Thanksgiving Groom

by Brenda Minton

  They’d had company during the night. And it hadn’t been the kind of company that knocked on the door. It had been the kind that sneaked around in the gloom, leaving boot prints in the snow and breaking branches off bushes as they pushed around in the dark. They were too far from civilization for that kind of company.

  For now, he’d keep his discovery between himself and Clark Johnson. But it proved his point that Penelope Lear was trouble.

  “Hey, where you going?” A singsong voice called from behind him.

  Great, just what he needed. He considered going on, pretending he hadn’t heard. From what he knew of her, she’d just pick up speed and track him down. But she’d also probably find some way to get into trouble in the process. He stopped walking and turned around.

  There she was, his punishment for all the wrong things he’d ever done. She hobbled after him, smiling brightly. A stocking cap was pushed down on her head, framing her face. Every now and then the crutch under her arm tangled with roots or got caught on rocks. She’d hobble, nearly fall, and then right herself.

  It didn’t help matters that she was carrying a fishing pole in the other hand. Great. He didn’t have to guess what she was up to today. Yesterday she’d nearly smoked them out of the house in her attempt at fire-building in the fireplace. Today she was going to fish.

  Peace and quiet. That’s what he’d found out here until he’d dragged her out of the ravine two days ago. One moment, one second of weakness, and all of that peace and quiet was gone. Sucked out of the world. By this one female.

  If he could walk her out of here today, he would. It would save them all a lot of trouble. But if he took her out, it meant he’d be returning to the real world.

  He wasn’t ready to give up his time here.

  But how long could a guy stay lost in the wilderness, locked away from reality? He knew that this couldn’t last forever. Even the Johnsons knew that eventually they’d have to return to civilization. They’d all have to make some decisions about their futures.

  They discussed it last night, after Penelope had fallen to sleep. The Johnsons had talked about their son. He’d spoken about his dad. He still wasn’t talking about the devastating news he’d gotten from Seattle before he left Treasure Creek.

  He was still processing that. He was still trying to figure out how he had become this person, a man who no longer knew where he came from or where he was going.

  “What are you doing out here?” He waited until she was nearly next to him. “In those boots, and with a fishing pole?”

  The boots were ridiculous things, mostly fur and no real sole. He shook his head and then looked up, meeting blue eyes that flashed with humor.

  She smiled, and the gesture nearly knocked him on his back. When she smiled like that, a guy needed to be warned. That smile could change everything a person thought about her.

  “Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day…” she recited.

  “Teach him to fish and he’ll eat for life.” He shook his head. And then he got it and he didn’t feel like smiling. “I’m not teaching you to fish.”

  She didn’t pout, but the laughter in her eyes dissolved and she just stared at him. “But I thought we needed something for dinner.”

  He looked at her, at the pole, and he shook his head. Clark should teach her to fish. That would be better. And then there was the ankle situation.

  “It’s a little bit of a walk to the stream.”

  She shook the crutch at him. “Did you forget what Wilma found in the upstairs closet.”

  “Wilma’s very handy to have around.” There had to be other reasons he could think of for not taking her. “It’s rough going.”

  “I can handle it.”

  He was losing. “Why are you so determined to do this?”

  “Because.” She shrugged slightly. “Because I have to do something. Because I’m not helpless.”

  “You’re not running from someone or something?” He tried to make it sound like a teasing question, but it wasn’t. He wouldn’t let her put the Johnsons in danger if she was hiding something.

  “No, I’m not running from anything.” But she looked away, as if maybe she was.

  “Really? I don’t know if I’m going to believe that.”

  She glared at him, her nose flaring a little. “I’m not running. I’m—”

  “What?” He smiled. “Did you come to Treasure Creek looking for a husband? Let me guess—you read the article in Now Woman, and since you’re a little bored with your life, you came to Treasure Creek to find an adventure and one of those single, hunky tour guides.” No way was he going to feel jealous over that. No way.

  “I came because of people like you.”

  “What does that mean? I’m pretty sure you didn’t come here looking for someone like me.”

  “I came to get away from people like you. You think you know me so well, and you don’t. You think I’m nothing more than Herman Lear’s daughter. You think I shop, get my nails done and party.”

  “And I’m wrong?”

