Fritzi lied.
“Well, if you’re not, don’t worry. This place takes some getting used to. The darkness alone could make a saint crazy. And if you need anything…”
Fritzi nodded. “Thanks.”
She listened to Abby’s steps recede down a long, echoing hallway. Because the old schoolhouse was built during the town’s cannery boom, it was meant to accommodate a large student body. Now only part of the first floor of the four-story building was used. Far away, Fritzi heard a heavy metal door clank shut, then the engine of Abby’s truck.
She was completely alone now.
And she was terrified.
Cold, too. Alaska’s glacial ice had seemed to settle in her bone marrow. So had the haunting, neverending silence. The burdensome weight of the drafty, cavernous old schoolhouse suddenly pressed down on her—suffocating her, making her breathless, panicky. Her eyes shot to the darkness beyond the window.
Had something out there just moved?
Her heart pounding wildly, Fritzi rose cautiously—barely moving, inching ever so slowly past the baby and toward the wide, uncovered windows.
There it was again!
A shadow in the dark. A phantom that flitted between trees in the schoolyard, probably a man. Was he watching her? Stealthily, she edged closer to the window, her blue eyes piercing the dark snow, seeking the shadows.
And then she saw what was really nothing more than an absence—a blowing branch and a swirling leaf, a ghostly shadow and the impression of steps whisked away by wind. Just signs that someone had passed. Of course, there would be no proof he was here, Fritzi thought, rage welling inside her. There was never any damn proof.
Swiftly, she flung open the casement windows and leaned out over the icy ledge. “David,” she shrieked into the fierce winds. “Is that you, David?”
TONIGHT FRITZI WASN’T imagining things. Someone was in her bedroom.
Something—she didn’t know what—had wrenched her from sleep. From a sensuous dream about David that was so real she’d actually felt her husband’s touches in the darkness, a phantom kiss and featherlight caress, the shadowy ghosting of fingertips across her cheek. She’d awakened with a start, her white flannel gown twisted around her waist beneath the covers, the warm aching of her body too real to deny. She was sure she’d been visited by her husband, not some dream lover.
Now she told herself not to move. She clenched her teeth, her lungs burning from a lack of air, and forced herself to start breathing slowly. She counted the breaths: one, two, three, four.
She had to think.
Seconds ago, she’d felt so dreamily fluid. Now she was lying rigidly on her back, the muscles of her legs bunched and hard, her fingers curling silently into the mattress. Her eyes were flung wide open, but she saw nothing because the room’s darkness was so black and impenetrable. Sheer terror wouldn’t let her move. Or breathe.
She forced herself to start breathing again: one, two, three, four.
Then she waited.
And waited.
Finally she heard a creak…a footstep?
She imagined herself rolling toward the banker’sstyle bedside lamp, grabbing the gold chain cord. But she was too scared to turn on the light. Scared David would be in the room. Or that he wouldn’t be. Or that no one would be there at all…
And that she was really losing her mind.
She turned her head, inch by terrifying inch, thinking of Malcolm’s safety, praying her hair wouldn’t rustle against the crisp cotton pillow. Then she heard that bone-chilling sound of Malcolm’s cradle again, creaking back and forth, back and forth.
She wanted to scream. Instead she whispered, “David?”
Everything went so quiet that she could have died and left the living world. The cradle stilled. The wind quit howling. Then, from only a few feet away, came a man’s shallow breathing.
Fritzi’s body reacted before her mind—flinging back the covers, reaching for the lamp cord and pulling. Just as light bathed the room, she spun on the mattress, her squinting eyes drawn first to Malcolm, who was fine and sleeping in the cradle. Then toward a man who was moving around the bed—fast. His large gloved hand came from nowhere, backhanding the lamp. The chain cord snapped through her fingers, and the shade and bulb shattered, thrusting the room back into blackness.
Malcolm wailed.
The shadowy figure turned, saying, “Sh…”
Her heart racing, Fritzi barely registered that the man’s mere whisper silenced the baby. She was still seeing the gray blur of his parka and the thick white fur ruff around the hood that hid his face. Only now, when he tried to shrug off her grasp, did she realize she was kneeling on the mattress, clutching his coat sleeves and straining to see inside the hood.
Crazy, incoherent words tumbled from her lips. “Talk to me,” she said over and over. “Just talk to me. Da
vid, I know it’s you. I’m sure it’s you. Please, just tell me why you left me…”
He didn’t say a word. Or move—until she reached for his face. Then he jerked back his head, just far enough she couldn’t push away his hood. Love knew no pride and hers was gone. “Why did you leave me?” she cried out. “Didn’t you love me?”
