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.