Margaret Brownley (11 page)

“He said he was chased by a wild man. I now know that’s not true—”

“If you know that then you must also know I’m not news. I would ask that you discard my photograph and forget we ever met.” He turned and stalked away.

“Wait!” she called again. “Who are you? You know my name but I don’t know yours.”

He stopped. “Wolf. My name is David Wolf.” He glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyebrows drawn together.

“Is that your summer name?” she asked, using the term for an alias.

“It’s my all-year-round name,” he replied, not really answering her question.

Still, whether the name was real or not, it suited him. Like a wolf he walked silent as the mist, his bearing as proud as it was commanding.

She took a step back. “The truth is—” She forced herself to breathe. Maybe, just maybe if he knew how important this was to her, he would be more willing to cooperate. “The truth is, Mr. Wolf, my job depends on getting your photograph.”

He turned to face her. “If that’s the case, then I suggest you do us both a favor and look for other employment.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” she snapped. “You’re a man and can get any job you desire. Qualified or not, it doesn’t matter. But a woman—”

“Can get a job only if she makes a nuisance of herself.” In completing her sentence, he so deftly and effortlessly distorted what she had been trying to say, she could only stare at him.

“Obviously, you know nothing about women or employment,” she huffed.

His eyes held a gleam of amusement. “I would love to debate the matter further but I’m afraid I have other things to do.” He nodded. “Good day, Miss Fairbanks.”

Irritated by his cavalier attitude, she watched him walk away, then turned to retrieve her camera. She had his photograph and his name but that’s all she had.

The water-soaked ground beneath her suddenly began to sink. Staring at the web of cracks spreading from beneath her feet, she cried out but didn’t dare move.

She wasn’t aware that Wolf had returned until he shouted, “Grab my hand!”

She clawed the air frantically. His hand on her wrist felt like steel, but before he could pull her to safety, the ground gave way and she was suddenly airborne. She hit bottom with a jolt and everything went black.

She had no idea where she was or how she got there. Gradually coming to her senses, she took in her surroundings. She was at the bottom of a sinkhole at least twenty feet deep and perhaps eight feet wide. Spitting dirt out of her mouth, she scanned the dirt walls all the way to the top and her spirits plunged. The circle of blue sky seemed far away.

David Wolf lay next to her, motionless. Bolting upright, she shook off the fog in her brain and leaned over him.

“Mr. Wolf?” She shook him. Nothing. She shook him harder. “Please, please wake up.”

At last he stirred and she was nearly overcome with relief. His eyes fluttered open and he groaned. “Talk to me. Say something.”

He gingerly felt the back of his head and groaned. “Are you all right?” he asked.

It touched her that his first thought was for her. “Your head . . .”

“Just a little bump,” he said, sitting up.

She sighed in relief. Neither of them was seriously injured and for that she was grateful.

She pulled her muddied skirt down to hide her equally muddied bloomers. It seemed like she was doomed to look her worst in front of him, but that was the least of her concerns. The sides closed in on her and there didn’t seem to be any way out. She crossed her arms and shivered.

Wolf rose to his feet, seeming to command what little space stretched between them. Hands on his waist, he tilted his head back. His buckskin pants and shirt were covered in mud. Water seeped over the tops of his moccasins.

Dirt continued to trickle down from the sides. The web of entangled tree roots kept the walls from collapsing altogether and burying them alive.

“What are we going to do?” she asked. Wolf was so near that not even the smell of damp earth could hide his masculine scent, which only added to her nervousness.

He said nothing.

“We can’t stay here all night. Papa will be worried, and if we don’t get out of here soon, it’ll be dark and—” She rambled in an effort to ease her nerves, one sentence running into another.

Wolf gestured for her to stop. “I can’t think with you talking.”

“I can’t help it,” she said. “I always talk when I’m upset or afraid or—” She glanced around. “Or feel trapped. Anything could happen. The walls could cave in and bury us alive. A wild animal could fall in with us.” Even a stray cow dropping in would be disastrous. Her mind whirled with an endless list of possible dangers. How long did Caleb say a body could survive without water? Without food? “We might be here for days and—”

“If you don’t stop yapping,” he growled, “I’ll have to kiss you again.”

She smacked her lips together, cheeks blazing. So that’s why he’d kissed her—to make her stop talking. It had absolutely nothing to do with . . . attraction. Irritated at herself for dwelling on something so insignificant, she glared at him.

“You are the most despicable man I’ve ever met.”

“And you, Miss Fairbanks, are clearly the most annoying woman.”

She seethed in silence, clamping her jaws tight. Silence stretched between them. She was determined not to speak if it killed her and it pretty near did.

“What would you say the chances are that someone will come to our rescue?” he asked at last.

“About the same chance of you dying midsentence,” she muttered.

He surprised her by laughing. The humor on his dirt-smeared face provided an odd contrast to the lethal-looking knife he pulled out of its leather sheath. “The less said, the less need to apologize.”

Turning his back on her, he stabbed his knife into the dirt wall. With quick movements of his wrist, he dug out a small indentation and continued to work his way around embedded rock. Pulling himself up by a root, he stuck the muddy toe of his moccasin into a hole he carved out and proceeded to dig another with his free hand.

