Rogue's Revenge

by Gail MacMillan

  “I love animals,” she replied. “I’ve always had horses and ponies… My dad was a cowboy when he was young. It’s in my blood, I guess.”

  “Cowboy to big-city surgeon. Big leap. I remember. Jack told me about it a lot of years ago. Your grandfather loved animals, too.”

  “I know.” She measured coffee into the other pot. “He taught me about them and their environment. He said he learned his teaching technique from the mistakes he made with his first student.”

  “First?”

  “My mother.” She closed her eyes and leaned forward to inhale the aroma of the brewing coffee. “She’s an expert canoeist and outdoors person.”

  “Myra? Hard to visualize under all the sophistication and style.”

  “You should see her ride.” Allison opened her eyes and swung back to face him.

  “Ride? As in horses, boots, and saddles?”

  Proud of her mother and her accomplishments, she fell into the story of how Myra, until she was twenty-three and a college graduate, had called the Chance her home, how that summer she’d met and fallen in love with a young doctor who was a guest at the Lodge. They’d married and moved to Ottawa, where Cameron Armstrong had gained a reputation as one of the country’s leading neurosurgeons.

  She told how her mother had become a leading fundraiser for needy sick children and how, in her spare time, Myra Armstrong had taken up riding to be able to accompany her husband, whose chief form of recreation still reflected his cowboy roots.

  The story of her own riding career came out, too. She told him about Pride and, finally, haltingly about the death of little Joy.

  “When I saw that doe’s distress, it all came back to me in a rush.” She feigned attention on the coffeepot. “I couldn’t allow another animal to suffer like Pride.” She drew a deep breath and hefted her shoulders. “Now Jake Morgan, my riding instructor, is suggesting I give her to my mother, with whom he says she’s more compatible. He says I should get a quarter horse and ride western like Dad.”

  “He’s right.” Heath’s words startled her, bringing her attention back to him.

  “What? How can you possibly come to that conclusion? You haven’t seen me ride.”

  “I don’t have to.” He adjusted the sleeping bag around his shoulders. “I know freer in anything is what you need. That night you got soused on elderberry wine you were pretty terrific. That question about the oysters was almost more than a man could take and remain a gentleman.”

  “Oh, really? Aren’t you the wise one.”

  She pulled a towel from a packsack and strode around behind him to begin drying his wet hair.

  “Hey, dry it, don’t remove it!”

  She flung the towel aside and strode around in front of him, ready to continue their verbal battle, then unexpectedly laughed.

  “What?” he asked squinting up at her in the sun.

  “Somehow, with your hair sticking up in cowlicks and rooster tails, you don’t quite cut the glorious movie-star image you’re famous for.”

  “Image? Me? Who said I looked like a movie star? And which one? There are all kinds, all types.”

  “Careful, there. Your vanity is showing.” Damn, he was teasing. With an exasperated sigh she turned away to get a cup of soup.

  “I’m relieved the doe took her baby back,” he said when she was seated across the fire from him. “I guess that blows away the old myth that a deer won’t take her fawn back after it’s been touched by a human.”

  “It also blew away another idea,” she said, her gaze on her cup.

  “Which is?” He set his soup aside, adjusted the sleeping bag about his shoulders, and looked at her.

  “That you could have been involved in Gramps’ death.” She looked up to meet his gaze. “You could have let me jump into the river after that fawn. You knew I would have been drowned or died of hypothermia. With me out of the way through an accident, you’d probably have been able to have your way with the Chance.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, but aren’t you forgetting the infamous two percent?”

  “No, but I’ve no doubt that, left on your own, you could finesse whoever it is.”

  “Nasty. And just when I thought we were on the verge of a lasting truce.”

  “One death-defying moment does not a peace treaty make. Come on, you must have some ideas.”

  “Someone wise and clear-sighted,” he said. “Jack was too caring and clever to give such an important trust to just anyone else.”

  “But who?”

  Heath shrugged. “It won’t matter if you come to the right decision, will it?”

