He sat, staring at the darkness through the uncovered window, trying to think. A distinct flash of light in the distant woods caught his eye.
The midnight intruder had returned.
If he couldn’t convince Becca to marry him tonight, at least he could protect her. He turned to find her watching him in the darkness.
“Call 911,” he said.
Her eyes clouded in confusion. “Are you ill?”
“Someone’s in the woods. I’m going after him. Call the sheriff.”
He started to rise, and she grabbed his arm. “You’ve been hero enough for one day, Matt. Let it go.”
Bending low so their lips almost touched, Matt spoke with fierce conviction. “I have to satisfy myself that whoever’s out there isn’t a threat to you and Emily. If they are, I’ll need the sheriff’s help.”
He kissed her, hard and fast, then leaped from the bed and sprinted out of the room.
Stunned, Becca sat for a second, then moved into action, throwing on her clothes before racing to the phone in the hallway.
She gave her name and location to the dispatcher and explained about the prowler.
“We have a deputy in the area,” the dispatcher said. “He should be there within fifteen minutes.”
Becca hung up and started to go after Matt. Then she remembered Emily asleep upstairs. With the prowler a potential threat, she couldn’t leave Emily alone in the house. Instead of following Matt, she locked the kitchen door, then hurriedly secured the other doors and windows on the first floor.
That action took only minutes. Becca stared through the kitchen window toward the woods, where the bobbing light still shone, wondering what was happening, fearful for Matt’s safety.
The intruder was probably harmless, she assured herself, but common sense demanded otherwise. If the person had legitimate business in her woods, why wait until midnight and sneak through the darkness?
Who would do such a thing? Her imagination fired into overdrive—a moonshiner brewing illegal white lightning; a poacher hunting animals on the endangered-species list; a serial killer hiding bodies—
Stop it! she ordered herself before she descended completely into hysteria.
But she couldn’t help worrying about Matt, couldn’t help longing to hold him safely in her arms. She couldn’t marry him—they were oil and water as she’d told him—but she could pray he’d be protected from all harm.
As she watched, the light in the woods suddenly went out. Turning on her heel, Becca raced to the mantel in the living room, took down Grandpa’s shotgun, then scurried to the closet in the guest bedroom where she kept the shells in a combination-lock box. In her desperation, she at first forgot the series of numbers, then, once she remembered them, fumbled with clumsy fingers. At the sound of pounding on the back door, she dropped the box on her bare foot.
“Becca, it’s me!” Matt called. “Open up.”
She picked up the gun and box and hurried to the kitchen. Flipping on the porch light, she gasped at the sight of a strange face peering through the window with a grimace. Then she spotted Matt behind the stranger, wresting the man’s arm behind him in a grip he couldn’t escape.
Becca opened the door, and Matt shoved the stranger into the kitchen. Squinting in the sudden bright light, the scrawny stranger appeared to be between fifty and sixty years old with his long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. In bell-bottom jeans and a tie-dyed shirt, he looked like a throwback to the sixties. His already anxious expression intensified when he glimpsed Becca’s shotgun.
“Please,” he begged. “Don’t shoot me. I wasn’t hurting anyone.”
“Sit down and don’t move.” Matt released the man, who sank immediately into the chair Matt had indicated and began rubbing the arm Matt had wrenched.
“What were you doing in my woods?” Becca asked.
“Stealing,” Matt said before the man could answer. He held up a bulging gunnysack and tossed it to Becca.
Afraid of what she’d find, Becca peeked inside. The contents amazed her. She turned to the man. “Roots? You were digging up and stealing roots?”
With a crestfallen expression, he nodded.
“Why?” Becca insisted. “Were you hungry?” The man’s gaunt frame suggested hunger might be a possibility.
To her surprise, the man laughed. “Don’t you know what those are?”
Matt stood protectively between Becca and the stranger, obviously poised to put a hammerlock on the thief if he made a threatening move.
“They’re roots,” Becca said.
“Very valuable roots,” the man replied. “What’s in that sack is worth several hundred dollars.”
Becca snorted in disbelief. “What fool would pay that for roots?”
The man’s shoulders drooped. “No one, now that you’ve got them.”
“You’d better explain yourself, mister,” Matt said in a voice that made even Becca cringe.
“Yes, the sheriff’s on his way,” Becca added. “He’ll be here any minute.”
“You’re pressing charges?” the stranger asked.
“Depends,” Matt said, “on what you were doing on Ms. Warwick’s property.”
“Look,” the man said with a forced smile. “I’m not a criminal. I’m a businessman.”
“What kind of business has you trespassing in the wilderness in the middle of the night?” Matt demanded.
“Herbs.”
“Herbs?” Matt and Becca asked in unison.
“I own a shop in Asheville. We sell organic produce, herbs and New Age books.” He nodded toward the sack. “Those are ginseng roots. Highly valued. Very expensive. The woods back there are full of them.”
“Ever occur to you to ask permission to dig there?” Matt said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Or to offer to pay for the ginseng you took?”
The man had the decency to look ashamed. “I thought it was public land.”
“And that would make it all right?” Matt asked with obvious disgust.
