Thanksgiving Groom (3 page)

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 some
thing. 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.

P
enelope woke to a steady chopping sound. She sat up, brushing hair back from her face and blinking a few times to clear her vision. The room was in shadows. That didn't mean it was early, it meant it was winter.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost nine. Her second day lost in the wilderness. Her second day in these clothes. Not much she could do about that. She left her one change of clothes in the ravine with her backpack.

The most pressing matter was to find a cup of coffee. If they had coffee. She stood, flinching a little when weight hit her foot. But it wasn't as bad as she thought it would be. She took a few careful steps. And then she saw it: sitting on the chair by the door was her backpack.

Tucker had gone back for it. She picked it up, opened it and sorted through the one change of clothes, her cell phone—worthless that it was—and the bottle of water.

The door opened and Wilma peeked in. “Well, you're up and around. Would you like coffee and breakfast?”

“I'd love coffee and breakfast.” She'd love a shower, a toothbrush and toothpaste.

“Come on down. Can you make it okay?” Wilma looked at her foot, shaking her head. She was a sweet lady, with dark hair and eyes that were so kind, Penelope wanted to know her better and maybe keep her in her life for a long time.

“I think so. It doesn't feel that bad today.”

“Good. And later you can change clothes and we'll wash the ones you have on.”

“Without running water?”

Wilma smiled and laughed a little. “We'll heat water and wash them in a tub. And you can take a bath, too.”

“That would be wonderful.” She set her pack back on the chair. “How did it get here?”

“Tucker went out early, hunting, and he brought it back.”

“Hunting?”

“Yes, hunting. He didn't get anything, though. I think sometimes he uses hunting as an excuse to walk.”

Penelope peeked through the opening in the curtains. The chopping sound again echoing in the quiet morning. She saw Tucker swinging an axe at a log. Of course, they would need firewood. He swung again, connecting, splitting the log. As if he knew she was watching, he glanced toward the house. He couldn't see her though. He swiped his arm across his brow and continued to chop.

Wilma smiled and started down the wood-paneled hall, in what must have been the direction of the kitchen and the most wonderful aromas.

“How do you cook?” Penelope followed her.

“Wood burning stove in the kitchen.”

Of course, that explained the smokey smell. They walked into the kitchen. A lantern hung from the ceiling, and dim light came in through the windows. No curtains. The room was walled with pine paneling and the floors were stone. It was warm, and the sweet smell of something wonderful and baked scented the air.

“I made muffins. It isn't easy in that old stove, but they turned out decent.” Wilma placed two muffins on a plate. “Pour yourself a cup of coffee and have a seat.”

The coffee pot was on the stove, an old blue pot like the ones she'd seen in antique stores. Penelope took the cup that Wilma handed her and poured the dark liquid into it.

“Would you like me to pour you a cup?” She turned to Wilma, who had set their plates on the table.

“Oh, no, I've had plenty. My heart races if I drink too much coffee.”

Penelope carried her cup back to the table and sat down, wincing a little. Her ankle throbbed from the short walk down the hall. Wilma watched her, brown eyes warm, full of compassion.

“Not better today, is it?”

“I thought it might be. I was hoping. Thinking if it was, I could head toward Treasure Creek.”

“You can't do that.” Wilma shook her head. “It's too far.”

“But they'll be worried. My family will be worried.”

“They'll search for you. Maybe they'll find you here. If not, you're going to have to wait until you can walk. It isn't a short trip to Treasure Creek from here.”

“How did
you
get here?”

“We flew in. A friend has a helicopter and he put us down in a clearing a short distance away. He drops supplies occasionally. We do have a map, and we can find our way out if we need to, but it isn't a short walk. It certainly isn't one you can make with a sprained ankle.”

Penelope bit into the muffin, glad that it was sweet and still warm. She needed a minute to get herself together, to stop thinking of this as a disaster that would only prove to her father that she needed a keeper.

She could survive out here. Even if it meant chopping wood and hunting for her own food. Even if it meant using the old outhouse she'd been introduced to last night. She could make it in the wilderness because she had survived in worse places. And when she got back to town, she would help Amy find the treasure.

She did wonder why the Johnsons had felt a need to hide away in this cabin, far from civilization.

“Does the cabin belong to your friend?” Penelope wiped her fingers on a napkin and fought the urge to reach for another muffin.

“It belongs to his uncle. Years ago they used it for hunting. They would bring out groups and rough it for a week. The uncle got sick and the cabin sat here empty, other than an occasional relative coming out for a few days to get away from it all.”

“It is definitely ‘away from it all.'” Penelope would have liked to share with Wilma Johnson that this wasn't her first trip that landed her far from civilization. It wasn't even close to being the most difficult place she'd ever stayed in.

 

Tucker headed down the trail, searching for more signs like the ones he'd seen earlier that morning. Penelope had been with them all of forty-eight hours and already she was bringing trouble their way. He wasn't going to say anything to her, but he definitely wasn't going to let her out of the house alone. Not that he'd have a lot of luck keeping her inside. Wilma had found an old wooden crutch in the attic.

They'd had company during the night. And it hadn't been the kind of company that knocked on the door. It had been the kind that sneaked around in the gloom, leaving boot prints in the snow and breaking branches off bushes as they pushed around in the dark. They were too far from civilization for that kind of company.

For now, he'd keep his discovery between himself and Clark Johnson. But it proved his point that Penelope Lear was trouble.

“Hey, where you going?” A singsong voice called from behind him.

Great, just what he needed. He considered going on, pretending he hadn't heard. From what he knew of her, she'd just pick up speed and track him down. But she'd also probably find some way to get into trouble in the process. He stopped walking and turned around.

