“I’M GOING BACK down to the truck this morning. Is there anything in the trunk of your car that you want?” Joe asked nearly a week after the fatal Saturday they’d run each other off the road.
“No, thanks.” Leslie said, her nose nestled up against a Max Darkwood novel. In it a preacher’s daughter was posing as a saloon girl while she gathered information against the nefarious town marshal who shot her father and brother down in cold blood—right in front of the church, no less.
“I’ll be gone most of the day. So stay close to the cabin. If it gets too dark, I’ll have to make camp.”
“Okay.” Max was just about to intercept a would-be customer of the so-called saloon girl’s who was drunk and—
“If I never come back, there’s a pot of gold buried under this cabin, and you can have it,” Joe said, his tone huffy.
She looked up at him then, bewildered by his sudden affront, “Now what have I done?” she asked, feeling sure he had nothing to complain about. She rubbed her moccasin-covered feet together absently. Her feet were almost completely healed, but the skin itched like crazy.
“You haven’t done anything. That’s the whole point. You haven’t done anything but read those damn books for days.”
“I work in your damned garden every day. I do my share of housework,” she said, letting his anger feed hers. “What else would you like me to do? Chop the wood? Polish your boots?”
“No. That’s not what I meant. I don’t have any complaints about your helping out around here. I … just … I was just … well, how come you haven’t read any of my books?”
“I will. I’ll be here a while. I like the Max Darkwood stories, but I’m bound to run out of them sooner or later.”
“Oh. So then you’ll read mine. As a last resort against total boredom.”
Leslie groaned as she realized she had, once again, stuck her foot in it. “No. I didn’t mean to say it that way. I’ll read one today. They’re very good books. I—”
“Don’t bother,” Joe broke in on her explanation. “You know why you prefer those stupid novels to my books? Because mine tell about the real world, Leslie.” His voice grew bitter and incensed. His features were full of disappointment. “You’re uncomfortable reading about what’s real, because you’re afraid you’ll have to wake up and face it someday. And then, oh, heaven forbid, you might have to feel something. But you don’t want to do that because you’re too wrapped up in yourself to give a damn about anything else. That’s exactly why you’ve never fallen in love. Because you can’t see anything or anyone two feet in front of you. And that’s exactly why you’ll wind up spending the rest of your life alone.”
Too stunned to speak, she watched as Joe stomped out of the cabin, slamming the door behind him. It was several seconds before she could remember to draw air into her lungs. Her heart felt sluggish, as if it wanted to stop. She stared thoughtlessly at the door, too shocked to know how deeply hurt she was. The pain, however, refused to go unnoticed. Slowly it began to gnaw at her from the inside out. It tore and split and wrenched at her life center, until it ruptured and broke.
Joe covered half the distance back to his truck before he ran out of steam. It became slowly but clearly evident to him that he wasn’t nearly as angry with Leslie, as he was with himself. She was a beautiful, intelligent woman. So what if she wasn’t politically active? Lots of people weren’t and that didn’t make them human waste. No, his problem with Leslie was purely personal and something he had to work out on his own.
The trouble was, he wanted her. He’d been falling head over heels in love with her from the moment he set eyes on her. She had courage and fortitude and could be as tough as nails when she had to be. How often had he come awake in the night wishing she was in his arms? How many hours had he sat watching her sleep with only the dawn to light her soft, sweet features? When had she invaded his mind so completely that he couldn’t work, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t have a private thought without her presence in it? He hung on her every word, memorized her movements and expressions. He felt driven to know all there was to know about her. Who she was, what she thought, how she arrived at a specific conclusion. More than anything, he needed to possess her heart. He craved her concern, her love, her friendship. His desire was to fill her with a passion so great, so real and vivid that she couldn’t live without him. When she’d offered herself to him, had she known what he wanted from her? Was she capable of that kind of love?
The last time he’d asked so much from a woman she’d failed him. Or maybe he’d failed her first somehow. All he knew was that for months he’d lived with his head in the clouds, madly in love, thinking he’d discovered paradise. Their love was perfect, romantic and filled with passion and laughter. Perfect, he’d thought, until he discovered that she’d been seeing other men all that time and then refused to give them up.
