Tempt Me If You Can

by Janet Chapman

  Ben found the socks and put them on her feet, then worked the jogging pants over her legs. They were his and would probably come all the way up to her armpits. As he worked them on, he noticed one of her knees was swollen and both legs were marked with bruises. Her skin was icy cold to the touch.

  He was sweating.

  He shook his parka and laid it on the floor, eased Emma down onto it, then crawled behind her and wrapped her up in his arms, cocooning her in his heat.

  Ten minutes passed before she stopped shivering, and Ben took his first easy breath since he’d found her. She was going to be okay. He continued to hold her until the shivering ebbed to tiny spasms, eventually stopping completely. She finally stirred with a moan.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, turning to face him. She reached up and cupped his cheek. “You saved my life.”

  “Are you lucid enough to explain what you’re doing here? I left you in front of a roaring fire with a book.”

  She lowered her gaze and began picking at a button on his shirt. “Kelly called me,” she whispered.

  He stiffened, then lifted her face up. “Kelly’s dead, Emma.”

  “I know now,” she whispered. “Wayne tricked me. I think he killed her. How … how do you know Kelly’s dead?”

  Ben cupped her head, pulling her face into his chest. He couldn’t look at her anguish any longer. “Atwood and I decided Wayne’s coordinates were her grave.”

  She popped her head back up to look at him. “When?”

  “A few days ago, after we came out here and looked around ourselves. The investigators I have working in New York couldn’t find a trace of her; it’s as if Kelly disappeared off the face of the earth ten years ago. And when I came out here, it was as if … that’s when everything added up.”

  He ran his fingers through her hair, wishing he could soothe her sadness. “Your sister would have contacted you if she were still alive. She never would have abandoned you and Mike. People mature. They regret decisions. They wonder. Kelly couldn’t have stayed away. That meant she must be dead.”

  Emma buried her face in his chest with a sob. “I’ve spent the last ten years of my life hating my sister, and all this time she’s been dead!” She looked at him, grabbing his shirt in a desperate grip. “She never abandoned us. She never abandoned Mikey. But … she did leave a note. She said she was leaving, and that she would call us.”

  “There’s a good chance Kelly was leaving. I think she was scared of Wayne, and she felt the safest thing to do for Mike was to leave. I also think she did plan to contact you when she was safe. Only she never made it out of Medicine Gore—Poulin got to her first.”

  She hid in his shirt again. Ben wrapped her up in as fierce a hug as he dared, and rocked her back and forth.

  “He killed my father.” Emma looked up again, and Ben saw outrage through her tears. “Then he set it up to look like you were responsible!”

  He sighed, not really surprised, as he brushed the tears from her face. “Yeah. And it worked well for him.”

  “Until Kelly found out.”

  “And you went snooping in his room.”

  “He’s the one who got the environmentalists involved, too. He knows this area is slated for clear-cutting next summer, so while he appears to be on the side of the mills, he’s been quietly stirring up trouble.”

  “The logging operation might have uncovered Kelly’s remains. And Poulin knew he would be the prime suspect.”

  “We have to stop him before he gets away,” she said, trying to sit up.

  He held her down. “We’ve got to get ourselves out of here first. Poulin doesn’t know I’m with you. He thinks he’s hunting a battered, half-drowned woman, so he’ll have wasted a lot of time looking for you downstream. Does he know about this cave?”

  She settled back against him. “He must. He’s cruised these woods for the mills. This is his backyard.”

  Ben sat up, bringing Emma with him. “Then I’m afraid we’re going to have to keep moving. Do you think you’re up to it?”

  She stared at him with an expression of surprise.

  “What?”

  She suddenly hurled herself into his arms and kissed his chin. “I love you, Ben.”

  “I’m pretty sure we established that fact last night,” he said with a chuckle, feeling her body was once more producing its own heat.

  She popped her head up, clipping him in the chin. “Was it just last night?”

