Читать книгу Thanksgiving Groom - Brenda Minton - Страница 11

Tucker had never seen anything like it. Standing there in her fuzzy boots and a Shearling coat, Penelope caught three fish. As she pulled in the last one she turned and smiled at him. There was more than a little pride in that smile. And he wasn’t about to deflate her.

“That should be enough for tonight, right?” She turned the pole over to him to remove the fish. That, she said, was something she just couldn’t do. She had shuddered with her announcement.

“It’ll be plenty.” He unhooked the fish and attached it to the stringer with the others, then gave her back the pole. “Are you done, then?”

“I’m done. It’s getting cold.” She looked up at the sky and he did the same.

“Looks like it might snow.”

She bit down on her bottom lip and nodded a little. She was a sight, with the pole in one hand and a crutch under her other arm. The wind had turned her cheeks a rosy pink and her nose was red.

“How will we get back to Treasure Creek?” She flicked her gaze away, as if she was looking for a trail out. “I mean, as fun as this is, I really hadn’t planned on staying until next spring.”

“You maybe should have thought about that before you set out on your own.” They headed up the trail, in the direction of the cabin. “Honestly, what were you doing out here, roaming the country by yourself?”

“Are we sharing our secrets?”

“No, I just asked you a question.” No wonder her father wanted to marry her off.

She shrugged. “I wanted to find the treasure for Amy, and for Treasure Creek.”

He didn’t want to laugh at her, but he did. He avoided looking at her, because he knew she’d look hurt by his laughter. He kept the stringer of fish held up and trudged forward.

“You were going to find the treasure? You mean a treasure that has been hidden for generations? A treasure they’re not even sure exists? That treasure?”

“Stop laughing at me.” She stomped ahead of him with one crutch under her arm, a ridiculous figure in clothes that were suited for the city, not the wilderness. He let her get a little ahead of him because he knew that it would make her feel good, to think she was stomping off, leaving him behind.

And then he took a few steps and caught up with her.

“I’m not laughing at you. But honestly, how did you think you could find it? Do you have the map?”

She pointed to her head. “Up here.”

“Oh, of course.”

She glared and kept going. “Don’t talk to me.”

“Okay, tell me how you were going to do it.”

She slowed and then stopped, but she didn’t turn to look at him. Snow was falling, light flakes floating to the ground on a gray and chilly afternoon. It landed on the crocheted stocking cap that was pulled snug down over her head, and frosted her shoulders.

“I’m so sick of people believing they know me.” She turned and a tear streaked its way down her pink cheeks. “You have an image of who you think I am. But do you know that I have photographic memory? If you’d like, I’ll recite the articles I’ve read about you, and about your disappearance.”

“No, thank you.” That was a little uncomfortable.

She looked a little smug and he gave her props for not backing down. “I peeked at the map the other day when Amy was showing it to someone. I thought that if I could find the treasure and give it to her, the town would survive. The people of Treasure Creek need that treasure, and I wanted to do that for them.”

“You seriously have a photographic memory?”

“I seriously do. I also have a degree in economics.”

He opened his mouth—but what did he say to this revelation?

“Shocked speechless?” She smiled and trudged on, that one crutch under her arm, hobbling and hopping every few steps.