Beauty and the Badge

by Lyn Stone

  Given the type of woman she was, he ought not to like Mary at all, much less feel what he was feeling. Putting a name to that made him uneasy. Couldn’t be love or anything like that. They’d only known each other for a few days and under the worst of circumstances. But it certainly affected him the way he thought love might. Maybe it was the fever.

  He wiped a palm across his forehead, which now ached like the very devil.

  Mary didn’t know when she had enjoyed a meal so much. Cooking it in the fireplace must have added flavor. She was licking her fingers free of the sausage grease when she happened to look up.

  The expression on Ford’s face arrested the motion immediately. His eyes gleamed unnaturally bright, like glittering blue gems. “Don’t look at me like that,” she warned.

  He shrugged slightly and held up his palms. “Sorry.” His grin seemed forced. “I think I might be in love.”

  She snorted. “I think you might be in heat.”

  “In rut, maybe. In heat’s a female thing.”

  Mary busied herself gathering up the remains of their meal. “Must you be so coarse?” She refused to meet his eyes. “If this is your idea of charming, it’s no wonder you’re still single!”

  “Marry me and I won’t be. Single, that is. I’d still be coarse, of course.” He laughed. “Just think how rewarding it would be for you, sanding off my rough edges. Missionary work at its finest. That is my favorite position, by the way. Missionary.”

  “You’re trying to make me mad, aren’t you?” Mary said, secretly amused and a little turned-on by his teasing. “Just in case I was getting any ideas? Don’t bother. You’re quite safe.”

  He stretched out by the fire, rubbing his stomach with one hand. She watched that hand, wanting to replace it with her own. With an impatient sigh and a shake of her head, she got up and took the leftover food to the kitchen.

  Ford followed. “Mary, do you think we could...well, maybe see each other when we get back to the world?”

  The old suspicion reared its ugly head. What did he really want? Was he like so many others who had made a play for her? Was he interested in her or her wealth? Did it really matter, when she didn’t intend to enter into anything with him anyway? Yes, it did matter, she decided. It mattered very much. For some obscure reason, she had to know.

  Very deliberately, she pushed the food she was rewrapping aside and looked up at him. “Ford, you should know why I was working at the preschool.”

  “I’ll bet you like kids,” he said, tracing her cheek with one finger. His gaze felt hot on her face.

  She took a deep breath and stepped back. “I do, but there’s another reason. There’s no money left.”

  Ford’s hand dropped to his side and his brows lowered. The look on his face changed to one so hard she could barely stand to meet his eyes. He said nothing.

  “It takes every cent I make to maintain both homes. I need to keep Dad’s for him, so that he has a place to come home to. And I can’t bear to sell Gran’s. There are taxes, upkeep, my living expenses. So you see—”

  His dangerously low voice interrupted her. “Money? You think I’m after your freakin’ money?”

  Mary felt lower than low. “I just wanted you to understand. Jim didn’t. I never explained it to him.”

  “Oh, I get your drift, all right,” he said, turning away as though he couldn’t stand being near her. “Well, never mind, then. What’s the point of getting into your pants, if I can’t get into your bank account? Rats, and I had it all planned, too. Take her, and then take her for all she’s worth!”

  “Ford, I know you didn’t plan that! I only meant—”

  It was too late. He had stormed out of the cabin and left the door standing open. Cold air rushed in but it didn’t matter. Her heart already felt flash-frozen by his expression of disgust.

  A man like Ford would consider hers the ultimate insult. But she had realized that too late. Her own insecurity, fostered by her former relationships, had prompted her to hurt him.

  Maybe it was best that she had. Now he would stop trying to make more of what had happened between them than was warranted. But she ached inside for what might have developed, now that she knew for certain that Ford had never given a thought to her financial assets.

  Chapter 13

  Ford’s blood boiled. The cold didn’t begin to faze him, though he could feel his body shivering. At first he directed his fury toward Mary, who dared suggest he was after her money. What had he ever done to her to make her think he was a gold digger?

