Bound to Happen

by Mary Kay McComas

  Leslie pulled on the door handle but without reward. She pulled again and pushed with her shoulder to try and dislodge whatever was keeping the door in place.

  The man thumped the window again and indicated in a muffled voice that he wanted her to unlock the back door. Aching and hindered by the hoop and the volumes of material of her dress, Leslie finally managed to unlock the door. The man jerked it open immediately.

  “Get out,” he ordered in a deep, terse voice.

  “Is the car on fire?” Leslie asked, terrorized by the urgency in his voice.

  “How the hell should I know? Get out,” he ordered again, his sharpness almost as frightening to Leslie as the thought of being trapped in her car and having the gas tank explode.

  Without a thought for modesty or decorum, Leslie laboriously climbed head first into the back seat. She had intended to keep on crawling right out the door to safety but was stunned once again when the man reached in, grabbed her under the arms, and pulled her out of the car. He swore colorfully when the hoops in her skirt caught in the door. Leslie automatically grabbed at her bodice as she felt the man preparing to give one last hoop-snapping tug.

  Leslie broke free of the car with such force that the impact of her body hitting his caused him to stagger backward and stumble, taking Leslie with him. Together they rolled the short distance to the bottom of the ravine and came to a stop with the man atop Leslie. Both were breathless from their exertion and the unfortunate results of the near collision moments earlier. After several moments, the man rose up and looked down at Leslie.

  He had very dark green eyes that were quick and comprehensive in their detailed inspection of her face and upper chest. His hair was thick and dark, and his sun-bronzed skin was filmed with a fine layer of perspiration.

  For long moments he looked at Leslie as if he didn’t know what she was or what she was good for. Leslie, on the other hand, was in shock, she decided, as she lay under the stranger, her breath coming in short little gasps, her pulse racing, her skin burning where his body touched hers. She allowed herself a few moments to familiarize herself with the deeply penetrating and highly rapturous feelings being so close to this man stirred in her.

  Androgen overload, she finally concluded in her own Leslielike way. It was the only explanation she could come up with that would put her reactions to him into perspective. He certainly wasn’t the first handsome man she’d ever seen, but he definitely was the most … male. He possessed more of whatever it was that made a man the male of the species than any other person she’d ever met.

  It wasn’t just his dark, attractive features or the keenness of his eyes or even the way his broad, muscled shoulders loomed above her, blocking out the midafternoon sun. Whatever it was that masculinized this man so strongly hung in the air about him, grew in every cell of his body, and was as natural to him as the beating of his heart.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. Leslie found it was very difficult to breathe and talk with a man on her chest.

  She watched as his eyes lost their stupefied wonder and grew stormy with his reaction to the reality of the situation. This time his gaze raked over her face and bare shoulders from a different perspective, and Leslie didn’t like it at all. She felt defensive before he opened his mouth to speak.

  “I hope you have a damned good explanation for all this, lady.”

  Leslie stared at him wide-eyed and openmouthed for several seconds, temporarily speechless at the man’s gall.

  “I … me? I need an explanation? You’ve got a lot of nerve,” Leslie told him, pushing at his shoulders to free herself. “You weren’t an innocent bystander to all this, you know.”

  The man didn’t seem to be willing to give up his superior position. He kept Leslie pinned beneath him. “Well, I sure as hell wasn’t the one driving down the middle of the road rubbernecking at all the scenery either.”

  “That road is supposed to be abandoned. How was I to know you’d be on it?” Leslie asked, making another attempt at getting him to move away from her.

  “Abandoned doesn’t mean totally forgotten or unusable. What if I’d been some guy with his wife and a trailer full of kids on a camping trip?”

  “Then I’d make a citizen’s arrest, because this is a restricted area and campers aren’t allowed,” Leslie said, feeling very proud of herself for remembering that fact, enjoying the wary look that came to the man’s face. “Come to think of it,” she added bravely, “Just exactly what are you doing up here?”

  “You’re in that getup, and you’ve been driving around in that car, and you think I don’t belong up here?” he asked, his expression telling her precisely where he thought she really did belong; his short chuckle mocking her bravado.

  Indignant because she knew how foolish she must look to him, Leslie assumed her most disdainful manner and spoke accordingly. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I do happen to have my own reasons for being here like this.”

  “Oh, this oughta be good,” he said, and then laughed as if he were about to hear an old joke once again.

  “But I haven’t the slightest intention of telling you. Now let me up,” she said, growing angry with his impossible attitude.

  “That’s typical,” the man said, moving aside to free Leslie. “Women always clam up when things start to get interesting. It’s their way of winning an argument by default. But the fact remains, lady. I look like I belong here a lot more than you do.”

  “So what?” Leslie groaned, irritated beyond words as she pushed herself into a sitting position. She batted the skirt down when it rose up to meet her, and said, “Accusing each other and arguing about it isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

  “Neither are the vehicles that got us here,” the man pointed out.

  “Oh, no. Is your truck as badly damaged as my car?” she asked as she scrambled clumsily to her feet.

  “Not quite, but it’s wedged between two trees, and it won’t be going anywhere today.”

