Читать книгу His Pretend Wife - Lisette Belisle - Страница 9

No one would miss him.

Jack Slade had never felt so alone. He stared up at a small patch of deep-blue sky surrounded by snow-capped pine trees. The sky felt closer. He was climbing to meet it, but something weighed him down.

He wasn’t ready to go yet.

How odd to discover he wanted to live, just as he was about to die. He started to laugh, but wound up choking. God, it hurt to breathe. That had him worried. He’d probably cracked a couple of ribs, but that didn’t explain the knife-like pain in his chest. Exposed to the bitter cold, he wondered how long he could survive.

Hours?

Would he see another dawn?

The ache in his left leg was gone; at least that part of his body felt blessedly numb.

Deep in the northern Maine pine woods, Jack was miles from anywhere. Earlier, he’d cut down a section of hardwood. When the rest of the logging crew left, he’d stayed on, hoping to get out one more load before quitting for the day. He’d almost finished when a doe crossed his path.

Startled, he’d swerved to avoid it. For one long sickening moment, the log skidder had started to tip. Jack tried to right it, but the track was uneven, covered in a thin layer of ice. The huge mechanical beast went into a slow roll, finally landing on its side and pinning him underneath.

Luckily a foot of packed snow had cushioned his fall, but there were rocks buried beneath. He’d struck his head and had been knocked out for a while. Now he lay trapped.

Ironically, he’d survived street gangs, a rough-and-tumble youth and even a spell in prison—only to wind up in a primitive forest in Maine. He’d read somewhere that logging, filled with physical hardships and risks, rated third from the bottom when it came to optimum occupations.

Maybe he should have aimed higher….

Abby Pierce lingered in her office at the Pierce Sawmill. Her assistant had gone home. The old post-and-beam building was eerily silent. No screaming saws, no grinding trucks loading and unloading outside in the lumberyard. No rumbling masculine voices—one voice in particular, calling her “Miss Abigail,” its owner taunting her with his sinfully blue eyes and a hard enigmatic smile, undoubtedly intended to put her in her place—wherever that was.

Abby glanced at the clock on the wall. Jack Slade was late, probably working—or stopped off at the diner flirting with a pretty waitress. For some reason, women were drawn to his dangerous edge.

But not Abby.

With an impatient sigh, she closed the payroll files. Jack hadn’t come in to pick up his paycheck, and she was tired of waiting for him.

It was New Year’s Eve—a time for shedding the past and looking to the future with new resolve. Lately, Abby’s life seemed caught in a holding pattern. She had a date with Seth Powers that evening. She should go home and change into the midnight-blue dress she’d purchased for the occasion, but something held her here. She couldn’t leave.

With a frown of irritation, Abby admitted the reason behind her unease—Jack Slade hadn’t checked in yet. Why should she care? Why indeed?

Abby rose hastily, dismissing the notion that Jack, with his dark good looks and devil-may-care attitude, could mean anything more to her than a thorn in her side. Like bad news, he’d arrived out of the blue, claiming her brother owed him a favor. Drew had given him a job, and she’d rued the day ever since. Was it only two months ago?

It seemed longer.

Nothing in Abby’s sheltered life could have prepared her for a man like Jack Slade. He was everything nice girls like her had been taught to avoid.

Abby stared out the window overlooking the lumberyard and watched the daylight fade to dusk. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore the parking space where Jack’s logging truck should be. His motorcycle took up the space.

Running her hands up and down her arms, she felt chilled and weary. And worried. Jack could be hurt, or lost in the woods. It happened to even the most experienced loggers, and Jack hadn’t been around that long. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t thank her for sending out a search party simply because he was a couple of hours late.

Abby glanced up at the sky. Night was falling, and with it, the temperature. That settled it.

Taking a deep breath, she walked into her brother’s office. “Have you got a minute?”

Drew looked up from the pile of paperwork spread out on his desk. “I thought you’d left by now. What’s up?”

“It’s Jack. All the other men have checked in, but there’s no sign of him.”

Drew leaned back in his chair. “He’s probably just getting in a last load for the day. I wouldn’t worry about Jack, he can take care of himself.”

