Thanksgiving Groom (2 page)

So he stayed in the mountains with the Johnsons, missionaries who had served God their entire lives but were now questioning, searching and trying to find their own way back to sanity and to faith.

God…
Tucker felt so far from God at that point, he couldn't begin to think about faith. He could look out at a creation that astounded him with its beauty, and he could see the hand of God. He could feel only devastation.

Tucker never had the chance to tell his dad that he loved him.

He moved on, taking the trail carefully because it had
a tendency shift, move to other locations. It was made by animals, and it followed their paths.

As he walked, something crashed in the woods behind him. He turned, raising the gun. A mountain goat jumped across the trail and ran off into the thick woods. Tucker lowered his weapon and walked on. He wasn't in the mood for hunting.

They could have potato soup again. Or canned beans. He didn't really care. The walk was better than hunting. Out here, away from everything and everybody, he could clear his mind. He could think.

Something screamed. He stood for a moment, waiting for it to scream again. The big cats sometimes sounded like a screaming woman.

But they didn't typically follow the scream with “Get out of here, bear.”

And then she screamed again.

A woman? In the middle of nowhere? How in the world had a woman gotten out here?

She screamed again and he ran down the trail, waiting for her to scream again so he could pinpoint her exact location. And then he saw her at the bottom of a small ravine, sitting on her backside, waving a stick at the bear that stood on hind legs a few feet away.

Strands of her long blond hair tangled around her face. She scrambled back, crab crawling and then managing to get to her feet.

Alone? How in the world had she gotten out here? By his estimations, they were a good fifteen or twenty miles from Treasure Creek.

He shot into the air, then he slid down the ravine, down to where she was standing. The bear lumbered
off in the other direction. Tucker grabbed her, throwing her over his shoulder.

As he hurried up the nearest trail, she was still screeching, bouncing against his back. Her words came out in garbled squawks. “Put…me…
down.
”

He wished he could.

“If you don't stop fighting me, and stop screaming, I'm going to leave you here.”

“Fine, leave me here. I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can.”

He glanced back over her shoulder. The bear had lost interest, but that didn't mean they were in the clear. He shook his head at seeing a bear this time of year. Shouldn't the thing be hibernating? He kept walking, kept hold of her legs as he scrambled up the hillside.

She was blubbering about the bear and how it was going to eat her. He nearly laughed.

“It was just a cub. It wasn't really going to eat you.”

They reached the top of the hill. He stopped, gasping for one deep breath of air, and then he deposited her on the ground.

Great, that's what he needed. Not just any female, but a crazy one. A crazy female with eyes the color of the sky and blond hair tangling around the face of a Norwegian princess. She stood in front of him, tears streaming down her cheeks, twigs tangled in her hair

In that moment, he recognized her. Not a Norwegian princess. Worse—the daughter of Herman Lear. That was exactly what he didn't need. Especially if she'd gone crazy out here.

“It wasn't a cub. It was huge. And I looked like its
dinner.” She wiped at her eyes and then gasped as she took a step.

“What's wrong?”

“I think I twisted my ankle on my way down that hill.” She peered up at him, eyes narrowing as she studied his face. “I'm fine.”

They took another step and Tucker couldn't take it anymore. He scooped her up in his arms, ignoring the way she fought against him.

“I can take care of myself.”

“Oh, that's pretty obvious.” Did he need to explain that she was in the middle of nowhere and had just happened upon the only bear not hibernating? Obviously taking care of herself wasn't her strongest trait.

“Do you think he'll chase us down?” She glanced over his shoulder, back in the direction of the ravine. “Bears do attack people. And eat them, I think.”

Tucker shook his head and resisted the urge to laugh. “You think that bear would eat you?”

“He might have. And now how am I going to find the trail out of here? I'm sure I was going in the right direction. If I'd stayed on that trail—”

“Do you think you could be quiet? I really wouldn't want to come into contact with the mother of that bear cub.”

“It wasn't a cub,” she whispered. “Besides that, you have a gun.”

It was over his other shoulder, pointing at the sky. It was a reminder of why he'd come out here today. He'd been hunting for food, not for silly heiresses.

And what was he coming home with? The heiress.

“Are you Tucker Lawson?” She kept talking, and his
regrets kept growing. It was probably too late to take her back to the ravine.

