Thanksgiving Groom (7 page)

“Of course you aren't.”

“Stop.”

“What?” The tone of her voice had changed to anger, taking him by surprise. “Why are you mad?”

“Because you insist on putting me in some little box that you've labeled ‘heiress.' You think you know me, know how I should behave or what my life is like.”

“I see.” He knew the rule to this game. The less said, the better.

“You think I need a big, strong man to take care of me.”

He listed off in his mind a few things, starting with driving a Jeep off the road, leaving the Jeep to wander
in the woods, coming face-to-face with a bear. He kept the list to himself while she rambled on.

“I'm sick of people like you.”

“Okay.”

“Stop.”

“Penelope, I stopped talking a long time ago.”

She peeked up, the sleeping bag tight around her neck so that just her face stuck out. Man, she had a kissable mouth. She had eyes that made him feel sucker-punched each time she looked at him all soft and vulnerable, or like a wildcat determined to fight her way out of a corner.

He leaned, and for the first time in a long time, he didn't think something through before he acted. As she stared up, half wildcat and half lost kitten, he leaned and touched his lips to hers. Soft at first, and then a little more demanding. He wrapped one arm around her quilted shoulders and held her close as his lips moved over hers. When she whispered his name and kissed him back, he didn't know if he'd ever breathe again.

Or if he'd ever want to breathe without her.

Her hair slipped through his fingers and he held her close, leaning in for one more taste of the sweetest lips he'd ever kissed.

This was more tender than his first kiss with Cindy Douglas on the playground after school. It was sweeter than a college romance that he thought would last forever.

And it's smoke and mirrors,
he told himself as he pulled away. She was just a mirage, something out of reach and unreal. He didn't need that. He didn't need
this to cloud his thinking when so many things in his life were on the fence.

What he didn't need was a high-maintenance female in his life.

She obviously felt the same way about him, because she broke away from his arms and stood up, wobbling a little, scaring him because he wanted her away from the fire if she was going to trip. He reached but she backed up.

“Don't.” She took a few more steps back. “This is just confusion from hypothermia.”

He was tempted to laugh again, because she didn't believe that any more than he did. “Sure, hypothermia.”

“Exactly. In a few days we'll be back to our real lives, being who we really are. And I don't think either of us would like the other person if we met up with them on the street.”

“In the real world?”

“Exactly.”

“I think I probably agree.”

“Good night then.” She turned, tripping a little over that crazy sleeping bag and then practically running to the tent.

That was the end of that.
He almost relished the thought. But it wasn't the end. He had a bad feeling it wasn't even close. Maybe the bad feeling came from deep inside, where he didn't want it to be the end.

And as tired as he was—he must have been tired, or he wouldn't have thought that way—he was in for a long night. No way could he go to sleep and leave them vulnerable to whoever was prowling in the woods.

If there even
was
someone out there.

 

Penelope ran from a kiss that probably changed not only how she felt about Tucker, but how she felt about herself. Her heart raced and her fingers trembled as she climbed back into the tent and zipped the flap. As if zipping the flap would close out the cold. They had built a small fire a short distance from the tent, and their sleeping bags were supposed to be for near-arctic temperatures, but none of that seemed to matter.

After the warmth of Tucker's kiss, she felt cold to the bone.

She curled up in the sleeping bag and tried to count sheep, but sheep weren't enough. Clark was snoring, and outside, animals were making noises that sounded like grunts and sometimes growls.

 

Hours later, she thought something pawed around her corner of the tent. She huddled in a ball and prayed for it to go away. It continued to snort and dig. Clark snored louder, coughed a little and continued to snore.

She could see the flicker of the fire and watched as Tucker's silhouette moved, adding wood. He sat back down, wrapping himself in a sleeping bag. Tomorrow would be a rough day for all of them, but especially for Tucker.

It was all on him—to take care of them, to get them back safely. Clark was a big help, but it was Tucker who took charge and kept them going forward.

She closed her eyes and tried to slow her breathing to bring on drowsiness and maybe sleep. What a mistake. Closing her eyes intensified the noises inside and out
side the tent. Closing her eyes meant remembering the softness in Tucker's eyes when he leaned to kiss her.