Approving his plan, she blew out her breath. His progress was slow but his movements were strong and fluid. Never did she think that a man so powerful could move with such easy grace.

He was halfway up when loose soil rained down on him. Icy fear twisted inside her. If the dirt wall collapsed they would be buried alive.

“Oh God, please don’t let us die. If we die in this horrible hole, I’ll never forgive myself.” She walked in a tight circle, wringing her hands together. “I should have just done what my father wanted me to and married that . . .” On and on she went, talking a mile a minute. “Wolf, will you ever forgive me?” Just as she asked the question he vanished out of sight.

“Wolf!” She strained her ears but couldn’t hear a sound. He wasn’t going to leave her there, was he? She glanced around and shuddered. Somehow the hole seemed more frightening now that she was alone.

“Mr. Wolf,” she cried. “Are you there? Answer me!” Nothing. “If you help me out of here, I promise not to bother you again.” Still nothing. “David?”

Battling tears, she tried reaching the lowest tree root, hoping to pull herself up high enough to fit her foot into the toeholds he’d dug. The problem was, Wolf was much taller than she and had a wider leg span.

Hands on her waist, she gaped upward. Anger replaced fear. “So help me, when I get my hands on you, I won’t be responsible for my actions. You won’t get away with leaving me here. I’ll . . . I’ll—” She continued voicing her threats if for no other reason than to break the alarming stillness. Not a sound came from above. Thinking he was probably far away by now, she fell into a seething silence.

She’d all but given up hope when Wolf appeared overhead, dangling a rope. “Are you finished?”

She almost collapsed with relief, but irked by his mocking tone, she dropped her arms to her side, fists tight, and glared at him. She was covered in mud and shivering with cold. She was in no mood to play games.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Not as much as I’m going to enjoy hearing you promise to leave me alone.” He cocked his head. “You do promise, don’t you, Miss Fairbanks?”

“What choice do I have?” she snapped.

“You could choose to stay down there,” he said. “Like you said, you never know who might drop in. A mountain lion. Wolf. Rattler.”

Fists at her sides she rasped through gritted teeth, “You win. I won’t bother you again.”

“Would you mind repeating that louder? I couldn’t tell if that was a positive or a negative.”

She tightened her fists another notch. His use of photographic terms put her in a worse mood. How dare he? “I said I won’t bother you again,” she all but shouted, and she meant it.

“Smart lady.” He dropped the end of the rope into the pit and she reached up to grab it.

“Tie the rope around your waist.”

She quickly did as he instructed. Holding on to the rope with both hands, she then pushed against the dirt walls with her feet and slowly began to rise.

The rope burned into the flesh of her palms and dirt stung her eyes, but gradually Wolf pulled her all the way to the top. Grateful to be alive, she fell into his arms. She clung to him while he pulled her away from the edge to safety.

He released her. “Are you all right?” Concern replaced his earlier annoyance.

She nodded and brushed off her skirt. She was a mess. They were both covered in mud and she suddenly laughed.

He laughed too. A warm, hearty laugh that made her momentarily forget how awful she must look.

Their laughter faded away but the warm feelings it evoked in her did not.

“I didn’t mean to cause you so much trouble,” she said, self-conscious beneath his steady gaze. “All I wanted was your photograph but I never should have tricked you and . . .”

She was rattling on but couldn’t seem to stop herself.

He took a step closer and she lost her train of thought. Holding her tongue, she waited.

He gave her a knowing look. “I have no intention of kissing you again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

She wasn’t worried.

With a knowing smile, he turned and walked away.

“I wouldn’t kiss you again if you were the last man on earth,” she called after him, but already he had disappeared through the trees.

Shaken, she circled around the sinkhole, treading with care. The last thing she needed was for the ground to cave in again.

She found her camera still on its tripod and relief flooded through her. With a little luck the photograph taken in haste would help secure her job. But it was the annoying and intriguing man named David Wolf who occupied her thoughts as she drove her wagon home.

Nine

A man accused of wrongdoing should never stare defiantly at the
camera. And don’t for goodness’ sake look up. Only choir boys can
properly assume the upward innocent look. Others will merely
appear guilty as charged.

—M
ISS
G
ERTRUDE
H
ASSLEBRINK, 1878

T
he next morning Lucy sailed into the office of the
Rocky Creek Gazette
. Without so much as a greeting, she placed the photo of David Wolf on the desk in front of the editor, then stepped back and waited.

It was not her best photograph by any means. It was taken in haste and needed longer exposure. Unfortunately, the blurred quality of the dark image didn’t do Wolf’s good looks justice, which was better for her peace of mind than it was for the newspaper.

Barnes studied the photograph for several moments, then sat back in his chair. “So, the wild man really does exist,” he said, excitement evident in his voice.

“No, no,” she quickly responded. No right-thinking person could look at the photograph and think the man was wild. “Mr. Wolf is a very nice man.”

The editor’s eyes gleamed. “Wolf? That’s his name?” He rubbed his hands together. “This gets better by the minute.”

She blinked. “Better how? Johnny Trotter made up the story. He as much as admitted he did. He was not chased by a wild man. He was chased by Mr. Wolf, who was only trying to protect his belongings. It’s time we put the rumors to rest. The town has been on edge ever since the rumors began, and there’s no reason for it.”