Part 2 (2/2)

First, he'd unwind a little. Relax. Put some s.p.a.ce between him and all the people who'd been bleeding him dry. Not that he held it against them, but enough was enough. And he'd forget about all the others-the ones with the endless questions, and the ones who'd looked at him, s.h.i.+vering-in-their-shoes scared. Then, when he was feeling less hara.s.sed and more like himself again, inner battles such as the one he'd just fought over Katie Morgan wouldn't be a problem.

And neither would flying.

That's all he needed-some time to get himself together. After seven months stuck in a hospital and another four spent fighting with the Federal Aviation Administration, he could finally think about flying again. . . . d.a.m.n, it had been a longtime.

Climbing into the Jeep, Sam removed the map, sungla.s.ses, and empty c.o.ke cans from the pa.s.senger seat, then started the engine. He stopped, though, in the act of releasing the brake to look around. The air was clear and chilly with the pa.s.sing of the storm, and the late-afternoon sky, through the trees, was a splashy array of blues and pinks. Rain dripped off the old hemlock beside the cabin, splas.h.i.+ng occasionally onto the canvas top of the Jeep. This was the big woods. Tall, straight aspen and shapely birch and maple stretched over mile after mile of rolling hills. The place felt clean, immutable. Safe.

If he wanted it to stay that way, though, he was going to have to be more careful than he'd been in the past couple of hours. He'd come too d.a.m.ned close to giving in to Katie's big, brown, tear-filled eyes. Her little sounds of pain had just about wrecked him. The worst part was, he'd have to listen to those sounds until he got her home-and he'd have to ignore them.

His hand fell from the steering wheel, and he slumped in the seat with a sigh, figuring he'd better plan his defense before he had to face her again.

Okay. So, he'd gotten here this afternoon, and the first person he'd run into was a nurse. The local doc' s a.s.sistant. Yeah, he'd walked straight into that b.o.o.by trap. And she was sweet and s.e.xy, and the idea of spending about a week in bed with her was d.a.m.ned appealing. But no matter how sweet and s.e.xy she was, and no matter how hard it was to deny the urges that had tormented him since he'd found her sitting there, nursing her ankle, he was going to keep his urges-all of them-to himself.

With that thought, Sam's mouth twisted in a dry smile. As far as his baser urges were concerned, he doubted he had anything to worry about. Ten to one, Katie was married with a bunch of kids. He could see her with some big lumberman, the kind who'd flatten any guy stupid enough to let his eyes drift below her chin. So all he had to do was take her to town, turn her over to her husband, and leave. And, h.e.l.l, she'd still be a d.a.m.ned sight better off than she'd been when he found her.

Between now and then, he wouldn't try to get to know her or give her any reason to think he wanted to make friends in the area. Because in order for his plan to work, he needed to foster the idea that he wanted to be left alone. Let the locals think he was a recluse-”that strange guy who moved into Fournier's cabin. Never speaks to anyone when he comes to town. Goes about his business and disappears again. Oh, he's polite enough. Just strange.”

Sam wasn't a recluse, and he didn't like the idea of going weeks without talking to anyone. He didn't like being thought of as strange, either. But he needed the isolation-and the peace-this cabin and these woods offered. If letting people think he was strange was what it took, he'd put up with it. What he couldn' t put up with was worrying that maybe they were right.

Perched uncomfortably on the seat of Sam's no-frills, two-seater Jeep, Kate grabbed for a handhold as they started toward town. The storm had turned the forest road into a river of mud and potholes, some of which half swallowed the Jeep's tires. Sam wasn't making any concessions to the terrain, though; he was attacking the road as if he were driving an armored tank.

Kate cast a sideways glance, wondering if she dared ask him to take it a little easier. His jaw was set, and his mouth was turned down at the corner. He hadn't spoken three words since he'd come into the cabin to get her, and she decided she'd rather put up with the jarring ride than ask him anything.

What on earth made him so touchy? She didn't believe he was really the nasty b.a.s.t.a.r.d he'd called himself. In fact, she'd seen enough of the person beneath that crusty exterior to know that Sam was actually a very nice man. A nice man with a problem.

Clearly, he'd been through some rough times. He'd had a terrible accident, which must have something to do with his leaving his job-whatever that job had been. He didn't like answering questions because he'd been doing a lot of it lately; he wasn't here to fish or hike; and she had a gut feeling he might have come simply to seek shelter, like a wounded animal slinking off to a cave to lick its wounds.

Turning her back on someone in pain went against every instinct Kate possessed. She should do as he' d told her-not take his remarks personally or try to make sense of them. She should let him work out his own problems, stop worrying about a man she barely knew. Yet the only thing that kept her from trying to cheer Sam out of his black mood was that she was exhausted from her own pain and didn't have the energy to be anything more than polite. Besides, at the moment, it was all she could do to stay in her seat.

