While he lay stock-still, his skin crawling from the memory of tiny feet on his face, Lillian managed to free herself. She stood on the air-filled bed, shifting from one foot to the other as her screams turned into sobs. Her panic finally spurred Wes into action. Struggling out of the sleeping bag, he grabbed Lillian to keep her from hurting herself. Or him.
When he lunged, she plunged back down onto the mattress. Huge, gulping sobs escaped from her as she curled into a ball. Thrown by the sudden shift of the unsteady surface, Wes fell on top of her, and her panic morphed into hysteria.
She let out a wordless howl that set his every nerve on edge, struggling against him as he finally managed to get his arms around her. Standing awkwardly on the soft surface, Wes tried to get her onto her feet and out of the tent. But just at that moment, the creature attacked again, running across the bed and between the two of them.
Wes yanked Lillian off the bed as she howled again. Her arms flailing, she kicked and shoved, completely lost in her fear. Taller than her, Wes hit the top of the tent with this head, smashing into the junction where all the bent tent poles met. The bump was enough to bring the flimsy structure crashing down.
He wrapped his arms around Lillian as they became encased in nylon, the fabric clinging to them like a shroud. Holding tightly to the sobbing woman, Wes fought his way to where the zippered tent entrance should be, fumbling around until his fingers fell on the comforting metal teeth.
“I’m doing the best I can,” he hissed, hanging on to Lillian’s hand as she chanted, “get me out, get me out, get me out.” He found the metal pull and yanked hard. The zipper separated and he stumbled into the cold light of early morning, Lillian right behind him, until they stood five feet from the collapsed tent.
Lillian threw herself against his chest and began to sob.
“I’m not doing this anymore,” she snuffled. “I hate camping. I hate tents. I hate bugs and canned food and whatever that was that attacked us.” She looked up at Wes with tear-filled eyes and gasped. “What if that thing was rabid? You said wild animals never come near people unless they are rabid. Please tell me I don’t have to get those shots!”
“I think you have to get bitten first.”
“Oh.” Lillian began to calm down. “It didn’t bite me. Did it bite you?”
“No.” Wes reached up and touched his cheek. “But it scratched me pretty good.”
Lillian stared at him with stricken eyes. “Oh, no. What if that monster did have rabies? We’ve got to get you to a hospital. Now.”
Uneasiness coiled in Wes’s stomach. He didn’t know much about rabies. His biggest fears were knife-wielding maniacs and jealous husbands. Maybe he was starting to die right now. He forced himself to keep his fingers away from the scratches. Touching them might spread the disease. He’d heard about people who died horribly, their jaws locked shut and their bodies convulsing until their hearts gave out.
“We’ve got to capture that thing and have it tested.” Lillian bit her lower lip and squared her shoulders. “My driving gloves are in my briefcase. I’ll put them on and you get one of those boxes the equipment came in. When you shake the tent, I’ll catch the disgusting creature and shut it up in the box.”
Wes’s mental image of lying on the ground, shaking and foaming at the mouth, was replaced by one of Lillian, in her silk nightgown ready to battle with some foam-muzzled hellion of the wild. His shoulders began to shake as the picture took form and deep chuckles erupted from his chest.
Lillian’s eyes widened as his laughter boomed out into the stillness around them.
“You are such a jerk!” she yelled, kicking him hard in the shin. “I want to save your life and all you can do is laugh. Die for all I care.”
She swung her leg to kick him again but this time Wes was ready. He sidestepped and watched with satisfaction as the follow-through landed her backside on the dewy ground. His laughter calming, he reached down to help her up. He froze at the sight of the attacking animal escaping from the tent.
“It’s tiny,” Lillian gasped, disbelief etched across her features.
“Really tiny,” Wes agreed as the critter ran pell-mell toward the woods behind their tent.
“It’s a chipmunk.” They turned as one at Mindy’s voice behind them, straddling her bicycle at the edge of their lot.
“A chipmunk?” Lillian echoed. “Like in Alvin and the Chipmunks?”
