Angel in Disguise (13 page)

At least she did on an intellectual level, but wouldn’t it be nice to turn in Pete’s arms and let him kiss her into a beautiful new day? Groaning inwardly, she shoved against his arm, determined to keep her head straight and her body out of the sleeping bag.

But Pete mumbled a sleepy protest, tucked her back against him and slid kisses over her shoulder, nuzzling her nape. Trapped under his possessive, strong arm, she couldn’t help but respond. The feel of his breath against her skin flamed errant tingles. She lay still, scarcely breathing.

He seemed totally content, just holding her in this intimate way, his touch so natural that sleeping with a woman was obviously no new experience for him. But then he’d been married for years.

What would happen if he woke right now and
found himself holding her like this? Talk about potential embarrassment!

Maybe she could deliberately wake him, but act as if she were still asleep. That would give him the chance to back off, believing she was none the wiser. It might work.

Pretending to be on the verge of waking, she stretched like a cat and audibly yawned.

She heard his quick intake of breath and knew he’d awakened. In a shot, he lifted his arm from her, then froze, not even breathing, as if he feared waking her.

Shifting, yawning again, she settled into “deep sleep,” flopping her arm heavily across him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved as far away from her as he could in the sleeping bag, taking great care not to “wake” her. If he had still been holding her, she couldn’t have fooled him for her pounding heart would have given her away.

A minute passed, then another before she pretended to wake and rub the sleep from her eyes. Pete “slept” as if he were dead, his arm folded tightly against his own body, the very model of propriety.

Smiling to herself, she unzipped her side of the sleeping bags, and reached for her jeans. Stealthily she put them on, as if she were trying not to wake him.

Leaning over, she peered out the rain fly. Snow blanketed the campsite in pure white. Early-morning sun filtered through pines several stories tall, creating a mosaic of shadows and light. The sound of water rushing over rocks in the creek broke the quiet.

With her mind focused on getting Pete warm last night, she’d forgotten to tuck their bootlaces inside and they’d frozen to the ground. The boots were stiff and cold, but Sunny got hers on, all the while watching to see if Pete would officially “wake.”

He didn’t, and she crawled outside. Oh, it was a glorious new day. Standing there in the beauty of God’s world, she raised both hands skyward, praising His name, letting joy fill her soul. There were valleys in life, but today she was on the mountain and glad to know the difference.

Down at the stream, she moistened a towel from her backpack and washed her face in water so cold, it took her breath away. Maybe a little freshening up was what Pete needed to “wake.”

Taking the damp towel to the tent, she opened the fly and knelt beside him. Either he really had gone back to sleep or he played possum very well.

“Good morning,” she crooned. “Time to wake up.” She brushed the wet towel across his brow.

Pete’s eyes flew open so fast, there was no doubt he’d been faking. She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

“Wow! That’s cold,” he complained, wrestling the towel out of her hands and dabbing his eyes with it. Tossing the towel back, he snuggled back under the bag. “Is it as cold as it was?”

“Almost. I’m going to fix breakfast. I thought we’d wait a while before starting back. It’ll be warmer. Okay with you?”

He grinned. “You’re the boss. Since I’ve admitted I don’t know what the heck I’m doing, I might as well do what I’m told.”

He looked so sexy, all sleepy-eyed and needing a shave. “How’s the hip?” she asked, desperately hoping for good news.

“Great.” His eyes shifted.

“Pete, you know I recognize hooey. Be honest.”

“It’s better,” he insisted though he didn’t meet her eyes.

She’d know how bad it was when they hit the trail.

It was nearly nine before she decided they should start back. The capricious Big Bear weather had changed again, and the snow melted rapidly. The trail would be muddy and, in places, dangerously slick.

Pete made a big show of being fit, but she saw how heavily he leaned on the walking stick. Could he make it all the way back on his own? She feared not.

Meggy had said she’d send somebody after them if they weren’t back by evening, but that could mean another night on the mountain. She hated the idea of Pete suffering any longer than he had to. It would be better if she went for help. There was a clearing less than a mile away. If Pete could make it there, a helicopter could pick him up.