That meant remembering the way he'd slid his hands into her hair and pulled her close. Now what in the world was a girl supposed to do with those thoughts, with that memory?

She couldn't run far enough or fast enough to outrun how it had felt to be in Tucker Lawson's arms that way. The best thing she could do would be to remember that he was exactly the kind of man her father wanted her to marry, and the type she had no intention of marrying.

“T
romping through the cold, in a cold, white wonderland, over the mountain we go, freezing all the way. Ears so cold they ring, making my feet numb, oh what fun it is to walk…”

“Enough already!” Tucker turned and shot the chirpy socialite a glare that he hoped was colder than the ice in the stream they were walking next to.

She'd been making up words to the tunes of familiar Christmas songs for the last hour. Her cheerfulness was about to do him in. No one should be cheerful when they had walked for two days in the frozen Alaskan wilderness, and with no end of walking in sight. Either she didn't get how bad their situation was, or she was pretending everything was great.

His look went from Penelope to Wilma and then to Clark. The older couple was rock solid. Years in the mission field had conditioned them to some pretty tough conditions. They smiled at Penelope, who had stopped singing.

“I'm just trying to keep our spirits up and make time pass a little more quickly.” She leaned on the walking
stick as she trudged forward, limping. He let out a sigh and bit back any other angry retorts. She'd really proven herself out here. She hadn't whined or complained. She hadn't asked to stop for a break. Yet she was barely able to walk.

“Let's take a rest.” He pulled the pack off his back.

“For real?” Her smile lit up her eyes.

“Yeah, Pollyanna, for real.”

“You're such a charmer.” She wrinkled her nose and walked away from him, right up to a fallen log that she lowered herself onto with a sigh. Wilma joined her.

“It's too early to make camp.” He mumbled as he walked away, looking for dry firewood. He glanced up at the sky. Nearly two in the afternoon and the sun was dipping behind the mountains. The early dusk wasn't nearly as much of a problem as the clouds on the horizon. Gray, heavy clouds. The kind that dropped huge amounts of snow.

“We can't stop here.” Clark looked at the sky and then at his watch. “I don't remember how far that village is, but I think we can make it by dark. Or at least be there early tomorrow.”

Another night in the cold. Another night without sleep. Tucker rubbed his hand across his face and nodded. He looked back to the women. “Yeah, I know.”

“They're fine, Tucker.”

Tucker nodded, but he wasn't so sure. He watched Penelope rub her ankle through the heavy boots she wore.

“What if I go on alone?” He turned back to Clark and the older man was already shaking his head.

“Not a good idea. You know as well as I do that
sticking together keeps us safer and stronger. Think about headlines you've read. Someone always ends up hurt when people split up.”

“Yeah, I know. But I don't know how much longer she can walk on that ankle.”

“I know. But it's possible that we're just a few hours from the village.”

“Okay, we'll break here and in thirty we're moving on.”

Penelope had left the log and was heading toward them at a slow, hobbling pace. “Clark, I'm new at this faith business, but something has really been on my mind.”

“What's that, Penny?”

Tucker shot her a look. Just a few days ago she'd told him not to call her that. She didn't say a word to Clark, instead she smiled brightly and went on.

“We haven't prayed. I mean, I guess it's a given that God will take care of us, but…”

“Stop pushing, Penelope.” Tucker glanced from her to the older man. She might not be willing to give people a break, but Clark and Wilma deserved one. And Penelope Lear probably hadn't gone through one tough thing in her life.

“Sometimes people need to be pushed, Tucker.” Clark cleared his throat. “Sometimes we need to be reminded. I've spent the last few months looking for God, and ignoring Him every chance I got.”

Tucker started to walk away, but Penelope Lear reached for his hand. Chipped fingernail polish was about the only remnant of her old life. Out here in the
wilderness she was just as lost, just as cold as the rest of them.

She led him back to Wilma and the four of them joined in a circle. Tucker bowed his head, but as Clark prayed for direction, for health, for peace, Tucker thought about his dad, about a girl he'd never met, and about how his life had taken one big, wrong turn.