“Those aren’t really chipmunks,” the girl confided. “They use a trick in the recording studio.” She laid her bike down and walked over. Looking from them to the fallen tent and back, she said, “Do you need me to put that back up for you?”
“No!” The denial came in unison, loud and definite.
Wes stepped closer to Lillian and wrapped an arm around her waist. “My wife and I can handle it,” he said. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
“Whatever,” the girl shrugged and climbed back on her bike. “If you need help, come get me. We’re at lot 64.”
As soon as the child was out of sight, Lillian shook off Wes’s arm and stalked to the picnic table. She plunked herself down on the bench, folded her arms across her chest and said, “We’ve got to do something about this.”
“This?” Wes looked around the campsite. “This meaning the tent or this whole disaster?”
“Everything.” Lillian held up her second-best skirt and poked a finger through the new hole near the bottom. “My clothes are being ruined at an alarming rate. Wild creatures come and go at will in that pathetic excuse for shelter Frank gave us. All the food we have is in cans. I for one have no intention of living on canned beans and mystery meat.”
The reappearance of the dragon lady was cheered Wes immensely. He’d never been one for the crying, clinging type and couldn’t spend the next few days out here in the boonies with one. Lillian was much better plotting against both Frank Lovejoy and Mother Nature to force things to go her way.
Still, he felt an obligation to rein in her ambitions to a somewhat reasonable level.
“Lil, honey, we’re kinda in a fix here.” He squatted down next to her. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s no mall nearby. We don’t have a car. I think Frank intended us to sleep in that tent and eat canned food so you can tell everyone how wonderful it is.”
“But it’s not wonderful.” She sighed. “It’s horrible. That stupid mattress got flatter and flatter all night, I about froze to death and I can’t even get a cup of coffee. This is what hell’s like, Wes, scrabbling to stay alive and saddled with a total stranger.” She blinked. “No offense.”
“None taken.”
“Good.” She stood up. “I’m going to the bathhouse.”
Wes fell in step beside her as she started down the road. She had a good point. He’d eaten worse than tinned meat and cold beef stew in his time, but given a choice, he’d take a steak grilled to perfection. His wardrobe was pretty much standard no matter where he went, but she obviously didn’t travel with jeans and T-shirts.
His first priority when they got back was to start a fire. He was a man, after all, and building fires was men’s work. He figured next he’d find out where the nearest town was and figure out how to get there.
Even if he had to steal little Mindy’s bike.
Chapter Four
Lillian knew by the grin on Wes’s face that something was up. He’d been grinning ever since she walked out of the bathhouse to join him for the trek back to their campsite. She shuddered to think what it could be. He might be a virtual stranger, but she’d already discovered one thing about him. Wes Hatfield was going to do whatever he wanted, no matter how much she paid him.
That was just one of the things she’d mulled over during the long time she’d spent sitting on the bench inside the bathhouse, considering her options.
She couldn’t see any.
Even if she wanted to call it quits, give up and walk away from her best chance at success, she couldn’t. She’d tried her cell phone several times since Frank
had abandoned them, and all she got was a “no service” message on the tiny screen. She didn’t suppose it mattered, though. Who was there to call? Being stranded in a campground with food, rudimentary shelter and a man everyone thought was her husband wasn’t exactly the kind of emergency you called 911 about. She’d bet what was left of her life savings that there wasn’t taxi service out here in the boonies, either.
Besides, she had to stay. Beyond the very important fact that she couldn’t leave, there was her pride to consider. She’d never get Frank’s campaign if she chickened out, and she’d promised her ever-patient and underpaid assistant—and her bankers—that she’d come home with a contract in hand.
Tugging on the cutoff shorts she wore, she studied Wes. He was being awfully nice, considering the fiasco of this morning. The shorts and NASCAR T-shirt he’d given her didn’t look as bad as she’d expected. Granted, the shirt drooped off her shoulders and the shorts sagged down around her hips, but she might be able to pass for a camper.