“Back to that silence clause in our rescue agreement.” He shifted her weight in his arms and she grabbed at his shoulders.

“I don't think I agreed to silence. I'm just asking if you're Tucker Lawson.”

“Yes, I'm Tucker Lawson.” He glanced down at her, and then glued his eyes back on the trail and the long walk ahead of them.

“They're looking for you.”

“What does that mean?” Of course he'd been gone awhile, but he'd mentioned when he bought supplies, before he'd started out, that he planned on being gone a good long while. He'd told his office to give his cases to his partner.

“You disappeared, and a lot of people are worried.”

“I didn't realize.”

Another ten minutes of this and he was sure he'd want to give her back to the bear.

“They've been searching for you. Especially your friends, Jake and Gage.”

“How are they?” It wasn't as if he'd been out here all these months without thinking about his friend, or what everyone back in Treasure Creek thought about his disappearance.

“I've only been in town about a week, but from what I've seen, they're doing really great. Worrying about you hasn't stopped them from falling in love.”

“Falling in what?”

“Don't make it sound like they fell in a pile of some
thing nasty. They've fallen in love. Millions of people do so every day.”

“In love with whom?”

“Well, I don't know Jake that well, or Casey…”

“Don't tell me he's dating Casey Donner.”

“I think it's more like engaged and planning a wedding. There's talk around town that he's waiting to find you, wanting you to be his best man.”

“What else has happened?”

“Romance, I guess. Dr. Havens and his nurse. I really believe Joleen and Harry Peters will get married. Won't that be a sight, to have Joleen stay in Treasure Creek?” She rambled on and he didn't have a clue what she was talking about. He kept going back to the idea of his childhood friends in love. “Anyway, they're all really worried about you.”

He'd tuned out her chatter and missed most of what she said until she got to the last part, about people worrying about him. It wasn't as if he hadn't thought of that, that people would be searching. He'd just hoped they found the note and realized he was safe.

“As you can see, I'm fine. If I wasn't, you would still be back there with that bear cub.”

“The bear wasn't a cub.” Penelope knew when to change the subject. She looked up, studying his face—the sandy brown hair that was a little on the long side, and hazel eyes that glinted with flecks of gold. He didn't look like this in the pictures they put up in town. Those were pictures of a lawyer lost in the woods. In the photos plastered in the paper and all over town, he was slick, with short hair, expensive suits and a cynical expression. The type of man her father would have on his team.

The type of man her father would probably love to have for a son-in-law. The type of man she detested.

Instead of being the man on the poster, Tucker Lawson was capable and strong. He looked like most of the men in Treasure Creek, dressed in jeans and a heavy jacket. He was broad shouldered and rugged. He was so handsome he made her mouth water a little. The way it watered when she looked at a yummy dessert.

“He was this year's cub.” His words were clipped, short. “You could have run at him and he would have been scared to death.” He huffed as he walked. “Why don't you tell me what you're doing out here, miles from town?”

“Hiking. What else?”

“Alone?”

The word
alone
bounced around inside her mind.

She glanced away from him, at the looming shadows as dark fell. She had been about to stay the night in the Alaskan wilderness, alone. And now she was in the arms of a stranger who had saved her from a bear. She really felt like crying.

What kind of man stayed out here, though? How in shock had she been that she hadn't immediately thought about that, about him and how unsafe she was at that moment in his arms?

“I had problems with my Jeep.” She blinked furiously. “I can walk. I shouldn't really go any farther. Someone will come looking for me.”

He grunted and kept walking.

“Listen, I can take care of myself.”

“I think you've proven that point.”

“My backpack. My stuff. I need my cell phone.”

“Honey, you don't need your cell phone, not out here. Who are you going to call, Smokey the Bear?”

“It might work. There might be a signal they can follow.”

“Who, Smokey the Bear?”

“Rangers, police, people who rescue other people.”

“They'll follow you to a ravine in the middle of nowhere. Now please, stop talking.”

“I can't.” She started to shake—uncontrollable shaking—and her breath came in short gulps. “Please, just let me go.”

A million thoughts whirled through her mind. She was miles from anywhere. She was alone with a man who had disappeared into the woods. She had walked hours after ditching the Jeep. No one would know where to look for her. She didn't even know if she was going south. She struggled, thinking if she could get away. If she could get down and run.