  Ben kissed her deeply, tasting her sweet aliveness. He urged her mouth open with his tongue and invaded it with the passion of a man very grateful to have his woman alive and well again.

  She kissed him back, matching his desperation. Within seconds Ben felt sweat running down his forehead, and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the cave.

  He broke off reluctantly, and gently held her away from him. “We’ve got to keep moving, Emma.”

  Her flushed face suddenly brightened. “Beaker’s out there somewhere.”

  “What?”

  “It’s amazing—he followed Wayne’s truck all the way out here! He saved me, attacking Wayne just as he was going to shoot me.”

  “Where’s Beaker now?”

  “Probably stalking Wayne.”

  Ben smiled. “Then it’s three to one. Poulin doesn’t stand a chance.”

  “He may be crazy, Ben, but he’s also smart. Don’t underestimate him.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t.” He started repacking his backpack. “What’s our best way back home?”

  When he didn’t get an answer, Ben looked up to see Emma holding Homer’s cage, a speculative look in her eye. “We can send a message. When Mikey gets home from school, he’ll check out the coops. We can use Homer to call in the cavalry.”

  Ben reached into his pocket for the message canister and a pen. “What should we say?” he asked, pulling out the piece of paper inside.

  “Just write, ‘Trouble. Medicine Creek. Poulin.’ And sign it Emma and Ben,” she instructed as she took Homer out of his cage.

  Ben saw her kiss the bird on his head.

  “I’m glad the fumes didn’t get you, little one,” she whispered, holding the bird for him to attach the canister.

  Then Ben walked to the entrance of the cave and released him.

  The bird soared into the sky, circled once, and landed in a tree a hundred yards away.

  Emma sighed. “He does that sometimes. He’s just learning.”

  “Great.” Ben turned and scanned the forest below, but he couldn’t see very far. The trees were thick, growing right up the side of the mountain to the base of the cliff. He turned back to help Emma out of the small entrance. “Are you okay to travel?”

  She was a god-awful mess. Her long hair was a tangle of knots, half-dried and still wet in places. Her face looked like a prizefighter’s after a rough bout in the ring. His clothes hung from her slender frame, pooling into a folded mass of wrinkles at her ankles. He couldn’t see her hands; the sleeves of his sweatshirt were so long that they dangled empty-cuffed.

  “I can make it.”

  He frowned. “Maybe you should stay here. I could turn the tables on Poulin by doing a little hunting myself since I have the element of surprise.”

  “No offense, Ben, but your battlefield is usually a boardroom. This is Wayne’s turf. And he’s truly insane.”

  She started down the mountain.

  There wasn’t one blasted spot on her body that didn’t ache, and there were a few places that outright pained her. But Emma kept walking, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, determined to lead Ben out of the woods.

  This was a hell of a mess, and it was all her fault.

  If she hadn’t gone snooping in the first place she’d be home right now, making wedding plans. Instead, she was running for her life with Ben, away from the man who’d murdered her father and sister.

  “Slow down, Emma,” Ben said. “You’re going to burn out.”

  They had twenty-six miles t
o go before they were safe, but she stopped and waited for him to catch up. She knew he was slowed down from watching their back trail.

  “We’re not going to make it before dark,” she said when he reached her. “We’ll have to find a safe place to bed down.”

  “Any suggestions?” he asked, brushing the hair off her forehead.

  “I’ll tell you if you share some of that food in your pack,” she teased.

  The poor man looked so stricken, Emma was immediately sorry for asking. “Lord, Emma, you must be starving,” he said as he shrugged off the pack.

  She took the pack and looked inside, and found a container of Elmer Fudge cookies. “No more than you,” she said, opening the lid and grabbing one. She popped the entire cookie in her mouth, and immediately thought of Beaker. Was he still stalking Wayne?

  “What’s the plan?” Ben asked around his own mouthful of cookie.

  “Medicine Creek starts up on the mountain, and gathers water from various streams as it flows down to Medicine Lake. So we just follow the creek, and come out at Medicine Bay and my camps.”