  Sure, he had joked around about the mansion, and made a few comments about her life of leisure. He had done that to remind himself—and her—of their differences, hoping to put a little distance between them, since he felt so drawn to her physically. But then he had made love to her anyway, the minute she had shown any interest.

  When he thought of what he’d just said to her, Ford’s reason returned. No wonder she had accused him. Taken together, his actions didn’t exactly make his intentions seem honorable.

  Hell, maybe they hadn’t been—not if “honorable” meant considering marriage. Up to this point, he hadn’t thought about that. Not consciously, anyway. The words had popped out of his mouth on impulse, surprising him as much as they had her.

  He just wanted Mary. He needed her any way he could get her, to have and keep and hold. Well, that sure sounded like a commitment when he put it that way. Maybe he was more honorable than he thought he was.

  The shivering increased. He’d forgotten his damned jacket. Ford wrapped his arms around himself, wincing at the fiery stab of pain caused by the sudden movement.

  Whalen had used Mary—that was a fact. He wondered how many others had done that in the past. Not that he thought her promiscuous, or even that she granted her trust easily enough for frequent relationships. Still, she must have come across several jerks who had an eye on her bank balance. That could mess up a girl’s self-confidence, no matter how beautiful she was.

  Had he given her any indication that he was any different? No. All he had done was jump her at the first opportunity, and then told her he thought he loved her. Two days later. And in a joking way. Now he was amazed that she’d spoken to him at all.

  Ford leaned against the side of the cabin, trying to decide what in the world he could say to her when he went back in there. Nothing clever came to mind. Mary wouldn’t appreciate cleverness anyway. She would expect sincerity. He had always found it damned near impossible to be sincere about really deep feelings. Clowning was easy. Sarcasm, even easier than that.

  The time had come to wise up and lay it on the line. If what he felt for Mary wasn’t love, it was damned close to it, and need for her figured into it very heavily. Sexual need, yes; but a lot more than that was involved here. How the devil could he say that and not have it sound like a proposition? Lie down, I think I love you? Well, that sure as hell wouldn’t cut it.

  Might as well wing it, he decided. His head hurt too much to compose any speeches and he needed to get it all said.

  Ford pushed away from the cabin. He kicked through the shallow snow and walked up the back steps, dread battling with anticipation. Putting feelings into words definitely was not one of his talents.

  “I didn’t mean it,” he muttered the minute he entered. No preamble. No putting it off.

  “Yes, I know,” she said, straightening the few items of food on the countertop,

  Apparently unsatisfied with the arrangement, she moved things around again. Fiddling. She was fiddling. As wary as he was, probably. That helped.

  “Not that I don’t think I love you,” he tried to explain. God, that sounded lame. “I do think so. Know so,” he amended, nodding succinctly. “And I don’t care what assets you’ve got or haven’t got. It’s you I care about. You, as a person. As a woman.”

  She said nothing, just stuffed her hands in her pockets and went over beside the fire and flopped down. He hated it when she looked so dispirited. He wanted her full of fire, eve
n if it singed him a little.

  “Mary, listen—”

  She nailed him with a look that silenced him. He could have handled anger. He might have joked his way around disdain. But the hopelessness in her eyes just stopped him cold. She had made up her mind, and not in his favor. “It would never work, Ford. You’re not my type and I’m not yours. Just let it go, okay?”

  “Pretend nothing ever happened, huh?” He could feel the anger seeping back through the crack in his heart. “Act like we’re a couple of strangers stuck out here in the middle of nowhere? The badge and the mark, just waiting it out?”

  Her shoulders lifted and sagged in a sigh that looked soul deep. “That’s exactly what we are, Ford,” she said. “And when it’s over, you’ll go your way and I’ll go mine.”

  “Like hell,” he said, his voice rising. “Why don’t you expand on what you just said, that line about my not being your type?”