Leslie didn’t even know what love was. What if she found it so wonderful that she’d need more than he could give her? What if his life and heart and soul weren’t enough for her either? Did he want to take that kind of risk again?
On the other hand, women were no more alike than men were. What if he and Leslie had been destined for each other all along? What if he was making a horrible mistake in not letting Leslie into his life? What if he was making an even bigger mistake in not opening her life up to the world, to him in particular? What if her heart was an untapped source of endless, ever-flowing love? How could he possibly ignore it or turn away from it in cowardice?
By the time Joe reached his truck, it was early afternoon. He’d had six hours to call himself everything from an abject fool to a yellow-bellied idiot. It was time to get over his fears and take another stab at happiness. He couldn’t spend the rest of his life cowering in corners and loving from afar. In the next six hours, the time it would take him to get back to Leslie, he’d bolster his courage and try to figure out how he’d get her to forgive him.
Darkness had settled in for the night by the time Joe reached the turnoff from the main logging road to the access road leading to the cabin. He would have stopped hours before and camped for the night, except for a full moon that lit his way well enough for him to see—and for his deep need to be with Leslie. His anxiety at seeing her again made him nervous and jumpy. His palms were hot and clammy, which made carrying his burden all that much more difficult.
He rounded the bend in the road and looked expectantly in the direction of the cabin. There were no lights in the windows, no smoke coming from the chimney. His heart felt like stone, not beating and sinking deep in his chest, as he got the impression that the place was deserted. It was only a little after nine-thirty, and Leslie didn’t usually go to bed this early, he calculated quickly. And there’d still be smoke from the fire, unless she hadn’t lit one. What if she couldn’t light the fire? The thought hit him like a low blow to the stomach. What if she’d been out target practicing again or wandered too far into the woods? What if some animal had wandered by, and she’d panicked? He realized the possibilities were endless, even before he dropped the food and started running toward the cabin.
Winded, but still energized with the high doses of adrenaline his body was pumping around inside him, he burst through the cabin door calling Leslie’s name. Fumbling in his haste, he finally got a lamp lit only to find that the cabin was indeed empty. He spun around to the door again and was about to go out in search of Leslie, when he spotted a note on the dinette table.
Dear Joe,
I’ve gone to your neighbor’s cabin. I walked ten miles before, I can do it again. I’ve taken your compass, sleeping bag, and a few other things I’ll be needing to camp with. I’ll use his phone to call home, and I’ll mail you a check for all the things I’m using. If any of them have sentimental value, I’ll be leaving them at your neighbor’s, where you can pick them up.
You know, everything you said this morning was true. If you’d said the same thing to me six months ago, I’d have let it roll off my back. Today, however, it hurt. That has to mean something.
I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused you.
Leslie
P.S. I’ll send someone up with a tow truck.
With an angry growl, Joe wadded the note up and threw it on the floor. He wanted her there, in his arms, not out wandering around in the forest feeling sorry for herself. For half a second he was tempted to let her go. She’d come back in a hurry when she discovered his nearest neighbor was a bear that lived in a cave somewhere in the high cavernous peaks between his cabin and the ranger station over forty miles away.
He removed the vest he’d taken with him that morning and reached for his down jacket only to find it was one of the “few other things” she’d taken. At least she’d be warm, he thought disjointedly. Grabbing up the spare flash light and an extra blanket, he blew out the lamp and marched out the door. He’d teach her that running away from her problems was no answer, that running from him would never be tolerated. That they belonged together. And once she’d grasped these lessons, he’d beg for her forgiveness.
“So far, so good,” Leslie decreed. She scrutinized her surroundings, her eyes alert to the slightest movement, her ears finely honed to the merest sound. The tall pines stood motionless and seemed to watch over her protectively. The small fire she’d set crackled happily, kept her warm, and gave her light. She was well pleased with her adventure so far.
All day long she’d watched the compass and followed the sun as it rose over her head and settled in the west. All these were signs, she knew, that she was heading in the right direction. West. What she didn’t want, more than anything, was to get lost. She was fairly certain Joe wouldn’t come looking for her, because she had made a point of telling him that she had a compass and camping equipment. She knew and trusted him well enough to know that if he thought she was out in the forest without any supplies, he’d come after her. He might hate her, but he had an overdeveloped sense of duty and responsibility. So she’d tried to put his mind to rest on that score.