  “And if I don’t…in your opinion?”

  “Then that wise, caring, third party will hold the deciding vote.”

  “Pretty confident, aren’t you?” She finished her food and glanced over at him. “But then I guess you’d have to be, to risk criminal charges of, at the very least, forcible detainment by bringing me on this trip.”

  “I know Jack’s fondest dream was that his Chance stay in his family. I’m not about to let that possibility die.”

  “Gramps told you that? Why didn’t he tell me?”

  “He wanted you to make your decision of your own free will, not out of a sense of obligation.”

  “So why did you decide to tell me now?”

  “You were willing to risk your life for that fawn. I don’t need any further proof of your ability to care about what mattered to Jack. Now.” He stood. “I’m going to get dressed in dry clothes here, where it’s warm by the fire. Do you want to start setting up the tent? I’m sure Jack must have taught you how to do it. I don’t plan to portage around these rapids until tomorrow.”

  “Portage?” Looking at the roiling water of the river below, she knew he was right. There was no possibility of passing through that section by canoe.

  “Yes. You remember what that word means?”

  “Of course I do…” He’d dropped his sleeping bag shroud. “Oh, for heaven’s sake! Have a little modesty. And just for the book, you won’t gain any points from being naked in front of me.”

  She swung away but not before she’d had a glimpse of broad shoulders, narrow hips, muscular thighs, and more. Wow! she thought as she struggled to set up the tent. Heath Oakes, you’re definitely a three-alarm wow.

  Chapter Ten

  Sometime during the night, Allison awoke to the sensation of sharp cold on her face and the sound of something that sounded like pebbles hitting the canvas beside her.

  “Snow.” Heath’s voice in the darkness answered her unvoiced question.

  “What?!”

  “Snow. A squall, not all that uncommon at this time of year. You’d know that if you’d ever visited the Chance in early May.”

  “Can’t you ever give the guilt thing a rest? Lord, it’s freezing!”

  She heard him move. A moment later he was beside her.

  “Come here.” A zipper slithered.

  “What?”

  “Get inside with me.” He drew her, sleeping bag and all, into his.

  “Just a minute, mister…”

  “What do you think I’m capable of doing with you swathed inside two layers of Thinsulate?”

  “I…nothing…I don’t know.” The chuckle deep in his chest made her realize the foolishness of her protest.

  “Warmer?”

  “I suppose.” She tried to sound indignant, but the sensations his warm, amazing body were producing tempered her attempt.

  “Sleep.” His lips brushed her temple, the word erotic in her ear. “And feel safe.” He adjusted her vest pillow into a more comfortable position, pulled part of her sleeping bag into a hood about her head, then, with a sigh, settled once more for the night. As his regular breathing told Allison he slept, she suppressed the urge to reach out and run her fingers up that strong, clean-shaven jaw and into his soft golden-brown hair.

  She’d never have been able to spend a platonic night with Paul. She remembered the unpleasant drive to the
country club dance in the rain and Paul’s unwelcome attempt at lovemaking that had caused the accident.

  Lying in Heath Oakes’ arms, she felt safe and secure. As she drifted off to sleep, a small, soft melody began to drift into her heart…

  ****

  She awoke to a shock of chill air as Heath pulled away from her and arose. Sunlight peeked into their canvas shelter.

  “Six o’clock.” He pulled clean woolen socks from his packsack and sat down to replace the ones he’d slept in. “Rise and shine. I want you to see this morning before the sun melts the snow. It’ll knock your socks off.”

  “I hope you’re speaking figuratively.” She climbed out of her sleeping bag and stretched. “Otherwise it could make for icy toes.”

  “Come on, come on!” He was lacing up his boots. “The snow won’t last long in the sun.”

  He waited as she changed socks and laced on hiking boots. As she was pulling on her jacket, he caught her by the hand and drew her out into the dazzling day.

