She flipped the blanket back and stood, wobbling a little as her weight settled on her swollen ankle. She bit back an exclamation and he watched her, as if he wasn’t sure what she’d do next.
“I can’t be stuck here. I have to—”
Brows arched. “Have to what?”
She sank back onto the couch, because it was no use. She had to find a husband who would love her. Cynical eyes didn’t want to hear about love, about a father who thought he could pick the perfect mate for his daughter.
It sounded positively Victorian when she said it out loud. Her friends had laughed when they heard.
“Nothing.” Why should she care if she got stuck here for a year? Maybe this was God’s plan, for her to hide here. And perhaps her father would forget his plans.
Tucker Lawson pushed himself up from the chair. He sat down on the edge of the massive coffee table and reached for her foot. She flinched but bit back her protest as he lifted it.
“If we had ice, we’d ice it down.” He touched the darkened flesh and she squeezed her eyes closed. “Bad?”
“Not at all.” She opened her eyes and he was watching her. Cynicism had been replaced by concern. He held her foot, hands gentle but rough and calloused. Not the hands of a lawyer, she thought.
No, he had the hands of a man who had been living off the land for several months. A man with broad shoulders cloaked in a flannel shirt. She remembered that he smelled of soap, not cologne or aftershave. He smelled of the outdoor air and laundry detergent.
He reached for a pillow and placed it on the table. As he stood he propped her foot on the pillow, easing it down gently. She stared at him, not sure what to do or what to stay.
“Thank you for rescuing me.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice was gruff, dismissive.
She wanted to tell him she wasn’t a bad person. She wasn’t another empty-headed socialite, intent on fun and not caring about others. She wished she could tell him she hadn’t traveled to Treasure Creek thinking she might find a husband. That would have been a lie. What woman didn’t want to find her dream man?
She thought it started for most girls when they turned five and had their first kindergarten crush. It was downhill from there. Every boy—and then man—that looked at them had the possibility of being “the one” they would marry.
She could have told him he had nothing to worry about. That would have been the truth. He was definitely not her type. He was the type her father wanted for her. He was a successful lawyer with connections and enough money that Herman Lear wouldn’t have to worry that he was after the Lear fortune.
For once she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want Tucker Lawson to know how she felt about her life, or how much she wanted a new one.
She was reinventing Penelope Lear. That was no one’s business but her own.
“I’ll see if we have anything in the first aid kit.” Tucker stood in the doorway, his face in shadows.
“Okay.” She answered, still lost in her thoughts about her life and what she would have wanted it to be.
And he left her alone in a room lit with just a lantern, candles on the mantel and the firelight.
Tucker knew he should take her back to Treasure Creek at first light. If she could have walked, it would have been doable. But with her injury, they couldn’t walk it in a day.
They’d have to give her ankle time to heal. And then he’d have to take her back to civilization. He’d have to go as well. And he wasn’t ready. He didn’t know if he would ever be ready to go back.
To have it be Penelope Lear who forced him back, that made him a little itchy around the collar.
Just this past May, Tucker had said a polite “no thank you” to that offer. He had heard that Herman Lear had approached several other men, most of whom lived in Anchorage and were well connected. One of them had probably taken the offer, and that had sent her running to Treasure Creek.
A little bit of pity scolded him for being too harsh with her. No one should be married off that way, as if she were a stolen painting up for bid on the black market. There was no dignity in that kind of bartering.
He lifted the candle he’d taken from the parlor and walked down the dark hall in the direction of the kitchen. She was probably hungry as well as thirsty. From the aromas drifting down the hall, a combination of wood smoke and soup, he thought that Wilma Johnson had thought the same thing.
The kitchen was lit with lanterns and candles. Mr. Johnson, Clark was his first name, sat at the small table, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked up from the book he was reading and smiled at Tucker.
“Found a stray?”
Tucker nodded. “Yeah, I guess I did. Her ankle is swollen and bruised. I don’t think it’s broken.”
“I have an Ace Bandage and we still have pain relievers.” Wilma dished soup into a bowl. “I hope she doesn’t mind something as simple as vegetable soup.”
“She’d better not.” Tucker grabbed the first aid kit. “She’d best be grateful.”
“She’s been nothing but polite, Tucker.” Wilma Johnson patted his arm. “I’ll take her the soup and tea. You have something to eat. It might take the snarl out of you some.”
He had to smile. “Yeah, it might. More soup, Clark?”
Clark Johnson shook his head. “I’m done. You go ahead and eat. She did a bang-up job on it.”
Tucker dished out a bowl of soup and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the counter. He took both and sat down across from Clark. “I guess you know who she is?”
“That I do.” Clark looked up from his book, lantern light flickering between the two of them. “We’ll have to find a way to get her back to Treasure Creek. They’ll be looking for her. And besides that, a young woman like Penelope Lear can’t make it out here, living the way we’ve been living.”
“How do you propose we get her back to town?”
“You’ll have to take her.” It was said matter-of-factly, as if it would be easy to go back.
“I’m not ready to go back.”
“Neither are we. But she’s another case. She didn’t ask to be here, to be in the wilderness.”
