“You’re Penelope Lear,” Tucker said. “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?

Alaskan Bride Rush:

Women are flocking to the Land of the Midnight Sun with marriage on their minds

Klondike Hero—Jillian Hart

July 2010

Treasure Creek Dad—Terri Reed

August 2010

Doctor Right—Janet Tronstad

September 2010

Yukon Cowboy—Debra Clopton

October 2010

Thanksgiving Groom—Brenda Minton

November 2010

The Lawman’s Christmas Wish—Linda Goodnight

December 2010

BRENDA MINTON

started creating stories to entertain herself during hour-long rides on the school bus. In high school she wrote romance novels to entertain her friends. The dream grew and so did her aspirations to become an author. She started with notebooks, handwritten manuscripts and characters that refused to go away until their stories were told. Eventually she put away the pen and paper and got down to business with the computer. The journey took a few years, with some encouragement and rejection along the way—as well as a lot of stubbornness on her part. In 2006 her dream to write for the Steeple Hill Love Inspired line came true. Brenda lives in the rural Ozarks with her husband, three kids and an abundance of cats and dogs. She enjoys a chaotic life that she wouldn’t trade for anything—except, on occasion, a beach house in Texas. You can stop by and visit at her website, www.brendaminton.net.

Thanksgiving Groom
Brenda Minton

MILLS & BOON

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But they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.

—Isaiah 40:31

This book is dedicated to Doug, for being my hero each and every day. And to my kids for chipping in and making it so much easier.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Lost in the Alaskan wilderness.

Penelope Lear’s great adventure was not supposed to end this way, with her standing on a shadowy path in the middle of nowhere. Mountains surrounded her, cutting her off from the rest of the world. She was completely, utterly alone in a world so huge she didn’t know in which direction to turn.

What had started with her brilliant idea that she could find the treasure and save the town of Treasure Creek was now looking like a news alert. All because she was positive she’d seen a clue from the treasure map. Just days ago when she’d taken a hiking tour of the area, she really thought she’d seen the rock formation that people were talking about. Her dad would have told her she was less than a week in town and already in over her head.

Instead of the confidence she had started out with, she was picturing the headlines that would be splashed across newspapers tomorrow morning. Or whenever they finally realized she was missing.

“Penelope Lear, Heiress, Lost in the Alaskan Wilderness.”

She didn’t want to think of other headlines, worse headlines. But she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about what would happen if someone didn’t find her. If they didn’t find the Jeep and her note that she was hiking out, heading south toward Treasure Creek, what would happen?

As for heading south, she hoped she was heading south.

She glanced at her watch and then looked west, where the sun would have been setting in an hour, if not for the mountains encircling her. At least she thought she was looking west. She had a compass in her bag, but she didn’t know how to use a compass. It had been part of the equipment she’d bought at the general store.

The clerk had grinned at her when she’d bought supplies. Either because he was single and enjoyed all the single women trotting through Treasure Creek and his store, or because he thought she was another clueless city slicker.

Fortunately Joleen Jones had bounced into the general store in time to take some of the pressure off. Joleen with the hair, the clothes and the personality to draw attention the way sugar drew ants. Joleen, like so many other women, had come to Treasure Creek looking for the hunky tour guides described in the Now Woman magazine article.

In the short amount of time Penelope had been in Treasure Creek, she had realized she wasn’t the only woman who had shown up to see what the men of Treasure Creek were all about; if they really were different.

Penelope insisted on being married to the man of her choosing, rather than the man with the right business portfolio.

Cold seeped into her bones, pulling her back to the present and her horrendous situation. Penelope pulled her coat a little closer and took a few careful steps on the trail.

November in the Alaskan wilderness. She’d lived in Anchorage her entire life. Even if she had spent her time in the city, she should know something about the Alaskan wilderness, something more than the fact that it was cold. And dark.

Yeah, she should know something—like stay home where it was safe and warm.

She hitched her backpack over her shoulder. At least she had jerky to eat, a few bottles of water and a rain poncho. And matches. If it came down to it, she could build a fire.