When the Jeep bounced in an out of a pothole and her left foot hit the floor, a pained ”Ouch!” escaped her lips.

”s.h.i.+t,” Sam muttered, then shot her a quick look. ”Sorry.”

She wasn't sure if his apology was for hitting the pothole or swearing-he seemed to have a flair for both-although he did slow down to navigate the road more carefully.

”It's okay,” she replied, every muscle tensed for the next jolt. Short of sticking her bad foot across his lap, she tried every conceivable position the confined s.p.a.ce allowed, but nothing was comfortable.

His frequent glances told her that he was aware of her dilemma. Finally, when she moaned in defeat, he pa.s.sed a hand over his jaw in an impatient gesture and spoke.

”You okay?”

”I'll manage,” she replied with a tight smile. ”It's not that far.”

”Why the devil were you walking from these people's house-what'd you say their name was?”

”Nielsen-Erik and Lynn.”

”It's a long way from town.”

”It's only about two and a half miles. Up here, that's around the corner.” Kate locked her hands together under her left knee to keep her foot suspended. ”I have to drive most places, so I like to walk when I can.”

Sam grunted, then lapsed into silence. A minute later, he asked, ”Are you going to have that ankle x-rayed?”

”I think I'll have to,” she replied.

”Where's the closest hospital?”

”There's a small one in Ontonagon and a bigger one in Ironwood. They're both about fifty miles.”

He kept his eyes on the road, but she could see by the tautness of his features that he was shocked.

”You must have ambulances closer than that,” he said.

”We used to, over in Smithville, about ten miles from Bourner's Crossing. But they got cut out of the county budget.”

”Great,” he murmured. ”So now people just die, huh?”

He had picked up quickly on one of her own worries, but it startled her that it so clearly upset him, too. As her arms quivered with the strain of supporting her leg, she drew her ankle onto her lap and attempted to explain. ”People who've lived here all their lives are used to being isolated. They don't think anything about driving twenty miles to shop or fifty miles to the doctor. And, generally, folks are prepared for emergencies. Nearly everyone has regular phone service now, and the loggers have field radios. Cell phone service isn't reliable enough yet, but Doc and I have pagers and CBs in our houses and cars, so pretty much everybody can reach us at any time. Still, it's true, sometimes things happen, and we don't make it. That's the risk of living here. If you live in a city, you'll be near the hospitals-but then, you're taking other kinds of risks.”

With a sharp turn of the wheel to avoid a fallen limb, Sam spoke angrily. ”So to get your ankle x-rayed tonight, your husband will have to drive you fifty miles to a hospital and back.”

”Yes. Except I don't think I can face going tonight. Tomorrow will be soon enough. And it won't be my husband taking me because I'm not married.” Kate frowned at the brief glance he gave her. ”That surprises you?”

He shrugged.

”Did I say something to make you think I was?”

He hesitated, then shook his head. ”No, I just had you pegged as a home-and-family kind of woman.”

His disgruntled tone made her think he wasn't happy to have the image dispelled, no more happy than she was to be caught off guard by his perception of her. He was right: She was a home-and-family woman, one with a home but no family to put in it.

She was saved from having to comment when the forest track came to an end at Main Street in Bourner's Crossing.

”Which way?” Sam asked.

”Turn left and go straight, through the intersection.”

Kate gave him the direction, knowing she should feel re-lieved-as relieved as he looked-that the ride was nearly over. She ought to be glad she'd soon get to lie down. She ought to be glad to be rid of Sam Reese, with his puzzling moods and his testy personality. Yet she wasn't glad, and any relief she might have felt was mingled with disappointment.

Silly woman, she thought. The b.u.t.terflies in her stomach were only the result of being around a man whose every look and gesture carried a latent s.e.xual message. She shouldn't take those messages any more personally than anything he'd said. Still, it was a good thing he was a stranger, just another tourist pa.s.sing through-not the kind of man she ever got involved with-because if she saw much of Sam Reese, she suspected the b.u.t.terflies might get out of hand.

Turning her gaze out the window, she concentrated on the familiar sights of her adopted home town. Although as a source of distraction from her various discomforts, it was woefully limited.

Bourner's Crossing, Michigan, population two hundred and thirteen, occupied a few dozen acres in the middle of Ottawa National Forest. It was literally a crossroads town, but neither of the roads in question appeared on any but the most detailed map. Unlike the rocky, mountainous coast along Lake Superior, the land surrounding the town rolled in gentle hills or lay in marshy fields. Like all of the Upper Peninsula, it was veined with rivers and creeks. A few dairy and cattle farmers made their living off the heavy soil, but the plan of the National Forest Service was to allow the wilderness to reclaim much of the developed land; many roads weren't being maintained, and farming, which had filled the economic gap when the iron mines had closed years before, was being replaced by controlled logging and a booming recreation industry.

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