AN INNOCENT MAN

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AN INNOCENT MAN Page 7

by Margaret Watson


  Until he'd gotten the note. After all these years, he'd almost managed to forget this town. Almost. And then one day in the mail he'd received an anonymous note, telling him his father's death hadn't been any accident. That he'd been killed.

  Pushing through the bushes, he found the little stream he'd been looking for. This was the place he'd always come as a kid, riding his first small motorbike up the mountain in search of solitude. Easing himself down into the soft moss, he leaned a tree and idly watched the water ripple over the rocks.

  Who had sent the note? And why? If he could figure that out, he'd be halfway to solving the mystery. Why would anyone want to dredge up an eighteen-year-old death?

  As he stared at the stream, thinking, it slowly dawned on him that something was different about this place. Frowning, he leaned forward, looking at the water and the trees around it. On the surface nothing looked changed.

  As he studied the stream, his eyes narrowed. Where were the fish? This stream had been his favorite fishing spot, and the trout used to practically jump out of the water into his net. Swarms of minnows used to hide next to the rocks, and all kinds of insects used to skitter across the surface of the water or the sand underneath it.

  Now the stream was silent, and empty except for the rocks that lined the floor. Connor stood and walked upstream for a while, sure he'd just found the one barren spot. But no matter where he looked, there was no sign of any fish. There was no sign of any life whatsoever.

  As he stared into the water, frowning, he almost didn't hear the crack of twigs behind him. When he did turn around, he was too late. The blow caught him on the side of the head and the world exploded in pain.

  * * *

  Chapter 5

  «^»

  Sarah stood in the waiting room of her clinic, watching her last patient of the day walk out the door. She glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. Connor had been gone all day, and there was no sign of him yet.

  More than one of her patients had reported that he'd rented a car from the service station and headed off into the mountains in the direction of the Wesley mine. That had been hours ago. Twirling one strand of hair around her finger, she looked at the phone, torn with indecision.

  She had no idea where Connor had gone or why. But the fact that he'd headed off in the direction of the mine made a knot of fear settle in her stomach. She wouldn't soon forget the hatred that had seemed to flow between Connor and her cousin and uncle. Should she call her cousin Richard, see if Connor had been there?

  As her hand reached for the phone, she told herself that anything could have happened to him. He might have passed out in the car, run off the road. He'd suffered a concussion only two days ago, after all. It was no more than her duty as the only medical person in Pine Butte to check on him.

  She'd dialed half the numbers for her cousin's office at the mine when she slowly replaced the receiver. If Connor hadn't gone to the mine, he might not appreciate her phoning Richard. Until she had a better idea of why he was here, she didn't want to remind her cousin or her uncle about his presence.

  Grabbing the keys to her truck, she hurried out the door. The smartest thing to do was look for him herself. That way, when she found him perfectly safe, she was the only one who'd know what a fool she'd been.

  The inside of her truck felt like the desert at high noon. Heat shimmered off the seat, and the steering wheel was almost too hot to touch. She rolled down the windows, then headed for the road that led to the mine.

  When she got to the entrance, she stopped the truck but didn't drive in. One glance told her that the tiny economy car Connor had rented wasn't there. Letting in the clutch, she hurried past the gate and drove on, scanning the sides of the road for any sign of his car.

  She was about to turn around and head back to town when she saw the flash of metal behind a stand of trees. Jumping out of the truck, she ran over to the car. It was the rental car from the service station, but there was no sign of Connor.

  The ground rose in a steep slope just past where the car was parked. Scanning it quickly, she decided that she'd climb it if she had to. Right now, she'd check the other side of the road first.

  She heard the stream almost as soon as she'd crossed the road, and stopped abruptly. Maybe he'd come up here to do some fishing. Just because he'd said he had business to take care of today didn't have to mean anything sinister. Maybe his business had been nothing more serious than catching a few trout.

  She'd come this far, she told herself reluctantly, and she might as well finish it. If she felt like a fool because she came running to rescue a man who was fishing, then so be it. She'd think of some excuse to give Connor.

  When she got to the stream, there was no sign of him.

  "He probably wandered downstream," she muttered, trying to ignore the frisson of uneasiness that skittered down her spine. She took two steps toward the car when the eerie quiet made her stop.

  If he was fishing she should at least hear the regular plop of the fly hitting the water, or the splashing of his boots as he moved through the stream. The only sound was the quiet gurgling of the water moving over the rocks.

  The back of her neck prickling, she pushed through the undergrowth and walked a little farther. "Connor?" she called quietly. "Are you here?"

  She walked a little farther, calling again. When there was no answer she leaned over the stream, trying to look ahead.

  The only thing she saw was a bluish log in the water upstream.

  She stared at it for a moment, puzzled by its color. Suddenly she realized that it wasn't a log at all but a person's jean-covered leg. Her stomach clenched in fear as she rushed through the bushes toward the prone figure, ignoring the branches whipping at her face.

  Connor lay sprawled on the ground, his legs in the water. An ugly purple bruise discolored the skin next to his right eye.

  "Connor!" she screamed. Dropping to her knees next to him, she frantically reached for a pulse.