The man she was so sure was David leaned closer, the soft fur ruff of his hood sweeping across her cheek. Fritzi prayed he’d whisper the answer in her ear.
“Oh, Da—David,” she gasped brokenly. “How could you have stopped loving me? Just answer me.”
And then he did. Suddenly and silently. With a work-roughened hand that slid beneath her hair—and hot, hungry lips that locked possessively over hers.
Chapter Two
The room spun in dark, crazy circles, either from the kiss or David’s appearance, Fritzi didn’t know which. Nor did she care. All that mattered was David. Her husband was home—and claiming her with an assault on her senses so powerful she was sure she’d faint.
Not that she did. She submitted body and soul, mind and spirit, letting him lock her in a fast, furious embrace…a near coupling that was as harsh and primal as Alaska itself, as majestic in its sweep, and as wild and predatory.
She had come to the ends of the earth for this man.
And he had followed.
“Oh, David,” she gasped against his lips. “David, it’s really you. I knew you’d come. I never doubted.”
And yet Fritzi wanted to fling back his hood, feast her eyes on the face she’d missed so much, and hear him say I love you. “Stop,” she whispered breathlessly. “Oh, David, please stop.”
But she didn’t mean it.
And he didn’t stop. Or he couldn’t. He only seemed able to devour her. Passion surged forth, making his mouth turn ever more demanding, and Fritzi couldn’t find the strength to deny the need that radiated heat through his clothes and made itself known in the tension of his body and the unrelenting lock of his embrace.
His splayed hands fell everywhere at once—the flat, hard pressure of his gloved palms molding her waist, her hips, her thighs. Each touch said he was afraid he’d never caress her again, and each kiss said he’d long-harbored feverish fantasies that were now bursting forth, becoming realities. Like the crack of thunder that announced a storm, or the sudden leap of a horse just unbridled, the raw power of David’s desire was unleashed in Fritzi’s blood.
Even though she was kneeling on the mattress, her body buckled. She dropped to her haunches—but a swift, steely forearm caught her. Tightening the arm around her back, he drew her lips to his again. Quickly, he stripped off a glove and pocketed it, then she felt his bare hand capture the hem of her gown. As his tongue plunged between her lips, driving and relentless, his rough, trailing fingers rose on her silken legs.
Fritzi’s response was as immediate as when they’d first met, reminding her of why they should be together. Raw, exposed nerve endings shimmered across her skin, making bumps rise on her arms. She became aware of each agonizing inch of the chest that was pressed against her. And as his energy flooded her, charging her with a swirling blaze of fire, she started arching and arching…mindlessly straining toward him, heat pooling in her belly and warming her core.
Her husband was really here, she thought incoherently—kissing her, loving her. And there would be time to fight about his betrayal later.time to hear his explanations of why he’d deserted her and for him and Malcolm to bond. There had to be time later. Because right now she was powerless to do more than cling to him.
“Oh, say…say you still love me, David,” she begged breathlessly, her barely audible words only vague mutterings. “Please…”
But with that last word Fritzi was begging not for answers, but for his touch. His response was a lowvoiced moan that rumbled in his chest like thunder, bespeaking undeniable desire too long suppressed. His mouth covered hers once more, and he deepened the kiss, varying the pressure of his lips, his tongue turning wild, commanding her response.
Gasping, she realized his down parka was bunching beneath her hands. She groped for the hem, then found his waist. He’d lost weight, but all her husband’s warmth was still here.
Was it really David?
Panic made her hands freeze. But her doubt lasted a fleeting second, less than the time between heartbeats.
And then Fritzi’s hands moved again—circling his waist, flickering past a leather belt, tugging a warm, thermal shirt from a denim waistband. When the back of her hand inadvertently brushed his fly, he groaned against her lips, thrusting his tongue deep.
Oh, this was her husband. The kiss was proof. His wide, full lips covered hers, more convincing than any speech. And the spear of the tongue that seared hers and made her burn with longing had more credibility than a thousand words.
Oh, yes, this kiss was proof positive.
So was the familiar scent of him—spiced pine and animal musk, clean air and chimney smoke. The heady smell of his skin recalled more memories than any picture. More intoxicating than wine, it brought a barrage of strange, sensual images—her and David crushing grapes with their bare feet in sunshine, and making love in ice caves wrapped in furs, and dancing naked in moonlight.