If only she’d known. Frank could have given her a clue. Then she could have gone on-line, watched some videos on camping, maybe found some tips about cooking outside pinned somewhere. Other people ate the crap that was in those cans. Surely there was some way to make it taste better.
She would practically kill for one of the chicken pizzas the shop down from her office made. The crust was thin and crispy and just the right amount of cheeses covered the chicken chunks and spicy sauce. And one of the farmer’s salads they served as a side. She could almost taste the juicy apples and strawberries scattered over the fresh, crunchy lettuce.
Her fantasy came to an abrupt end when they reached their tent.
“Why don’t you go over there and see if you can find some branches for me?” Wes made a sweeping motion toward the woods behind them. “I’ll see about getting a fire going while you’re out there.”
Lillian bit her tongue as she nodded and headed for the trees. Bless his heart, he was trying. Or seemed to be. She couldn’t figure out how he’d ever get a blaze with dried leaves and the twigs he had. A flamethrower, maybe. Or a good soaking of charcoal fluid. But alas, those were two more things they didn’t have.
Stepping carefully, she walked to the edge of the woods and grabbed the driest of the branches she saw. Wes might have been able to help her with clothes, but he couldn’t do a thing about her shoes. She winced as she stepped onto something soft and gooey, trying not to remember the outrageous price she’d paid for her stack-heeled pumps.
Wes watched until he saw her disappear into the trees, then reached in his pocket and brought out the pressed-wood squares the guy at the bathhouse had given him. He turned one over in his hand and studied it. Fire starters, that’s what the man had called them. This little thing, no bigger than a pool cue chalk, was supposed to be soaked with something that guaranteed a fire.
He was willing to give it a try. One thing sure, he couldn’t do any worse than last night. He wasn’t going to impress Lillian with his outdoor skills if he couldn’t even guarantee her a morning cup of coffee. She was holding up pretty well, considering. He’d been around women like her before. They had a routine they lived and died by, and he figured Lil’s started with some sort of fancy coffee from Starbuck’s on the way to work, a salad with those green things that looked like weeds for lunch and something no normal person would eat for dinner. Like tofu hot dogs. Geez, what were those things all about?
Thinking about hot dogs made him hungry, so he quit thinking about them. He knelt down by the iron ring sunk into the ground, and began building a fire just as his mentor had advised. First the fire starter, then dried leaves, followed by twigs. Once those started to flame, he was supposed to add some small branches, then larger ones. The final touch would be that big log he’d found on the edge of the lot this morning.
Glancing toward the woods, he was glad to see only Lillian’s vague outline a good distance away. This fire had to be blazing before she got back. Step one in his plan of seduction was to make her grateful. Women tended to show their gratitude in a physical way, he’d discovered, and after spending most of the night with Lillian curled against his backside, he needed more than gratitude. He needed gratification. Heavy duty and pretty quick.
He flicked the lighter and held the flame against the small cube. A tiny orange flame flickered and then spread to engulf the whole thing. The hungry fire fed on the leaves and twigs, and the branches had begun to snap when Lillian returned with an armful of future fuel, which she dumped as soon as she could.
“You built a fire.”
Wes frowned. There was more amazement than admiration in her voice, but that was okay. At least the open condescension had disappeared.
“Told you I could last night.” He stood and stretched. “It was too damp by the time we got here, that’s all.”
Crisscrossing the larger branches across the flame as his new friend had advised, he grabbed the old-fashioned enamel coffee pot and walked toward a metal spigot twenty feet away. That was another thing he’d learned from the guy at the bathhouse. Cold water lines ran to every lot, treated water, not stuff he had to boil to make it fit to drink.
He felt Lillian’s eyes on him as he carried the pot back to where she sat. He pretended not to notice. Pouring ground coffee into the pot, he set it on the grid of thick bars at edge of the ring and settled back in his lawn chair. He’d set aside a thick, sturdy branch to use as a poker, and occupied his hands now by shoving the flaming wood into a neat teepee.
“Hello there, you two.”