  For a few seconds its brilliance blinded her, but as she became able to focus, a sigh of pure wonder escaped her lips. Virgin white covered grass, trees, and river shore, a pristine icing that sparkled with thousands of snow diamonds over layers of greenery glinting in the first golden rays of the sun. The panorama reminded Allison of a lady in a jade frock overlaid with jeweled lace. Except for the river thundering past, the wilderness seemed locked in a moment of absolute peace.

  “It’s fantastic!” she breathed.

  “Wait. There’s more.” He took her hand and, pulling her along as eagerly as a child headed downstairs on Christmas morning, he led her up a slight incline to a place beneath a large birch tree several feet from their campsite. He knelt and brushed snow from some leaves disfigured with large brown spots. Moving them aside, he revealed a small clump of the most exquisite little blossoms Allison had ever seen.

  “Mayflowers.” She dropped to her knees. “I remember…”

  “Smell them,” he said, but when she leaned forward to pick one, he stopped her with a hand on her wrist.

  “Just smell.”

  “Sorry. Forgot Gramps’ no-picking rule.” She bent and inhaled.

  The scent from the tiny blossoms stirred wonderful memories. Light and yet intoxicatingly potent, she recalled it as the most exquisite fragrance she’d ever experienced.

  “Heaven,” she sighed, closing her eyes and inhaling from the bottom of her lungs. “The scent of mayflowers has to be a small piece of heaven.”

  “There’s nothing quite like it,” he said. “If someone could bottle it, they’d be a millionaire overnight. But no one ever has. Hopefully no one ever will. I want them to remain exactly what they are this moment—a unique, unspoiled bit of the wilderness.”

  “They will,” she said dropping back on her knees. “I won’t be selling out to National Realty.”

  She faced him as they knelt beside the bluish-tinged white blossoms. His expression of utter relief hit her straight in the heart.

  “You mean it?” He got to his feet and squinted down at her in the sunlight.

  “This place is your life, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” He turned to look out over the river sparkling dark and wild in the sun. “Jack Adams gave me a chance, and I plan to repay him by being the best steward I can to what he held important.”

  Allison got up and stood beside him. “We’ll be the best stewards we can.”

  “What?”

  “I’m staying. I’ll handle the business aspect, and you’ll take care of the outdoors component. What do you say?”

  “What about Toronto, your CFO job?”

  “I did a lot of thinking last night. I decided I don’t want to spend my life working for someone else, helping make someone’s big business even bigger. The important stuff is all here.”

  Before she could protest, he had her in his arms and was kissing her, kissing her until she swirled away into some wonderful place where her body melted into his, where reality was only his hard body and the sound of the river and his heart thudding against hers. But when she wrapped her arms about his neck and started to come full-length against him, he stopped her, drew her out from him, and looked deep into her expectant green eyes.

  “No.”

  “What…no? Heath, why…”

  “Believe me, I’m not pulling back because I want to.” He cupped her face in his hands. “But I made a promise to your mother that I’d ‘be a gentleman,’ to use her euphemism, for the whole of any time I spent alone on the Chance with you.”

  “Heath…”

  “Allie, this isn’t easy for me. God knows, I’d like nothing better than to make love to you right now, this minute. But you could end up regretting it, and I don’t want that to happen…again.”

  “I won’t, I wouldn’t…”

  “But I would. Let’s get portaging…while I’m still able to.”

  He released her and headed back toward their campfire.

  “Heath!” She caught up to him and grabbed his arm.

  “Hey, look, I promised your mother I’d keep things platonic, and that’s the way they’ll stay!” He swung on her. “I got carried away when you told me you weren’t going to sell the Chance, that you’d be staying. I’m sorry. But I’m not made of steel. Believe me, beneath the surface still beats the heart of the same guy you had to fight off when you were a romantic teenager. But we have to take it slow and see where it goes. We’re not kids anymore. This could get serious. Come on. Let’s get packing…Allie.”

  ****

  “I hear you calling when we part, this river flows through both our hearts…”

  “What’s that you’re singing?” He stopped beside her as she packed supplies into a cooler.

