The Borrowed Bride (5 page)

The words hit her like a punch in the stomach. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe, and her eyes watered as a tearing pain swept through her. His image blurred and softened, and she felt as if she were drifting toward
him, closer, her hands already anticipating the rough-denim, hard-muscled texture of him.

But before she could move or speak or make sense of what was happening, Dan shoved back from the gate and stalked away. Stricken, she stared at his long, slim, retreating form. Then she saw that Gary Sohappy was riding into the yard on the horse called Petunia. He and Dan spoke for a moment. Gary held a parcel wrapped in a hooded sweatshirt under his arm. He handed it to Dan and dismounted.

Isabel left the garden to say hello to Gary and to thank him again for finding her last night. When she reached them, she stopped short and gasped, spying the bundle in Dan’s hands.

“What happened?”

“Not sure,” Gary said. “I found her on the way up here.”

She
was a bald eagle. Only her head was visible, sharply defined in line and color. The great hooked beak was vivid yellow, the eyes bright obsidian, the distinctive head sleek and white.

Gary’s hands were covered in scratches. “She was pretty hard to catch,” he said with a grin.

Dan held the bird under his arm. “Get inside and wash up, Gary. Use the disinfectant soap. We’ll be in the barn.”

Isabel picked up the trailing reins of the horse and followed Dan.

He stared at the bundle. “Ever seen a bald eagle close up before?”

“No.” She was riveted. The bird was watchful, almost brooding. “I had no idea they were so large. How did Gary know it was a female?”

The bird pecked at Dan’s arm. He winced. “Her temperament?”

“Sexist,” Isabel muttered.

In the barn, she tethered the mare in cross ties and went with Dan into a small tack room. Barrels of feed stood along one wall beneath an array of reins. Dan set the bird carefully in a dry sink. The eagle struggled, fighting the makeshift bandage. There was something heartbreaking about seeing such a majestic creature floundering and helpless in an alien environment.

But apparently Dan’s voice worked on the bird, too. “Shh,” he said, and spoke a patois of English and Yakima in a mesmerizing singsong. He used his hands with a light, knowing touch, stroking the smooth feathers and even the sharp beak with one hand, while the other hand unwrapped the bird. She still acted edgy, as if ready to explode into flight at any moment.

Except that she couldn’t fly, and as soon as Dan set aside the sweatshirt, they saw why. One wing hung limp. Isabel could see a little blood.

“Must’ve been wounded in the storm,” Dan said. “I don’t think the wing’s broken, so that’s something.” He kept up his singsong patter as he opened a metal wall chest to reveal a selection of horse liniments, containers with handwritten labels, jars with rusting lids, a few giant syringes. Dan selected a plastic bottle of antibiotic powder and dusted the wound with it.

The bird erupted into a panic. Dan gathered it awkwardly to his chest and held it there, grimacing as a set of talons sank into his forearm.

Isabel bit her lip. “What can I do?”

He shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. We should probably immobilize this wing.”

“Let’s try that.”

Even with Gary helping them, it took over an hour to bind the wing. The bird had the temper of a pit bull, with razor talons and a can-opener beak to back it up. By the time they had fashioned a bandage of gauze, all three of them bore a few nicks.

Gary lined a crate with straw and positioned it under a single lightbulb for warmth. He placed the bird inside, and they stood back, watching. The bird still had fire in her eye and a haughty air, and her chest rose and fell rapidly. Gary went to put up the horse.

“I guess we should feed it something,” Dan said.

She shuddered. “Don’t eagles eat raw meat?”

“I think so,” he said.

“Couldn’t we try a can of tuna fish or something?”

As they walked up to the house, Dan draped an arm across her shoulders. The movement was so natural and felt so right that before Isabel even thought about it, she leaned her head into his shoulder. His knuckles grazed her cheek, and she shivered.

“I should get my purse,” she said, wondering why her voice sounded so lifeless and flat. “I guess we’d better get started for Seattle.”