“No, she didn’t. They’ll send search teams. I’m sure her father will have the army out if he can manage it.”
“They’ve probably searched for you, too. They haven’t found you yet.”
“I didn’t want to be found.” Because it was easier this way, hiding from people, from his pain.
Or at least he told himself he was hiding.
Tucker ate his soup, preferring to let the conversation end the way it had, with him ignoring the obvious. She would have to go back to town. She couldn’t stay here with them. And as much as he didn’t want it, too, it would affect him.
When he walked back down the hall, he heard her soft voice, telling Mrs. Johnson how she’d gotten lost, about the bear, about him rescuing her. He could imagine her eyes wide, full of excitement as she reinvented the story, making it more amazing than it had been.
The bear hadn’t been a grizzly. It hadn’t been huge. It wouldn’t have eaten her.
He walked into the room. It was dark, lit with lanterns, a few candles and the fireplace. Penelope Lear sat on the worn sofa and Wilma sat in the chair nearby.
Penelope looked up, the bowl of soup held in her hands. She smiled at him and managed to look like this was normal to her—being lost in the woods, staying in a house without electricity or running water. He’d seen her home, albeit from a distance. This was anything but normal.
Wilma tossed him the Ace Bandage. He caught it, looked at it and wasn’t at all sure what she wanted him to do.
“I don’t have a clue how to do that.” Wilma smiled sweetly.
“It just has to be tight.” He wanted to toss it back. He didn’t want to touch the foot of an heiress. He didn’t want to deal with someone who spent her time working on a tan rather than working at life.
In her defense, she wasn’t tan. Her skin was a natu
ral creamy color, with just the barest hint of gold. She was staring at him, waiting for him to move or to say something. He’d never been at a loss for words, not once in his life.
That was his reason for becoming a lawyer. He knew how to argue, how to drive a point home. He knew how to make his case and to persuade people to understand his side of the argument.
He’d argued himself right out of his father’s life.
“Tucker?” Wilma Johnson had stood. She was holding Penelope’s empty bowl.
He shook himself from the past and looked at the long cloth bandage in his hand. In the dim light from the lantern and the warm glow of the fireplace, Penelope waited. Wilma had walked out of the room.
He pulled the chair up close and reached for her foot. She grimaced a little but didn’t complain.
“It has to be tight.” He explained. “Sorry, I’m not a doctor. My only experience with Ace Bandages is from high school basketball.”
“That’s more experience than I have.”
He wrapped the elastic bandage around her foot and ankle. It was more swollen, more purple than before. “We’re going to have to keep you off it, I think. Do you have a problem sleeping in this room? It’ll be warmer and the Johnsons are just down the hall.”
“I’m fine with that.” She looked up, blue eyes dark in the shadowy room. “What about you?”
“I’m a big boy and I’m not afraid.”
“I mean, where do you sleep?”
“Upstairs.”
“Oh.” She let out a breath and looked pretty relieved.
“There you go. It’s still early. I’ll light another lantern, and if you’d like, I can bring you a book.”
“I’d love a shower.” She glowed rosy pink and looked down, at the cup of tea she still held.
He wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. He’d traumatized her enough for one day. Instead he did his best “hoping to make you feel better about your situation” voice. “I’m afraid a shower is out.”
“Out?” She looked up. He imagined that most people would have built a shower for her if she’d looked at them like that.
“No electricity, no hot water. No running water, actually.”
“Oh.”
“I take it you hadn’t meant to rough it quite this much.”
She shrugged, “I hadn’t thought about it. But actually, I did want to rough it, Mr. Lawson. I came here to prove…”
She didn’t finish. That had him more than a little curious. It had been a long time since he’d been curious. He sat back down, ready to hear what she wanted to prove.
“Prove what?”
“Nothing.” She lifted her cup and sipped, ignoring his questioning looks. But he wasn’t about to give up.
“Oh come on, Penelope, we’re both here for reasons that the rest of the world can’t understand.”
She lowered the cup. Teeth bit into her bottom lip and she studied his face. Her eyes overflowed again. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
He drew in a breath, amazed that five words could change everything. He’d been playing with her, teasing. And she had laid him low with a soft look and words of compassion.
What did he say? Did he tell her she couldn’t begin to imagine how this felt? He didn’t know her well enough. He thought he might get up and walk out. But he couldn’t leave her sitting on the sofa in this lonely room.
“Thank you,” he finally answered, the only words that he could say. He could no longer question why she was here. He thought maybe she had good reasons.
Maybe she was escaping a father who thought he could control her life. From what he knew of Mr. Lear, that was more than plausible.
“I can’t get you a shower, but tomorrow Mrs. Johnson can help you heat water for a bath.” He stood and really wished that Wilma would reappear. He wasn’t a nursemaid or a nanny. “I can get you a book to read.”
“A book would be good.”
He would bring her a book, and then he would escape to his room. Not what he normally did at six in the evening, but tonight he wouldn’t mind being alone. More than anything, he wanted to be as far from Penelope Lear as possible, because she had brought his old life into this safe place. She had reminded him of everything he’d been running from. And she was exactly the kind of woman he didn’t want to deal with.