Thinking about him still hurt. Her thoughts seemed to echo in the emptiness she felt. She missed him already. That was strange, she decided. All they ever did was fight it seemed. Still, she did feel all alone, more alone than she had ever felt before. She sighed and rested her chin on her drawn up knees. Max Darkwood wouldn’t have said those kind of things to her. Well, not unless he was hurting emotionally and “senselessly lashed out to draw her into his pain, to join him in his sorrow, to draw comfort from her strength” the way he had with Princess Glowing Moon when he found himself madly in love with her, only to discover that it had been her tribe that had scalped his parents when he was fourteen years old. In any case, it was quite understandable in that particular instance, Leslie decided.
And no matter how much he’d hurt her, and even if he wasn’t in love with her, Max would never have let her wander the woods alone. He was a little chauvinistic—well, a lot chauvinistic—but he was also a very sensitive, caring man. He acted tough on the outside, but inside he was gentle and loving. Leslie sighed again. The first thing she was going to do when she got home was write Max Darkwood a letter and tell him he wrote wonderful stories, and that if he was, in actuality, the hero of his books, there was a good chance she was deeply in love with him.
Somewhere nearby a twig snapped. Leslie’s head popped up. There was silence, except for the normal night sounds that she had grown accustomed to. Just to make herself feel better, though, she tucked her hand under the sleeping bag she’d wrapped around her legs to feel the reassuring presence of Joe’s handgun. She was more familiar with the shotgun, but it was too heavy to pack around for very long. And she was sure the principles of firing the handgun were the same as the shotgun. She felt safe with it cuddled close to her side.
Again there was an odd noise, a rustling of leaves that sounded different from when the wind rustled them. And another snap. Leslie’s fingers curled around the gun. She heard a low, throaty growl and more rustling and snapping. The gun came up and went off in one fluid movement. A rock seemed to burst explosively in front of Leslie’s wide, frantic eyes, spraying fragments in all directions. The loud, sharp clap echoed through the tree tops and then there was silence. And only then did Leslie realize that she was frightened out of her wits and on the brink of being killed by some wild beast.
A long string of expletives and some of the dirtiest swearwords Leslie had ever heard began to filter through the trees and into her fear-soaked consciousness. They ended with, “Dammit to hell, Leslie, put that damn thing down before you kill me!”
It was Joe. Joe had come after her. Even as angry as he’d been with her and as disgusted as he was with her selfishness, he’d come after her. Her heart was racing wildly and beating an erratic rhythm as she watched him stumble out of the bushes and into her small camp. She tried to go to him. She wanted to throw her arms around him and kiss him until he wasn’t angry anymore, but her legs felt like jelly. She wanted to say something, anything, but her tongue turned suddenly spastic, tying itself in knots. So, she had to let Joe do all the talking, and he didn’t exactly have Max Darkwood’s vocabulary.
“Are you out of your mind? You could have called out and warned me you had a gun. And you never shoot at rocks. Bullets ricochet, you idiot. And what the hell are you doing out here anyway? Feeling sorry for yourself? How come you didn’t stay put and hit me with something when I walked through the door? Do you have any idea what kind of danger you’re in out here all alone in the middle of nowhere?” He started walking toward her as he shouted, “People with more brains and know-how than you have been known to die up here. Taking off like that was a damned stupid thing to do. I ought to wring your neck,” he said as he landed on his knees beside her, his eyes wild with fury and passion. His hands cupped her face, and she swallowed hard, thinking he might very well carry out his threat. But she didn’t move. “I ought to … and I will, if you ever leave me again.”
His words slowed and softened, and the passion began to consume the ferociousness in his gaze as he cast it wondrously over her face. Without warning, he lowered his head and his lips covered her mouth. His tongue was unyielding as it drove between her teeth and took possession of her senses. Joe’s kiss was long and fiery and heartfelt. It shook the mountain and made Leslie tremble with its power and depth. Her world began to reel out of focus, and her hands automatically reached out to Joe for support. Joe winced and sucked in a sharp breath.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” she asked through the haze of her jumbled emotions.
“Nothing. Kiss me again,” he murmured, his lips moving against hers, hardly losing contact as he spoke. “Forgive me and kiss me again.”