Sunny kept her plan to herself since Pete insisted his hip was “just peachy.” He probably thought the downhill hike would be easier. It wouldn’t be. Before long, reality would set in and he would give her no argument. She hated to think how much pain he would be in when that happened.

While she broke camp, she made him sit on a sunwarmed rock. He grumbled, but she reminded him
who had appointed whom boss. Finally ready to leave, she said, “On your feet, Maguire. We’re moving out.”

He stood and saluted, mocking her drill-sergeant manner with his tilted smile. At least the smile was back in working order today.

“Hey, Sunny,” he said softly, those bad-boy eyes of his sparkling with mischief. “Could you help me out here?”

Of course she could, but her teacher instinct said he was up to something. “Help you what?”

He beckoned her close, and then closer still, until she was near enough for him to catch her hand.

“What are you up to, Pete Maguire?”

His brows drew together in a worried frown. “I’m feeling kind of cold. I think it’s my hypothermia coming back.”

She hid a smile. “I don’t think so. You’re not shivering.”

“I am on the inside,” he complained.

Maybe he was. Feeling his thumb stroke her hand, she felt shivery herself. But she argued, “Your teeth aren’t chattering.”

“Sure th-th-they are,” he said, making it true.

She frowned. “Hmm, it could be a relapse.”

“That’s what I th-thought.”

“Think a little extra body heat would help?”

“It’s w-w-worth a try.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, closing the space between them. His big arms enveloped her.

“How’s that?” she said, resting her head against his shoulder.

“Much better.” She heard the grin in his voice.

Familiar tingles danced up and down. His touch, his teasing, his kind understanding, they were exactly right. She hadn’t known how much she needed this, and somehow she couldn’t bear for him to know. It would make her seem pathetically vulnerable. So she said, “If you wanted a hug, all you had to do was say so.”

“What if I wanted a kiss?”

For a second she couldn’t breathe. Slowly she lifted her mouth to his. “Same thing. Just say so.”

He took her face in both hands, staring at her mouth until she closed her eyes, paralyzed with anticipation.

He whispered her name and took her lips in a soft, tasting kiss, then another until she was floating, unaware of anything but this man and this moment. The world could go by. Just let her stay in his embrace.

When he pulled away and looked into her eyes, the warmth in his almost frightened her. She had no experience with feelings of this depth. The mere fact disconcerted her terribly. She’d been prepared to marry a man without knowing she could feel this?

“How’s your hypothermia?” she quipped, seeking familiar ground. She couldn’t have him see her confusion.

“All better,” he drawled. The intensity of his gaze belied the laid-back inflection. “You sure know your first aid, Coach.”

Was he consciously helping her to regroup? Could he see what an effort this was for her, struggling with strange new feelings?

She reached for her backpack and slipped it on. He looked around the campsite for his pack, but she tugged at his arm, pulling him toward the trail. He wouldn’t find the pack, not where she’d hidden it.

He protested. “You’re slipping, Sarge. I need my backpack.”

“We’ll leave it today. I packed light so we can move fast.”

One dark, disapproving brow shot up. She’d expected this. What man liked changes, especially ones he had no say in?

“All right,” he agreed cautiously, “but if we’re only taking one backpack, I’m carrying it.” The steel in his voice said he wouldn’t put up with any of her equality nonsense today.

Again she expected that. Pete was too much of a gentleman to give in gracefully.

“I thought we’d take turns,” she said, her fingers crossed. “Since I’ve already got my pack on, I’ll go first.”

“You don’t need a turn. I’m twice as strong as you are. Give me the pack, Sunny.”

“It’s a new era, Pete. Women carry their share of—”

“Not today,” he broke in, snatching at her pack.

She backed away, out of his reach. She’d counted on Pete’s good nature to get them over this hump, but she’d underestimated the macho factor. She didn’t want to make him angry, but if she gave in now, he’d be terribly embarrassed later.

She turned and started down the trail.

“Sunny!” he bellowed.

She didn’t stop. Let him think she was head-strong,
willful, obstinate, a brat. That was better than seeing him humiliated when the weight of the pack made it impossible for him to go on.