“Nope.” His stride didn’t falter as they mounted the steps.

Isabel stopped and looked at him. “What do you mean?”

He gave her a smile that raised a hollow ache in her chest. “Too late, Isabel.”

“Anthony said to take all the time I needed. I’ll never be too late for—”

“I mean too late in the day. It’s dark out.”

She blinked, then looked around. Through the black-leafed trees, the sky was deep purple with twilight.

“You’re stuck with me for one more night, Isabel,” he said unapologetically, then turned and went inside.

T
he next morning, Dan caught his breath when Isabel walked into the kitchen. He had probably, at some point, seen a more beautiful sight, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember when.

Her face was scrubbed clean, her hair slightly damp from the shower. She wore a gray sweat suit with the University of Washington seal on the front. The soft folds of fabric enveloped her small frame.

She helped herself to coffee. “I found the sweat suit in the closet in my room. I hope you don’t mind.”

“’Course not, Isabel. It’s chilly this morning.” He rose and handed her the sugar bowl.

She smelled like every warm, fragrant dream that haunted a man in the dead of winter. When she didn’t fuss with her hair, it relaxed into a long waterfall of silk he wanted to bury his fingers in.

“Did you check on the bird?” she asked.

“A couple of times in the night, and then at the crack of dawn.”

What he didn’t tell her was that he had also stood in her room in the dark, watching her sleep while wave after wave of tenderness and regret rolled over him.

Five years ago, she had slipped into his heart through a side entrance when he thought he had barred all the doors. He set his jaw and clenched his eyes shut, remembering.

The day she had told him about the baby was branded on his memory. She was so thrilled and so scared. So was he. No, he was terrified.

His feelings for her suffered from some sort of paralysis. Too young and too thickheaded to understand that the first bloom of love needed to deepen and ripen and mature, too stupid to see that responsibility wouldn’t stifle him, he’d panicked.

Her grief and rage over the miscarriage provided him with the opportunity to escape. Like a fool, he took it.

“Dan?” Her voice intruded on his thoughts.

He opened his eyes and blinked at her.

“Is the bird okay?”

“Yeah.” He couldn’t stop staring at her.

She took a sip of her coffee, regarding him over the rim of her mug. “Are
you
okay?”

His grip on the edge of the tile counter tightened. He had to anchor himself somewhere, to something, or he would explode. “Yeah. Only—”

“Only what?”

“I always thought you were the one who left five years ago, Isabel.”

“And now what do you think?” She seemed to have no trouble switching into his train of thought. He could almost believe the past was on her mind, too.

“Physically, you left, you walked out. But I didn’t give you many options. Stay in hell with me or save yourself. Not much choice there.”

She started to move away. “We were young—”

“
Were
young,” he echoed harshly, grasping her wrist. “We’re different now, and you know it.”

She was breathing hard with some inner struggle. Dan made himself let go of her hand. “Sorry.” He carried her cup to the table for her.

Both of them were edgy and emotional this morning. Dan’s nerve endings felt raw with desperation. All he knew for certain was that he could not stand the thought of her getting married to someone else. He had no idea what alternative he could offer her, but he had to make her see that what they had shared was not over. It would never be over.

“Did the eagle eat the tuna fish?” she asked, shifting gears again.

“Some. It didn’t seem to be to her taste.” Dan forced himself to release his need for her at the moment. There was an intensity to his feelings that she would probably find frightening. He had to back off, get a grip. “I tried canned salmon this morning. She picked at that. I was thinking we could try to get her some fresh fish today. It’d probably be better for her.”

“We should,” Isabel said quickly.

He grinned. “Any excuse to go fishing.”

She grinned back. “Any excuse.”

Dan felt as if a time bomb were ticking somewhere at the back of his mind. If he mentioned it to Isabel, it might go off. If he didn’t mention it, it might go off anyway.

Armed with rods, a creel and a picnic lunch, they plodded in hip boots down to the lake. Isabel looked vibrant, as beautiful and understated as a doe in a forest grove—and as fragile.

