Читать книгу The Bride's Second Thought - Elizabeth August, Elizabeth August - Страница 8

Chapter One

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” Ellen Reese muttered to herself. “Decisions made at 2:00 a.m. should always be reevaluated in the light of day.”

Of course she’d had all day to think, but she’d been too angry and hurt. The truth was she hadn’t wanted to think. Now she was in trouble and had no one to blame but herself.

When she’d left Boston this morning, the sky had been clear. Halfway through New Hampshire, fresh snow had begun to fall but she hadn’t stopped. For a foolish reason that had seemed rational at two in the morning, she’d vowed to keep driving until she’d crossed the Canadian border. So she’d continued north through the mountainous terrain, concentrating on the beauty of the white-blanketed wilderness and trying to block out the scene that had sent her on this journey.

She’d reasoned that she didn’t have to worry about a few flakes. There was already several feet of snow on the ground. People up here were used to snow. The highway department had plenty of plows to clear the roadways. After all, this was ski country and people made their money catering to tourists. Besides, if the roads got dangerous, she could always find a motel.

With those thoughts in mind, she hadn’t paid any heed to the increasing strength of the storm nor the steadily increasing buildup of snow on the road. Admittedly, when she’d passed through that last small town, she had considered stopping, but the border was so close, and getting there had become an obsession. Minutes ago the snow had suddenly begun to come down with blizzard force. Blocking out the remaining rays of daylight, it had brought with it an early dusk. Even with her windshield wipers moving rapidly, she’d barely been able to see beyond the hood of her car and had had to reduce her speed to a crawl. She’d considered turning back but, according to the. map, there was another town not much further in front of her. Besides, since she was hardly able to see forward, making a U-turn with no visibility hadn’t appealed to her.

It was about that time that the extent of the foolishness of her behavior had hit her full force. Straining her eyes, looking for evidence of other cars on the road, she’d recalled that she’d seem none for quite a while. Even in the small town she’d passed through, no one had been out.

“That’s because everyone else was smart enough to stay in or seek shelter a long time ago,” she’d admonished herself.

Driving had become more and more impossible. Out of desperation, when she’d seen a mailbox, she’d turned off the main road onto the private lane hoping to seek shelter at the home beyond.

Now she was hopelessly stuck. Even worse, she couldn’t see any indication of a house in the distance. The lane simply wound into the forest.

Fighting a rising panic, she peered hard into the dim twilight. The lane had been plowed after the last snowfall. She could tell that because of the mounds of snow on either side. That meant that someone lived out there somewhere.

“The house is probably just around the first bend,” she reasoned, using the sound of her voice to bolster her courage.

Wrapping her coat tightly around her body, she opened the car door and stepped out. A blast of arctic air greeted her. Feeling her feet already beginning to freeze, she silently congratulated herself for not being entirely foolish and popped open the trunk. She’d been driving in sneakers but had packed boots. Finding them and grabbing her suitcase, she climbed into the back seat. There in the shelter of her vehicle, she discarded her sneakers and wet socks. A strong gust of wind buffeted the car causing it to sway. After finding a pair of fresh socks, she pulled them on, then pulled on the boots. Already snow had covered her front windshield.

“Maybe it would be smart to wait until daylight or at least until the snow stops,” she murmured under her breath. Her short trip to the trunk had left her coat snow covered and a chill creeping through her body. If she remained where she was, she had a suitcase full of clothes she could keep layering to stay warm.

“Or I could end up freezing to death in the back seat of my car when there could be a house no more than a hundred yards away,” she argued, feeling the temperature of the interior of the vehicle dropping rapidly.

Suddenly the car jolted. Looking to the window beside her, she saw a pair of huge paws spread on the glass.

A gasp of fear escaped. Then recognizing the paws as belonging to a canine, she reminded herself that dogs had masters, and her fear was replaced by a flood of relief.

A long wolflike snout and sharp bared teeth became visible between the paws.

“I think I’ll just wait in the car until his master arrives,” she decided, hoping the glass would hold.

The animal lowered itself and took a stance a couple of feet away. Peering out the window, her breath caught in her throat. She’d assumed the dog was the pet of the people who owned the house the mailbox belonged to. But on closer inspection, it looked more like a wolf. “Some breeds of dogs look like wolves,” she reasoned encouragingly. Still, recalling that wolves ran in packs, she peered out all of the other windows to see if there were any others. She could see none, but then her visibility was extremely limited.

