by Cindy Gerard
Watching him, she thought of the hard-edged perfection of male models who filled the pages of magazines, advertising everything from musky aftershave to golden whiskey to brokerage firms. There was something more substantial, though, more honest about Adam’s bearing than glossy good looks.
He possessed the rough, brawny look of a construction worker: slim hips, long legs, and straining muscle. And there was a mind behind those piercing eyes. That aspect of Adam Dursky was as compelling as his beauty.
She shifted restlessly under the blankets, and her rustling movements drew his attention. He spared her a glance over his shoulder.
“Well, hello,” he said, then buried his face in the towel for one last swipe. With his back to her, he shrugged into a soft flannel shirt.
“Hi,” she managed as an interesting aroma of soap and cedar smoke from the fire wafted across the cabin.
She sat up slowly and watched as, in a uniquely male gesture, he unzipped his fly and tucked the long shirttails into his jeans. She shivered and wondered how she would get through the next few days.
“Whoever stayed here last was kind enough to leave a few essentials,” he said. “Soap, the razor. And there’s enough cut wood to last the winter. Oh, and I found some food, besides the coffee.” He stopped what he was doing to pour her a cup from the old metal pot on the wood cookstove. “There’s a fruit cellar out back. Not a lot of variety, but it should get us by for a while. How do you feel about peaches?”
“Peachy.”
He chuckled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
His gruff laugh made her remember the way he’d been the night before. Rough as coarse sandpaper, then gentle as spring rain when he’d held her.
Shaking the memories off, she threw back the covers. He was right there with a steadying hand to help her to her feet.
“Easy, now. You’re bound to be a little lightheaded.”
He didn’t know the half of it. “Adam, I’m fine,” she insisted. “You can quit fussing over me like I’m an invalid. Last I knew, stupidity wasn’t a crippling condition.”
He smiled again. “You weren’t stupid. You were just scared.”
“Yeah, well. The end results were the same.” She moved to the fire. “You might want to check those tins on the shelf over there. My guess is they’re full of crackers and some soup stock. Although the Larsons don’t make it to the lake like they did when I was little, their son does. He keeps the cabin well stocked and usually tries to get up here before the end of October each year for one last long weekend.”
“Jackpot,” Adam said after hauling down the tins. He found everything from the crackers and soup stock to powdered milk and powdered eggs. There was even some biscuit mix. “I’ll have to find some way to thank the Larsons’ son. It may not be McDonald’s, but we won’t starve. And these old moccasins I found in that chest of drawers are a damn sight more comfortable than my soggy boots.”
It was her turn to smile. It came more easily than she’d expected.
“What’s the news on the boat and my kayak?” she asked in an attempt to take her mind off the way he looked, all fresh scrubbed and solicitously concerned.
“It’s not good. The boat’s a total loss. The kayak is in better shape, but the hull is cracked. I’m afraid it’s going to take someone more skilled than me to repair it.”
Silence hung like a heavy cloud as they both digested the impact of that information. It meant they were stuck there until someone realized they were missing.
“Joanna.”
She raised her head.
“Don’t beat yourself over the head about this. We’ll be fine. We’ll get by.”
“Yeah,” she said, turning back to the fire. “We’ll get by.” But would they survive the days and nights alone with only the fire and the wind to distract them?
“What did you do with Cooper?” she asked, worried about her dog.
“He’s okay. I left him plenty of water, opened a twenty-pound bag of dog food, and told him to pace himself.”
She smiled, glad she’d taken time to install a doggy door so the Lab could get in and out of the house.
“You’ve been holding out on me, Dursky,” she said an hour or so later as she sniffed appreciatively at the vegetable soup simmering on the stove. “It appears that you can cook.”
“Throwing dried . . . what’d you call them?”
“Legumes.”
“Yeah, legumes and dehydrated potatoes and carrots in a pot of boiling water hardly constitutes cooking.”
“It’s close enough for me. It smells wonderful.”
“The proof will be in the tasting, and it’s still a couple of hours away from being soup.”
So far so good, Jo thought. They were both becoming excellent players in their little game of “let’s pretend there’s nothing between us but friendship.” The rules were becoming more difficult to follow, though. Adam had managed to slip outside several times on the pretense of splitting wood or whatever other excuse he could dream up to get away from her.
But the heated looks, the telling glances, the quick flinches at each accidental touch were becoming harder to ignore.
And for Jo, the worst was yet to come. Just before he’d come in to make the soup, she’d slipped into her dry jeans, shirt, and sneakers and taken a much-needed trip to the outhouse. Unfortunately, she couldn’t walk around in unzipped jeans and untied sneakers all day.
“I—I hate to ask this.” She swallowed, then looked toward the ceiling and closed her eyes. “Oh, hell.” She groaned and gestured toward the zipper of her jeans with her splinted hand. “Could you?”
Her exasperated plea cracked the frown of indifference he’d so carefully arranged on his face. He shook his head, scratched his jaw, and let a smile take over.