“The national forest is farther west,” Becca said. “The land where you were digging is mine.”
“Look,” the man said pleadingly. “Maybe we can work out a deal.”
“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Matt said.
He looked so fierce, so protective of her that Becca again experienced what it would be like to have someone watch over her.
It felt good.
Too good.
She couldn’t afford to become accustomed to the feeling. When Matt returned to California, she and Emily would be looking out for themselves, totally on their own again.
A shadow on the back porch caught Becca’s eye, and a uniformed deputy stepped through the open door into the kitchen.
“You got a problem, Becca?” The deputy was Billy Thornburg. He’d been three years ahead of Becca in school, and she’d known him all her life.
“This is Dr. Tyler.” Becca introduced Matt. “He—”
“You’re the one!” Billy’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “Man, the whole department’s talking about you. That was some amazing rescue, pulling Lucy Ledbetter out of the quarry.”
“The greater achievement was pulling me out,” Matt said. “If it hadn’t been for Jake Bennett and the others, Lucy and I would both be feeding the fishes.”
Billy eyed the stranger, cowering in the chair. “What’s the problem, Doc?”
Between them, Becca and Matt explained about the ginseng thief. Billy cuffed the stranger and prepared to lead him away. “We’ll run a background check. See if he’s got a record.”
“If he hasn’t,” Becca said, taking pity on the man’s obvious terror at being arrested, “I don’t want to press charges. Not if he’ll promise to stay off my land.”
Billy nodded. “It’s your call.”
Becca thanked the deputy and locked the door behind him.
She turned to Matt. “Thank you, too.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t do it for you. I did it fo
r me. I couldn’t stand worrying about who might be out there, who might be threatening you and Emily.”
“Then thank you for caring about us.”
She didn’t have the will to resist when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
Nor did she have the will not to cry when he left.
BECCA AWAKENED early, disoriented at finding herself in the guest room instead of her own bed. The sight of the hollow where Matt had lain on the pillow beside her filled her with incredible longing.
And regret.
Sudden anger suffused her. Had she lost her mind making love to another man she’d never marry? When she’d succumbed to Grady’s charms, she’d been young, foolish and inexperienced.
So what’s your excuse now? Granny’s voice rang in her head. Foolish is the only one that still fits.
Becca threw back the covers, pulled on her clothes from the night before and hastily tugged the linens from the bed. With any luck, she would have the sheets in the washer and herself showered and dressed before Emily awoke. After Matt had left, she should have gone to her own bed, but she’d returned to the scene of their lovemaking, reliving every incredible minute in the bed that still held the intoxicatingly masculine scent of him.
Resisting the urge to bury her face in the linens one last time, Becca bundled the sheets and headed toward the laundry room off the kitchen. What had happened between her and Matt already seemed unreal. The incredible joy and satisfaction of their lovemaking and the total unexpectedness of his proposal had caught her completely by surprise.
If they both hadn’t been so deeply affected by Lucy’s accident, none of the above would have happened, she assured herself. They had allowed their heightened emotions to cloud their judgment, carry them away.
It had taken the trespasser’s appearance in the woods to ground them both in reality again.
By the time she’d had her shower and dressed, Becca had convinced herself the previous night’s lovemaking and Matt’s proposal had been a total aberration, an experience that should be treated as if it had never happened.
But how could she purge last night from her mind when her body still tingled at the memory of the rightness and pleasure of their joined bodies and the love shining in his eyes, when her heart cried out in anguish at the impossibility of accepting Matt’s proposal?
You’ve faced tougher challenges before, Granny’s voice assured her. You’re a Warwick. You can do anything you set your mind to.
It wasn’t her mind that worried her, Becca grumbled. It was her heart. She’d lost it irretrievably to the handsome doctor.
Then marry him and go to California.
Even if she could bear to leave Warwick Mountain, Becca thought, how could she be sure that Matt had been serious, that proposals of marriage weren’t just part of the line that Dr. Wonderful spun for all his conquests?
Do you really believe he wasn’t sincere?
No, Becca thought, but did she trust in his sincerity because he’d spoken the truth or because she wanted so desperately to believe he’d meant the words. She didn’t want to think she’d allowed herself to be duped.
Again.
And agonizing over it wouldn’t accomplish anything except driving her crazy. Granny had always said the best solution for dealing with whatever worried you was keeping busy, so Becca decided to bake a coffee cake for Emily’s breakfast. While it baked, she called the hospital to check on Lucy’s overnight progress.
By the time Emily appeared in the kitchen for breakfast, the hot-from-the-oven coffee cake with drizzled icing, along with a vase of fresh flowers just picked from the garden, adorned the table.
“Is it somebody’s birthday?” Emily asked.
Becca shook her head. “I just thought you’d like something different this morning.”
“Where’s Dr. Matt?”
“What?” Becca viewed her daughter with alarm. Had she witnessed them together without Becca realizing it? Becca had checked on Emily after Matt left, and she’d appeared to have slept through the stranger’s capture and Billy Thornburg’s carting him away.
“I thought I heard Dr. Matt last night,” Emily said.
Becca decided not to tell Emily about the ginseng thief. She didn’t want her frightened. “Matt dropped by to tell us that Lucy’s going to be all right.”