“It’s a dog,” she proclaimed, fighting to keep her panic from rising.

Suddenly the animal lifted its chin and began to howl. It was a wolf, and it was calling to its friends! For a moment she sat frozen in fear, then her fighting instinct took over. “Think!” she ordered herself.

“I’ve got to believe there’s someone just around that bend,” she said through clenched teeth. Leaning over the front seat, she paused with her hand above the horn. Was an SOS three dots, three dashes and three dots or was it three dashes, three dots and three dashes? The first, she decided, and pressed on the horn. After the forth repetition, she stopped. She didn’t want to wear out her battery. She’d wait. If no one came, she’d try again when the snow stopped.

The cold was creeping into her bones. Forcing herself to discard her coat momentarily, she pulled on a bulky sweater over the one she was already wearing and a pair of sweatpants over her jeans, then put her coat back on.

Outside the wolf continued to howl.

“Well, if he thinks he’s found dinner for his pack, he’d better think again.” Her jaw firmed as she checked the locks on the doors, then snuggled more tightly against the back seat.

Above the wind and the beast, another sound caught her attention. It was a motor. Quickly leaning over her front seat, she switched on her lights. Coming down the lane was a snowmobile. The driver threw his arm up in front of his face and, realizing she’d nearly blinded him with her lights, she switched them off. Suddenly afraid for her rescuer, she looked for the wolf. He was running toward the approaching machine.

Moving rapidly, she unlocked her door and stepped out of the car. “Watch out!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, then looked around for a weapon to help the driver fend off the beast and any of his companions that might be arriving soon.

The driver made no move to take any precautions, and she feared her warning had been covered by the sound of the motor. Panic threatened rational thought. Refusing to allow another person to be harmed because of her, she started forward intending to lend assistance to subdue the animal. But as the driver came to a halt and turned off the machine, the beast nuzzled the man’s leg, and he reached down and ruffled the wolf’s fur.

She’d let her imagination cause her to panic! It was a dog after all. It simply resembled a wolf.

Approaching her, the driver looked at her car and then at her. He was wearing a heavy parka. What she could see of his face was obscured by a full beard and mustache while his bulk was large enough to provide a buffer to the driving snow. The phrase “a mountain of a man” came to mind.

Peter studied the woman. The strain on her face gave the impression of a lost stray tossed out into the cold to fend for itself. Where women were concerned, looks could be deceiving, he reminded himself. “Only an idiot would be out on a night like this,” he finally said.

Ellen wanted to feel indignant, but her sanity had returned. “You’re right,” she admitted, and was certain she sensed surprise on his part.

His gaze shifted to the car. “You’re not going to be going anywhere in that for a while.” Then he turned back to her. “You’ll have to come with me.”

As he started toward the snowmobile, she remained in place. Until today, she’d lived by certain rules. And not going home with men she didn’t know was a very big one.

Reaching the snowmobile, he turned back. Seeing her where he’d left her, his frown deepened. “You have two choices. You can stay here and turn into an ice sculpture, or you can come home with me.”

The snow was matting the length of her body. That, plus a frigid blast of wind that nearly knocked her over, made her decision for her. Where there was life, there was hope, she told herself. And staying here, she was certain to die from exposure. “I need my purse and suitcase,” she called back, already on her way to retrieve them.

Trudging after her, he took the suitcase from her. “There’s no way you can hold on to that and me at the. same time. I’ll come back for it,” he said, tossing it inside the car.

His manner left no room for compromise. Following him to the snowmobile, she was aware of his pet watching her. The animal’s scrutiny added to her nervousness. “I don’t think your dog likes me.”

“He’s a wolf, and he’s not mine. He belongs to a friend of mine. So does the cabin we’re going to.” Peter motioned for the wolf to come closer. “Friend,” he said firmly. “Now home!”

The wolf took off at a run down the lane.

After brushing the snow from the seat, Peter climbed onto the snowmobile. Ellen climbed on behind him. With nothing else to hold on to, she was forced to wrap her arms around his waist. As they started down the lane, she’d intended to stay as far from her rescuer as possible. But the bitter wind changed her mind. Huddling against his back, she let his bulk protect her.