A noise, just a rustle or maybe rocks shifting under someone’s careful steps, caught her attention. She froze, and then turned cautiously, carefully. Chills were sweeping up and down her spine, tingling through her scalp and arms. She didn’t want to be dinner for a bear. Or a mountain lion.

How far back had she left the Jeep? It had to be miles. She’d been walking for hours. Not that going back would do her any good. Something had run out in front of the vehicle a few hours ago and she’d veered, sending the blasted thing over a small ledge and into a ditch. It wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

If only she hadn’t allowed herself to get distracted. But instead of paying attention to the trail that passed for a road, she’d been daydreaming about the Chilkoot Pass, an icy trail over the mountains that had claimed many lives back in the late 1800s as settlers hurried to Alaska, hoping to find gold. Instead they’d found greedy traders, icy trails and death.

She’d been imagining that trail, with steps cut into the ice. She’d been imagining how her ancestors might have felt as they walked into this frozen land, and how it might have changed their lives. She had imagined wagons and livestock left behind.

She hadn’t imagined crashing a rented Jeep or getting lost.

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and she lifted it, hoping for a signal and still not getting one. So what was her story going to be, since “lost because of her imagination” didn’t work?

Maybe people would believe her if she said Bigfoot ran across the trail in front of the Jeep? She shivered again, imagining Bigfoot. Of course that was just a story. Bigfoot wasn’t real. She was sure he wasn’t. More than likely. She peeked around again, just to make sure she wasn’t being followed.

The November wind whipped through the pass, straight through her coat. She wasn’t one of those settlers looking for gold in the Yukon, looking to make her fortune. She was a Lear, daughter of Herman Lear, one of the wealthiest men in Alaska. Or maybe the wealthiest man in Alaska. She didn’t need gold.

She needed a map.

She knew how to read a map. She knew more than anyone had ever given her credit for. She wasn’t arm candy or an empty-headed socialite.

That thought brought back leftover anger and her brother’s words when he’d heard her plan. He had told her he didn’t believe she could survive a day in the small town of Treasure Creek, let alone in the wilds of Alaska. But she had insisted she could. She didn’t need fancy boutiques. She didn’t need pedicures.

At the moment she needed help. She yelled again, hoping she’d hear more than her own voice echoing back.

Good gravy, Miss Mavy, what a mess. But surely someone would come looking for her. Amy James, the owner of the Alaska Treasure’s Tour Company. Or that police chief; if he wasn’t too busy trying to keep people from stealing maps. If he wasn’t too busy looking for Tucker Lawson—the last person to go missing in the Alaskan wilderness. Someone would realize she didn’t come back to the Inn. Maybe the receptionist who had invited her to church when she first showed up in town. It had amazed her how easy it was to get to know people in a small town. Until someone rescued her, she’d do her best to get herself out of this mess. And then, when they found her, the headlines would be about the heiress who survived the wilds of Alaska, not the heiress who got lost.

And eaten by bears.

She shivered and started walking again. The trail she was on seemed to go south. Or she assumed she was heading south. With mountains towering around her, how was she supposed to know?

She’d stay on the trail heading “south” and she’d pray.

And she wouldn’t get distracted. She wouldn’t stop to look at trees that reminded her of the Treasure Creek treasure map that Amy’s boys had found by accident several months ago.

She picked her way along the trail that grew narrower as she walked. And it didn’t look like the path most taken. It looked like a forgotten trail to nowhere.

She was surrounded by high peaks, towering pines and shadows. A branch cracked somewhere in the brush to her left. Penelope stopped, frozen to the spot. She held her breath and waited.

What if Bigfoot was real, not a legend?

A mountain goat crashed through the brush and hit the trail twenty feet ahead of her. Now she knew who had made this trail. And it wasn’t a guide or hikers.

She kept walking, keeping her gaze on the trail, listening to the rush of a stream bouncing off rocks. Something crunched under her foot. She glanced down at the white stick and shivered. What if it had been the poor, lost lawyer, Tucker Lawson?