“Come here, little girl who can take care of herself. Let the big bad man zip up your pants.”
“In your ear,” she groused with a theatrical roll of her eyes.
She raised her shirt to give him access. He was laughing, but his hands, she noticed, were shaking as he zipped her up.
He glanced down. “Your shoes too?” he asked. “Although judging by the look on your face, I’m not sure your pride can take it.”
She returned his grin with a long-suffering look, muttered an oath under her breath, and held out her foot.
That taken care of, Jo decided to make herself scarce. Adam was making the effort to be friendly, and the very least she could do was see to it that he didn’t have to stumble over her every time he turned around.
A walk would do her good, she thought, and set out toward one of her favorite spots on Jug. In the aftermath of the storm, the island was redolent with the damp, musty scent of decaying leaves, forest loam, and crisp autumn air.
As she hiked through the forest, she thought of the resort. The threat of losing it still haunted her. And she thought of Adam. Of what haunted him and kept him so guarded against his feelings for her. He’d made reference to the Gulf War, and his memories had obviously touched a deep pain within him. She’d seen it in his eyes. Without words, he’d told her more about himself than he realized.
He was a private man, a loner who asked for neither help nor sympathy. The one thing she could do for him was respect his privacy. Yet the more she knew of him, the harder it was to keep her distance.
In the nippy wind, she made the short hike through the woods in record time. A jutting peninsula of solid white rock rose to the highest point on the island, affording her a view of the bay and the eagle’s nest high in the pine across the inlet. By the time she reached it, gray sky had given way to blue. The rock was already sun warmed beneath her bottom as she settled down. She drew her knees to her chest and linked her arms around them.
The eagles didn’t appear to be in residence. She knew they’d be close by, though, cruising the heavens like
graceful gliders in search of food for their brood. The proud birds would hunt the lake land until mid-November, then migrate to a fairer climate. Their return in April always marked the end of a long winter, promising that a spring thaw would soon follow.
Wondering what spring had in store for her, she didn’t hear Adam approach.
“It’s very pretty here.”
His voice behind her was a welcome surprise. Too welcome.
She shielded her eyes against the sun and smiled up at him. “For a man with a bad leg, you sure can sleuth your way around a forest.”
He hunkered down beside her and stared out over the blue waters of the bay. “Must be the moccasins.”
She glanced down at the soft leather covering his feet, then up at his golden head. She smiled. “If you’re trying to tell me you’re part Indian, forget it. No self-respecting Ojibwe brave would be caught dead with all that blond hair.”
“Big no-no, huh?”
His sullen delivery forced a chuckle. “The biggest.”
They shared an unexpected and comfortable quiet while the sun warmed their backs and the tops of their heads.
“How’re you doing?” he asked, nodding toward her hand.
She held it out for his inspection. “Fine. It really feels a lot better. Thanks.”
She itched to ask the same about his leg, but she didn’t. And she wouldn’t, no matter how badly she wanted to know.
She couldn’t erase from her mind the picture of him kneeling before her to tie her shoes. His big hands had been so gentle. Nor could she shake the flood of tenderness she felt for this strong, proud man who wasn’t about to let her face her problems alone.
Adam watched the questions play across her delicate features. He sensed her desire to ask them, and he admired the fact that she didn’t.
She was totally unassuming. She didn’t inundate him with questions. She kept to herself, spoke when she was spoken to, and generally made every effort to stay out of his way. He liked that about her. He respected, too, her ability to adapt to their enforced exile. Like him, she was a loner. She knew how to be on her own.
He realized, as well, the extent of the fear that had pushed her out onto the lake yesterday.
He watched her now, all glowing hair and creamy skin as she closed her eyes and let the sun have its way with her. He hated to disturb her, but he’d come for a reason.
“I could use your help with something. Are you up for it?”
Her eyes opened. “Sure.”
Something warm and wonderful filled his chest. Her immediate affirmation of trust stirred feelings he hadn’t allowed for a very long time. Not for years. Not since Annie.
He rose slowly, then extended his hand and helped her to her feet. Was she for real, this woman with the face of an innocent and the unqualified trust of a lifelong friend?
Too long he stared into those spring-green eyes, marveling at the way the sunlight played across the amber gold of her thick lashes. Too long he held her small, fragile hand in his callused palm and wondered at the feel of her fingers trailing across his bare skin.
In the space of a heartbeat something had been set into motion, something inevitable, unstoppable, and totally wrong. He wanted her with an urgency he hadn’t felt in years. Standing there, with limited knowledge of the pale, supple body wrapped in a baggy shirt and tight jeans, he wondered if he’d ever felt a rush of desire this strong.
He didn’t understand what had triggered it. He only knew that he had to fight it.
It was Jo who finally had the presence of mind to break whatever it was that had gripped them and held them suspended.
“Is there a chance you’d feed me first?” she asked, breaking a silence that had become too expectant. “This business of staying out of your way has worked up my appetite.”