  She looked so sad he wanted to grab her and hold her, then shake her until she came to her senses and stopped looking like that. Her lovely mouth turned down at the corners, her bottom lip just short of trembling. The urge to kiss her nearly overpowered him. Not a wise move right now.

  “Ford, the way you live would drive me crazy. Caution is a foreign word to you. You never stop to think about consequences. Danger means nothing. Or maybe it means everything,. You love it, don’t you see? And I hate it. I absolutely hate it!”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ford murmured, staring into the fire, unable to endure the intensity of her gaze. Memories rolled over him, adding to the aches he already felt. “Somebody else said that to me once.”

  He remembered Nan’s words all too well. And how he had argued with her before he’d caved in and given up his army career. If he did the same for Mary, would she leave him anyway, the way Nan had done? He could do without the job and find something else, but he wouldn’t. It hadn’t worked out the last time he’d made the sacrifice, and it wouldn’t work now.

  “It just wouldn’t work,” she said, echoing his thoughts so nearly, he did a double take, which increased the pain in his temples.

  “Right,” he said, the word like a clean, swift blade, cutting through his hopes. He wouldn’t argue this time. A feeling of emptiness engulfed him. He had felt it before, but nowhere near this intensely.

  To his surprise, Mary leaned over and placed her hand on his arm. “We can be friends,” she offered softly.

  Ford laughed—a bitter sound. That was how he felt. Bitter. “Sure we can.” He wanted to be gracious about it, but he couldn’t. Mary’s rejection of him troubled her, he could see that. And he was glad it did. It sure as hell troubled him.

  He lay down and stretched out on the mattress, his back to Mary and one hand over his face.

  “What else can you expect of me?” she demanded.

  “See if you’ve got any aspirin in that tote sack of yours, will you?” Ford mumbled. “I really feel like hell.”

  Mary’s hand pushed his aside and palmed his jaw, then his brow. “Oh, my God, Ford, you’re burning up! Why didn’t you tell me you were sick?”

  He had thought it must be obvious. He felt as if he were dying right now in more ways than one.

  Mary quickly found a tin of aspirin in that storage facility she called a purse. “I’m going out to get you some fresh water,” she said, pulling on her jacket.

  While she was out, he phoned Duvek, who hadn’t turned up anything new. Again, he ordered Ford to remain there until he did. As if they had any choice in the matter.

  After the call, he switched off the phone and stuck it through a small tear in the corner of the sleeping bag. If he got worse off than he was—which seemed more and more likely with his body cooking from the inside out—he didn’t want Mary to be tempted to call in the cavalry. They had to tough it out alone until Duvek got a handle on things.

  The rest of the day passed at a crawl. The temperature stayed low and the ice remained. Mary kept the fire blazing, trying to sweat Ford’s fever out of him, praying all the while that the firewood would last.

  His wound looked seriously infected.

  She fed him aspirin and bathed him with cold water when he would allow it. Then he would recover a bit. He managed to drag himself upright several times to visit the bathroom. Mary had struggled with him and argued him down twice when he insisted on going outside to cool off. He ate almost nothing.

  He told her that he had phoned Duvek, who had ordered them to stay where they were. She would bet Ford never mentioned his injury. Immediately after he’d called his boss—while she was out getting the water—he must have hidden the phone from her to prevent her calling for help. She couldn’t find it anywhere, and he wouldn’t respond to her demands for it.

  The next day, Ford grew worse, mumbling nonsense and refusing to wake fully when she tried to rouse him.

  Frightened that he would die, Mary resorted to what little she had read of folk medicine. She went out and searched for the white willow tree she remembered seeing at the edge of the stream. With Ford’s pocketknife, she sliced some of the bark from one of the newer branches.

  Mary brewed a pot of willow-bark tea, hoping it might substitute for the aspirin she had used up.

  The homemade medicine might or might not prove effective, but she couldn’t sit by and do nothing. She nearly had to force him to drink it. Soon after that, he slept again.

  He might be a bit cooler than before, she thought, when she checked him an hour later. Or it could be wishful thinking.