He’d disappeared months ago. She’d heard all about him when she’d eaten dinner at Lizbet’s Diner. She had loved sitting with the crowds that gathered there. She loved pretending to be a part of the community, a part of their group of friends. They had shared stories with her about the town, about the treasure they hoped to find, and the struggles they’d seen of late. She’d learned that Amy’s husband had died suddenly a few months ago, leaving the town and Amy in mourning. She’d also heard how Tucker Lawson had come home to see his dying father but hadn’t made it in time. Tucker had been flying his small plane when it crashed somewhere in the wilderness.

According to the folks at the diner, the one good thing that had happened was an article about the town that had been meant to bring in tourists and instead it had focused on Treasure Creek’s hunky bachelors bringing swarms of single women to the tiny town of seven hundred.

Penelope had listened, thankful that they hadn’t known who she was, because had they known they wouldn’t have shared. But Penelope’s heart had been touched by their plight and by the desire of the community to keep their little town strong.

And she knew that she could help. Her family and small circle of friends thought that she was really only good for spa days and charity functions, but that’s because they didn’t understand her heart and how much she really wanted to help others.

No one had ever really understood her. Obviously her dad understood her less than anyone, or he wouldn’t have taken it upon himself to find her a husband, to insist that it was time for her to settle down.

Treasure Creek had given her a chance to be the person she always wanted to be.

Penelope stopped to brush stray tears from her cheeks. It was getting cold and she’d have to find shelter soon. And she could do that. She’d watched those survivor guys on TV. She had matches. She had food, water and a rain poncho. Little children survived in the mountains, surely she could, too.

She could even fish. She’d done that on the guided tour she’d taken a couple days after getting to Treasure Creek. Oh, but one little problem: no fishing pole this time.

A shadow flashed on the ground in front of her. She looked up, shading her eyes with her hand. The bald eagle swooped and circled before landing in a tree. Penelope closed her eyes and remembered the painting on the wall of her room at the bed-and-breakfast in Treasure Creek. She recalled every single detail with vivid clarity.

A painting of a bald eagle, and the words “They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up on wings as eagles. They shall run and not grow weary, they shall walk and not faint,” from The Book of Isaiah.

Wait on the Lord. She could do that. She was new at faith, but she could wait.

Faith, that was her real reason for coming to Treasure Creek. Oh sure, there was the added bonus that she might find a real man and not get stuck with the man her father had picked. She didn’t even know the man, but she knew the type. He’d be motivated and serious—and all about his career. And she’d be left at home, wishing someone cared.

That wasn’t going to be her life. Not anymore.

She was going to find someone who would really love her, and who wouldn’t want to change her.

The plan had formed just a couple of weeks ago, when she’d been at the day spa getting a manicure and facial. As she’d waited for her toenails to dry, she picked up an old issue of Now Woman magazine and read the article about the hunky men of Treasure Creek and the lack of available women. There had been pictures, and Penelope made a decision to get herself one of those men.

But she had noticed something else in the article. There was a paragraph about the town, about their faith in God and the belief that He would get them through their hard times.

The words had hit Penelope in the heart, where she’d felt empty for as long as she could remember. She’d spent her life trying to help others, to be more than just Penelope Lear, socialite.

And no one had noticed.

So she’d packed her bags and headed for Treasure Creek in search of the life she wanted.

She wouldn’t have any life at all if she didn’t keep walking and find a place to make a shelter. With sticks and her rain poncho. She could do that.

A snarl behind her stopped Penelope in her tracks. She froze, too afraid to even turn and face what was behind her. It stepped on twigs and leaves, crunching, probably close. She could stay and get eaten, or run.

She turned to get a closer look and her foot slipped. The bear opened its mouth and roared. She grabbed at a tree, reaching for a limb. Her fingers grasped, and then slipped. She continued to slide, slipping down the steep sides of the ravine. She screamed, and screamed again.

Tucker Lawson had left the lodge hoping to bring home meat for himself and the Johnsons. The missionaries were a nice couple, and since their garden had been providing food since he showed up at the abandoned lodge during the summer, he had been the one to provide meat. Usually fish.

He walked along the trail, enjoying the quiet, breathing in the fresh air, and feeling…almost peaceful.