Emily’s whoop of delight rang through the kitchen. “She didn’t die?”
“I called the hospital this morning, and she’s doing fine. She’ll be coming home in a few days.”
Emily slid into her chair and accepted the filled plate her mother handed her. “Dr. Matt saved her. I knew he would.”
“Yes, he did.”
“Dr. Matt can do anything.”
He’d done some pretty amazing things last night, Becca remembered with a flush of pleasure, not even counting catching a thief. She pushed the delicious memories from her mind. “Eat your breakfast. Aunt Delilah and Uncle Jake will be here to pick you up soon.”
“Where are we going?”
“To Blairsville to take Lydia home now that she’s better.”
Yesterday, convinced that Lucy Ledbetter had died, Becca had asked Delilah to take Emily with them, knowing the community would be mourning and preparing for a funeral. She’d wanted to spare Emily from as much as possible.
Today, however, with Lucy recuperating, Becca wished she hadn’t arranged for Emily’s trip. Now she wouldn’t have her daughter’s company to distract her from thoughts of last night.
“Dr. Matt fixed Lydia, too, didn’t he?” Emily asked.
“Yes, he cured her back problems.”
Emily drank her milk, then wiped her face with her napkin. “He can do anything. I hope he fixes Jimmy and Lizzie.”
Becca opened her mouth, planning to explain that Matt wasn’t omnipotent, but the ringing of the phone interrupted her.
“Becca,” Matt’s voice said in a strangely muted tone when she answered, “you have to come down here right now.”
She thought immediately of Lucy. “Is something wrong?”
“I’m swamped,” he continued in the same whispering voice, “and I’m desperate for help.”
“Swamped?”
“Patients. They’re lined up at the door and the phone’s been ringing off the hook since seven-thirty. I need someone to organize appointments and answer the calls.”
“Mama,” Emily called, “Aunt Delilah and Uncle Jake are here.”
Becca spoke into the phone. “I’ll be there as quickly as I can.”
Minutes later, with Emily waving from the back seat of the car as Uncle Jake drove away, Becca headed for her own vehicle.
What a mess she’d landed herself in.
How could she possibly not think about last night if she was spending the day with Matt? She could only hope the press of patients, their prejudice against Matt apparently set aside by his rescue of Lucy, would provide a buffer to protect her from her rebellious heart.
JULY WAS DRAWING to an end, and with it, Matt’s time on Warwick Mountain. He shoved the last article of clothing into his backpack and scanned the room that he’d called home the last several weeks. Not that he’d had much time to spend in it.
Ever since the Fourth of July picnic, he’d worked long hours, finally able to accomplish what he’d come here to do. Looking back, he still found the dramatic turnaround in attitude toward him hard to believe.
As satisfying as the work he’d completed, however, had been having Becca close by. Since the day patients began arriving, she’d filled in as his receptionist. They hadn’t spent any real time together, but just seeing her smile when he entered the waiting room, and hearing her voice as she answered the phone, had seemed so right, as if she should always be within arm’s reach.
But not any longer. Today was his last on Warwick Mountain.
“I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for all of us.” As if conjured up by his thoughts, Becca stood in the doorway.
“Sure you won’t
change your mind and come to Asheville with me?” he asked.
She shook her head. “You’ll be busy with the surgeries, and I’d only be in the way at the hospital.”
“Jimmy and Lizzie could use your support. They’re both crazy about you.” And so am I.
“Their parents will be with them. I’ll visit when they come home after their operations.”
Was her refusal an effort to spend less time with him, an effort to make a clean break?
He crossed the room toward her, but she held her ground, her arms folded across her chest. “Becca—”
“I know what you’re going to ask, Matt. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Then say yes this time. Marry me.”
Sadness filled her eyes. “We promised not to go there. To pretend it never happened.”
“I can’t. And I don’t believe you can either. Do you love me, Becca?”
“Don’t do this, Matt.”
“Just answer my question.”
Her gaze met his, unflinching. “Yes.”
“Then this isn’t over. I’ll be coming back for you.”
Before she could protest, he drew her into his arms, kissed her with a fierceness that sent his senses reeling, then let her go.
Without another word or a backward glance, he left the building, climbed into the Land Rover and drove away.
Chapter Fourteen
Nine months later
Spring had come to Warwick Mountain.
Apple trees blossomed on the hillsides, bright yellow sprays of forsythia swayed in the breeze, and the creeks ran high with snowmelt from the mountaintops.
Becca stood in the doorway of the schoolhouse and watched her students disperse for the day. Emily walked between Lucy and Lizzie, the three girls chattering and giggling, their high, excited voices thrown back to her on the wind.
Matt had worked a miracle with Lizzie. At the Asheville hospital after he’d left Warwick Mountain, he’d repaired her cleft lip and palate so that even the most astute observer couldn’t tell that the defect had ever existed. And he’d arranged and paid for a speech therapist to retrain Lizzie to form her consonant sounds, utilizing her newly formed hard palate. Her speech wasn’t perfect yet, but good enough that she’d lost her shyness about talking to the other children. Now she was a normal, happy little girl.
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