  When she found it, steady and strong, she drew in a shaking breath. At least he was alive. Reaching over his still body, she tugged at his legs until they were out of the water. Her hands flew over him, searching for any other injuries.

  When she was satisfied that the bruise on his head was the only problem, she rolled him over on his back. In spite of the searing heat he felt cold and clammy. "Connor," she said urgently. "Can you hear me?"

  He groaned and moved his head just a fraction of an inch. The fingers of his right hand clenched and relaxed.

  "Connor, you have to wake up! I can't carry you out of here."

  He groaned again and his eyelids fluttered open. "Sarah? What're—"

  "I came looking for you," she interrupted. "You'd been gone for too long. What happened? Did you feel dizzy, fall and hit your head on a rock?"

  His eyes closed, and she was afraid he'd passed out again. "No." His voice sounded groggy. "Gotta get out of here."

  "That's right," she soothed. "Do you think you can walk?"

  "Try."

  He struggled to sit up, and she grabbed his shoulders and pulled him forward. The slight remaining color in his face drained away, and she knew pain had to be stabbing through his head. Squatting next to him, she fitted her shoulder under his arm.

  "Hold onto me and try to stand up."

  He wrapped both his arms around her and she felt his muscles tense. Slowly, feeling his weight sagging against her, she staggered to her feet. He stood swaying in the sun, his eyes closed against the pain and weakness, using her to support him.

  It couldn't be more than fifty yards back to the truck, she thought desperately, turning in the direction of the road. She could get him that far. As long as he didn't fall down, they'd make it.

  Her left arm tightened around his waist until a sharp intake of his breath, quickly muffled, reminded her about his ribs. She slipped her fingers inside the waistband of his jeans, catching her breath at the feel of his hot skin against her knuckles. Disgusted with herself, she tight
ened her grip on his jeans. If she needed any proof that she had to get a life, this was it.

  "We're going to go real slow, Connor. One step at a time. Once we get to the road, I'll get the truck and you can pass out again."

  She wasn't sure if she was reassuring Connor or herself.

  She kept up a soothing, running monologue all the way through the woods. The hand hooked into the waistband of his jeans cramped, but she ignored the pain. Whenever she didn't have to use her right hand to hold branches away from his face, she tucked it into his armpit and took some of the weight off her left hand.

  By the time she spotted the road through a break in the trees she was practically dragging him behind her. She wasn't sure if he'd passed out again and she couldn't stop to find out. If she lost her forward momentum, she'd never get started again.

  When they reached the strip of gravel, she guided him to a tree and eased him to the ground. Her legs buckled under her and she slid down next to him. As she sat there, willing strength back into her arms and legs, she looked at the man next to her.

  His face was pasty white, and beads of sweat that had formed at his hairline ran down the side of his face. His eyes were closed. She couldn't tell if he was awake or unconscious again.

  "Connor?" she said, suddenly scared. "Can you hear me?"

  "I can hear you." His voice sounded harsh and raspy. "How much farther to the truck?"

  "It's down the road a little. I'll get it in a minute. You won't have to walk any farther."

  Willing her muscles to obey her, she stood up. Her legs trembled and her arms shook, but she ignored it. "I'll be back in less than five minutes."

  "Hurry."

  "Connor." She dropped to her knees in front of him, her heart thundering. "Is there something more wrong with you than your head? Are you injured somewhere else?"

  His eyes fluttered open. The softening in their bleak depths, quickly suppressed, had her reaching for his hand. His surprisingly warm fingers closed around hers and held on.

  "No, it's just my head. But I don't want to be sitting on this road alone in this condition."

  "I'll run to the truck," she promised. "It's not more than a few yards down the road."

  She eased her hand out of his, hating to break the contact. She got to her feet, then turned back on impulse. Dropping to her knees again, she pressed a kiss to his lips.

  "I'll be right back."

  His eyes snapped open as she jumped to her feet and turned in the direction of the truck. She felt his gaze but she didn't look back. As she ran down the road, fear for Connor churned in her gut, mixing with a queasy apprehension. He'd had two accidents in as many days. Her heart thundered as her feet crunched on the gravel. That was quite a coincidence for a sleepy little town like Pine Butte. Or was it more than a coincidence?

  She tried to banish the ugly thought but it lingered at the edge of her mind, making her feet move even faster.

  The truck was closer than she'd thought and she pulled up next to him less than three minutes later. She turned the truck, jumped out and opened the passenger door. When he heard her coming, he'd tried to stand up. He was propped against the tree, his knees bent, trying hard not to slide back to the ground.

  "Just a few steps," she crooned, draping his arm over her shoulders again and holding onto his jeans. Together they staggered to the truck, and she practically shoved him into the cab. As he leaned against the seat, she lifted his legs into the cab then shut the door.

  Supporting herself against the hot fender, she closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath, finally allowing herself to confront the fear. If she hadn't come looking for him, he might have died, lying there in the icy water. It might be summer, but the mountain streams were still cold and the nights up here could be frigid.