The guilt was still there, though, a double load of it. How did a man get past not speaking to his father for years, and then getting home too late, getting home just in time to bury his dad, but not in time to say goodbye?

He shifted the gun he carried and stopped, looking out at the quiet afternoon, shadowed and gray. The mountains loomed, blotting the sunshine that might peek through the clouds this time of year. Possible, but not a great possibility. But being close to the coast, at least they weren’t buried in snow. For November, that was a plus.

It was just cold. And soon it would be dark. And he didn’t want to be out here in the dark. The wilderness was huge and it could overwhelm a guy, make him feel almost claustrophobic because it closed in around him, keeping him in a cocoon that was safe but confining.

Sometimes he thought about going back to civilization, back to Seattle, back to his law practice. But when he considered his return, he felt the weight again, heavier.

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 something 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.

Chapter Two

Tucker 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.

Wilma tossed him the Ace Bandage. He caught it, looked at it and wasn’t at all sure what she wanted him to do.

“I don’t have a clue how to do that.” Wilma smiled sweetly.

“It just has to be tight.” He wanted to toss it back. He didn’t want to touch the foot of an heiress. He didn’t want to deal with someone who spent her time working on a tan rather than working at life.

In her defense, she wasn’t tan. Her skin was a natural creamy color, with just the barest hint of gold. She was staring at him, waiting for him to move or to say something. He’d never been at a loss for words, not once in his life.

That was his reason for becoming a lawyer. He knew how to argue, how to drive a point home. He knew how to make his case and to persuade people to understand his side of the argument.

He’d argued himself right out of his father’s life.

“Tucker?” Wilma Johnson had stood. She was holding Penelope’s empty bowl.

He shook himself from the past and looked at the long cloth bandage in his hand. In the dim light from the lantern and the warm glow of the fireplace, Penelope waited. Wilma had walked out of the room.

He pulled the chair up close and reached for her foot. She grimaced a little but didn’t complain.

“It has to be tight.” He explained. “Sorry, I’m not a doctor. My only experience with Ace Bandages is from high school basketball.”

“That’s more experience than I have.”

He wrapped the elastic bandage around her foot and ankle. It was more swollen, more purple than before. “We’re going to have to keep you off it, I think. Do you have a problem sleeping in this room? It’ll be warmer and the Johnsons are just down the hall.”

“I’m fine with that.” She looked up, blue eyes dark in the shadowy room. “What about you?”

“I’m a big boy and I’m not afraid.”

“I mean, where do you sleep?”

“Upstairs.”

“Oh.” She let out a breath and looked pretty relieved.

“There you go. It’s still early. I’ll light another lantern, and if you’d like, I can bring you a book.”

“I’d love a shower.” She glowed rosy pink and looked down, at the cup of tea she still held.

He wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. He’d traumatized her enough for one day. Instead he did his best “hoping to make you feel better about your situation” voice. “I’m afraid a shower is out.”

“Out?” She looked up. He imagined that most people would have built a shower for her if she’d looked at them like that.

“No electricity, no hot water. No running water, actually.”

“Oh.”

“I take it you hadn’t meant to rough it quite this much.”

She shrugged, “I hadn’t thought about it. But actually, I did want to rough it, Mr. Lawson. I came here to prove…”

She didn’t finish. That had him more than a little curious. It had been a long time since he’d been curious. He sat back down, ready to hear what she wanted to prove.

“Prove what?”

“Nothing.” She lifted her cup and sipped, ignoring his questioning looks. But he wasn’t about to give up.

“Oh come on, Penelope, we’re both here for reasons that the rest of the world can’t understand.”

She lowered the cup. Teeth bit into her bottom lip and she studied his face. Her eyes overflowed again. “I’m sorry about your dad.”

He drew in a breath, amazed that five words could change everything. He’d been playing with her, teasing. And she had laid him low with a soft look and words of compassion.

What did he say? Did he tell her she couldn’t begin to imagine how this felt? He didn’t know her well enough. He thought he might get up and walk out. But he couldn’t leave her sitting on the sofa in this lonely room.

“Thank you,” he finally answered, the only words that he could say. He could no longer question why she was here. He thought maybe she had good reasons.

