Wishmakers (18 page)

“I never realized how fast a fire could travel. How terrifying it must be to get caught in a big one,” she mused aloud.

“This was a little one that could have turned into a big one,” he said after a few minutes of carefully studying the area. “Someone made a fire this morning and left it smoldering. A little puff of wind was all it took.”

“Were they hunters?” she asked, remembering the graceful deer dashing into the trees.

“Hunters usually come in with a guide if they don't know the area. Anyone who lives around here would know better. More than likely it's a couple of backpackers out from the city.” He looked and sounded grim. He took out a jug, poured water into a cup, and handed it to her. “Would you rather have a cola?”

“Oh, no. That was delicious,” she said after draining the cup.

He refilled the cup for himself. “There's more water in the back of the truck if you want to wash up a bit.” He pulled down the tailgate and held up another jug with a spigot. “An absolute necessity in this country. Never go anywhere without water and a fire extinguisher.” He dug into his duffle bag and drew out a towel. After wetting the end of it, he held it out to her.

She took the towel and pressed it to her face. “Oh, that feels good!” Suddenly she started to laugh. “I've lost that contact again.”

“Good. Take the other one out, throw it away, and put on your glasses.”

“I think I will,” she said, moving to do just that. She laughed up at him through squinted eyelids. “You'll just have to put up with my glasses sliding down my nose.”

“I think I can handle that, but wash your face. You look like a kid who's been playing in the coal bin.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

M
ARGARET PULLED
A scarf out of her bag and tied her hair back from her face. Her cheeks felt warm to the touch, as if they'd been sunburned. She smeared her face generously with cold cream and carefully removed it with a tissue before applying a skin lotion.

Chip had stripped off his shirt and hung it over the open car door to dry while he washed the soot from his neck and arms. She made a determined effort to keep her eyes away from his superbly built body, but they returned again and again. He was a strong man without an ounce of superfluous flesh on the whole of his muscular form. His back was wonderfully broad, the muscles across his shoulders and biceps well-developed and powerful.

Margaret felt a thrill of possession at the sight of him. The thought that she had really felt the full length of his naked body next to hers made the breath catch in her throat. She stayed where she was, breathing deeply to ease the ache in her chest.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, turning and putting on his shirt.

“More tired than hungry.” She smiled apologetically.

“Hey, your cheeks are red. Did you burn your face?”

“A little. I've put some lotion on it.” She pushed her glasses higher up on the bridge of her nose, a purely nervous gesture.

“How do you feel about staying out here tonight? We can make it to the lumber camp, but I'm not too crazy about driving that track at night.”

“I've never camped out before.”

“Afraid?”

“Nooo…”

“Well then, let's dig out the sleeping bags and take a rest before we eat. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Chip backed the Jeep up to a level place beneath the pines. Margaret walked alongside, hardly believing this was happening. From the back of the truck he pulled out a canvas tarp and the sleeping bags and, after kicking pine needles into a thick layer, he spread them out atop it.

“If you lie on top you'd better use this. It'll start cooling down soon.” He tossed her a clean blanket.

Margaret got stiffly to the ground, easing her limbs. “I'm not sleepy, just tired.” She stretched out with her arms raised and her hands clasped beneath her head. Had anyone told her before she left Chicago that she would be sleeping in the woods with Duncan Thorn, she would have thought they were out of their minds. Yet here she was, and she had never felt so secure, so out of danger, in her life. She closed her eyes and slept, a small smile still on her lips.

It was almost dark when she awoke. Her limbs were stiff and aching. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the trees. For a few seconds she didn't know where she was, and she was startled. Then, as memory flooded back, she lay still again. Birds chattered to her from the treetops where they were preparing to roost for the night, but there was no other sound. Was she alone? Had Chip left her here? No. The Jeep was outlined against the darkness of the woods. She threw off the blanket and rolled onto her knees before she could get to her feet. It was cold, and she was tempted to crawl back under the blanket. Instead she went to the truck and reached for her jacket.