  After a moment she forced herself to get into the truck. Connor needed to lie down somewhere, preferably on an evacuation helicopter to Glenwood Springs. Ignoring the pang of loss at the thought of his leaving Pine Butte, she concentrated on a way to convince him he would be better off in a hospital with a real doctor.

  She started down the mountain, wincing every time the truck hit a bump in the road. After a few minutes, she glanced at Connor. His eyes were closed, but she saw him tense every time the truck bounced.

  "Sorry about the ride," she said. "I'm trying to avoid the biggest holes."

  "Don't worry about it." His eyes opened and a ghost of a smile passed over his face. "Any kind of a ride is a hell of a lot better than lying facedown in the woods."

  Thank God he was at least conscious. "What happened?" she asked softly. Maybe she could take his mind off the uncomfortable ride.

  She could almost feel him tense beside her. "Someone sneaked up behind me and knocked me out." His voice was flat and without expression. "I have no idea how long I was lying there."

  "What?" she whispered, staring at him. Apprehension blossomed into sickening fear. "Someone knocked you out? I thought you'd slipped and hit your head on a rock."

  "I'm sure that was how it was supposed to look," he answered grimly. "But whoever did it screwed up and didn't hit me hard enough." His face softened as he looked at her. "And they didn't count on you coming to look for me. Why did you?"

  The truck nearly swerved off the road as she stared at him. Finally, feeling the faint flush in her cheeks, she turned to watch the road. "I was worried," she answered, trying to sound nonchalant. "I knew you weren't as strong as you thought you were. I was afraid you'd had an accident or something." Remembering her concern about a possible confrontation with her cousin, she felt a thrum of dread deep inside her chest. What was happening in her town?

  "Yeah, I guess accident would cover it." He leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes again.

  "Connor?"

  "Later, okay?"

  She saw his hand grip the armrest on the door. Every time the truck bounced, his knuckles turned white. He was right. She had to concentrate on getting him to town as quickly as possible. After she'd made sure his injury wasn't serious he could answer her questions.

  * * *

  Sarah pulled the truck around the back to avoid any curious eyes on Main Street

  . Unlocking the back door to the clinic, she propped it open and hurried to the truck to help him out. When she opened the door, he slid off the seat and stood, swaying slightly, on the hot pavement. "Hold on to me," she directed, and was rewarded with another of his infrequent, blinding smiles.

  "With pleasure."

  Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, he moved slowly toward the open door. Instead of stopping at an exam room, she went directly to the bedroom and eased him down on the bed.

  He sighed and relaxed into the quilt and she wanted nothing more than to soothe away his pain. The realization slammed into her and she slowly took a step backward. What was happening to her? Wasn't this what she'd been dreaming of for the past twelve years, Connor MacCormac helpless and dependent on her? What had happened to her fantasies of revenge? The emotions he roused in her now were neither comfortable nor reassuring.

  She should be feeling nothing but dislike and a cool professionalism for this man. His smiles shouldn't make her heart beat faster. She shouldn't be thinking about him so much that she felt compelled to go looking for him when he didn't show up for several hours. She should look at him and realize that he'd finally gotten what he deserved after so many years.

  But all she could do was burn with the need for revenge against the person who'd injured him. She couldn't even pretend it was just concern for her patient, because right now it would give her great pleasure to pick up a rock and smash it into whoever had done this. No, there was nothing detached about her feelings for Connor MacCormac.

  "Could I have some water?" he croaked.

  "Of course," she said briskly, rousing herself. "I'll be right back."

  She walked into the room a few minutes later with a glass of water and several instruments. "I want to examine you before I let you have a drin
k."

  "Be my guest, but there's nothing wrong with me other than a knock on the head. I'll be on my feet again tomorrow."

  "I was going to suggest a trip to Glenwood Springs. I still think you should see a doctor, now more than ever."

  "Trust me, Sarah, I'm fine. Go ahead and do your exam if it will make you feel better, but you're not going to find anything."

  Ten minutes later she was forced to agree with him. Other than an ugly purple bruise on the side of his head, there weren't any signs of serious injury. Rocking back on her heels, she looked at him and asked, "How did you know that you were okay? How do you know so much about medicine?"

  He shrugged and looked at his hands. "I just know my own body. I can tell if there's anything seriously wrong. Shifting once more on the bed, he looked at her. "What happened to your face?"

  "My face?" She reached up to touch her cheek and felt criss-crossing welts. "I don't know."

  "You look like you've been in a cat fight."

  Suddenly remembering her headlong rush through the bushes after she'd spotted him in the stream, she flushed faintly and shrugged, praying he couldn't see the color in her face in the dim light. "I guess the bushes up on the mountain scratched me."

  He watched her steadily, a strange light in his eyes. "Sarah," he began, but she interrupted.

  "It's not important. What is important…" She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I don't think you should move back to your mother's house just yet. It's kind of … isolated, and you're probably not going to be real quick for the next few days. Think about staying here for a while." She watched him fight the weariness weighing his body down and saw the exact moment when he couldn't fight any longer.

  "I'll do that," he grunted. "Later." His eyes drifted shut and he slowly relaxed.

  She pulled the quilt over him and stood watching for a minute. For the time being he was safe. She'd have to be satisfied with that, and save her questions for later.

 

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