The lane wound through the forest for what seemed like forever. Just when she was beginning to wonder if there was a cabin, she smelled wood smoke. Peering around the broad shoulder protecting her from the elements, she saw a clearing with a building in the center. As they drew closer she realized it was a real log cabin.

The wolf shook the snow off its coat as Ellen and the stranger mounted the porch steps. Her rescuer also paused on the porch to brush himself off and stomp some of the snow off his boots. She followed his example before entering behind the wolf.

The interior of the cabin was a pleasant surprise. Considering her companion’s mountain man appearance, she’d expected something totally rustic. Instead, the furniture was comfortable looking, and there was a cozy atmosphere. A fireplace with logs blazing was to one side. A couch and chair grouping fronted it. Toward the back was a kitchen section with a heavy wooden table and chairs. Above the fireplace area was a loft. Three doors led off the central living area. One was ajar, and she saw a bed.

“The bathroom’s over there.” Peter motioned toward one of the two closed doors. “I’ll be back with your suitcases in a little while. Is there anything else you want from your car?”

Feeling guilty about sending him out into the storm, she said hurriedly, “There’s really no need for you to go out there again. I can get along fine until tomorrow, and then I’ll be on my way.”

At least she wasn’t spoiled, Peter thought. The last thing he wanted was to be cloistered with a demanding female. “There’s no way to be certain when we’ll get dug out up here. The snow is supposed to continue through the night, and, with the way the wind is blowing, it’ll probably drift up onto your car. If I wait, I’ll have to dig out your car just to get to your luggage. Now, is there anything else you want?”

She realized that arguing would be futile. “There’s an overnight bag in the trunk.”

He extended his hand for her keys. As soon as she dropped them into his palm, he left.

Turning to look out the window, she saw him remount the snowmobile and disappear into the snowy night. She’d hoped there would be a wife and children in the cabin, but there didn’t appear to be anyone else here. Recalling that he’d said the place belonged to a friend, she called out a hello. There was no answer. Apparently, it was going to be just her, the man and the wolf. This thought caused an uneasy curl to work its way through her. “You’ve gotten yourself into a fine mess,” she grumbled at herself.

Suddenly afraid that the wolf would decide she wasn’t a friend after all, her gaze swung to the fireplace. The animal was lying near the hearth, his head up, watching her, as if wondering if he should trust her or not.

“Don’t worry, I don’t intend to take anything or stay long,” she assured him.

He lowered his head onto his paws, but his gaze remained on her.

Moving slowly, not wanting to give him any reason for alarm, she removed her coat and hung it on one of the pegs by the door. Next came the boots. As she took off the sweatpants, she congratulated herself for having put them on. The snow had clung to them and, still unmelted, its dampness had not yet penetrated to her jeans.

Nature called and she headed to the bathroom. It was larger than she’d expected and clean. There was an old-fashioned, legged bathtub and all the other amenities. The faint scent of aftershave reminded her of her rescuer.

She hadn’t gotten a very good look at him when they’d entered the cabin. In fact all she’d really noticed was a pair of the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen... impatient, reproving blue eyes.

Leaving the bathroom, she walked slowly around the main living area, taking stock of her surroundings. A quick peek in the second room with a closed door revealed a study. Two walls were lined with filled bookshelves. There was a desk with an elaborate computer in front of the window. On the other side wall was another desk with a ham radio. Climbing the ladder to the loft she found a mattress up there and guessed this was the guest quarters.

“Nice place,” she addressed the wolf as she descended to the main floor. She’d been aware that the animal’s gaze had never left her.

He made no response.

Her body finally warming, the second sweater she was wearing was beginning to feel unnecessary. Stripping it off, she settled onto the couch. But she didn’t relax. Guilt for having allowed her rescuer to again go out in the storm plagued her. She told herself that he was obviously used to this kind of weather. Still, her anxiousness increased. The wind was blowing even more forcefully now, producing an angry wrathlike howl. Crossing to the window, she peered out at the night. The snow was falling so thickly, she could barely see beyond the rail of the roofed porch.

“He’ll be all right,” she said aloud, using the sound of her voice to bolster her courage. Glancing toward the wolf, she saw him continuing to watch her. “Well, I told him he didn’t have to go out,” she said in her defense.

