Bound to Happen

by Mary Kay McComas

  She loved her work. It suited her disposition perfectly. There were times when she felt she dealt better with facts than with people, that she trusted the words on a piece of paper more than she did human relationships. She liked things to make sense and follow a progressive order. And she found, very often, that people didn’t.

  Especially in the case of Jeff Warner, but then her whole relationship with him was confusing. If what she felt for him was love, why didn’t she feel something special. Why didn’t she feel in love, like Joe Bonner, Beth, and her mother had assured her she would? Why did people assume that simply because she and Jeff had spent so much time together over the past few years that they were automatically in love and bound for wedded bliss? She and Jeff were friends. They shared many common interests, and they enjoyed each other’s company. Granted, there had been a few nights when they had shared some very insipid sex together, but those nights had been fueled by loneliness and a desperate need on both sides to be close to someone. She was sure that Jeff’s feelings were no stronger than her own. But what if that was as strong as love ever got?

  Leslie sighed and ran her hand back and forth across her brow trying to dispel some of the tension her thoughts had deposited there.

  “Does your head still hurt?” Joe asked.

  “No.”

  “Want to sit and rest for a while?”

  “If you’re tired, we can,” she said, refusing to admit that she was dying for a break, too proud to let on that her left arm was sound asleep and that her lower back was throbbing under the weight of her pack.

  Joe’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I’m fine,” he said, and he kept on walking.

  After nearly two hours, Leslie was past the point of pain and almost totally numb.

  “I … don’t … whine. I … don’t … whine.” She said it over and over in her mind trying to believe it, wanting more than anything to be back in her nice, safe office where she belonged, or as a second alternative, to cry out in misery. Instead she ground her teeth together and watched the dust from the road billow out under her shoes as she flopped them down, step by step, to the rhythm in her head. The thin mountain air ripped at her lungs with every breath, but she kept on walking. She’d rather fall down dead in her tracks than have to cooperate in a kiss with Joe Bonner.

  “I’m beat. Let’s rest,” Joe said suddenly, moving off to the side of the road.

  “What?” Leslie asked, stunned.

  “I need a break.”

  “You do?”

  Joe nodded. “Don’t want to get overtired, you know. Only a fool would walk himself to the point of exhaustion.”

  There was a reproachful look in his eyes as the zing shot straight up Leslie’s spine and registered as a direct hit, but she was in no mood to care. At least she wasn’t a whiny fool. She got the distinct impression that it wouldn’t matter what she did or how she acted anyway. There would be no pleasing Joe Bonner.

  He had already put his heavy load down in the shade along the sloping shoulder of the road, when he turned to see Leslie struggling lamely to remove her own. Mutely he stepped up beside her and untied the knot in the blanket that had slipped down below her bust line. Her skin quivered when his hand accidentally brushed the upper fullness of her breasts, but he didn’t seem to notice. Unlike Leslie, he didn’t appear to experience the same tingling sensation. In fact he gave every indication that he was perfectly comfortable and totally unaffected standing in her personal space, touching her body, their faces mere inches apart. Leslie, on the other hand, was weak in the knees and fighting to control her irregular breathing. She was afraid to move her head or look into his face for fear of brushing noses with him and prolonging the awkwardness of the moment.

  With her pack untied, Joe took it and moved away immediately, leaving Leslie reeling from his sudden withdrawal of his close physical contact, incidental though it was.

  Leslie frowned. Get a grip on it, she told herself sternly, you’ve been out in the sun too long and walked too many miles in his shoes. She rationalized her reactions down to simple physiology. The tingling was blood rushing back into the areas of her body constricted by the weight of her pack. The dizziness and rapid breathing were induced by exhaustion. And a warm rock would look just as strong and comforting right now as his broad chest and thick arms did.

  Satisfied and very much relieved with this analysis, Leslie gratefully sank down beside the first large, warm-looking rock she saw.

  “Hungry?” Joe asked.