  “How far?”

  Emma reached into the pack for some water before she replied. “We’re still about twenty-six miles from home, but beavers dammed the stream about four miles from here and created a nice little pond. There’s trout in it the size of baby whales.”

  Ben ate another cookie, his eyes darting up the trail they’d just walked down.

  “I keep a canoe stashed there,” Emma said, regaining his attention. “And the stream is navigable below the pond … for a while.”

  He lifted a brow, silently asking her to explain.

  “About eight miles before home, there’s a monster set of falls and then some pretty mean white water. Do you have any white water experience?”

  His frown returned.

  “That’s assuming the canoe holds up,” she added before she popped another cookie in her mouth.

  Ben looked at the rifle leaning against a tree, then back up their trail, and then at her again. “I’m not sure you’re in any condition for that kind of trip. Your limping has gotten worse the last couple of miles. Maybe I should turn the game on Poulin. Then we can take our time getting out of here.”

  “No, you’re not hunting Wayne. I’m not kidding, Ben. The man is too good.” She shoved the package of cookies in the backpack, then held the pack for him to put on. She grabbed the rifle and started off downstream.

  “Emma, wait.”

  “We’re walking out of here, Ben. And that’s final.” She wondered how seaworthy the old canoe really was.

  “I owe you an apology,” Emma said two hours later, collapsing onto a rock by the pond’s edge as Ben sat beside her and shrugged out of his pack. “I really thought you were a ‘take charge’ kind of guy, that in a crisis things would have to be your way or no way.” She leaned against him as she continued. “But you’re going along with my plan, even though I know you’re dying to go after Wayne.”

  He wrapped an arm over her shoulders and cuddled her against him, resting his chin on her head. “I like to think I’m man enough to listen to an expert. In fact, I’m betting our lives that you’re more knowledgeable than Poulin.”

  She stared up at this man of her young dreams, and her heart started to race. He was hers. He belonged to her, just as much as she belonged to him. “It’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” she asked, gazing into his eyes. “Our getting married, I mean. It’s really going to work.”

  He turned her more fully to face him. “You’re just deciding this now?”

  Emma ran a finger over his stern jaw. “I know you said I’d still be independent, but you can’t blame me for having doubts. You do get a little bossy on occasion.” She leaned up and kissed his chin. “But you’re being so … democratic today.”

  His expression darkened. “Don’t paint me pretty, Emma. If I had a choice, I’d have chained you to that couch this morning to keep you safe. I’m just dealing with the circumstances as I get them. Next time I might not be so cooperative.”

  She stroked his clenched jaw and turned to look at the pond. “I’m ready for some supper. Did your son put any fishing tackle in that fancy pack of yours?”

  Silence answered her, and Emma knew he wasn’t pleased at how their conversation had ended. She smiled toward the beaver pond. Benjamin Sinclair was practically blanketed in moss.

  They sat in quiet companionship, soaking up the peacefulness of the pond as they rested. Emma’s joints soon began to stiffen, however, protesting today’s punishment. She tried to relax them without letting Ben know just how badly she hurt, straightening her swollen right knee as she fought the urge to rub it.

  “How are we going to cook the fish we catch?” he asked. “We can’t risk a fire.”

  “You can build a small fire in the dense forest,” she told him. “Use dry wood so it won’t smoke, and wait until it’s dark enough so the smoke can’t be seen. The breeze will scatter the smell enough that Wayne wouldn’t be able to find the direction it’s coming from.”

  She stirred from the comfort of his lap. “I’m going to check out the canoe.”

  He helped her stand, but didn’t let go of her. “I think I should check our back trail first.” He looked over at the forty-foot bluff rising up from the opposite shore of the pond. “If I climb up there, I might be able to see if Wayne’s behind us.”

  Emma reached down and got the rifle. “Don’t … oh, just be careful,” she muttered, handing it to him.