Suddenly the wolf was on its feet, and the fear that it had decided she wasn’t a friend caused her legs to weaken. Then, above the storm, she heard the sound of a motor. A moment later she saw a faint light and breathed a sigh of relief.

She opened the door when the man reached the porch. “Thanks,” she said as he entered and set her suitcase and overnight bag on the floor, then removed his coat,

Sitting down in a nearby chair, Peter concentrated on taking off his boots. “You’re welcome.”

The relief she’d been feeling proved fleeting. Beneath his heavy coat, her rescuer was wearing a heavy red plaid flannel shirt over a white turtleneck. Despite the layering, she could see his shoulders were broad, and as he bent to unlace his boots, there was no evidence of a potbelly getting in his way. His jeans fit snugly around muscular thighs, and she guessed that with his boots off he’d stand a little over six feet tall.

She placed his age somewhere in the early- to mid-thirties. His thick, dark brown hair was shaggy around the ears and hung to his collar in the back. As for his face, when he’d looked up at her, the blueness of his eyes had again grabbed and held her attention. Now, however, she noted that his nose was average and his cheekbones high. Beneath the heavy beard and mustache, she guessed he probably had a lantern jaw. Of course, she could be entirely wrong. Maybe he’d grown the beard to cover a weak chin. That, however, would be the only weak thing about him, she thought as he put his boots aside and rose.

She’d been concentrating on her inspection of him in an attempt to ignore the growing fear within her. But she could ignore it no longer. She was alone in an isolated cabin, in the midst of a blizzard, with a man she didn’t know and a wolf who didn’t seem all that friendly.

He took a step toward her, and she took a step back.

Peter frowned patronizingly. “Don’t worry. I’m not a crazed backwoodsman who hasn’t seen a woman in years. You don’t have anything to fear from me.”

She knew she didn’t look her best. Her short brown hair was a wet stringy mess of curls. Her makeupless face was pale and drawn from strain causing her best feature—her dark brown eyes—to look sunken and overly large. Even at her best she was not a raving beauty, but she was pleasant enough looking. This man, however, made her feel like one of Cinderella’s ugly stepsisters. And I should be glad, she told herself, quickly overcoming the sting of insult as she realized his disinterest was the key to her safety. “I’m glad to hear that.” Her manner becoming businesslike, she held out her hand. “I’m Ellen Reese and I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Peter Whitley,” he replied, accepting the handshake.

Ellen had shaken hands with a great many men, but never had she been so aware of the contact. Her first impression was strength, then came the roughness of his work-callused palms. But the most disconcerting was the warmth. His hand was still cold from his recent trip outside, and yet a heat. raced up her arm. Breaking the contact swiftly, she again took a step back.

His impatient frown returned. “You can have the bedroom. I’ll take the loft.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” she said, again feeling like an unwelcome intruder.

In spite of her bravado, Peter sensed her continued fear. “The bedroom door has a lock on it. I figure you’ll feel safer in there. I wouldn’t want to have you lying awake all night worrying.”

She was about to say she wouldn’t worry, but the words died in her throat. He sounded honestly disinterested in her, but recent events warned her to distrust what any man said. “Thanks.” Not wanting to admit that he was the entire reason she wanted the locked door, she added, “I’m not so sure your friend’s wolf likes me.”

Peter had to admit the animal could be intimidating. He recalled the first evening he’d spent in the wolf’s company. No human had ever studied him so thoroughly. “He takes his time to decide how he feels about people. But he won’t hurt you. He’ll accept my decision to allow you to stay with us.”

“That’s encouraging,” she said dryly, letting her tone tell him she wasn’t so certain she should take his word for that. “Does he have a name?”

“Bane.” The animal had risen and was now standing by Peter. He looked up when his name was mentioned, and Peter petted him fondly. “Jack Greenriver, the owner of this cabin, found him when he was a pup. He was wandering around the woods alone, nearly starved to death. Jack figured his mother had been killed by a mountain lion or hunters. He never found her den or the rest of her brood. He brought Bane home and nursed him back to health with the intention of releasing him into the wild once he was strong enough. Jack even taught Bane how to hunt so that he could survive on his own, and he never gave him a name, just called him wolf. But when he tried to send him back into the woods, Bane continued to hang around the cabin. That’s when Jack started referring to him as the Bane of his existence. But the truth is, he’d grown as fond of Bane as Bane had of him, so they formed what Jack likes to refer to as an alliance, and Bane remained.”