All right,
he thought.
Say it.

He stopped walking and touched her shoulder. “I meant to ask you earlier. If you need to make a call, I can radio someone in town—”

“It’s okay.” Color stained her cheekbones. “Anthony said I should take all the time I need.”

“Anthony is a first-class fool,” Dan said, “and I thank God for that.”

She started walking again, so he couldn’t see her reaction to his words. “He’s always been very understanding. And I’ve always been moody. So it’s a perfect match.”

“Yeah, right.”

At the lakeshore, they waded in, flailing their arms to keep from falling as the mud sucked at their boots. After they tired of standing, they slogged ashore and took off their boots. Dan rolled out a thick fiber mat so they could recline. Isabel baited her own hook, arguing volubly about the merits of canned corn versus salmon eggs. She looked gorgeous, fitting the scene like an emerald in a perfect setting. Before Dan’s eyes, she seemed to relax, the inner tightness he sensed in her uncoiling.

Mother Earth doing her sacred duty, he decided whimsically. As he lay back on the mat and let the warmth of the sun bathe him, he imagined he could feel the slow, steady heartbeat of the earth beneath him, a subtle, comforting rhythm that he had ignored for too long. He had been deaf to it until his grandfather, filled
with a dying man’s reflective wisdom, had awakened him to it once again.

Perhaps that was what Isabel was feeling now, that sense of homecoming.

She glanced at him. “What are you thinking?”

He sent her a lazy smile. “That it’s a perfect fishing day.” He touched her slim thigh with one finger and traced it gently, teasingly. “Enough nibbles to keep things interesting, but not so many that it starts…to feel…like work.”

She laughed—a little nervously, he thought—and shifted away from him. “You’re a bad influence, Dan. I don’t think I’ve spent so many hours doing nothing and—” She bit her lip.

“And loving every minute of it?” he asked in a low voice. “To an outside observer, it might look like not much is going on.” He touched a lock of hair at her temple. “But there’s plenty happening here, Isabel. We’d both be lying if we said otherwise.”

Isabel had no idea how long she had been sleeping. The excitement of fishing again—something she hadn’t done since her father had taught her—must have worn her out. But she hadn’t realized a nap in the fresh air could give her such a sense of renewal. She awoke to blink at the late-afternoon sun, squinting through breeze-blown leaves, listening to the soft lapping of the lake on the shores and to the quiet cadence of Dan’s breathing.

He had fallen asleep, too. In his faded jeans and plaid shirt and hiking boots, a John Deere cap pulled down over his eyes, he was the consummate woodsman—
wholly masculine, with a rugged splendor that made him a part of the forest and mountains.

Something still existed between them, some magnetic attraction. She could no longer deny that. But for now, she refused to shape the idea into words. She was simply taking the time she needed—

Needed for
what?
asked the wary cynic inside her. To rediscover that, yes, Dan Black Horse was still the sexiest, most fascinating man she could ever hope to meet? And to rediscover that he still had the power to break her heart?

Helping herself to a long drink of lemonade from the thermos, she scowled at him. “You’re not doing me any favors, Dan Black Horse.”

He awoke with a luxurious, long-bodied stretch that made her hormones jolt into overdrive. “What’s that?” he asked in a sleepy voice, taking the thermos from her.

“Nothing,” she snapped. “You—” A buzzing sound interrupted her. With reflexes tuned perfectly by instinct, she pounced on her rod and set the hook. Moments later, she reeled in a plump, silvery trout, by far the best catch of the day. Laughing, she said, “I
told
you I was right about the corn.”

He laughed with her, and the tension dissolved. They packed up their gear and hiked back to the lodge.

The eagle snapped up a small fish in her big yellow beak. She scarfed another, then cocked her head, waiting for more.

“She likes sushi,” Dan said.

Isabel clutched his arm and nodded. “I think we’re spoiling her. She won’t know how to survive in the wild after this.”