Abby had heard that before, it was little comfort to her now. “But it will be dark soon.” Afraid to reveal her personal interest, she admitted, “I know it doesn’t make any sense. I just have this bad feeling.”

He raised an eyebrow. “About Jack?”

She ignored the amusement in his voice. Naturally, Drew was aware of their mutual dislike. Jack was Drew’s friend—not hers. Never hers. From the first moment they’d met, it had been hate at first sight. Abby couldn’t hide her disapproval and Jack had responded with male derision. To this day, their working relationship remained awkward.

“Please,” she said, putting her reservations aside, “can you just check on him? Or send someone up there?”

“All right.” Drew reached for the topical map—an aerial view of the section of forest where the logging site was located. “He should be just about here.” He circled a dot on the side of a mountain. “I’ll go have a look around.”

Abby looked at the map, aware of how easy it would be to get lost. How long could a man survive out there?

“I’ll come with you,” she said on impulse, unwilling to be left behind where she would worry. About Jack. The knowledge curled around her heart and squeezed.

Half an hour later, they found the logging site. Jack’s truck stood parked by the side of the road. There was no sign of Jack. Abby felt a shiver of dread.

The mountain stood before them; a rough logging track cut a path upwards. Huge black rocks penetrated the pure white snowdrifts. Drew shouted Jack’s name into the silence. No answer. Only the wind whispering through the stand of towering pine trees. By now, a pale white winter moon rode high, frozen in black space.

Drew handed Abby a flashlight. “Here, you’ll need this. Stay close. I don’t want you getting lost.”

Abby nodded. She didn’t need to be reminded.

The climb was rough going, icy in spots. The surrounding forest was thick. Some winter branches were bare. In the moonlight, the shadows lengthened, darting in and out. The woods seemed to close in around Abby, bearing her down as the steep climb stole her breath.

She felt a stitch in her side. Ignoring the dull pain, she kept climbing. Then she saw the fallen skidder, the bright yellow flash of metallic paint against the frozen white landscape.

“Drew, look over there, to the left.”

Drew shouted back, “Any sign of Jack?”

Abby shook her head. “No, it’s too dark.”

“Don’t worry. If he’s here, we’ll find him.”

“He might have wandered off,” she said. For all his outer toughness, Jack was an inexperienced woodsman.

Abby walked closer to the fallen skidder. Under the twisted metal, a form took shape, broad shoulders in a buffalo plaid wool jacket.

“Jack,” she whispered, struck by the ominous silence all around her. Her heart stopped. Then, started again in a new erratic rhythm.

Abby rushed up the incline. She slipped once, but struggled to her feet and continued on. With Drew behind her, she was the first one to reach Jack. Removing one glove, she sank down on her knees beside him, and searched for a pulse in his throat. She held her breath—until she felt a slow but steady throb beating under her fingertips.

Jack was so still. Wedged between the ground and a heavy metal strip, only his head and shoulders were exposed. His hair gleamed black against the snow. His face was pale, his lips blue. A bloody, inch-long gash stood out against his wide brow. His thick eyelashes fanned out over high cheekbones.

He was frowning.

Typical.

Abby had rarely seen him smile.

“He’s alive?” Drew asked, the words clipped and taut.

“Yes,” she murmured, finding her voice.

Drew released a harsh breath. “Looks like he’s been here for a while. Good thing the snow provided some insulation to keep him from freezing.”

Abby’s eyes filmed with tears of relief. “Thank God.”

Jack Slade was alive, he was going to be all right. She refused to consider anything else.

“Don’t move him. We don’t know how badly he’s hurt.” Drew stood up, his cell phone in hand. “But by the look of things, he’ll need an airlift to the nearest medical center. I’ll give Seth a call, so he can get right on it.”

Abby nodded. In addition to being the local sheriff, Seth Powers was a good man to have around in any emergency.

While Drew called for help, Abby turned her attention back to Jack. She brushed his hair away from his brow, surprised at the soft silky texture. Everything about Jack Slade seemed so hard.

Half-conscious, Jack felt a woman’s soft, soothing touch. With only distant youthful memories of his grandmother, he wondered if he’d died and gone to heaven. He opened his eyes and encountered hazel eyes rimmed in gold. He knew the woman leaning over him.