Wes waved at Bud, donor of the fire starters, in an invitation to come and join them. He introduced Lillian, remembering to refer to her as his wife.
“Pleased to meet you.” She extended her hand to Bud, smiling at the black and white canine at the end of a short leash. She reached down to pet it. “What a nice dog.”
Bud immediately launched into story after story about how smart his Prissy was. Wes was pretty sure Lillian didn’t care if the Border collie could count to ten with her paw or that it knew every toy by name. She kept a smile, though, so he was proud of her.
As Bud talked, Wes dug through the food box to find something for breakfast. He toyed with inviting their visitor to stay but figured he’d better not rock the boat since Lillian had just been forced into shaking Prissy’s paw. He’d let her choose.
“You two haven’t been married very long, have you?”
Wes tensed at the question. This charade had to work. He didn’t want to even think about having to face Tiny without payment in hand.
“A few weeks.” He sat down next to Lillian and squeezed her shoulders. “Every day is one more slice of paradise.”
“Don’t lose the magic.” Bud sounded wistful. “Those little pet names, the funny things you used to do together, that’s what you lose first. My late wife and I settled for being comfortable together. Sitting in front of the boob tube and going to bed when the news comes on means the spark is gone.”
“That’s what I told Lil.” Wes gave her another squeeze mostly because she stiffened so much when he did it the first time. “We need to find a special place just for us. She wasn’t crazy about trying camping but I assure you she’ll never forget our first night in a tent together.”
He pretended not to feel the stomp she gave to the top of his foot. Apparently she wasn’t happy about that particular memory.
“Well, we’d better get going.” Bud stood with a wince and rubbed his knee. “Prissy here keeps me moving. The doc’s been after me to let him replace that joint and I guess I’ll have to if I want to keep up with my girl here.”
Wes watched them go before digging through the food boxes again.
“How about pancakes?” he asked, wondering if she’d seen the small container of shake-and-pour mix in the box of food.
“Pancakes? Real ones?”
Wes laughed. “Yes, real ones. If there’s a fry pan somewhere.”
“I saw a skillet last night.” Lillian scu
rried over to the plastic storage boxes that held their supplies. If she’d been a dog, her tail would have been wagging and her ears perked up, Wes decided. She ought to thank Frank for sticking her out here. One thing this camping was doing for her was simplifying her life choices. He was pretty sure that back home in Detroit, she worried about the food she ate and the kind of water she drank. Out here, the choices at mealtime were easy: Take it or leave it.
“Ah, ha!” Lillian ran back to Wes, holding the skillet up triumphantly. She handed it to him, along with the can of cooking spray she carried in her other hand. “Here you go.”
“What are you giving it to me for?” Wes backed up a step. “All I know about pancakes is that if you order a short stack, you get only get two. I built the fire, you can do the cooking.”
“Oh, so you’re too manly to make pancakes, is that right?”
“I built the fire. You cook, princess. Wouldn’t hurt you to do a little women’s work while we’re here.” Wes moved to the other side of the fire ring and poked the wood with a stick again. He wasn’t taking any chances on it going out now that he’d gotten a campfire going.
“Don’t ever walk off from me like when we’re talking.” With one quick move of Lillian’s arm, the skillet went flying and landed with a dull thud inches from his feet. “And don’t expect me to wait on you hand and foot. It’s not going to happen. You keep missing the point about my paying you to work for me.”
Wes deliberately sat down in a chair, leaned back and studied Lillian. Damn, she even looked good mad there in his shirt and shorts, hands on her hips, a tiny package of growing fury. Her breath came in short, angry pants, doing great things for her front view. There was nothing wrong with those long legs she had planted squarely in the grass either. Yep, she was one fine woman.
Except for that attitude. Wes didn’t answer to anyone. Every decision he made was his own, even when it was a bad one. Like signing that damned contract. If he’d been smart enough to just walk away, he wouldn’t be sitting here with smoke in his eyes right now facing down a woman with fire in hers.
Unforgettable Heroes Boxed Set Page 41