Peter gave the wolf’s head a playful rub. “It’s Bane you owe your life to. He’s the one who realized someone had turned into the drive and insisted on going out to investigate. When I heard him howling, I knew something was wrong. Then I heard you honking.”

“Thanks,” she addressed the wolf.

He tilted his head, and she had the feeling he was studying her, but he made no move toward her. After a moment he returned to his place by the hearth and, laying his head on his paws, closed his eyes as if to say he was turning over the guarding of the cabin to Peter.

Peter picked up her suitcase and overnight bag and carried them into the bedroom. Returning to the living area, he headed to the refrigerator. “How about some dinner? I was just getting ready to make corn bread and heat up some of the chili I made yesterday,” he offered.

“Sounds good,” she replied, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. “What can I do to help?”

Keep your distance, was the response that flashed through Peter’s mind. Like he’d told her, he wasn’t a crazed backwoodsman, but he was only human, and she filled out that sweater and those jeans in all the right spots. “I can handle getting dinner on the table on my own. Just make yourself comfortable.” He motioned toward the study door. “There’s a phone in there. Feel free to make a call and let whoever is waiting for you know you’re going to be delayed. If they’re from around here, just tell them you’re at Jack Greenriver’s place. If not, say you’re between Colebrook and West Stewardtown.”

“No one is expecting me.” The minute the words were out she regretted them. Silently she berated herself for not making him think someone would be keeping an eye out for her. She studied his face for any clue that she’d made a gigantic mistake. What she saw was disbelief.

“This is not the kind of weather to be out for a Sunday drive in.”

“I had a destination,” she returned in her defense.

“And where was that?”

“I’d promised myself I’d see Canada. I’ve never seen Canada.”

Suspicion spread over his face. She had that innocent, girl-next-door kind of look, but he’d been tricked before. “Are you running from the law?”

She scowled. “No.” His gaze remained locked on her, and she had the feeling he wasn’t certain if he should believe her. “It’s a man. All right?” She’d meant to stop there, but the anger she’d been suppressing took control. “My fiancé, Charles. I didn’t want to be in the same country with him.”

“You nearly got yourself frozen to death because of a lovers’ quarrel?”

The “I can’t believe anyone could be so stupid” look in his eyes grated on her nerves. But she couldn’t fault him. “I’ll admit I acted a bit rashly. I regret it. It certainly won’t happen again. Now can we drop this subject?”

Whoever Charles was, he had a tiger by the tail with this one, Peter thought. “I’ve always made it a point to stay out of the middle of lovers’ spats.”

Her scowl darkened. “This was a great deal more than a spat.” Abruptly she clamped her mouth shut. She’d said enough. As she started toward the couch, a sudden worry came to mind. She’d called Paul Saunders, her supervisor, and explained that she needed to take a few vacation days effective immediately. She’d told him it was a family emergency. To her relief he hadn’t asked any questions. He’d simply told her to take the time she needed. But she hadn’t called her parents. They would have wanted an explanation, which she hadn’t been ready to give. And she’d been in no mood to be diplomatically evasive. “I will take you up on the offer of the phone. Charles will probably think I ran home to Kansas City to my parents. He’ll call them, and they’ll worry. If you don’t mind, I’ll tell them I’m visiting a friend.”

He gave a shrug of indifference and returned to making the corn bread. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the enticing little wiggle she had when she walked. A scowl spread over his face. She was already spoken for. Only a fool would consider getting involved with a woman who was in love with another man, and he was no fool.

Alone in the study, she made the call. Still unable to talk about the scene that had sent her on this insane drive, she simply reassured her parents that she was fine and that she just needed a few days away. After obtaining their word that they wouldn’t reveal her whereabouts to anyone, she gave them the phone number for the cabin in case they needed to contact her.

“You’re just having a little case of cold feet,” her mother soothed. “It will pass. After all, you’ve been waiting a long time for the right man.”

“I’m really not in the mood to talk right now,” Ellen replied firmly, and said a quick goodbye before her mother could do any serious prying.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared out the window at the storm beyond. She’d lied; she didn’t feel fine. Beneath her anger was the pain of betrayal, and it hurt worse than she’d ever imagined anything could hurt.