Maybe she was escaping a father who thought he could control her life. From what he knew of Mr. Lear, that was more than plausible.

“I can’t get you a shower, but tomorrow Mrs. Johnson can help you heat water for a bath.” He stood and really wished that Wilma would reappear. He wasn’t a nursemaid or a nanny. “I can get you a book to read.”

“A book would be good.”

He would bring her a book, and then he would escape to his room. Not what he normally did at six in the evening, but tonight he wouldn’t mind being alone. More than anything, he wanted to be as far from Penelope Lear as possible, because she had brought his old life into this safe place. She had reminded him of everything he’d been running from. And she was exactly the kind of woman he didn’t want to deal with.

“Tucker, thank you.”

He nodded as he walked out the door.

Chapter Three

Penelope woke to a steady chopping sound. She sat up, brushing hair back from her face and blinking a few times to clear her vision. The room was in shadows. That didn’t mean it was early, it meant it was winter.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost nine. Her second day lost in the wilderness. Her second day in these clothes. Not much she could do about that. She left her one change of clothes in the ravine with her backpack.

The most pressing matter was to find a cup of coffee. If they had coffee. She stood, flinching a little when weight hit her foot. But it wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. She took a few careful steps. And then she saw it: sitting on the chair by the door was her backpack.

Tucker had gone back for it. She picked it up, opened it and sorted through the one change of clothes, her cell phone—worthless that it was—and the bottle of water.

The door opened and Wilma peeked in. “Well, you’re up and around. Would you like coffee and breakfast?”

“I’d love coffee and breakfast.” She’d love a shower, a toothbrush and toothpaste.

“Come on down. Can you make it okay?” Wilma looked at her foot, shaking her head. She was a sweet lady, with dark hair and eyes that were so kind, Penelope wanted to know her better and maybe keep her in her life for a long time.

“I think so. It doesn’t feel that bad today.”

“Good. And later you can change clothes and we’ll wash the ones you have on.”

“Without running water?”

Wilma smiled and laughed a little. “We’ll heat water and wash them in a tub. And you can take a bath, too.”

“That would be wonderful.” She set her pack back on the chair. “How did it get here?”

“Tucker went out early, hunting, and he brought it back.”

“Hunting?”

“Yes, hunting. He didn’t get anything, though. I think sometimes he uses hunting as an excuse to walk.”

Penelope peeked through the opening in the curtains. The chopping sound again echoing in the quiet morning. She saw Tucker swinging an axe at a log. Of course, they would need firewood. He swung again, connecting, splitting the log. As if he knew she was watching, he glanced toward the house. He couldn’t see her though. He swiped his arm across his brow and continued to chop.

Wilma smiled and started down the wood-paneled hall, in what must have been the direction of the kitchen and the most wonderful aromas.

“How do you cook?” Penelope followed her.

“Wood burning stove in the kitchen.”

Of course, that explained the smokey smell. They walked into the kitchen. A lantern hung from the ceiling, and dim light came in through the windows. No curtains. The room was walled with pine paneling and the floors were stone. It was warm, and the sweet smell of something wonderful and baked scented the air.

“I made muffins. It isn’t easy in that old stove, but they turned out decent.” Wilma placed two muffins on a plate. “Pour yourself a cup of coffee and have a seat.”

The coffee pot was on the stove, an old blue pot like the ones she’d seen in antique stores. Penelope took the cup that Wilma handed her and poured the dark liquid into it.

“Would you like me to pour you a cup?” She turned to Wilma, who had set their plates on the table.

“Oh, no, I’ve had plenty. My heart races if I drink too much coffee.”

Penelope carried her cup back to the table and sat down, wincing a little. Her ankle throbbed from the short walk down the hall. Wilma watched her, brown eyes warm, full of compassion.

“Not better today, is it?”

“I thought it might be. I was hoping. Thinking if it was, I could head toward Treasure Creek.”

“You can’t do that.” Wilma shook her head. “It’s too far.”

“But they’ll be worried. My family will be worried.”