“She’s a grown bird. I don’t think a few days with us will make her lose her taste for the wild.” His finger traced a shivery line down the side of Isabel’s throat. “Right?”

Stung, she lurched away. “I need a bath,” she said hastily. “It’s been a long day.”

He winked at her. “It’s not over yet.”

She luxuriated in the tub, letting the massage jets pummel her muscles. She loved the sense of unreality that enveloped her here at Dan’s lodge. She was remote, detached from the rest of the world.

Free.

But
free
was just a nice word people used instead of
lonely,
or maybe
desperate.

What Isabel had wanted—had
always
wanted—was a sense of connectedness. To know that she belonged.

Anthony was perfect for her. He came fully equipped, a package deal with a large, loving family that surrounded and enveloped her like a hand-stitched quilt.
He
was what she needed.

Not Dan Black Horse with the heartbreak in his eyes and a body that promised enough forbidden pleasure to make her legally insane.

She realized she had been in the tub brooding for far too long. Feeling sheepish, she got out and dressed in her skirt and top and the cardigan sweater Dan had loaned her yesterday.

She stood in front of the mirror wishing for mousse and a curling iron until she realized what she was doing, what she was thinking.

It shouldn’t matter how she looked for Dan.

But oh, God. It did.

“That smells heavenly,” she said, a soft smile curving her mouth. “When did you learn to cook?”

“It’s not cooking, it’s grilling.” Dan grinned at her as he set down a platter of trout and vegetables. His long, glossy hair was still damp from the shower, and he smelled of soap and wood smoke.

He served a chilled local wine and even lit candles on the dining-hall table. They sat across from each other and lifted their glasses.

For Isabel, the moment froze in time. In the blink of an eye, she was hurled back to the night she had told him about the baby. After she’d told him the news, she’d had ginger ale and he’d had beer, but they had laughed and clinked their glasses and made promises with no idea how to keep them.

The soft
chink
of his glass against hers brought her back to the present. “Isabel?” he said in his low, rough voice. “What’ll we drink to?”

“The eagle’s health?” she suggested, pleased that her voice did not sound as wobbly as she felt.

He chuckled and made the toast. Isabel grew warm and flushed with the good food and the chilled wine, and the moments slipped past.

She glanced out the big bay window to see violet shadows streaking the mountains. “I suppose,” she said, “you’ll tell me it’s too late in the day to start for Seattle.”

“Isabel?” His large hand covered hers.

“Yes?” The wine and his nearness gave her a pleasant, floating sensation.

“It’s too late to start for Seattle.”

“What a surprise to hear you say that.” She forced herself to stop smiling. “Tomorrow, then,” she said decisively. “First thing.”

“Seeing as how you’ve been getting up at the crack of noon, that shouldn’t be a problem.”

“It’s easy to sleep here,” she blurted out.

His hand lifted to her face, knuckles grazing the curve of her cheek. “I’m glad you like the lodge.”

“I didn’t say I—”

“You didn’t have to.” His finger made a tender exploration, finding the shape of her chin and then tracing her lips until she almost cried out for mercy.

“Dan—”

“We could go somewhere,” he said lightly.

“Where?”

He didn’t answer, but got up and took her hand. He held out a leather jacket, and when she slid her arms into the slick lining and felt its comforting weight on her shoulders, she nearly wept with the poignancy of her memories.

He had owned the leather jacket for as long as she had known him. Its shape was his shape. Its scent was his scent. It seemed to carry the very essence of him, to envelop her with the intimacy of a lover’s embrace.

He seemed not to notice the effect it had on her as he took her hand and led her out to the shed where he kept his Harley.

She asked no questions, and he offered no explanations. She simply got on, wrapped her arms around him, closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against his back. She felt protected and alive as never before.

The bike roared down the mountain, headlights
sweeping the wooded slopes. She had complete faith in his driving. Even at night, he knew the wilderness like an old song memorized in his youth.

After a while, they came to a dirt road, and a few miles beyond that, the paved one. Isabel was startled and intrigued when they rolled into the town of Thelma.