Amen.

 

It was dark and cold and it was only five in the afternoon. Penelope leaned on the walking stick and wished it actually helped. For a while it had. Now it seemed to take more energy to use it. And her hands were numb from cold.

She couldn't think of any more songs to sing.

She'd never wanted to be home more than she did at that moment. It hit suddenly—homesickness, wishing she could talk to her mom, and hoping they weren't worried sick. She hadn't meant to worry them.

“In the mountains we can build an igloo…” Tucker moved next to her. His voice was soft and held a hint of laughter. “Come on, Pollyanna, cheer up.”

“I'm cheered,” she whispered, but she couldn't smile, couldn't laugh. Pain felt like fire shooting up her leg.

“And pretend that it's a healing spa.” Tucker nudged her a little and then slid his arm through hers and took part of her weight. “What comes after that?”

She shook her head. She wasn't going to sing about snowmen and marriage. “I don't want to sing.”

“Of course you do.”

She closed her eyes and leaned against him. His arms
tightened around her, holding her up, keeping her close. “I'm tired.”

“I know you are.”

They trudged on through the late afternoon. The temperature had dropped throughout the day and Penelope couldn't begin to imagine how cold it was. Without the sun to warm them it was miserable. Behind them, Wilma and Clark talked in quiet voices. They were tired, too.

“Come on, I'll give you a lift for a while.” Tucker leaned in and spoke close to her ear.

“I'm fine, Tucker. We'll get there soon.”

“You're not fine. Come on, Penelope.” He pulled her to a stop and before she could complain he scooped her into his arms and held her close. “Isn't that better?”

“You'll get worn out carrying me. I really can walk.”

“I'm strong.”

He
was
strong, she knew that—and it was part of the problem. His strong arms around her, holding her close, that was a real problem. He made her imagination circle back around to the snowman in the meadow.

“Later on, we'll perspire, as we sit by a fire…” she sang.

“You want to perspire?”

“After being this cold, I'd be happy with sweating like a hog. Wouldn't my mother cringe if she heard that?”

“I'm sure she would.”

“I really can walk.”

“I know you can.” He jostled her, moving her so that she was closer and her face was near his. She couldn't think of snowmen, instead she thought of last night.

“Hey, I see a light.” Clark shouted. “Up ahead, see it?”

Tucker nodded and she held on to him as he picked up his pace. “Is it the village?”

“It is.” Clark let out a whoop that belied his sixty years and Penelope laughed. She laughed until she cried.

“You can let me down now.”

“Nah, I think I'll just carry you into camp.”

“So everyone will think you're a big, strong man?”

He laughed. “No, they'll think we're married. I believe its an ancient wedding ceremony. It's a lot more effective than a snowman named Parson Brown.”

Penelope struggled to get free but his grip tightened. “Let me down.”

“I'm kidding, Penny. I promise you, carrying a woman into camp isn't a wedding ceremony.”

“You're sure?”

“Nearly.” He kissed the top of her head and snuggled her close.

Music drifted from the village. She could see Christmas lights, a fire and people. “People!”

He laughed. “You haven't been away from civilization for more than a week.”

“It was a long week.” She tried to count back, but she couldn't remember how many days it had been. Maybe more than seven.

“Yeah, it was.”

She ignored him.

Wilma and Clark walked ahead of them. They'd been at the cabin since May. Months with no one to talk to but each other and Tucker. And then her. She thought about
how much she'd miss them. She'd only known them a week, but they filled a space in her life. She and Wilma had talked about faith, about finding God. Wilma had shared about their pain when they lost their son, and how they'd felt like God let them down.

They'd spent six months finding peace with God and with their lives. Yesterday Wilma told her they were ready to go back to the mission field, ready to continue on in what God had for them.

They were at peace because they knew that their son had known God, known faith.

Penelope glanced at Tucker, at the lines of his face in the dark. His mouth was set in a firm line. His eyes were on the village ahead of them.

