Читать книгу Thanksgiving Groom - Brenda Minton - Страница 9

Tucker took large steps in the direction of the old lodge he’d called home for the past few months. It was his own fault she’d passed out. He should have told her about the Johnsons sooner. He should have seen the panic in her face, noticed the second when she realized how alone she was. He jostled her a little, but she didn’t wake up. This was just what he needed.

Or didn’t need.

The lodge appeared—a dark, shadowy place, hidden in the mountains. Unused for over twenty years, it didn’t have electricity and they were using an old pump for water. This place was his haven.

And now he had to share it with a screeching, high-maintenance female. He continued up the path. She was getting heavier. She wouldn’t thank him for mentioning that.

He carried her up the steps, then had to maneuver to get the storm door open. The inside door opened as he pulled the storm door. Mrs. Johnson pushed it all the way open for him to get inside. Her eyes widened when she saw the woman in his arms.

“Where did you find her?”

“In the woods.”

“Is she okay?” Mrs. Johnson followed him down the hall to the small parlor they used most often now that it was cold. It was easy to close off, easy to heat.

“She’s fine. She got herself worked up and then she passed out cold. A little exhaustion, a lot of fear.”

“Who is she?”

“My guess, Herman Lear’s daughter, Penelope.”

“Oh, my. Are you sure?” Mrs. Johnson pulled a throw blanket off the couch and he took the hint and placed the woman on the worn seat of a sofa that they’d had to beat the dust out of just a few months earlier. The Johnsons had been here about a month before he showed up.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He’d seen her pictures. He knew her father. She was Penelope Lear. And she was the last person he wanted to see.

“Goodness.” Wilma Johnson clucked, the way she’d clucked over him more than once.

“Wake up.” He patted Penelope’s cheek as Mrs. Johnson stood next to him, leaning in, watching. “Ms. Lear, time to wake up.”

She blinked and looked at him. “Where am I?”

“A hunting lodge.”

“People live out here?” she murmured.

“People do. It isn’t necessarily the most inhabited part of Alaska, or the most civilized, but here we are.”

She scrambled to sit up. Mrs. Johnson patted her shoulder. “There, there, sweetie, you’re safe. And don’t worry about Tucker, he’s lacking social skills. We’ll take good care of you until we can get you back to safety.”

“Thank you, Mrs….?”

“I’m Wilma Johnson. My husband and I were staying here. And then Tucker came along to stay with us.”

Penelope looked back at him. “They think you’re dead.”

“I’m obviously not. But why would they think that?”

“They found your plane, blood and then no sign of you. They haven’t given up, though.”

Tucker sat down in the chair near the fire. He needed a minute to soak in the idea that the folks in Treasure Creek assumed he was dead. He hadn’t considered that. He should have, though. Wilma was busy untangling Penelope’s hair, pulling small sticks and leaves from the blond strands. The older woman shot him a look, her lips pursed.

She was a mother at heart. She had lost her only child, but that didn’t stop her from mothering. She’d been hovering over him for months, trying to fix him, to fix his heart. And it had been a long time since anyone had mothered him.

“I’m going to make tea.” Wilma stepped away from Penelope and he knew what she was doing. She was leaving them to share their stories.

He watched her leave the room and then he turned, facing the woman who had sat up, but still held the blanket tight around herself. He got up to put wood on the fire.

“I was on my way to a friend’s cabin.” He shoved a log into the fireplace, poking it into place with the metal poker and then standing back as sparks shot up and flames licked at the mossy bark. “The plane stalled out on me and I landed on that lake. I did hit my head as I came down, but I managed to get out and to walk here.” He had walked for three days, he explained, and he’d been as lost as he’d ever been in his life.

“I know they’ve searched a large area around the lake.”

“I hadn’t meant to cause panic. I even left a note on a tree, that I’d find shelter and that I was on my way to a friend’s cabin. Not that I made it to that cabin. Mr. Johnson found me wandering the woods. Concussion I guess. I don’t know how far I walked from the plane. And you, Ms. Lear, what brought you to Treasure Creek? Are you hunting for a rugged outdoorsman? A man to share your life and your heart with, as that infamous article stated?”

She glared at him and he wanted to smile. “How did you know my name?”

“You’re Penelope Lear. Who doesn’t know the Lears of Anchorage.”

“That isn’t who I am.”

“You aren’t Penelope?” He stayed close to the fire, watching her gather herself. Lamplight flickered, casting shadows on a face that was beautiful in a way he wouldn’t have imagined. Maybe because of the light in her eyes, the animation of her features.

“I am Penelope Lear. But, but I’m not a spoiled little rich girl.” In the warm glow of the lamp, he saw tears pool in her blue eyes.

“I’m sure they’ll be looking for you.”

“Of course they will.” She shivered again.

But would they find her? Penelope huddled into the blanket, glad for its warmth, and for the fire. Her ankle throbbed and her throat was dry and sore. Probably from screaming at the bear.

“I have to try to get out of here, back to Treasure Creek. I have a compass in my pocket and I know I need to go straight south.”

“Straight south from where?”

Okay, that was a fair question. “From where I left the Jeep.”

This was not the way to prove her intelligence. She cringed a little as she replayed her words.

He smiled a little. At least he didn’t laugh at her. “Do you know where you left it? What direction you went? Where you got lost?”

“No.” The truth—stark, kind of cold and not what she wanted to admit to. “No, I don’t have any clue. I left the Jeep and started in the direction I thought was south. I guess that was about seven hours ago now.”

“You’ve never heard you’re supposed to stay in one place if you get lost?”

She glanced away from him. “Of course, but does anyone follow that rule?”

He hadn’t. “No, but they should. And I’m afraid that means you’re stuck with us for a little while.”

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 natural 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.