He stopped walking and peered down at her and then he shook his head. His arms tightened around her trembling body. “I'm not going to hurt you.”

“Right, of course you're not.” She wanted to stop holding his shoulders, but she couldn't convince her hands to cooperate. She needed to wipe away the tears. Common sense told her to be brave, to show him he couldn't hurt her. “I know karate.”

He laughed. “That's great to know. You could have used it on the bear.”

“You think I'm joking. I took a class in self-defense.”

“I believe you. But you won't need to use it on me.
I'm taking you to a nice safe place and a sweet older couple who will look after you.”

“There are other people out here?”

“There are.” He started to walk again and her body was still trembling. Shock, fear and cold were sinking into her bones. “Calm down, we'll be there in a few minutes.”

She nodded, but her eyes were blurring and her vision became a pinpoint. She wanted to be strong. She wanted to fight him. Instead the world faded. She heard him telling her to breathe. She was sure she was breathing. She could feel her heart pounding hard. And then nothing.

T
ucker took large steps in the direction of the old lodge he'd called home for the past few months. It was his own fault she'd passed out. He should have told her about the Johnsons sooner. He should have seen the panic in her face, noticed the second when she realized how alone she was. He jostled her a little, but she didn't wake up. This was just what he needed.

Or didn't need.

The lodge appeared—a dark, shadowy place, hidden in the mountains. Unused for over twenty years, it didn't have electricity and they were using an old pump for water. This place was his haven.

And now he had to share it with a screeching, high-maintenance female. He continued up the path. She was getting heavier. She wouldn't thank him for mentioning that.

He carried her up the steps, then had to maneuver to get the storm door open. The inside door opened as he pulled the storm door. Mrs. Johnson pushed it all the way open for him to get inside. Her eyes widened when she saw the woman in his arms.

“Where did you find her?”

“In the woods.”

“Is she okay?” Mrs. Johnson followed him down the hall to the small parlor they used most often now that it was cold. It was easy to close off, easy to heat.

“She's fine. She got herself worked up and then she passed out cold. A little exhaustion, a lot of fear.”

“Who is she?”

“My guess, Herman Lear's daughter, Penelope.”

“Oh, my. Are you sure?” Mrs. Johnson pulled a throw blanket off the couch and he took the hint and placed the woman on the worn seat of a sofa that they'd had to beat the dust out of just a few months earlier. The Johnsons had been here about a month before he showed up.

“Yes, I'm sure.” He'd seen her pictures. He knew her father. She was Penelope Lear. And she was the last person he wanted to see.

“Goodness.” Wilma Johnson clucked, the way she'd clucked over him more than once.

“Wake up.” He patted Penelope's cheek as Mrs. Johnson stood next to him, leaning in, watching. “Ms. Lear, time to wake up.”

She blinked and looked at him. “Where am I?”

“A hunting lodge.”

“People live out here?” she murmured.

“People do. It isn't necessarily the most inhabited part of Alaska, or the most civilized, but here we are.”

She scrambled to sit up. Mrs. Johnson patted her shoulder. “There, there, sweetie, you're safe. And don't worry about Tucker, he's lacking social skills. We'll take good care of you until we can get you back to safety.”

“Thank you, Mrs….?”

“I'm Wilma Johnson. My husband and I were staying here. And then Tucker came along to stay with us.”

Penelope looked back at him. “They think you're dead.”

“I'm obviously not. But why would they think that?”

“They found your plane, blood and then no sign of you. They haven't given up, though.”

Tucker sat down in the chair near the fire. He needed a minute to soak in the idea that the folks in Treasure Creek assumed he was dead. He hadn't considered that. He should have, though. Wilma was busy untangling Penelope's hair, pulling small sticks and leaves from the blond strands. The older woman shot him a look, her lips pursed.

She was a mother at heart. She had lost her only child, but that didn't stop her from mothering. She'd been hovering over him for months, trying to fix him, to fix his heart. And it had been a long time since anyone had mothered him.

“I'm going to make tea.” Wilma stepped away from Penelope and he knew what she was doing. She was leaving them to share their stories.

He watched her leave the room and then he turned, facing the woman who had sat up, but still held the blanket tight around herself. He got up to put wood on the fire.