  “No. But I am thirsty.” She was too tired to eat.

  Perched on his own rock several feet away, Joe reached into the cooler and handed her one of the canning jars he’d filled with cool, clear water from the stream earlier. Leslie took it and drank deeply before she screwed the top back on and set the jar down between them.

  She lowered her head back to rest it on the rock and closed her eyes. She could almost hear her muscles slowly unwinding, crackling and snapping with tiny bursts of spasmodic pain as they uncurled and became limp.

  Joe hadn’t missed much of what his traveling companion was going through. He’d seen her shoulders begin to droop. He’d heard her steps begin to drag. And he was sure the bright red flush in her face was caused more from heat and fatigue than overexposure to the sun. She might lean toward stupid sometimes, he thought, but she was a tough little cookie.

  “Stubborn little witch,” he muttered under his breath, aware that she was probably too far gone to hear him, glad that he’d taken matters into his own hands and finally stopped for the rest she’d refused to ask for.

  Joe couldn’t resist the unexpected chuckle that rose up within him. This Leslie Rothe was a strange woman. She didn’t seem to care that she looked like a refugee from a bag-lady camp or that she was miles into some of the wildest and most treacherous terrain in America’ without any protection, save maybe himself, if worse came to worst. But she’d walk herself blindly into the ground without a whimper to prove herself and to show him that he’d been wrong about her.

  There was a lot of pride and gumption bottled up inside that sleeping pile of rags and warm female flesh. She probably had more dignity than brains, which wasn’t always so bad, in his opinion. If she couldn’t have her fair share of both, it was just as well she had an overabundance of pride to get her over the rough spots in life. He had to respect that in her at least.

  Well, she’d earned her sleep, he decided with a great deal of benevolence. He could afford to feel kindly toward her at the moment, her stubbornness had taken them to within two or three miles of his cabin, and it was early in the afternoon. She could have a short nap, and they’d still be home before total darkness set in. In the meantime there was no law that said he couldn’t take a few mental pictures. He liked looking at her. It was better when her deep blue eyes were open and flashing furiously at him, but he’d settle for watching the breeze blow at her dark curls and flutter the jagged hem of her skirt … for now.

  Leslie woke with a start. She must have been in a deep sleep or not asleep at all, because there were no dreams clouding her mind. She awoke fully, instantly, and could see that nothing had changed while her eyes were closed. In fact, she had the oddest feeling that she was mid-conversation, and it was her turn to respond.

  She looked to Joe Bonner for guidance, and he was his usual helpful self. He sat on his rock with an expectant expression on his face, as if waiting for her to answer.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I think I dozed off for a minute. What was your question?”

  He looked surprised to hear her admission of weakness and answered in a very civil manner. “I was just asking if you were ready to go?”

  With his question asked, he continued to look at her in a curious way that made Leslie very self-conscious. Surely he didn’t consider falling asleep synonymous with a complaint. As far as she was concerned, the bet was still on. She hadn’t grumbled once—out loud—and she hadn’t meant to fall asleep. The least he could do was cut her some s
lack. She was trying.

  Slowly she got to her feet. Muscles previously unheard from made their presence known from all parts of her body. They were stiff and ached painfully. The groan that built up in her throat was swallowed quickly as she set her attention on trying to straighten out some of the kinks in her back. All the while she was aware that Joe Bonner was watching her.

  “What?” she asked when the strain of his gaze became too great for her to bear.

  Joe shook his head as if his thoughts weren’t meant for public disclosure but asked, “Do you want more water before we go?”

  “Yes, please.”

  He stood and handed her the jar. Again she drank greedily but had to stop when she felt some of the fluid dripping down her chin. It was then, as she dabbed the sleeve of Joe’s shirt across the lower half of her face, that she noticed the groove in the ground near Joe’s feet.

  It was a long, deep rut, formed as if he’d been dragging the heel of his boot back and forth in the dirt. From the looks of it, he’d been doing just that and for quite some time. Uneasiness grew heavy in her heart. How long had she been asleep?