He let his gaze drift over her face, then replied in a husky rasp, “Some appetites do need to be fed, don’t they?”
She stared at him boldly. “And others?”
Sanity returned on the wings of her breathy question. He released her hand as if he’d just realized he still held it. “And others, being what they are, shouldn’t be fed at all. Come on,” he said gruffly. “Let’s go do something about yours.”
Six
The cabin steps needed repair, and he’d found some rough tools in a shed out back. Adam had reasoned that the physical labor would provide him with a release, give him something to do with his hands. And it seemed like a small payback to the people whose cabin was providing his shelter.
He fed Jo, then put her to work with him. At the time, it had seemed like the safest course of action. As time passed, however, he questioned the wisdom of his decision.
He turned to grab another peg and became fascinated by the color of her hair. That was when he’d known he was in trouble.
Deep russet by the fire glow and amber-gold in the sunlight, the heavy mass fell in feather-soft waves almost to her waist. He stared, spellbound, as the sun played with the highlights, having a field day with the color.
He knew what it felt like wet. It had substance and texture and the delicate strength of fine silk thread. He was speculating about the feel of it dry and shining and slipping through his fingers when with a quick toss of her head, she flipped the entire length over her shoulder and out of her way. Strand by strand, like sand sifting through an hourglass, it slipped free again until the whole glorious mass was back in her eyes.
The expectant look on her face made him realize he was staring . . . and that he’d been mesmerized by what he’d seen.
This had to stop, he told himself. This preoccupation, this adolescent fascination that was fast becoming an obsession. She might not be a kid, but he was almost old enough to be her father. And he sure as hell didn’t need the kind of headache that involvement with her was certain to bring.
“Got it?” he asked as he lifted a porch step into place.
“Got it.”
Jo managed to hold the wood steady by pressing her hip against the frame and her good hand under the board.
“My father used to make dock chairs out of rough cedar,” she said, then caught herself when she realized she’d been enjoying the memory. “How did you learn to work with wood?”
“Trial and error, mostly. And John and I used to spend a lot of time together in his little shop.”
She said nothing. Her hair fell across her face again, hiding her reaction. He experienced an immediate sense of loss and covered it with irritation.
“Isn’t that annoying?” he asked, nodding toward her hair. “How do you ever get anything done with it hanging in your face all the time?”
She gave him a little one-shoulder shrug. “Takes two hands to braid it.”
Disgusted with his outburst, he forced himself to take a calm breath. “Hold on a second.”
He tossed the hammer to the ground and rose stiffly. He’d spent more time than his leg was accustomed to crouched close to the ground. He limped over to the tree where he’d hung his jacket and with one tug slipped free the string that ran through the casement of the hood.
“This ought to do the trick.”
She straightened and presented her back to him. Slowly he reached out and gathered the heavy mane in his hands . . . and the fascination began again.
Her hair was like nothing he’d ever touched before. Soft as down, fragrant as an autumn morning, it seemed alive with an energy of its own. He couldn’t help it. He sifted it through his fingers, combed it away from her neck, held the weight of it in his big hands. The experience was an artful seduction of his senses, sensual and slow and impossible to fight.
“It’s beautiful,” he murmured raggedly, tempted to bury his face in the spun gold.
She stood very still, her slim shoulders tense. “You were right the first time. It’s a nuisance.”
“Well,” he
said hoarsely, so close that his breath stirred the fine strands clinging to her neck, “this ought to help.”
With more determination than skill, he gathered the heavy mass and tied it together at the nape of her neck. His hands dropped lightly to her shoulders as he studied the clumsy job he’d done. “How’s that?”
“Much better. Thanks.” She faced him. “It was getting hot.”
He felt her shiver despite her comment. His body responded with a burning warmth of its own. Too aware of that heat, he dragged his gaze away from hers, only to have it snag on the slender column of her throat, where a light sheen of perspiration clung like dew.
Her skin was delicate. His hands were not. Yet he ached to touch her there. Gently, he framed the fragile tendons of her neck with long, work-roughened fingers. Skimming his thumbs across her skin, he drew away the glistening moisture, then studied the spot he’d just caressed. He swallowed, enthralled by the faint rhythm of her pulse beat. He wanted to press his lips there, to taste the salt and the sweat and the sweetness of her.
The voice of reason growled at him, warning him he was acting like a fool. He let his hands fall away. “Let’s get back to work.”
Though her eyes were soft and questioning, she bent back to her task.
They worked quietly the rest of the afternoon, keeping words and looks to a minimum. Accidental contact was pointedly ignored. Adam sensed she was struggling with the same tenuous control that he was. The guarded way she looked at him, the silence that spoke of her uncertainty, all indicated the extent of her tension.
By the time he’d finally hammered the last peg into place, he was in a rare mood, fueled by his frustration. He needed to put some distance between them before he did something they’d both have cause to regret.
Gathering the hand tools, he mumbled his thanks, then handled this problem much as he had handled other problems in his life of late. He walked away from it. Without a word or a backward glance, he strode off into the woods.