“I was on my way to a friend's cabin.” He shoved a log into the fireplace, poking it into place with the metal poker and then standing back as sparks shot up and flames licked at the mossy bark. “The plane stalled out on me and I landed on that lake. I did hit my head
as I came down, but I managed to get out and to walk here.” He had walked for three days, he explained, and he'd been as lost as he'd ever been in his life.

“I know they've searched a large area around the lake.”

“I hadn't meant to cause panic. I even left a note on a tree, that I'd find shelter and that I was on my way to a friend's cabin. Not that I made it to that cabin. Mr. Johnson found me wandering the woods. Concussion I guess. I don't know how far I walked from the plane. And you, Ms. Lear, what brought you to Treasure Creek? Are you hunting for a rugged outdoorsman? A man to share your life and your heart with, as that infamous article stated?”

She glared at him and he wanted to smile. “How did you know my name?”

“You're Penelope Lear. Who doesn't know the Lears of Anchorage.”

“That isn't who I am.”

“You aren't Penelope?” He stayed close to the fire, watching her gather herself. Lamplight flickered, casting shadows on a face that was beautiful in a way he wouldn't have imagined. Maybe because of the light in her eyes, the animation of her features.

“I am Penelope Lear. But, but I'm not a spoiled little rich girl.” In the warm glow of the lamp, he saw tears pool in her blue eyes.

“I'm sure they'll be looking for you.”

“Of course they will.” She shivered again.

But would they find her? Penelope huddled into the blanket, glad for its warmth, and for the fire. Her ankle
throbbed and her throat was dry and sore. Probably from screaming at the bear.

“I have to try to get out of here, back to Treasure Creek. I have a compass in my pocket and I know I need to go straight south.”

“Straight south from where?”

Okay, that was a fair question. “From where I left the Jeep.”

This was not the way to prove her intelligence. She cringed a little as she replayed her words.

He smiled a little. At least he didn't laugh at her. “Do you know where you left it? What direction you went? Where you got lost?”

“No.” The truth—stark, kind of cold and not what she wanted to admit to. “No, I don't have any clue. I left the Jeep and started in the direction I thought was south. I guess that was about seven hours ago now.”

“You've never heard you're supposed to stay in one place if you get lost?”

She glanced away from him. “Of course, but does anyone follow that rule?”

He
hadn't. “No, but they should. And I'm afraid that means you're stuck with us for a little while.”

She flipped the blanket back and stood, wobbling a little as her weight settled on her swollen ankle. She bit back an exclamation and he watched her, as if he wasn't sure what she'd do next.

“I can't be stuck here. I have to—”

Brows arched. “Have to what?”

She sank back onto the couch, because it was no use. She had to find a husband who would love her. Cynical eyes didn't want to hear about love, about a
father who thought he could pick the perfect mate for his daughter.

It sounded positively Victorian when she said it out loud. Her friends had laughed when they heard.

“Nothing.” Why should she care if she got stuck here for a year? Maybe this was God's plan, for her to hide here. And perhaps her father would forget his plans.

Tucker Lawson pushed himself up from the chair. He sat down on the edge of the massive coffee table and reached for her foot. She flinched but bit back her protest as he lifted it.

“If we had ice, we'd ice it down.” He touched the darkened flesh and she squeezed her eyes closed. “Bad?”

“Not at all.” She opened her eyes and he was watching her. Cynicism had been replaced by concern. He held her foot, hands gentle but rough and calloused. Not the hands of a lawyer, she thought.

No, he had the hands of a man who had been living off the land for several months. A man with broad shoulders cloaked in a flannel shirt. She remembered that he smelled of soap, not cologne or aftershave. He smelled of the outdoor air and laundry detergent.

He reached for a pillow and placed it on the table. As he stood he propped her foot on the pillow, easing it down gently. She stared at him, not sure what to do or what to stay.

“Thank you for rescuing me.”

“You're welcome.” His voice was gruff, dismissive.

She wanted to tell him she wasn't a bad person. She wasn't another empty-headed socialite, intent on fun and not caring about others. She wished she could tell
him she hadn't traveled to Treasure Creek thinking she might find a husband. That would have been a lie. What woman didn't want to find her dream man?

She thought it started for most girls when they turned five and had their first kindergarten crush. It was downhill from there. Every boy—and then man—that looked at them had the possibility of being “the one” they would marry.