  “I don’t have to explain myself to you. I came to Treasure Creek because I wanted to know what it was like to be somewhere—” she looked away “—somewhere like Treasure Creek. And really, since you’re not willing to tell me everything about you, why should I have to tell you everything about me?”

  “I just asked what you were running from.” He spoke in a softer voice, because the softness in her tone pushed him back a notch. Not only that, but he wasn’t getting any answers by pushing.

  “I’m not running from anything.”

  He stared at her for a moment before nodding. “Come on, then. But I’m warning you, be quiet. If you jabber nonstop, I’m using you for bait.”

  She hobbled closer to him, smiling again. “Thank you.” Right. He took the pole from her hand.

  As they headed out, he glanced around them, making sure they weren’t being followed. He tried to tell him self that the footprint in the damp ground had been his imagination. Maybe it had been his boots or Clark’s that had made the imprints in the muddy ground. It didn’t have to mean that someone was watching them.

  But if someone was, it wasn’t about him, or the Johnsons. They hadn’t seen a sign of anyone in months. He glanced sideways at the woman next to him. She was tall, her expression was serious but animated. She was definitely determined. And if they were being watched, it had something to do with her.

  Penelope walked next to Tucker. Tiptoeing on her left foot to keep the weight off her ankle. He walked slower than she knew he would have liked—for her. She smiled a little.

  He wasn’t what she’d come to Treasure Creek looking for. He was too much like what she’d left behind. She could see it in his eyes, that he was driven, that he was all about his career. She had spent her life with men like Tucker. Her father was one. Her brother was another.

  And the women in their lives were forgotten trophies. Their wives, girlfriends and daughters were paraded when needed. They were dressed in designer gowns, draped in jewels and taken out on the town when an event required their presence. And then they sat at home, or entertained themselves when the men lives were busy with their careers.

  She was positive that not everyone in their circle of friends lived that way. She had friends from college who had gone on to pursue careers. Her mother had friends in business. It was just the life of a Lear. Or a Lear woman.

  But not today, with Tucker Lawson walking next to her. They were going fishing. She smiled again, because this was her adventure. This was Penelope Lear reinvented.

  She glanced at Tucker in his faded jeans, hiking boots and the heavy jacket over his flannel shirt. She could imagine him in a suit, standing in a courtroom or sitting behind a massive desk. She wasn’t the only one reinventing herself.

  They continued on in silence, walking on a trail that was rocky and sloped downhill. Trees were sparse here, leading down to the stream. Back at the cabin they were heavy and towered toward the sky.


  The rushing water of the stream could be heard before the stream came into view. But when she saw it, she had to stop, had to stare. Clear water rushed, pounding over rocks and boulders. Downstream, just a short distance, the swift moving water slowed and pooled.

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.” Tucker held her elbow and guided her over the rough terrain. “You’re stubborn.”

  “So I’ve been told. And people always manage to make it seem like a bad thing. But it could be good, if you think about it.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Sure. Of course.”

  “Wilma sent lunch with me.”

  “Did she really?” He led her to a place at the edge of the stream where animals had stopped to drink. Hoof and paw prints were still visible in the soft earth. Something had dug near the edge of the water.

  Penelope studied the paw prints. “What made these?”

  He shrugged. “Everything. Elk, bear, fox. Up here, so far from any kind of settlement or town, there is just about anything you could imagine.”

  “Do you think we’ll catch fish for dinner?”

  He handed her the pole. “We can try.”

  “What do I do?”

  He laughed. “Cast your line into the water.”

  “You say ‘cast’ like I should know what that is.”

  He moved behind her, his arms wrapping around her. He took the fishing pole in his hands and guided hers. “Cast it easy. Don’t throw it out there. Just a nice, easy swing, and then you have to remember to set the hook if you feel a fish bite it.”

  “Okay, I can do that.” She breathed in deep, trying to ignore the way he leaned in close, the way his chin brushed her cheek as he held her, showing her the way to cast out.

  She tried, but couldn’t ignore the fact that his arms were strong and he smelled like soap and the outdoors. His hands were rough but gentle.

  “Of course you can do it.” He whispered close to her ear as he helped her cast. “But careful or you’ll tangle your line. Don’t cast too far or you’ll end up with your hook in a tree.”