There she was, his punishment for all the wrong things he'd ever done. She hobbled after him, smiling brightly. A stocking cap was pushed down on her head, framing her face. Every now and then the crutch under her arm tangled with roots or got caught on rocks. She'd hobble, nearly fall, and then right herself.

It didn't help matters that she was carrying a fishing
pole in the other hand. Great. He didn't have to guess what she was up to today. Yesterday she'd nearly smoked them out of the house in her attempt at fire-building in the fireplace. Today she was going to fish.

Peace and quiet. That's what he'd found out here until he'd dragged her out of the ravine two days ago. One moment, one second of weakness, and all of that peace and quiet was gone. Sucked out of the world. By this one female.

If he could walk her out of here today, he would. It would save them all a lot of trouble. But if he took her out, it meant he'd be returning to the real world.

He wasn't ready to give up his time here.

But how long could a guy stay lost in the wilderness, locked away from reality? He knew that this couldn't last forever. Even the Johnsons knew that eventually they'd have to return to civilization. They'd all have to make some decisions about their futures.

They discussed it last night, after Penelope had fallen to sleep. The Johnsons had talked about their son. He'd spoken about his dad. He still wasn't talking about the devastating news he'd gotten from Seattle before he left Treasure Creek.

He was still processing that. He was still trying to figure out how he had become this person, a man who no longer knew where he came from or where he was going.

“What are you doing out here?” He waited until she was nearly next to him. “In those boots, and with a fishing pole?”

The boots were ridiculous things, mostly fur and no
real sole. He shook his head and then looked up, meeting blue eyes that flashed with humor.

She smiled, and the gesture nearly knocked him on his back. When she smiled like that, a guy needed to be warned. That smile could change everything a person thought about her.

“Give a man a fish and he'll eat for a day…” she recited.

“Teach him to fish and he'll eat for life.” He shook his head. And then he got it and he didn't feel like smiling. “I'm not teaching you to fish.”

She didn't pout, but the laughter in her eyes dissolved and she just stared at him. “But I thought we needed something for dinner.”

He looked at her, at the pole, and he shook his head. Clark should teach her to fish. That would be better. And then there was the ankle situation.

“It's a little bit of a walk to the stream.”

She shook the crutch at him. “Did you forget what Wilma found in the upstairs closet.”

“Wilma's very handy to have around.” There had to be other reasons he could think of for not taking her. “It's rough going.”

“I can handle it.”

He was losing. “Why are you so determined to do this?”

“Because.” She shrugged slightly. “Because I have to do something. Because I'm not helpless.”

“You're not running from someone or something?” He tried to make it sound like a teasing question, but it wasn't. He wouldn't let her put the Johnsons in danger if she was hiding something.

“No, I'm not running from anything.” But she looked away, as if maybe she was.

“Really? I don't know if I'm going to believe that.”

She glared at him, her nose flaring a little. “I'm not running. I'm—”

“What?” He smiled. “Did you come to Treasure Creek looking for a husband? Let me guess—you read the article in
Now Woman,
and since you're a little bored with your life, you came to Treasure Creek to find an adventure and one of those single, hunky tour guides.” No way was he going to feel jealous over that. No way.

“I came because of people like you.”

“What does that mean? I'm pretty sure you didn't come here looking for someone like me.”

“I came to get away from people like you. You think you know me so well, and you don't. You think I'm nothing more than Herman Lear's daughter. You think I shop, get my nails done and party.”

“And I'm wrong?”

“I don't have to explain myself to you. I came to Treasure Creek because I wanted to know what it was like to be somewhere—” she looked away “—somewhere like Treasure Creek. And really, since you're not willing to tell me everything about you, why should I have to tell you everything about me?”

“I just asked what you were running from.” He spoke in a softer voice, because the softness in her tone pushed him back a notch. Not only that, but he wasn't getting any answers by pushing.

“I'm not running from anything.”

He stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Come
on, then. But I'm warning you, be quiet. If you jabber nonstop, I'm using you for bait.”

She hobbled closer to him, smiling again. “Thank you.” Right. He took the pole from her hand.

As they headed out, he glanced around them, making sure they weren't being followed. He tried to tell him self that the footprint in the damp ground had been his imagination. Maybe it had been
his
boots or Clark's that had made the imprints in the muddy ground. It didn't have to mean that someone was watching them.

But if someone was, it wasn't about him, or the Johnsons. They hadn't seen a sign of anyone in months. He glanced sideways at the woman next to him. She was tall, her expression was serious but animated. She was definitely determined. And if they were being watched, it had something to do with her.

Penelope walked next to Tucker. Tiptoeing on her left foot to keep the weight off her ankle. He walked slower than she knew he would have liked—for her. She smiled a little.

He wasn't what she'd come to Treasure Creek looking for. He was too much like what she'd left behind. She could see it in his eyes, that he was driven, that he was all about his career. She had spent her life with men like Tucker. Her father was one. Her brother was another.

And the women in their lives were forgotten trophies. Their wives, girlfriends and daughters were paraded when needed. They were dressed in designer gowns, draped in jewels and taken out on the town when an event required their presence. And then they sat at home,
or entertained themselves when the men lives were busy with their careers.

She was positive that not everyone in their circle of friends lived that way. She had friends from college who had gone on to pursue careers. Her mother had friends in business. It was just the life of a Lear. Or a Lear woman.

But not today, with Tucker Lawson walking next to her. They were going fishing. She smiled again, because this was her adventure. This was Penelope Lear reinvented.

She glanced at Tucker in his faded jeans, hiking boots and the heavy jacket over his flannel shirt. She could imagine him in a suit, standing in a courtroom or sitting behind a massive desk. She wasn't the only one reinventing herself.

They continued on in silence, walking on a trail that was rocky and sloped downhill. Trees were sparse here, leading down to the stream. Back at the cabin they were heavy and towered toward the sky.