She could have told him he had nothing to worry about. That would have been the truth. He was definitely not her type. He was the type her father wanted for her. He was a successful lawyer with connections and enough money that Herman Lear wouldn't have to worry that he was after the Lear fortune.

For once she kept her mouth shut. She didn't want Tucker Lawson to know how she felt about her life, or how much she wanted a new one.

She was reinventing Penelope Lear. That was no one's business but her own.

“I'll see if we have anything in the first aid kit.” Tucker stood in the doorway, his face in shadows.

“Okay.” She answered, still lost in her thoughts about her life and what she would have wanted it to be.

And he left her alone in a room lit with just a lantern, candles on the mantel and the firelight.

 

Tucker knew he should take her back to Treasure Creek at first light. If she could have walked, it would have been doable. But with her injury, they couldn't walk it in a day.

They'd have to give her ankle time to heal. And then he'd have to take her back to civilization. He'd have to
go as well. And he wasn't ready. He didn't know if he would ever be ready to go back.

To have it be Penelope Lear who forced him back, that made him a little itchy around the collar.

Just this past May, Tucker had said a polite “no thank you” to that offer. He had heard that Herman Lear had approached several other men, most of whom lived in Anchorage and were well connected. One of them had probably taken the offer, and that had sent her running to Treasure Creek.

A little bit of pity scolded him for being too harsh with her. No one should be married off that way, as if she were a stolen painting up for bid on the black market. There was no dignity in that kind of bartering.

He lifted the candle he'd taken from the parlor and walked down the dark hall in the direction of the kitchen. She was probably hungry as well as thirsty. From the aromas drifting down the hall, a combination of wood smoke and soup, he thought that Wilma Johnson had thought the same thing.

The kitchen was lit with lanterns and candles. Mr. Johnson, Clark was his first name, sat at the small table, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked up from the book he was reading and smiled at Tucker.

“Found a stray?”

Tucker nodded. “Yeah, I guess I did. Her ankle is swollen and bruised. I don't think it's broken.”

“I have an Ace Bandage and we still have pain relievers.” Wilma dished soup into a bowl. “I hope she doesn't mind something as simple as vegetable soup.”

“She'd better not.” Tucker grabbed the first aid kit. “She'd best be grateful.”

“She's been nothing but polite, Tucker.” Wilma Johnson patted his arm. “I'll take her the soup and tea. You have something to eat. It might take the snarl out of you some.”

He had to smile. “Yeah, it might. More soup, Clark?”

Clark Johnson shook his head. “I'm done. You go ahead and eat. She did a bang-up job on it.”

Tucker dished out a bowl of soup and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the counter. He took both and sat down across from Clark. “I guess you know who she is?”

“That I do.” Clark looked up from his book, lantern light flickering between the two of them. “We'll have to find a way to get her back to Treasure Creek. They'll be looking for her. And besides that, a young woman like Penelope Lear can't make it out here, living the way we've been living.”

“How do you propose we get her back to town?”

“You'll have to take her.” It was said matter-of-factly, as if it would be easy to go back.

“I'm not ready to go back.”

“Neither are we. But she's another case. She didn't ask to be here, to be in the wilderness.”

“No, she didn't. They'll send search teams. I'm sure her father will have the army out if he can manage it.”

“They've probably searched for you, too. They haven't found you yet.”

“I didn't want to be found.” Because it was easier this way, hiding from people, from his pain.

Or at least he told himself he was hiding.

Tucker ate his soup, preferring to let the conversation end the way it had, with him ignoring the obvious.
She would have to go back to town. She couldn't stay here with them. And as much as he didn't want it, too, it would affect him.

When he walked back down the hall, he heard her soft voice, telling Mrs. Johnson how she'd gotten lost, about the bear, about him rescuing her. He could imagine her eyes wide, full of excitement as she reinvented the story, making it more amazing than it had been.

The bear hadn't been a grizzly. It hadn't been huge. It wouldn't have eaten her.

He walked into the room. It was dark, lit with lanterns, a few candles and the fireplace. Penelope Lear sat on the worn sofa and Wilma sat in the chair nearby.

Penelope looked up, the bowl of soup held in her hands. She smiled at him and managed to look like this was normal to her—being lost in the woods, staying in a house without electricity or running water. He'd seen her home, albeit from a distance. This was anything but normal.