One thing for certain—he wasn’t in heaven! Not with Abigail Pierce on hand to torment him.

“Abigail.” He tried to tell her to go away and leave him alone. But the words remained locked in his throat. Why did she have to plague him now?

She leaned closer—her breath warm against his face. “Please, lie still. You’re safe.”

“Safe?” he said in confusion. How could that be when he was lying battered and half-frozen with his leg crushed and a black sky falling on him? Maybe this was all a nightmare, and he would wake up any minute….

“Drew’s here with me, he’s calling for help. They should be on the way.” Her face went all soft. Jack stared, mesmerized, as she continued. “A few more hours and you would have frozen. Where does it hurt?”

Trying to lift his head, he sank back and shook off a wave of dizziness. He focused on her voice. “Everything’s numb, but I think my arm’s broken.” He swallowed hard. “My left leg’s bad. I know it.”

“Just hang on. Help is on the way.”

Jack shook his head. There was no one to turn to—except Abigail Pierce. And she wasn’t even a friend. The story of Jack’s life. He’d been betrayed one too many times to trust easily, and Abigail was no exception to his rule. However, faced with no alternative, he had to make do with her.

“My leg’s pinned under the metal bar. I can’t move it, I can’t feel it anymore.” His eyes trapped hers. “It’s probably pretty mangled.” His voice dropped a notch as he struggled for words. “Don’t let them take it off.”

“Jack, no—” Abby paled, her eyes wide and shocked. “You can’t know if it’s that bad.”

“I know,” he said, grimly reminded of that terrifying moment. He’d felt the metal tear through flesh and bone—a white-hot pain. “Promise?”

Silently, she nodded.

He shivered. “It’s so damned cold.”

To Jack’s surprise, Abby removed her long wool coat, then draped it across his shoulders.

“What about you?” he asked, wary of being on the receiving end of her kindness. There was always a price.

“This is fine. I’m wearing a thick sweater.” She placed her gloved hand on top of his head, as if to keep the heat in his body.

Like a slow tide, he felt some of her warmth seep into him. Afraid to rely on that one small charitable act, he closed his eyes, shutting her out.

“Jack!” Aware of the added risk of hypothermia, Abby panicked. “You can’t go to sleep. Drew’s organizing a crew to come and lift this thing.” She kept talking, saying anything that came to mind to keep him awake. “Seth put in a call to get an emergency evacuation helicopter to fly up here and airlift you to a hospital.”

“Where?” he murmured after a long moment.

“A downstate facility where they have experience in dealing with injuries like yours.” When he said nothing, she leaned closer. “Jack, do you have family, anyone I can call?”

He opened his eyes, shocking her with a vivid blue stare. She could see intense pain in the depths. He looked so vulnerable. “There’s no one.”

“There must be someone,” she said desperately.

His eyes flickered over her face. “There was just Gran and me. And she’s gone.”

“I’m sorry.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

She sighed. “I don’t know. I just am.” Everyone should have someone. She didn’t voice the words.

Help finally arrived—the sheriff and some loggers and a local ambulance manned by trained volunteers. Abby stepped aside to give them room. After a quick evaluation, they placed an oxygen mask over Jack’s face.

Abby felt helpless while a crew of men worked to free Jack. Through it all, the sheriff clipped out instructions, creating order out of chaos. Strong and reliable, Seth was in his element in any minor or major emergency. Abby knew she’d ceased to exist for him in that moment.

It was nothing new.

Duty always came first with Seth—a noble trait, but Abby wasn’t sure she could settle for his steady, stable but unexciting courtship. Would their marriage be like that? Seth charging off—a knight in shining armor to enforce the law and rescue anyone who needed him—while she waited for him to remember she existed? Was it selfish to want more attention, more devotion? More passion?

At length, the dim overhead clatter of the rescue helicopter grew closer until the roar was upon them. A blinding white light beamed down, piercing the night and illuminating the accident scene.

Abby glanced up, shielding her eyes with her hand.

The helicopter dipped low, hovering. An amplified voice called down, “We’re going to land in a field nearby. That’s as close as we can get. Hang on. We’ll be right there.”