“Oh, Joe.” She sighed, her spirits soaring. Her hand passed along his shoulder, enjoying the feel of the power he possessed. Then suddenly her fingertips encountered a warm stickiness, and she instinctively pulled them away. A soft cry of shock escaped her as she stared at her fingers in horror. “You’re bleeding,” she said with a gasp.
“I’ll live. Kiss me.”
“What happened? Why? My God, Joe, your shirt is covered with blood.”
“You shot me. Kiss me, and I’ll forgive you.”
“But—” He silenced her with his mouth.
“No, Joe. You’ll bleed to death,” she said, pushing him away, trying to calm the sick terror that beset her as she began to unbutton his shirt. “I can’t believe I did this. I finally fall in love with somebody, and then I shoot him. I need to get into therapy.”
“Relax. It’s a flesh wound, a scratch. I’m going to die a much worse death if you don’t kiss me again. … What did you just say?” he asked, his grasp stilling her hands, his demanding look dispelling some of the confusion and agitation in her mind with its insistence.
Leslie hesitated. “When?”
“Just now.”
Mentally she had to rewind her recording of the past few minutes. When it came back loud and clear that she’d actually said, out loud, that she loved him, it was almost as big a shock to her as it was to him. Well, maybe not quite as big, she decided. Hadn’t she felt all along that there was something special about him, about him and her together. There was most surely a devastating attraction between them, but there was more. She’d never cared what someone else thought of her, not enough to want to please him. She’d never really wanted to make anyone but herself happy. But she wanted Joe to be happy. With or without her, she wanted him to be happy. She wanted to know him in every sense, wanted to please him in any way she could, wanted to be with him indoors or out, in the city or on the mountainside. There was a sense of rightness about her feelings. Joe was the man she’d waited all her life for. She had no proof, no facts, no specific reasons, she just knew it to be true.
With all the confidence of a woman who knew what she was doing, Leslie looked into Joe’s deep green eyes and whispered, “I said I love you.”
A slow gentle smile crossed his lips while he sat looking at her as if she were a miracle worker.
She gave him a quick, self-conscious peck on the mouth as she rose up on her knees to peel away his shirt. She felt his hands working the buttons along the front of her own shirt and tried to ignore him as she pulled his T-shirt away from his wound. “I’m so sorry,” she said anxiously, slipping her fingers into the tear in the cotton and making it larger. “I didn’t mean to shoot you. I thought you were an animal.”
“I feel like an animal,” Joe said as he removed the flannel shirt from over her arms. “I want you so much, Leslie. I need you so badly.”
Leslie pulled on the material of his T-shirt until it began to tear. Through her own T-shirt, she felt Joe’s mouth cover the tip her breast and begin to suck. A weakening wave of ecstasy rolled over her, again and again, until she was hard put to keep from falling limply over his shoulder. “Oh, please,” she said, moaning. “Let me finish this. I think it’s stopped bleeding, but you really ought to have something over it to protect it.”
Joe stopped only long enough to remove her T-shirt, while she ripped his in half and off his body. He was cupping her breasts and pulling her closer before she could find a clean corner of the cloth with which to bandage his wound. Feebly she pressed the shirt to his shoulder and was vaguely relieved to see that he had, indeed, stopped bleeding. Joe’s lips moved lower, teasing and calculating. His fingers played with the buttons on her jeans until he could slide them down over her hips. Leslie slipped her fingers into his thick dark hair and pressed him closer to her as he laved her navel with his tongue. With her other hand, she fought valiantly to keep the dressing in place on his shoulder, while she tried not to lean too heavily on it for balance. His hands gripped her waist as he moved lower and lower to wreak havoc on her senses.
Intuitively her body seemed to know what to do. It moved closer to Joe, knowing he’d protect her and keep her safe in her mindlessness. Her heart matched its rhythm to his, and they shared their life’s breaths as they fell together into a parallel world, where only ungovernable desire and delight existed and profound pleasure reigned supreme.
Leslie’s hand roamed slowly over the rolling knolls and valleys across Joe’s chest, and she traced the trail of coarse, dark hair all the way to its end. Joe’s soft groan rumbled in her ear as it lay pressed against his chest. His arms tightened around her naked body, and he rolled toward her, out of the path of her nomadic fingers.