Of course this was her husband.
Because if he wasn’t, her lips would know. But rather than voicing protest, they were kissing him back, turning supple beneath his mouth. Only Fritzi’s hands remained hard and unforgiving. They clung to David’s waist so tightly that he could never leave her again.
Abruptly, his knees shifted to the mattress, and her body tipped as he climbed into bed with her-parka and jeans and boots and all. Kneeling in front of her, he held her tight, wedging her against the straining, bulging muscles of his thighs.
When he nestled the most intimate part of himself at the juncture of her legs, her hot body melted against the cool fabric of his parka. Leaning into his cradling embrace, Fritzi let him lower her onto the mattress in a never-ending free fall in the darkness—with only her husband’s strong arms supporting her.
And then he was on her. The soft flannel of her gown was no real barrier to the hard thighs that settled between hers. In one swift, fluid motion, his hands grasped her, rocking her body beneath him, so her knees rose and her arms flung around his neck.
“Oh, David, I love you.love you,” Fritzi murmured, throwing back her head to better feel the fiery, wet kisses he blazed down her neck. He was so warm. And like a bonfire in the snow, he heated her front while her back against the mattress became cold. She strained, seeking his mouth again, begging for his kiss—until his lips captured hers again.
There would be no turning back. They were on fire, melting into each other. Something stronger than mere arousal had stirred their bodies, something far more raw and elemental.
Something called love.
But then he wrenched away. Fritzi gasped, registering that the hard heat of him was gone, her body aching, her wet mouth slack from the ministrations of his lips.
“Don’t you still love me?” she whispered, her voice a ragged croak. “Oh, please, David, don’t you love me?”
She couldn’t really see him in the dark—only felt him watching her and imagined his soft brown hair and eyes. Maybe David was going to undress, and she was about to touch the bare skin of the one man who was destined to be hers, the father of her child.
Instead, he turned. And like a phantom, he swept soundlessly from her bedroom.
For a stunned moment she couldn’t move. Her heart was hammering hard, pounding in her ears—either from shock or David’s caresses, she didn’t know which. Then mindlessly she rolled off the mattress and ran, the wood floor cold on her bare feet.
Realizing she’d heard no footsteps on the redcarpeted stairs, Fritzi stopped breathlessly at the bedroom door. Cautiously she crept into the hallway. Was David still in the house?
The dark stairwell was full of even darker shadows—floorboards receding into walls and looming, man
like shapes that looked ready to lunge. What have I done? Fritzi suddenly wondered. She’d been so ready, so willing….
Dear heavens, she prayed, thinking the unthinkable, don’t let me have nearly made love to a man who wasn’t David. But that was crazy. It had to be him.
“David?” she called out.
But there was no answer. Hearing something downstairs, she froze. Had the front door just closed?
Hugging the wall, her back flat against the cool plaster, she made fists of her hands to stop their trembling. Then she tiptoed onto the first stair step…the second…the third, each creaking in the deafening silence until she reached the downstairs landing.
With a burst of adrenaline, she shot down the hallway and across the dangerously exposed foyer. Flinging open the front door, she didn’t even register the frigid gust of wind that caught her heavy white gown, making it billow like a sail. She peered into the black velvet sky and the endless blanket of white snow.
But David was gone.
She shuddered. Unless he’s still inside.
It was hard to tell, since the fierce winds could have swept away his footprints already. If only there was another house in sight. But there was only snow and mountains and starless black sky.and craggy tree branches that tapped insistently against the windows like castanets. Because it was always so dark, Fritzi didn’t even know what time of night it was.
Suddenly, in the snow, she saw a spot of black.
Heedless of danger, she bolted into the eerie landscape—running headlong, her bare feet stinging, her white gown flapping in the wind. And she didn’t turn back until after her numbing fingers had closed around the glove he’d left behind.
“Proof,” she whispered.
At least this time there was proof.
FRITZI HAD BEEN HOPING the doorbell would ring, so she wasn’t sure why it startled her. Surely David would return. But he hadn’t yet, and it was past noon. Last night it was David, she told herself. I know it was.
“C’mon, sweetie, want to help Mommy see who’s here?” Fritzi snuggled Malcolm against her hip and planted a kiss on the black lick of hair sweeping his forehead. As she headed for the foyer, she smoothed her cream sweater and long brown wool skirt.