“Tucker, thank you.”
He nodded as he walked out the door.
Chapter Three
Penelope woke to a steady chopping sound. She sat up, brushing hair back from her face and blinking a few times to clear her vision. The room was in shadows. That didn’t mean it was early, it meant it was winter.
She glanced at her watch. It was almost nine. Her second day lost in the wilderness. Her second day in these clothes. Not much she could do about that. She left her one change of clothes in the ravine with her backpack.
The most pressing matter was to find a cup of coffee. If they had coffee. She stood, flinching a little when weight hit her foot. But it wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. She took a few careful steps. And then she saw it: sitting on the chair by the door was her backpack.
Tucker had gone back for it. She picked it up, opened it and sorted through the one change of clothes, her cell phone—worthless that it was—and the bottle of water.
The door opened and Wilma peeked in. “Well, you’re up and around. Would you like coffee and breakfast?”
“I’d love coffee and breakfast.” She’d love a shower, a toothbrush and toothpaste.
“Come on down. Can you make it okay?” Wilma looked at her foot, shaking her head. She was a sweet lady, with dark hair and eyes that were so kind, Penelope wanted to know her better and maybe keep her in her life for a long time.
“I think so. It doesn’t feel that bad today.”
“Good. And later you can change clothes and we’ll wash the ones you have on.”
“Without running water?”
Wilma smiled and laughed a little. “We’ll heat water and wash them in a tub. And you can take a bath, too.”
“That would be wonderful.” She set her pack back on the chair. “How did it get here?”
“Tucker went out early, hunting, and he brought it back.”
“Hunting?”
“Yes, hunting. He didn’t get anything, though. I think sometimes he uses hunting as an excuse to walk.”
Penelope peeked through the opening in the curtains. The chopping sound again echoing in the quiet morning. She saw Tucker swinging an axe at a log. Of course, they would need firewood. He swung again, connecting, splitting the log. As if he knew she was watching, he glanced toward the house. He couldn’t see her though. He swiped his arm across his brow and continued to chop.
Wilma smiled and started down the wood-paneled hall, in what must have been the direction of the kitchen and the most wonderful aromas.
“How do you cook?” Penelope followed her.
“Wood burning stove in the kitchen.”
Of course, that explained the smokey smell. They walked into the kitchen. A lantern hung from the ceiling, and dim light came in through the windows. No curtains. The room was walled with pine paneling and the floors were stone. It was warm, and the sweet smell of something wonderful and baked scented the air.
“I made muffins. It isn’t easy in that old stove, but they turned out decent.” Wilma placed two muffins on a plate. “Pour yourself a cup of coffee and have a seat.”
The coffee pot was on the stove, an old blue pot like the ones she’d seen in antique stores. Penelope took the cup that Wilma handed her and poured the dark liquid into it.
“Would you like me to pour you a cup?” She turned to Wilma, who had set their plates on the table.
“Oh, no, I’ve had plenty. My heart races if I drink too much coffee.”
Penelope carried her cup back to the table and sat down, wincing a little. Her ankle throbbed from the short walk down the hall. Wilma watched her, brown eyes warm, full of compassion.
“Not better to
day, is it?”
“I thought it might be. I was hoping. Thinking if it was, I could head toward Treasure Creek.”
“You can’t do that.” Wilma shook her head. “It’s too far.”
“But they’ll be worried. My family will be worried.”
“They’ll search for you. Maybe they’ll find you here. If not, you’re going to have to wait until you can walk. It isn’t a short trip to Treasure Creek from here.”
“How did you get here?”
“We flew in. A friend has a helicopter and he put us down in a clearing a short distance away. He drops supplies occasionally. We do have a map, and we can find our way out if we need to, but it isn’t a short walk. It certainly isn’t one you can make with a sprained ankle.”
Penelope bit into the muffin, glad that it was sweet and still warm. She needed a minute to get herself together, to stop thinking of this as a disaster that would only prove to her father that she needed a keeper.
She could survive out here. Even if it meant chopping wood and hunting for her own food. Even if it meant using the old outhouse she’d been introduced to last night. She could make it in the wilderness because she had survived in worse places. And when she got back to town, she would help Amy find the treasure.
She did wonder why the Johnsons had felt a need to hide away in this cabin, far from civilization.
“Does the cabin belong to your friend?” Penelope wiped her fingers on a napkin and fought the urge to reach for another muffin.
“It belongs to his uncle. Years ago they used it for hunting. They would bring out groups and rough it for a week. The uncle got sick and the cabin sat here empty, other than an occasional relative coming out for a few days to get away from it all.”
“It is definitely ‘away from it all.’” Penelope would have liked to share with Wilma Johnson that this wasn’t her first trip that landed her far from civilization. It wasn’t even close to being the most difficult place she’d ever stayed in.
Tucker headed down the trail, searching for more signs like the ones he’d seen earlier that morning. Penelope had been with them all of forty-eight hours and already she was bringing trouble their way. He wasn’t going to say anything to her, but he definitely wasn’t going to let her out of the house alone. Not that he’d have a lot of luck keeping her inside. Wilma had found an old wooden crutch in the attic.
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