  “It’s … it’s hard to tell the time without a watch,” she said, looking up at the sky. “Have we been here long?”

  “No.”

  She glanced in Joe’s direction. He was picking up her pack and gave no indication that anything was amiss. He came to her and placed the blanket full of groceries around her shoulders. It felt heavier than before as her tired body protested the familiar burden being settled onto her back.

  “It’s about four-thirty. We’ve made good time.” he said, tying the blanket ends in a tight knot across her chest.

  “How long have we been resting?” she asked, feeling at a distinct disadvantage. Intuitively she knew she’d slept more than just a few minutes—much more—and she wanted to be prepared for whatever Mr. Do-No-Wrong had to say about it.

  Joe looked up from his task and met her gaze straight on. “Not long,” he said.

  The look in his eyes confirmed Leslie’s suspicions. They also told her that the man had no intention of teasing her about it. For a brief moment, there was gentleness and understanding in his expression before he lowered his gaze and moved away.

  Leslie found this unexpected burst of kindness disconcerting, but she wasn’t about to refuse it. She smiled at him when he turned back around, her spirits suddenly buoyant. But when she stepped forward to take up her half of the cooler, she immediately wished she hadn’t moved. A sharp, stinging pain set her feet on fire as a cry of agony escaped her.

  “What is it?” he asked, alarmed.

  Leslie hurt too much to speak. She sat down on the ground and very gingerly removed her shoes. She drew her right foot up into her lap to examine it. It was covered, top and bottom, with large, angry-looking blisters. Some were broken and weeping. Even the air seemed to irritate them and increase the burning pain.

  “Oh, geeze,” Joe said, his voice full of sympathy.

  Leslie looked up into his face. Between the pain impulses bombarding her brain, her mind took the time to register that he was bent down on one knee to investigate the extent of the damage to her feet and that he was being uncharacteristically solicitous of her condition. It was, however, the worried, caring expression she thought she saw in his eyes that was Leslie’s undoing.

  The blisters were the final blow. Her spirit broken and her life at an all-time low, she was hardly aware of the tears that spilled down her cheeks, leaving a trail of wretchedness in the thin layer of dust and grime acquired during her trek.

  “I’m a walking disaster,” she said, throwing her hands up in hopelessness. “My whole life is falling down around my ears, and I don’t know how to stop it. I don’t even know why. I’m completely out of control.” She buried her face in her hands and shook her head woefully.

  “Oh, no. You’re not going to cry are you? I mean, it can’t be all that bad, can it?”

  “It is. And I never cry,” she said, and then she sobbed.

  “Yes, well, why don’t you stop whatever it is you’re doing, and we’ll talk. The blisters will heal, and I’ll bet your sister’s wedding went off without a hitch,” Joe said, trying to offer her hope, sounding anxious and uncomfortable.

  “And what about you?” she asked, looking up at him tearfully. “How long will it take you to recover from the mess I’ve made of your life? God only knows what I’ll do next. I don’t even want to think about it. Things keep moving from bad to worse all by themselves. Two weeks is a long time. You could end up dead.”

  Joe’s demeanor grew stern and his green eyes disapproving. “Oh, spare me, will you? Feeling sorry for poor Leslie isn’t going to make things any better. So stop talking all this garbage and help me think of a way to get you to the cabin before nightfall.”

  Smarting from his insensitivity, Leslie didn’t look up when he offered her a clean, neatly folded handkerchief and ordered her to blow her nose. She hadn’t consciously been looking for pity, but she couldn’t help feeling resentful that Joe Bonner hadn’t offered her any. Had a meaner man than Joe Bonner ever been born?

  Joe had left Leslie’s side while she composed herself, and he now returned to sit Indian-style on the ground facing her. “That’s better. Now, let me have a good look at them,” he said, holding out his hands.

  “Don’t bother yourself on my account. Why don’t you just go?”