She could see now. Chip had built a small fire enclosed within a circle of stones. The smell of the wood smoke tingled her nostrils, but it was unlike the acrid smell of the burning grass and brush. Her eyes swept the area for Chip. Strangely, she was unafraid, and she stood with her hands held out to the small flames.

“Hello, sleeping beauty. I was beginning to think you'd sleep on through the night.” Chip came out of the trees and into the clearing with an armful of small branches. He piled them a safe distance from the flames and knelt to place a stick of wood on the fire.

“Why didn't you wake me? I've wasted the whole afternoon sleeping.”

“I figured you were tired. You did a terrific job helping me put out the fire, and you were exhausted.” He stood and she squinted up at him. “I took your glasses off. They're on the dashboard in the car.”

“So that's why I can't see. I thought I was still half asleep.”

“Silly girl. Stay where you are and I'll get them for you.” He returned with the glasses and set them in place. It was a gesture of tenderness, and she involuntarily began to tremble.

He took a flashlight from his jacket pocket and put it into her hands. “If you feel the need, you can go behind those bushes,” he said, turning her with his hands on her shoulders and facing her in the opposite direction. “Hurry back. I'm starving.”

“So am I. Don't start without me.”

She felt the cold as soon as she stepped away from the fire, and she hastened to be out of sight so she could relieve herself. All her instincts urged her to hurry so she could get back to him. His mood toward her had changed since their battle against the fire. His fingers
had
lingered behind her ears when he set her glasses on her face, hadn't they? Oh, she chided herself, you're floating in a current of wishful thinking.

As she was pulling up her jeans, a crackling sound came from the underbrush. She froze. The sound came again, a shuffling, slithering, swishing. A prickle of fear ran up her spine. She felt on the ground for the flashlight. Her fingers curled around it, but she couldn't find the switch to turn it on. She heard the sound again, and this time a small squeak accompanied it.

“Chip!” she screamed.

Fear propelled her, and she bolted. She met him running to her, and she threw herself against him.

“There's something back there! I heard it under the brush.” She clutched him in terror.

“Give me the flashlight and I'll see what it is. Go wait by the fire.” His voice was the merest whisper in her ear.

She stood with her back to the fire and her eyes riveted on the beam of light flashing about the area. It seemed an eternity before the light was coming back toward the campfire.

“I didn't see anything. It was probably an owl catching a mouse.” He turned off the light and put it into his pocket. “I can understand your fright. They can make a hell of a racket.” His hands grasped her shoulders, and he shook her gently. “Okay? Hey, you haven't even zipped up your jeans,” he chided softly. She stood, docile as a child, while he tucked her shirt down into her waistband, fastened the snap, and pulled up the zipper. “The moon will be up soon.”

Margaret had the odd feeling that the world was standing still. “I'm sorry.”

He smiled at her reassuringly. “I hope you put enough food in that hamper. My stomach thinks I've deserted it.”

He brought the tarps and the sleeping bags over to the fire and spread them on the ground. They sat opposite each other with the hamper between them and pulled out thick meatloaf sandwiches, celery, cheese, deviled eggs, and a plastic sack of chocolate-chip cookies.

“Ahhhh,” he sighed contentedly as he viewed the food. “Now if that coffee in the thermos is still hot, we've got it made.” He smiled into her eyes, and at that moment she was sure she would never be frightened of anything as long as he was with her.

“Thank you,” she murmured after taking a deep breath.

“You're welcome. But what did I do?”

“You're so calm, so unafraid. I feel perfectly safe with you.”

“Why are you whispering? It's nice to know I inspire confidence, but I'm not all that sure it's such a compliment.” He gave her an inquiring look. “Do you realize that you're alone with me, deep in the woods, miles from anyone?” He lowered his voice to a stage-villain's whisper. “I may ravish you!”

“Ravish?” Her laugh rang out. “Will you permit me to finish my sandwich first?”

Chip took a swallow of his coffee. “All that stands between you and that fate worse than death is the fact that I'm an Eagle Scout, dedicated to helping maidens in distress and old ladies crossing busy streets.”

“Thank heaven for that!” Her eyes continued to smile into his, and her heart beat faster.