  Standing up, Leslie experienced a sharp pain in her left temple, and suddenly the tree trunks and bushes began to sway. Her peripheral vision became gray and began closing in. Automatically her hand rose to her eyes, while her body swayed to adjust itself to her vision.

  “Perfect. Now you’re going to faint,” the man said without a great deal of feeling.

  Loath to give him the satisfaction of being what she knew he would consider a typical woman, Leslie swore, “I’d rather die,” before unconsciousness overtook her.

  Two

  “SO, WHAT’S IT going to be? Are you going to die or what?” The deep, husky voice filtered through the darkness, reaching Leslie’s consciousness, echoing painfully as it moved on into infinity.

  Slowly she opened her eyes. Quickly she closed them again. She was totally blind. In that split second, she saw nothing but endless, empty darkness. Her throat constricted and tears of despair welled in her eyes. An irrepressible moan of misery escaped her as she moved her hand to pinpoint the source of the excruciating pain in her temple.

  “If you’re planning to die, don’t. I’ve already wasted most of my day watching you sleep. I don’t have time to dig you a grave, so I’m warning you, if you die, I’ll leave you here for buzzard bait,” came the male voice from seconds before.

  Instinctively Leslie reopened her eyes. God was good. She could make out the bulky shadow of what appeared to be a very large man standing over her.

  “Do you need my decision right away?” she muttered, closing her eyes again, grateful for the vision she had left and finding it less painful when she wasn’t straining to see. “My head’s killing me.”

  “I’m not surprised,” the man stated matter-of-factly. “It looks like you took a pretty good thump when you ran me off the road. Want me to light the lantern?”

  Pain shot through Leslie’s head and neck as she jerked them toward the man’s voice and strove to focus her eyes once again.<
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  “It’s dark?” she asked bewilderedly. “It’s nighttime?”

  “Can’t you see? Of course it’s nighttime. It’s pitch black out here,” the man said, his voice gruff with anger—or concern, Leslie couldn’t tell.

  “Well, I thought I was going blind,” she said a bit more testily than she meant to. But her memory was returning. The wedding, the impulsive trip into the mountains, the camper … she was beginning to feel more than a little discouraged.

  Leslie heard an exasperated sigh and listened while the man moved toward her. There was a blinding flash of light as he struck a match. She followed the light and watched as the lantern came to life. Looking up, she saw a pair of clear, intense eyes holding hers so forcefully that a shiver passed through her and her skin began to prickle with fear … and excitement.

  With those eyes, so shiny and deep, the man sought out Leslie’s soul, the essence of her being. He asked silent questions and took the answers he wanted. Leslie had a peculiar feeling that he was reading her thoughts, absorbing her most intimate dreams and desires and was at the same time measuring and evaluating her character and values. She felt as if he were turning her inside out, and for some reason, she knew he was enjoying it.

  He gave no outward sign of his pleasure, however. As he finished his assessment, he finally pronounced, “You’re not blind. But you still have some explaining to do. Are you thirsty?” he asked absently, getting to his feet and walking off into the darkness.

  As she watched his tall, lean frame move away, she had to admire the grace with which he moved. His shoulders were broad, and the plaid flannel shirt he wore couldn’t conceal the large muscles that bulged beneath it. His legs were long and thick and powerful, but they moved with a loose fluidity that Leslie found oddly fascinating.

  Suddenly her view was obscured by a huge blue mound that went straight up in the air like a dome. Leslie gasped as she realized it was the skirt of her dress and that everything under it was completely exposed. She tried to push it down but only succeeded in causing it to bounce around and increase her embarrassment at looking like a fool.

  “Relax,” the man said from somewhere beyond the cloud of pale blue silk and lace, “I can’t see anything from my side either. Your petticoat covers up everything but your feet. Are they cold?” he asked as an afterthought. “I only had the one blanket, and I wasn’t sure which end of you to cover.”

  Recalling the low cut of her bodice, Leslie was grateful for his decision and began to wonder if this awful day would ever come to an end.

  “I don’t have any aspirin with me,” he said, not really apologizing as he moved back into the low circle of light. “But I was about to start a fire. At least you’ll be a little warmer.”

  He came down on one knee and bent over Leslie. She experienced a sense of relief as she recalled that he wasn’t as ominous looking up close as he was at a distance. Reluctantly she had to admit she liked his face. It wasn’t conventionally handsome, but it was interesting in a rugged, earthy way.

  He offered her water from a canning jar. When her neck wobbled under the strain of holding her head up, he slipped a hand to the back of her head to help her. Leslie was surprised at how warm and gentle his hand was. Nothing else about this man seemed warm or gentle.

  “I hope you appreciate the restraint I’m using here in deference to your headache,” he mentioned casually, his deep, thick voice devoid of humor. “It’s not every day I have a beautiful woman in a fancy dress drive me off the road, call me a trespasser, and then faint dead away, you know.”

  Leslie tried to look surprised. “No?”

  “No,” he confirmed, pointedly. “And I want your story as soon as you can think straight. And it better be good.”