He came up on one elbow and looked down into her face. She’d never seen an expression quite like his now. He looked almost boyish, full of happiness and hope and contentment. She recognized the emotions easily, as they reflected her own like a mirror.
She shivered briefly when he lifted the covers away and revealed her body to the glowing firelight. She was warmed again as his gaze caressed and cherished every visible inch of her. Wrapping the blanket around her, shielding her from the cool night air once more, he let his hand slide from her neck to her belly in a most proprietary way. “This body was made for loving. So soft and responsive,” he uttered as if in awe.
“Joe,” she said, urgently needing to make everything between them as perfect as their lovemaking had been. “I did read your books. All of them. I smuggled them out every afternoon and read them cover to cover.”
Joe frowned and gave an amazed little chuckle. “Why’d you feel you had to sneak around to read them? I wanted you to read them. I wanted your opinion on them.”
“That’s just it. I couldn’t give you an opinion, aside from the fact that I thought you wrote wonderfully. I knew nothing about the things you wrote about. I mean, not enough to have an opinion on them anyway. You were right this morning. I’ve had my head buried in the sand, in my own little world for so long, I had no idea of what was going on around me. I was ashamed to let you know or even have you guess at the truth. I didn’t want you to think badly of me.”
“Humph. I’m surprised you cared what I thought at all. I’ve been such an ass to you. And it doesn’t matter that you and I don’t have the same interests—”
“But that’s not the point, Joe. It wasn’t just your respect I was afraid of losing. I had to get some of my own back. I always thought I was so smart, that I had everything figured out and under control. And all along I was standing knee deep in confusion and chaos. I was just too stupid and selfish to open my eyes and see it. I can’t tell you how awful it is to wake up one morning and discover you have no life, that nothing you’ve been doing means anything.”
“But Leslie, honey, that’s not what’s important. What is important is that you did wake up. Some people never do.”
She thought over what he’d said in silence, aware of the solidness of his hand on her stomach and of the words he spoke. He might speak gruffly and show a hard exterior, but inside he was stable and understanding, caring and gentle and giving. “You know,” she said, tracing his cheekbone with the tip of her finger, “I like you very much when you act like this. In some ways you remind me very much of Max Darkwood.”
Joe laughed. “You really have a thing for him, don’t you?”
“Well, it’s not as big as the thing I have for you, but he certainly finishes a close second place. He’s sweet and gentle and tender. He’s honest and loving and faithful. Max is someone you know you can trust.”
“Yes, but can Max kiss you like this … ? Or touch you here … or here … or make you feel that? No? What about this?” Joe proceeded to stir her emotions and drive her senses wild with a need only he could satisfy. “If you were to ask me,” he murmured against her throat, “I’d have to say you made the best choice. Max could never love you like I do.”
Long after dawn had pledged itself to the day, Leslie and Joe lay under the warming rays of the sun, oblivious to their nakedness—except when it suited their whims. Then it was very handy. For hours they did nothing but lie in each other’s arms and talk. Sometimes their chatter was nonsensical, but more often than not, it was autobiographical as they tried to encapsulate their lifetimes into small doses for the other to ingest. They felt an urgency to know all there was to know about the other, to share secrets and dreams, to bond deeply and irrevocably.
All the while, Joe didn’t seem able to keep his hands off her. Always touching, always stroking, his hands were reverent and indulgent. Leslie had never felt so cherished or adored. He was as free and familiar with her body as he was with his own. Deprived of such closeness in the past, and not realizing it until now, she soaked it up thirstily like a dry sponge, wanting more.
Leslie leaned over Joe and kissed him softly, simply because she wanted to. “Do you suppose we should get going? Or shall we sleep here again tonight?”
“Did we sleep here last night?” Joe asked with a yawn. “I don’t remember sleeping.”
Leslie laughed at her own recollections of the previous night. “Let me rephrase that. Can you afford any more time away from your work?”
Throwing his arms around her and rolling over on top of her, Joe looked down at Leslie with regret in his eyes. “No, I can’t. But I’d much rather stay here with you. Although,” he said, his mood lightening, “there’s a lot to be said for beds and food and some of the other comforts back at the cabin.” He pulled a dry leaf from Leslie’s tangle of dark hair and grinned at her.