  In desperation, she hauled Westy outdoors. She pushed and pleaded with the old dog to return to Mr. Knoblett’s, hoping he would come to see what was wrong. So much for the Lassie movies. If he’d ever seen the films on television, Westy certainly hadn’t paid attention. He merely pawed at her hand, whined and begged her to scratch his ears. Going for help wasn’t in his bag of tricks.

  She had no earthly idea what to do next. Leaving Ford alone was out of the question. Wandering in the icy woods until she froze to death wouldn’t help him, anyway. She wasn’t absolutely certain which way to go to find the Knobletts’ house, and the road back to Gran’s had been completely obscured by the fallen trees and branches. They were stuck here and Ford was dying.

  Despite Ford’s former assurances to the contrary, Mary fully expected Perry to show up any moment. She kept Ford’s pistol or the rifle within reach at all times. While she hated guns, Mary did know how to shoot. She also decided that she could kill to save Ford and herself, if it became necessary.

  She continued forcing sips of the tea down Ford every time he woke, which wasn’t often enough.

  On the third day after his fever had taken hold, the weather warmed and the ice began to dissipate. Pretty soon, they would no longer be isolated and protected by the weather. The roads would be open.

  Ford still felt hot to the touch and slept too much. Maybe if she stopped playing Pollyanna every time he woke up, and assuring him he would be as good as new soon, he would tell her how to find her way out of the woods and bring medical help for him.

  She shook him hard, biting back tears of fear and frustration. “Wake up, Ford. Come on! You want to die in this godforsaken place?”

  “Where?” he murmured groggily. “Mary?”

  She watched as he struggled his way out of the feverish torpor. “Look at me, Ford!” Mary demanded.

  “Hey.” He breathed the word softly, trying to raise a hand to her face and failing. It dropped lifelessly back to his chest. “You—okay?”

  Mary heaved a sigh of relief. For the first time in three days, his eyes looked focused, even if they did appear weak and bloodshot. “I’m fine, but you’re not. Look, I need to go for help. Your arm’s infected. You could—It’s serious, Ford. We can’t wait on this.”

  “Water,” he growled. “Please.”

  Mary checked the coffeepot, which she had used to heat the water, and saw that it was nearly empty again, and what was left was hot. She poured it into the cup with more of the
bark scrapings. “I’ll get some. Back in a minute,” she promised.

  Thank God, he had come around, she thought as she worked her way down the slippery bank to refill the container. Maybe after a cold drink, Ford would stay lucid long enough to discuss what they should do next.

  Back in the cabin. Ford managed to raise himself to a sitting position. Exhaustion almost claimed him more than once, but he fought it. The determination in Mary’s voice had served to shake him out of his fog. He had a muzzy recollection of her doing that several times.

  She hadn’t been able to conceal the fright in her eyes. Mary thought he was dying. Ford thought she might be right. She was definitely right about one thing—they did have to find some help. He couldn’t protect her when he was in this shape. Duvek would come if he knew—

  Ford slipped his hand through the slit in the sleeping bag and retrieved his cellular. First thing he needed to do was throw Blevins way off track, maybe give Mary and himself a clear path for at least a day or two. He punched the number, heard Blevins’s curt hello, and gave him no chance to say another word.

  “Devereaux, here. We’re just south of Atlanta, a place called McDonough. Check you later.” He disconnected immediately and switched off the phone.

  Lethargy overtook him. Ford couldn’t remain upright. He sort of melted back into the sleeping bag with the intention of resting for only a minute, just until Mary returned with his water. Next thing he knew, she was shaking him, patting him gently on the face with a cool, wet hand. “Wake up, Ford! Please, don’t go out again!”

  “Okay,” he said, grinding out the word with effort. He pushed the phone toward her. “Call...Duvek,. Directions... Helicopter to Knoblett’s... He’ll find us.” Then darkness took him.

  Mary stared at the phone as though she’d never seen it before. Where the devil had he hidden the thing? And how was she supposed to call Duvek when she didn’t know the number?