  The man put the water down beside the lantern, then turned his back to Leslie as he started the fire. She knew she owed him some sort of an explanation. Gruff and obviously put out as he was, he had taken care of her after she’d passed out. And she could feel that she was testing his patience sorely with every minute she remained silent. But how did one go about explaining to a stranger that one was an idiot.

  Trying to find the best way of stating her case, Leslie found the events of the day as unbelievable as she was sure he would. Self-pity and spontaneous behavior were new to her. Leslie was normally calm, easygoing, and fairly certain there wasn’t much in the world that was worth getting upset over. Everyone had problems, but to Leslie it had always been just a matter of choices. She’d floated through twenty-eight years of life being bright, capable, and financially sound. When conflicts arose, she had simply examined them, determined the direction she wanted to go with them, and solved them. Her life was simple and logical … most of the time. And she liked it that way … most of the time.

  Her particular character traits were also the reason she enjoyed and performed her job so well. She liked facts and raw data. They didn’t lie, they rarely changed, and there was nothing mysterious about them. They were simple and logical.

  Those same traits, Leslie felt, were the sources of her greatest flaws. When something wasn’t simple or logical to her, a compulsion to twist and mold them to be so overwhelmed her. Take love, for instance. Where was the simplicity and logic in that?

  So how on earth was she going to explain all of this to a stranger? Would he understand that she was scared witless that she’d never be in love, because she didn’t understand it, or that she’d never be loved, really loved, because it would wither and die waiting for her to recognize it? Should she tell him that she was terrified of discovering that the fondness she felt for Jeff Warner was actually love after all? That the friendly relationship they shared was as good as love got? That she was beginning to believe there were no such things as passion or deep abiding devotion or selfless giving and cherishing between two people?

  On second thought, maybe she should just stick to the facts, she decided. He’d never believe she drove all the way up there to see something as powerful and moving as God’s handiwork in the mountains just to prove to herself that she was capable of feeling something.

  “I was supposed to be in a wedding this afternoon,” she offered in a soft, tentative voice.

  The man turned to look at her. He considered her for several long, tense moments before he arched a dark brow and asked, “Your own?”

  “No. My sister’s. I was supposed to be the maid of honor.”

  “I take it you didn’t get to the church on time.”

  “Well, yes. I was there … but then I left.”

  “And came up here,” he finished her story for her in a dry tone of voice that normally would indicate it all made sense. They both knew it didn’t.

  Still, Leslie realized the man wouldn’t care about all the events that had taken place between her arrival at the church and their accident on the mountain, so she said, “That’s about it. Except that I haven’t eaten all day. That may be another reason why I fainted. I’ve never fainted before, so it’s hard to tell why I did today.”

  Again the man studied her face intently—and again Leslie felt like an open book. His eyes moved down her blue-silk-and-lace-clad body and back again. Finally he spoke. “You ever thought of writing short stories for a living?” he asked, his tone cynical but with the addition of his humor not biting. He smiled briefly, more to himself than at Leslie, and when she refused to comment, he said, “I suppose all the details are grossly personal and highly painful, and to recite them would have you in tears in seconds, so I won’t ask for them right now. But for our survival, I need to know if someone’s going to come looking for you when you don’t show up tonight.”

  “I doubt it,” Leslie said without hesitating. “Even if they called, they wouldn’t think it out of the ordinary to get my answering machine, and tomorrow … well, I was supposed to be leaving town in the morning. I’m afraid it’ll be at least two weeks before anyone misses me.”

  “Great.” There was a long-suffering sigh. “I guess that settles that, then.”<
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  “What settles what?”

  “I was hoping there’d be a husband or boyfriend waiting for you. Someone to start a search. In which case it would be easier for everyone if we stayed close to the cars so they’d find us faster. As it is, I guess I’ll have to take you with me.”

  “Take me with you where?” Leslie asked, more than a little distracted.

  “Home.”

  Leslie knew it would take several days to hike out of the mountains. Even if this charming fellow could find it in himself to loan her some more appropriate clothing, she was sure she couldn’t endure the hardships of spending days on end alone with the man.

  “I wouldn’t want to put you out that way,” Leslie said. “I could stay here. There’s water at the creek, and I’m sure I could find some berries or something to eat. You’d make much better time without me. You could call my family and tell them exactly where they can come to get me. We wouldn’t even have to bother with a rescue team.”

  “I don’t have a phone,” he said, watching her curiously. “And it’s still a little early for berries.”

  “What about your neighbors or a gas station along the way or something. I could even give you the money for a pay phone,” she said, grasping at straws, not worried about the berries.

  “My nearest neighbor is twenty miles away and after that it’s thirty more to the nearest ranger station. And frankly I don’t have time to go visiting either one of them on foot.”

  “Where do you live?” she asked with a gasp as hopelessness and despair settled over her for the second time that day.

  “A little more than ten miles that way,” the man said, indicating with his dark head that he lived higher and deeper into the mountains.

  “But—” Leslie stopped herself. She turned her head away from the man and looked straight out into the night as tears began to blur her vision.

  “But what?” His question was more like a command for her to finish her sentence.