“They’ll search for you. Maybe they’ll find you here. If not, you’re going to have to wait until you can walk. It isn’t a short trip to Treasure Creek from here.”

“How did you get here?”

“We flew in. A friend has a helicopter and he put us down in a clearing a short distance away. He drops supplies occasionally. We do have a map, and we can find our way out if we need to, but it isn’t a short walk. It certainly isn’t one you can make with a sprained ankle.”

Penelope bit into the muffin, glad that it was sweet and still warm. She needed a minute to get herself together, to stop thinking of this as a disaster that would only prove to her father that she needed a keeper.

She could survive out here. Even if it meant chopping wood and hunting for her own food. Even if it meant using the old outhouse she’d been introduced to last night. She could make it in the wilderness because she had survived in worse places. And when she got back to town, she would help Amy find the treasure.

She did wonder why the Johnsons had felt a need to hide away in this cabin, far from civilization.

“Does the cabin belong to your friend?” Penelope wiped her fingers on a napkin and fought the urge to reach for another muffin.

“It belongs to his uncle. Years ago they used it for hunting. They would bring out groups and rough it for a week. The uncle got sick and the cabin sat here empty, other than an occasional relative coming out for a few days to get away from it all.”

“It is definitely ‘away from it all.’” Penelope would have liked to share with Wilma Johnson that this wasn’t her first trip that landed her far from civilization. It wasn’t even close to being the most difficult place she’d ever stayed in.

Tucker headed down the trail, searching for more signs like the ones he’d seen earlier that morning. Penelope had been with them all of forty-eight hours and already she was bringing trouble their way. He wasn’t going to say anything to her, but he definitely wasn’t going to let her out of the house alone. Not that he’d have a lot of luck keeping her inside. Wilma had found an old wooden crutch in the attic.

They’d had company during the night. And it hadn’t been the kind of company that knocked on the door. It had been the kind that sneaked around in the gloom, leaving boot prints in the snow and breaking branches off bushes as they pushed around in the dark. They were too far from civilization for that kind of company.

For now, he’d keep his discovery between himself and Clark Johnson. But it proved his point that Penelope Lear was trouble.

“Hey, where you going?” A singsong voice called from behind him.

Great, just what he needed. He considered going on, pretending he hadn’t heard. From what he knew of her, she’d just pick up speed and track him down. But she’d also probably find some way to get into trouble in the process. He stopped walking and turned around.

There she was, his punishment for all the wrong things he’d ever done. She hobbled after him, smiling brightly. A stocking cap was pushed down on her head, framing her face. Every now and then the crutch under her arm tangled with roots or got caught on rocks. She’d hobble, nearly fall, and then right herself.

It didn’t help matters that she was carrying a fishing pole in the other hand. Great. He didn’t have to guess what she was up to today. Yesterday she’d nearly smoked them out of the house in her attempt at fire-building in the fireplace. Today she was going to fish.

Peace and quiet. That’s what he’d found out here until he’d dragged her out of the ravine two days ago. One moment, one second of weakness, and all of that peace and quiet was gone. Sucked out of the world. By this one female.

If he could walk her out of here today, he would. It would save them all a lot of trouble. But if he took her out, it meant he’d be returning to the real world.

He wasn’t ready to give up his time here.

But how long could a guy stay lost in the wilderness, locked away from reality? He knew that this couldn’t last forever. Even the Johnsons knew that eventually they’d have to return to civilization. They’d all have to make some decisions about their futures.

They discussed it last night, after Penelope had fallen to sleep. The Johnsons had talked about their son. He’d spoken about his dad. He still wasn’t talking about the devastating news he’d gotten from Seattle before he left Treasure Creek.

He was still processing that. He was still trying to figure out how he had become this person, a man who no longer knew where he came from or where he was going.

“What are you doing out here?” He waited until she was nearly next to him. “In those boots, and with a fishing pole?”

The boots were ridiculous things, mostly fur and no real sole. He shook his head and then looked up, meeting blue eyes that flashed with humor.

She smiled, and the gesture nearly knocked him on his back. When she smiled like that, a guy needed to be warned. That smile could change everything a person thought about her.

“Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day…” she recited.

“Teach him to fish and he’ll eat for life.” He shook his head. And then he got it and he didn’t feel like smiling. “I’m not teaching you to fish.”

She didn’t pout, but the laughter in her eyes dissolved and she just stared at him. “But I thought we needed something for dinner.”

He looked at her, at the pole, and he shook his head. Clark should teach her to fish. That would be better. And then there was the ankle situation.

“It’s a little bit of a walk to the stream.”

She shook the crutch at him. “Did you forget what Wilma found in the upstairs closet.”

“Wilma’s very handy to have around.” There had to be other reasons he could think of for not taking her. “It’s rough going.”

“I can handle it.”

He was losing. “Why are you so determined to do this?”

“Because.” She shrugged slightly. “Because I have to do something. Because I’m not helpless.”

“You’re not running from someone or something?” He tried to make it sound like a teasing question, but it wasn’t. He wouldn’t let her put the Johnsons in danger if she was hiding something.

“No, I’m not running from anything.” But she looked away, as if maybe she was.

“Really? I don’t know if I’m going to believe that.”

She glared at him, her nose flaring a little. “I’m not running. I’m—”

“What?” He smiled. “Did you come to Treasure Creek looking for a husband? Let me guess—you read the article in Now Woman, and since you’re a little bored with your life, you came to Treasure Creek to find an adventure and one of those single, hunky tour guides.” No way was he going to feel jealous over that. No way.

“I came because of people like you.”

“What does that mean? I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here looking for someone like me.”

“I came to get away from people like you. You think you know me so well, and you don’t. You think I’m nothing more than Herman Lear’s daughter. You think I shop, get my nails done and party.”

“And I’m wrong?”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you. I came to Treasure Creek because I wanted to know what it was like to be somewhere—” she looked away “—somewhere like Treasure Creek. And really, since you’re not willing to tell me everything about you, why should I have to tell you everything about me?”

“I just asked what you were running from.” He spoke in a softer voice, because the softness in her tone pushed him back a notch. Not only that, but he wasn’t getting any answers by pushing.

“I’m not running from anything.”

He stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Come on, then. But I’m warning you, be quiet. If you jabber nonstop, I’m using you for bait.”

She hobbled closer to him, smiling again. “Thank you.” Right. He took the pole from her hand.

As they headed out, he glanced around them, making sure they weren’t being followed. He tried to tell him self that the footprint in the damp ground had been his imagination. Maybe it had been his boots or Clark’s that had made the imprints in the muddy ground. It didn’t have to mean that someone was watching them.

But if someone was, it wasn’t about him, or the Johnsons. They hadn’t seen a sign of anyone in months. He glanced sideways at the woman next to him. She was tall, her expression was serious but animated. She was definitely determined. And if they were being watched, it had something to do with her.

Penelope walked next to Tucker. Tiptoeing on her left foot to keep the weight off her ankle. He walked slower than she knew he would have liked—for her. She smiled a little.

He wasn’t what she’d come to Treasure Creek looking for. He was too much like what she’d left behind. She could see it in his eyes, that he was driven, that he was all about his career. She had spent her life with men like Tucker. Her father was one. Her brother was another.

And the women in their lives were forgotten trophies. Their wives, girlfriends and daughters were paraded when needed. They were dressed in designer gowns, draped in jewels and taken out on the town when an event required their presence. And then they sat at home, or entertained themselves when the men lives were busy with their careers.

She was positive that not everyone in their circle of friends lived that way. She had friends from college who had gone on to pursue careers. Her mother had friends in business. It was just the life of a Lear. Or a Lear woman.

But not today, with Tucker Lawson walking next to her. They were going fishing. She smiled again, because this was her adventure. This was Penelope Lear reinvented.

She glanced at Tucker in his faded jeans, hiking boots and the heavy jacket over his flannel shirt. She could imagine him in a suit, standing in a courtroom or sitting behind a massive desk. She wasn’t the only one reinventing herself.

They continued on in silence, walking on a trail that was rocky and sloped downhill. Trees were sparse here, leading down to the stream. Back at the cabin they were heavy and towered toward the sky.