Pete felt as angry as he had during his first days at rehab. Now, as then, he had no choice but play the hand he’d been dealt. But he didn’t like it, and he sure didn’t like bossy schoolteachers. They were all alike.

He followed her down the trail, not too closely, but making sure he kept up. The descent was more difficult than he’d expected, and the snow hadn’t helped. Once he lost his footing on a slippery tree root. Another time he’d have fallen in a pile of burro waste if Sunny hadn’t called out a warning.

An hour into the hike, Pete was ready to apologize. Sunny must have suspected how painful this would be for him. With every step, the needles and knives bit deeper. Yesterday he had managed to ignore the pain until midafternoon, but today it was already a constant, relentless torment.

He did his best to hide it, but she knew. He could tell by the way she tried to distract him, pointing out unusual things, a tree here, a bird there, the way a person humors a tired, crabby kid. It was embarrassing, though it did help. A little.

She pretended not to notice when he stumbled or had to rest, leaning hard on the stick, but she missed nothing. He knew it. It was galling to realize the doctors had been right, warning him about stress of this kind. No wonder the settlement had been so generous. Step by agonizing step, he tried not to think of living on crutches for the rest of his life.

They came to a clearing where a bubbling creek
ran close to the trail. A few feet ahead a meadow lay beneath a crystal-blue sky. If his mind hadn’t been so pain fogged, he would have enjoyed it. Under a pair of trees whose trunks had grown together, Sunny sat cross-legged, waiting for him to catch up.

“Ready for a break?” she asked cheerfully.

He could have told her cheerfulness was not a quality much admired by people in pain, but it wasn’t her fault he hadn’t had the guts to be honest with her about his disability.

Disability. Man, he hated that word.

She’d been a real trooper and done nothing but take very good care of him. If it killed him, he’d be sweet as pie the rest of the way. He ought to tell her how much he admired her spirit, her strength, her resourcefulness…and he would. Just not right now when he had to grit his teeth against the pain.

She had pulled her sleeping bag from her pack and spread it next to the tree. “Come sit down,” she said, patting the pallet.

She looked pretty, sitting there, her coppery hair pulled back with little wavy straggles around her face. She wore no makeup, but she didn’t need it, not with those beautiful brown eyes and that smile that made a guy feel better just to see her.

Painfully he dropped down and stretched out on the sleeping bag. “Sorry I’m not keeping up,” he said, trying to sound good-natured.

“You’re doing fine. It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Some.”

She knew better. He saw that.

“You are one tough guy, Pete Maguire.”

“Not so tough,” he denied.

She didn’t argue, not with words, just with her eyes.

“Interested in a snack?” she asked, opening a bag.

Pete held out his hand, and she filled it with gorp, the energy treat she’d introduced him to yesterday.

“How about some painkillers?” she asked.

Pete held out his other hand.

“Same amount as the gorp?” she teased.

He nodded, but she shook two tablets into his hand. He leaned his head against the tree trunk, closing his eyes, willing the pain away.

“Do you remember passing that meadow yesterday?” she asked.

He opened one eye. He did remember. They had crossed it just before stopping for the night after hiking most of the day. Had they actually covered less than a mile this morning? Already his hip was shot. How was he going to make it back at this rate?

“A helicopter could land in that meadow,” she mused.

Pete opened the other eye. She was right. It was a little drastic, getting rescued by a helicopter, but if it meant the difference in walking or spending the rest of his life on crutches, he was all for it.

“Great idea,” he said, hopeful at last.

“Wonderful! I was afraid you’d give me a hard time.”

“Nope. Let ’em come and get us. I’ve got no pride.”

She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. It felt nice and loving and exactly like something Sunny would do.

“I figure I can make it to your truck and have the helicopter here in four, maybe five hours.”

Not a chance! Let her hike out of here on her own? It was out of the question. “Forget it,” he said firmly, tense, ready for battle. “You’re not leaving on your own.”

“Well, how do you think we’re going to get the helicopter? Yell real loud?” Her big brown eyes questioned his sanity.