  She couldn’t tell him not to shoot Wayne; that was Ben’s decision. Given the facts, and the position they were in, she wasn’t sure what she would do herself.

  He kissed her, ending it much too soon, then pulled a handgun out of the back of his belt. “I assume you’re familiar with pistols?”

  Emma took the gun and nodded.

  “And I assume you’re not afraid to defend yourself?”

  She nodded again.

  “Don’t overcook the trout,” he said as he walked into the woods.

  Emma watched until he was out of sight before she walked over to a huge tree that had fallen into the pond. She pushed the dead brush and cattails aside to uncover an ancient green canoe, used what strength she had left to turn it over, and quickly stepped back in case any critter had made her boat into a home. Nothing scurried away, and Emma began examining it for holes.

  It was in decent shape, despite the years it had spent exposed to the elements. She pulled out the oars from underneath the seat and tested their strength, and decided they would work. Now to catch some dinner.

  Emma found the kit she insisted must be in every pack leaving the house. She pulled out the fishing line and bobber, then turned over a rock and searched for grubs. She found several juicy ones and baited the hook, walked out on the fallen log, and tossed the grub into the water as far as she could. The bobber followed and settled nicely onto the surface of the pond, and she waited for a hungry fish to come swimming along. She split her time between munching on Elmer Fudge cookies and watching the bluff on the opposite shore. There was no sign of Ben yet, so she turned her attention to the handgun he’d given her. It was a neat little cannon, of a caliber that could blow a hole in an elephant.

  It was also the weapon of a man who meant business.

  Emma knew then, as she held Ben’s pistol in her hand, that he would take advantage of any opportunity Wayne Poulin presented.

  Tears fell onto the gun in her lap, large drops that bore witness to ten long years of pain. So many lies and misconceptions, so many moments of despair, when she had silently railed at her sister for abandoning her and Mikey. So much energy wasted on hate.

  And now, so much regret.

  Mikey would be devastated. Emma knew that he, too, had spent many nights lying in bed hating his mother. What kind of guilt would he place on himself?

  And what must Ben be thinking? Did he blame himself for any of this? For her father’s death or Kelly’s? Could he have changed the course of
history if he’d stayed?

  She wiped her face with the back of her hand, but it did no good. The dam broke on her heart, and giant sobs racked her as she buried her face in her knees.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  “Look who I found,” Ben said as he walked into the makeshift camp Emma had put together.

  “Beaker!”

  “Easy, he’s in pretty bad shape,” he warned, setting the dog beside her.

  “Oh, you poor baby,” she crooned as she began inspecting him.

  Ben sat down beside Beaker. “He’s got a wound on his chest, but it seems to have stopped bleeding. And he was limping when I found him.”

  “Look at the pads on his feet,” she said, rubbing him under the chin and kissing his head. “Oh, Ben. He followed Wayne’s truck all the way from my road. He’s a hero.”

  “Damn right he is,” Ben agreed, suspecting it hadn’t been training that had pushed the dog to such limits. Beaker was in love with Emma.

  Weren’t they all?

  Her face, though lit with joy at seeing her dog, was red and puffy, with dirty streaks running down her cheeks. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear Emma had been crying.

  “Is that supper?” he asked, pointing at the foil of expertly cleaned trout.

  “Yes. They’re all ready to be cooked. Would you mind taking them deeper into the woods and building a fire?”

  She must be tired if she was asking for help—or her knee was hurting her badly. Ben reached for the fish. “Just point me in the right direction.”

  “It looks dense enough over there. Just set the fire low, and place the fish on top as soon as it catches. Twenty minutes ought to do the trick.”

  Ben was gone less than half an hour, and when he returned Beaker and Emma were sound asleep, cuddled together on his parka.

  So he ate all three trout himself.

  And they were delicious.

  He didn’t feel the least bit guilty, because he had decided to have Emma home by breakfast tomorrow morning. He left the two of them asleep while he dragged the canoe down over the beaver dam, loaded their supplies inside, then walked back to the pond to wake them up.