The rushing water of the stream could be heard before the stream came into view. But when she saw it, she had to stop, had to stare. Clear water rushed, pounding over rocks and boulders. Downstream, just a short distance, the swift moving water slowed and pooled.

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” Tucker held her elbow and guided her over the rough terrain. “You’re stubborn.”

“So I’ve been told. And people always manage to make it seem like a bad thing. But it could be good, if you think about it.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Sure. Of course.”

“Wilma sent lunch with me.”

“Did she really?” He led her to a place at the edge of the stream where animals had stopped to drink. Hoof and paw prints were still visible in the soft earth. Something had dug near the edge of the water.

Penelope studied the paw prints. “What made these?”

He shrugged. “Everything. Elk, bear, fox. Up here, so far from any kind of settlement or town, there is just about anything you could imagine.”

“Do you think we’ll catch fish for dinner?”

He handed her the pole. “We can try.”

“What do I do?”

He laughed. “Cast your line into the water.”

“You say ‘cast’ like I should know what that is.”

He moved behind her, his arms wrapping around her. He took the fishing pole in his hands and guided hers. “Cast it easy. Don’t throw it out there. Just a nice, easy swing, and then you have to remember to set the hook if you feel a fish bite it.”

“Okay, I can do that.” She breathed in deep, trying to ignore the way he leaned in close, the way his chin brushed her cheek as he held her, showing her the way to cast out.

She tried, but couldn’t ignore the fact that his arms were strong and he smelled like soap and the outdoors. His hands were rough but gentle.

“Of course you can do it.” He whispered close to her ear as he helped her cast. “But careful or you’ll tangle your line. Don’t cast too far or you’ll end up with your hook in a tree.”

“I can do this,” she repeated and swung the rod, watching as the line and the bait flew through the air, and then landed with a soft plunk in the calmer pool of water.

“Good job.” He chuckled a little. “You know what you’re doing, right?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then hang in there. You’re doing great.” He stood back a short distance, arms crossed, and watched her. She glanced back, making quick eye contact before settling her attention on the fishing line.

“Don’t stand there like that.” She didn’t look at him again.

“Why?”

“You look stern and disapproving. Build a fire. Do something.”

He laughed, but she caught movement from the corner of her eye and knew that he was doing what she’d asked. And she relaxed, taking in a deep breath. Another glance over her shoulder and she saw that he was gathering wood. Penelope turned back to the water and to fishing. And she smiled, because it was easy to smile out here. Even lost, it was easy to smile.

And then the sudden jerk on the rod. She pulled up on the pole. She could see the gray of the fish. She could feel it tugging, trying to get away. She cranked on the handle of the reel, trying to draw in the fishing line and thus, the fish.

“Tucker!” She glanced over her shoulder. He wasn’t there.

She cranked the reel again. The fish pulled, trying to swim away from the hook that had caught it. She took a step backward.

“Tucker. I can’t do this.”

She glanced over her other shoulder and didn’t see him in that direction. She couldn’t reel in the fish. She couldn’t find Tucker. She yelled his name again and heard crashing in the woods behind her. When she turned, he was there. He took the fishing pole from her hands and pulled it back and then reeled in, pulled it back again and reeled.

“Where were you?” She watched as the fish she had caught came closer to the bank. Fear was replaced by awe. “I caught a fish.”

He shook his head. “Yeah, you caught a fish.”

“What?”

“I think I helped.”

She could give him that. “Okay, you helped. We caught a fish.”

She was responsible for providing food for them to eat. She wanted to dwell on that, but then she remembered that he’d disappeared.

“Where did you go?”

“To look for wood for the fire, remember?”

But there was something in his eyes, something in the way he said it that made her doubt. Firewood didn’t crease a man’s brow in worry.

And firewood shouldn’t cause her own stomach to curl just a little, wondering what he was keeping from her.

But she had caught a fish. She had provided for herself.

Now what?

She shivered a little, not certain if she wanted the answer to that question. What caused the shimmer of fear or danger to crawl up her spine? Tucker? Or whatever it was he wasn’t telling her?

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