Chip built up the fire, moving methodically as he always did, while Margaret repacked the hamper. The moon had appeared from behind the treetops, rendering the flashlight unnecessary. The air was still and cold, and she missed the heat of the campfire when she rose stiffly to take the hamper back to the Jeep. By the time she returned, her body was shaking with a sudden chill not entirely due to the night air. Chip was feeding small sticks into the fire. She looked down on his bent head and broad back, and her legs suddenly went weak with a trembling awareness of him.

“We'll have to smother the fire when we go to bed,” he said over his shoulder. “The woods are too dry to risk it. We really need a drenching rain.”

“The fire doesn't give out much smoke,” she observed.

He sat down beside her on the blanket. “I'm a Boy Scout. Remember?”

Margaret drew her legs up and wrapped her arms about them. “Do you do this often?”

“Camp out? Not as often as I'd like.” One corner of his mouth tilted.

“You'd hate living in the city.” It wasn't a question.

“I wouldn't do it,” he said firmly. “Are you cold?”

“Only my back. The fire feels heavenly on the front.”

“I can remedy that. Boy Scout Manual page two hundred and twelve.” He moved until his back rested against a small sapling. “Come here.” He held out his hand, and she walked on her knees toward him. She found herself sitting on the blanket with her back against his chest, his arms looped around her and his long legs stretched out on either side of hers.

“Now
your
back will be cold.”

“I can fix that, too. Hand me that other blanket.” He took it from her hand and draped it around his back. With his hands at her waist he pulled her to him and wrapped her in the folds of the blanket. “How's that? Ingenious, isn't it?” There was a thread of laughter in his voice. “Now sit still, wiggle-worm, and I'll get you warm.”

“You have all sorts of hidden talents,” she said, hoping he wouldn't notice that her heart was about to jump out of her breast.

“Surprised?” His hand came out from under the blanket and lifted her glasses off her nose. “You don't need these now. I'll lay them here by the tree so we can find them later. Okay?” He wrapped his arms tighter about her and rested his cheek against hers. “That's better,” he sighed. “The night is young. What are you going to do to entertain me? Talk or sing?”

“Don't laugh. I sing quite well.”

He did laugh. She could feel the movement of his chest against her back. His hand spread across her rib cage, his thumbs between her breasts.

“I talk much better than I sing,” he admitted.

“It's a relief to know you're not perfect at everything.”

His fingers tightened and raked her ribs. She wriggled, the movement bringing her against the pressure of his hard thighs. He lifted one hand to brush her hair from his face and to tuck a strand behind her right ear. His fingers stroked downward and wrapped about her neck while he rubbed his thumb along her jaw. She could feel his warmth and his strength engulfing her, and she closed her eyes, pressing her cheek to his.

“I thought you were going to sing. Instead you're going to sleep.” His mustache tickled her ear.

“I was thinking of what I was going to sing.”

“Liar. You were trying to get out of it.”

“I was not! Just hush up and listen, Chip Thorn.”

She began to sing, softly at first, then with gathering confidence. “Country roads, take me home…to the place I belong, West Virginia…” She finished the song without a trace of embarrassment.

“That was super. You
can
sing!” The low voice in her ear was obviously sincere. “How about an encore?”

“No, it's your turn.”

“You won't like it,” he warned.

“You're a coward!” she accused.

“Them's fighting words!” He nipped her ear. “On top of old Smokey, all covered with snow, I lost my true lover…for courting too slow. For courting…”

“You have a good voice,” she cheered. “Let's sing one together. Anything. You start and I'll join in.”

He began to sing an old ballad, and when she recognized it she joined in. “When I grow too old to dream, I'll have you to remember…” Happiness sang like a bird in her heart as their voices blended. She wasn't aware when the
I's
turned to
we's.
“And when we grow too old to dream, our love will live in our hearts…”

Margaret took a shuddering breath when they finished the song. Her hand had moved to cover his where it gripped her rib cage. She was conscious of his arms tightening. Her heart was pounding with the urge to turn and press her lips hotly to his. All her senses were filled with his overwhelming male presence. She could feel his lips and his mustache at the side of her neck and smell the wood smoke in his hair.