“Does your shoulder hurt much?”
“No. I’ve been too distracted to pay much attention to it.”
From overhead, came a high-pitched screech that resounded for miles over the valleys and mountain-tops. The sky was a clear, true blue, empty, but for a lone bird that stretched and soared across the vast openness as if it were lord paramount over all other living creatures.
“I guess we’ll have to go now. Archibald has found us,” Joe said, leaning back on his arms to watch the bird circling above them, climbing higher and higher with every rotation. “And he doesn’t look happy to see us.”
“Archibald?”
“Leslie, honey, you are looking at one of your national birds. That is a bald eagle, hence, his name. He and his wife have taken to nesting in the vicinity. We met last year.”
The bird seemed huge, even from a distance. She couldn’t see his white head, but she could make out white tail feathers. Either way, she had to take the identification on faith, because she wouldn’t know a bald eagle unless it had a nameplate attached to it. Whatever the species, there was something definitely thrilling about seeing him, she decided as she watched the bird glide through the sky. At one point Leslie felt the bird ought to flap his wings to keep up his speed, but he didn’t. She found herself holding her breath as he continued to float on the air without effort.
“Isn’t he wonderful?” she whispered.
“Mm.” Joe, too, had his gaze fixed on the eagle. “I was really glad to see him again this year. They don’t always come back to nest in the same place every year, and they almost never build their nests this low. They like the higher altitudes. Last year the ranger said there wasn’t another pair of them for two or three hundred miles.”
They watched in silence until the bird gracefully flew out of sight. It was like the finale to a wondrous and magical episode in their lives, a signal that it was time to pack up and go back to reality.
“Tell you what,” Joe said, as he tucked in his shirt and kicked Leslie’s other moccasin closer so she could reach it. “I’m nearly finished with this report I’ve been working on. I’ll take a day off, and we’ll go up and check out the eagle’s nest, see how many babies they had this year. Last year there were two. I’ve been hoping the little ones would fly in to see their folks this summer, but I haven’t seen them.”
“I’d like that … I think.” She cast him a dubious glance. The mountains were growing on her, there was no doubt about that. But she’d never be the gung ho, outdoorsy type. Nature wasn’t in her nature. She was about to explain this to Joe, when something else he’d said triggered a response in her mind. “I thought you were working on another book. What’s this about a report?”
“Actually that’s what I wanted you to think, so you’d leave me alone. But the truth is, I’m working on a labor of love, and I won’t get a penny for it. Although there is a thread of a chance it may save my cabin.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There’s a development company in Denver that’s planning on putting a ski run through my cabin. Since I lease it from the state, there’s not a whole lot I can do about it alone. But I’ve joined forces with an environmental group. They want to save the inner Rockies as wilderness land and keep the ski resorts and campgrounds limited to the outer, lateral mountains.”
“How does it look? Can they make that happen?” Leslie asked, hoping desperately that the sinking feeling in her stomach and the salty, nauseated feeling of knowing the truth could somehow be changed by Joe’s inside knowledge.
Joe shook his head and something pierced her heart. The pain and guilt and hopelessness were more than she could bear. She opened her mouth to tell Joe the truth of what she’d done, but he was already speaking again. “I think it’s been pretty much decided. All the reports and environmental impact studies are done, and the permits are granted by the state long before the development company actually takes over and puts money into a project. But this group has been protesting all along, so they’ve been granted an appeals interview with a review officer of the forest service. They’re hoping they can come up with enough support or adequate evidence to get the whole decision thrown into the district court. Then, depending on the judge, there might be a chance.”
“How does it look though? Do you think they can do it?” she asked anxiously.
“Wilderness doesn’t bring in a lot of revenue for the state, Les. The group needs a miracle.”
“Your report?”
“No. It’s not going to make much difference, I just don’t know how else to help. We’ll send it to other naturalist groups around the country and deliver it to the review officer, but it’s not going to make or break our case. You ready? Got everything?” Leslie nodded, in too much turmoil to speak. “Ah, don’t look so down in the mouth, sweetheart. I know hiking isn’t your favorite pastime, but you didn’t really get all that far from the cabin. Two, three miles, tops.”
Leslie frowned. “Are you joking? I walked all day yesterday and only went three miles?”