  “Come on, poor Leslie. Let Uncle Joe look,” he said, mocking her, grinning as if he enjoyed her anger.

  Loath to give him more cause to tease her, Leslie thrust her leg out and brought her foot up in front of his face. He patiently and, amazingly enough, gently took hold of her ankle and leg and repositioned them so he could examine her foot.

  “Crying and whining are two completely different things, you know,” she stated as the thought occurred to her, and then she reconsidered having said it. She shouldn’t have brought the subject up at all.

  “Not in my book they’re not,” he said, focusing his eyes on her lips, causing her stomach to somersault. But when she opened her mouth to debate her point, he beat her to the punch. “But I’ll make an exception this time. Next time, I’ll take my kiss.”

  “There won’t be a next time,” she muttered as she watched him grimace at the sight of her battered feet.

  “Well see.” Contrary to his words, the careful, tender way he handled her foot led her to believe he had at least an ounce of compassion hidden somewhere. What a strange man he was, she thought. “If it makes you feel any better, more in control again, you can blame these blisters on me. I knew better than to let you walk so far in shoes that didn’t fit your feet properly. I didn’t think ahead this morning, and I’m sorry for that,” he said.

  Stunned by his short speech and sincere apology, Leslie didn’t know how to reply.

  “I wish we’d kept those pieces we cut off your dress,” he said, leaning over sideways to pull the cooler closer to them. He then crossed his arms and grabbed the sides of his T-shirt, pulling it up over his head. So in awe of the powerful, broad shoulders and the great expanse of smooth, golden-brown skin before her, Leslie was hardly aware that Joe was speaking again. “This isn’t the Red Cross way, I’m sure, but it’s the best we can manage right now. We need to keep these clean and dry, so they’ll heal.”

  Suddenly he was ripping his T-shirt.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, confused.

  “Hopefully I’m going to ease your pain and clean some of the dirt off your feet at the same time.” He dunked a large section of his shirt into the melted ice water at the bottom of the cooler. Dripping wet, he then draped the cloth loosely around her inflamed foot.

  Leslie couldn’t stop the sigh of relief that automatically sprang to her lips. “Ahh. That feels wonderful,” she said, her tone euphoric.

  Joe smiled and chuckled. “It won’t last long, but we might get them numb enough for you to travel at least some of the way without too much pain.”


  Leslie leaned back on her elbows to enjoy her respite while Joe wrapped her other foot the same way. She felt awful that he’d sacrificed the shirt off his back for her feet, but in that unguarded moment of repose, she was very glad he had—and not because of her blisters. His upper torso was a real treat to look at. The rounded mounds of muscle in his arms and shoulders were a fascinating study in human anatomy, Leslie decided, trying to ignore the squirming sensation low in her abdomen. Irrepressibly her eyes followed the dark trail of hair that curled around his nipples and descended downward, disappearing into the band of his jeans. She blinked disappointedly when her journey ended. She’d seen prettier male faces, but without a doubt, she’d never seen a sexier body.

  “Would you like your shirt back, or the coat? It’s starting to get cool again,” she said as his near nakedness began to make her feel nervous and uncomfortable.

  She could have saved the effort of her offer, because when she looked up into his face, she found his gaze riveted to her breasts. In her relaxed position, the shirt had fallen away and left all there was to see exposed. Quickly she sat up and pulled the shirt tightly around her body.

  “What’s this? A double standard? You can look at my chest, but I can’t look at yours?” He tried to look innocent but couldn’t keep his lips from bowing upward.

  “Do you want the coat or this damned shirt or not?” she asked, her voice almost a snarl as she felt a hot flush working its way up the sides of her neck.

  Joe shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll let you know when I get cold, and we’ll work something out then.” He paused and laughed. “You know, I don’t think I’ve had to take turns wearing a shirt since I was in college.”

  “You went to college?”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “I am. I mean, I just assumed … What did you study?” she asked with interest.