It seemed to take forever but was actually less than fifteen minutes before the medical rescue team reached Jack.

Mindless of the cold, Abby helped them wrap Jack in warm blankets. When a medic cut at the denim fabric encasing his leg, she caught a brief glimpse of the injury to his upper thigh. Swallowing hard as the bile rose in her throat, she averted her gaze from the sight of torn flesh and bone. Nevertheless, even with her inexperienced eye, Abby had seen enough. Jack hadn’t exaggerated the damage to his leg. He had every reason to worry about losing it.

Horrified by the realization, Abby didn’t notice her brother had come to stand by her side until Drew handed her the coat she’d loaned Jack earlier.

“You look frozen,” Drew said.

Dressed in a thick wool sweater and slacks, Abby didn’t feel the cold. Nevertheless, she slipped her arms into the sleeves of her gray coat. The quilted silk lining felt warm from Jack’s body heat.

“Thanks,” she whispered, her lips trembling.

Drew gazed at her with concern as he asked, “You okay?” Sometimes she felt he understood her better than she did herself.

Abby laughed shakily, wondering if she was losing her mind. “Jack’s the one with the problem.”

He had looked so helpless—at the mercy of fate. From what she knew of Jack’s troubled past, life had dealt him more than one blow. Would he survive this latest one?

Drew tried to bolster her. “He’s in rough shape, but it could be worse. He may not realize it right now, but he owes you his life.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Abby refused to accept any responsibility for Jack’s life.

That might open up a set of emotions she’d tried to deny since the first day she met him. From that day on, she’d been bombarded by feelings that threatened to disrupt her ordinary, orderly life. But wasn’t change the reason she’d moved back to Henderson? Feeling restless and generally dissatisfied with her life, she’d hoped Seth was the answer.

Seth was safe.

Jack was the unknown.

“You sent out the alarm,” Drew pointed out, a question in his eyes when her silence lengthened. “No one else knew Jack was missing.”

She had known. In some secret part of her, Abby was aware of Jack’s every move. She knew when he arrived at work and when he left—to the minute. She dreaded and craved each new encounter. God! How had she let herself get drawn in by his brooding good looks and the masculine taunt in his bitter blue eyes? Today, she’d glimpsed a flash of vulnerability in Jack Slade—something she’d never expected to see beneath the tough exterior.

Abby wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed before a medic gave the order, “Okay, let’s get him out of here.”

A new urgency gripped her.

The rescue squad had set up flares to light the way back down; the mountain looked on fire. The paramedics bundled Jack onto a stretcher. Since the helicopter had landed in the nearby field, a couple of men had to carry him down the steep mountain path, a slow tedious process.

Following in their wake, Abby felt Jack getting further away from her, breaking that small but very real connection she’d felt earlier when they were alone and he’d asked directly for her help. Then the others had arrived.

He didn’t need her.

Falling back, she breathed easier. Someone else would look after Jack Slade. Not Abby. He was terribly hurt, perhaps critically, but there was nothing she could do for him. Thank goodness, there were professionals on hand who knew how to deal with his life-threatening trauma.

Despite all the rationalizing, she wanted to cry when the men loaded the stretcher bearing Jack onto the helicopter feet first. They’d wrapped him in a blanket and splinted his left arm. No one had dared touch his left leg, except to gently wrap the brutally torn flesh in sterile gauze.

As if pulled by an invisible thread, Abby took a step. “Someone should go with him,” she said to one of the medics climbing on board.

The man glanced back at her. “There’s room for one more, but only the immediate family is allowed.”

“Please, wait.” Abby swallowed hard.

She had no personal connection to Jack. They weren’t even friends, and she preferred it that way. Nevertheless, she’d made a promise—one she found impossible to break or ignore. He’d asked her to save his leg, and she’d agreed.

He was counting on her.

How could she ignore that?

Faced with that grave responsibility, a small lie hovered on her lips. She couldn’t let Jack go alone. He was unconscious. Who would look after him?

Though it was the last thing Abby wanted to do, some deep instinct compelled her to claim an attachment to Jack Slade with the words, “I’m his wife.”