She felt a funny tumble in her stomach at the thought of losing these three people. As soon as they got back to Treasure Creek they'd go their separate ways. They'd go back to the lives they'd been running from and from decisions they had to make.

She didn't want to lose them.

“Promise you'll call me sometime.” She looked up at Tucker, biting her lip as she waited for his reply.

“Call you?”

“You know, on the phone. They have those in the real world.”

“I know, but…”

“But you plan on walking away, going back to Seattle and forgetting you knew me. Don't you dare forget Clark and Wilma. They need you. You're their son now.”

“How do you figure?”

“God put the three of you together after you lost your dad and they lost their son. God did that.”

“Oh, God did that.” His voice trailed off, as if he was considering it.

“Yes, and don't argue. You can forget me if you want, but you can't forget a couple that took you in and that you spent four months of your life with.”

“I don't plan on forgetting them.”

Them, not her. She nearly sighed. But they were spotted. Villagers were running toward them.

“What tribe is this?” She held tight to his shoulders as they moved closer to the village.

“I'm not sure. But it looks like we caught them in the middle of a celebration. It's November, Alaskan Native Heritage Month.”

“I hope they don't mind visitors.”

“I'm sure they've got several. This is more for outsiders than for them.”

“I hope they have food.”

“They'll have food.”

People surrounded them, ending their conversation, ending their time together. Tucker didn't put her down, but then they were in the circle of light, near the fire and chairs. He sat her down as Clark explained who they were and where they'd been. Someone handed Tucker a phone and in the next few minutes she heard him talking to his friend Jake, explaining that both he and Penelope were alive, telling where they were.

From across the campfire she saw Tucker moved toward a group of men, and then Wilma hurried toward her, reaching Penelope just as the doctor removed her shoe.

It happened too fast, this reentry into life, into civi
lization. She was Penelope Lear again, and that was all that seemed to matter to anyone—her name.

 

Tucker accepted a cup of coffee after making a phone call to Jake in Treasure Creek. He'd been right about Herman Lear. He'd been using every resource imaginable to find his daughter.

He carried the coffee into the town's small gathering hall, where they'd taken Penelope and the Johnsons. From outside the frosty window, he could see her inside, sitting with her foot propped while some Dr. Single and Handsome talked to her, touching her foot, smiling. Penelope wasn't smiling though.

At that moment, Penelope glanced out the window and caught his gaze. What he saw in her eyes was that she was trapped, pure and simple. She looked like a scared kitten looking for a way out. She should have looked like a stray that had just been given a home and a bowl of milk. He let out a sigh as he pushed the door open and stepped into the wood-fire-heated warmth of the hall.

Electricity. Boy, he hadn't used that in a while: bright overhead lights and a radio blaring. He shuddered a little. It was going to take time, getting used to civilization. And he needed a haircut. He hadn't realized until he looked in a mirror just how shaggy his hair had gotten.

“How is she, Doc?”

Dr. Good Looks glanced up, not smiling. “She shouldn't have made that walk, but I think she'll be fine.”

Man, this guy was serious.
“No, she probably
shouldn't have. But walking was better than the alternative.”

Staying in the woods all winter. Worse, meeting up with whomever had been at the cabin.

He winked at Penelope and she nearly smiled. “Want a cup of coffee?”

She nodded. “I'd love one.”

“See, Doc, that's all it takes. A cup of coffee, a good night's rest and she'll be back to her old self.”

Back to being Penelope Lear. He watched her, wondering if being Penelope Lear was really any better than being Tucker Lawson.

“Your dad is coming here to meet you.” He leaned against the wall. She glanced up, her eyes shadowed and a little tearful. “I'll go get that coffee.”

“Thanks.”

He wanted out of there before she cried. Tears weren't his thing. He glanced back over his shoulder at Penelope on the chair and the doctor sitting across from her now. Yeah, he was the kind of guy who could handle tears.

Tucker walked out into the cold Alaska night. In the center of the town a fire burned bright, and the village residents were performing a colorful dance, displaying their heritage for the few dozen people who had showed up for the festival.

“Tucker, hold up.” Clark Johnson hurried across the street to catch up with him.