  “Something I heard Gramps sing to Gram.” She straightened and faced him squarely. “Could be something that happened recently reminded me of it.”

  “The man must have been in love with her.” He turned away and began to gather their tent and rolled-up sleeping bags.

  “Must have been.” She cast him a sidewise glance.

  “Look, if you’re expecting some kind of commitment from me…”

  “Of course not. One hot kiss does not a commitment make. Or a business arrangement.”

  She returned to packing, something like heartburn nagging her chest.

  He threw the bundles onto his shoulder and headed for the canoe.

  An hour later they’d loaded the canoe on a small set of wheels and packed all their gear in it except for one well-filled large packsack.

  “Let me help you with this.” Heath picked it up and turned to Allison.

  “Do I look like a pack mule?” she asked, her eyes widening.

  “I can’t pull all our gear and the canoe over the rough terrain up ahead. So unless you want to wait alone at the other end of the portage while I make two trips, you’ll have to carry your own stuff. Or aren’t you up to it?” His eyes challenged her.

  “Strap it on, buddy.” She turned her back to him and waited. “I’m Jack Adams’ granddaughter, remember?”

  He slipped the straps over her shoulders, but as she fastened the chest support, he leaned around the side of the pack to place a kiss on her temple.

  “Remind me never again to promise Myra Armstrong I’ll remain celibate around her daughter,” he muttered. He took up the straps to pull the canoe. “Right now I’d rather live up to my uninhibited wild man persona.”

  “That image gets foggier by the minute. A genuine lord of the jungle—er, woods—would heft this little bitty canoe over his head, packsack on his back, and stride off into the bush, resting it on his manly shoulders, the woman walking proud and unburdened by his side.”

  “You left out the fact that his woman probably would be scantily clad.” He started off with the canoe in tow. “That might inspire a man to give it his best shot.”

  They were battling their way up a rocky promontory above the river twenty minutes later when an explosion rent t
he quiet of the forest. Heath dropped the canoe straps and dove at Allison. Together they crashed to the ground. The freed canoe bounced down the slope, splashed into the river, and bounded away in the current.

  “Ah, hell!”

  “Ouch…Heath, you’re crushing me. What…”

  “Lie still!” Heath hissed. “That was a rifle shot!”

  “What? Someone is shooting at us?”

  “Yeah, someone. No bear, no sasquatch. A real person. Start edging behind those rocks. Whoever he is, he’s back in the trees. If we can get over the lip of the cliff and down under it, we have a chance.”

  “A chance? Wasn’t that an accident? A hunting mistake?”

  “In May? Hunting season starts in October. Now crawl…fast…like a crab.” She obeyed, scuttling over rocks and moss until she dropped over the edge of the cliff above the river. A split second later Heath landed beside her with a grunt.

  “Keep your head down and follow me.” He started off over the shedding shale of the high river ledge, stooped like a handsome Quasimodo.

  Allison glanced down at the river roaring below them and shuddered. One wrong step and she’d be following their canoe over rocks and rapids.

  Praying and crossing her fingers, she scrambled after Heath, the packsack threatening to destroy her equilibrium. At one point she slipped, the loose rock crumbling under her boots. Only Heath’s hand grabbing her shoulder strap saved her from tumbling down into the rapids. With a gasp she righted herself and scrambled after him.

  “In here.” He caught her hand to pull her into a dark hole under a ledge.

  “Phew! What’s that awful stench?”

  The smell engulfed her as they came to a crouching stop in the blackness.

  “Quiet,” he muttered. “This is a bear den.”

  “Are you crazy?” She leaped upright, hit her head, and fell back rubbing it. “What if he comes home? What if he…?”

  “He won’t. He’s too busy looking for food. Anyway, hiding here beats the hell out of dodging bullets.”

  “Frying pan or fire.” She hunkered down with a pounding heart and a sore spot on her head. “How long do you reckon we’ll have to stay here?”