  “I can do this,” she repeated and swung the rod, watching as the line and the bait flew through the air, and then landed with a soft plunk in the calmer pool of water.

  “Good job.” He chuckled a little. “You know what you’re doing, right?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Then hang in there. You’re doing great.” He stood back a short distance, arms crossed, and watched her. She glanced back, making quick eye contact before settling her attention on the fishing line.

  “Don’t stand there like that.” She didn’t look at him again.

  “Why?”

  “You look stern and disapproving. Build a fire. Do something.”

  He laughed, but she caught movement from the corner of her eye and knew that he was doing what she’d asked. And she relaxed, taking in a deep breath. Another glance over her shoulder and she saw that he was gathering wood. Penelope turned back to the water and to fishing. And she smiled, because it was easy to smile out here. Even lost, it was easy to smile.

  And then the sudden jerk on the rod. She pulled up on the pole. She could see the gray of the fish. She could feel it tugging, trying to get away. She cranked on the handle of the reel, trying to draw in the fishing line and thus, the fish.

  “Tucker!” She glanced over her shoulder. He wasn’t there.

  She cranked the reel again. The fish pulled, trying to swim away from the hook that had caught it. She took a step backward.

  “Tucker. I can’t do this.”

  She glanced over her other shoulder and didn’t see him in that direction. She couldn’t reel in the fish. She couldn’t find Tucker. She yelled his name again and heard crashing in the woods behind her. When she turned, he was there. He took the fishing pole from her hands and pulled it back and then reeled in, pulled it back again and reeled.

  “Where were you?” She watched as the fish she had caught came closer to the bank. Fear was replaced by awe. “I caught a fish.”

  He shook his head. “Yeah, you caught a fish.”

  “What?”

  “I think I helped.”

  She could give him that. “Okay, you helped. We caught a fish.”

  She was responsible for providing food for them to eat. She wanted to dwell on that, but then she remembered that he’d disappeared.

  “Where did you go?”

  “To look for wood for the fire, remember?”

  But there was something in his eyes, something in the way he said it that made her doubt. Firewood didn’t crease a man’s brow in worry.

  And firewood shouldn’t cause her own stomach to curl just a little, wondering what he was keeping from her.

  But she had caught a fish. She had provided for herself.

  Now what?

  She shivered a little, not certain if she wanted the answer to that question. What caused the shimmer of fear or danger to crawl up her spine? Tucker? Or whatever it was he wasn’t telling her?

  Chapter Four

  Tucker had never seen anything like it. Standing there in her fuzzy boots and a Shearling coat, Penelope caught three fish. As she pulled in the last one she turned and smiled at him. There was more than a little pride in that smile. And he wasn’t about to deflate her.

  “That should be enough for tonight, right?” She turned the pole over to him to remove the fish. That, she said, was something she just couldn’t do. She had shuddered with her announcement.

  “It’ll be plenty.” He unhooked the fish and attached it to the stringer with the others, then gave her back the pole. “Are you done, then?”

  “I’m done. It’s getting cold.” She looked up at the sky and he did the same.

  “Looks like it might snow.”

  She bit down on her bottom lip and nodded a little. She was a sight, with the pole in one hand and a crutch under her other arm. The wind had turned her cheeks a rosy pink and her nose was red.

  “How will we get back to Treasure Creek?” She flicked her gaze away, as if she was looking for a trail out. “I mean, as fun as this is, I really hadn’t planned on staying until next spring.”

  “You maybe should have thought about that before you set out on your own.” They headed up the trail, in the direction of the cabin. “Honestly, what were you doing out here, roaming the country by yourself?”

  “Are we sharing our secrets?”

  “No, I just asked you a question.” No wonder her father wanted to marry her off.

  She shrugged. “I wanted to find the treasure for Amy, and for Treasure Creek.”

  He didn’t want to laugh at her, but he did. He avoided looking at her, because he knew she’d look hurt by his laughter. He kept the stringer of fish held up and trudged forward.

  “You were going to find the treasure? You mean a treasure that has been hidden for generations? A treasure they’re not even sure exists? That treasure?”

  “Stop laughing at me.” She stomped ahead of him with one crutch under her arm, a ridiculous figure in clothes that were suited for the city, not the wilderness. He let her get a little ahead of him because he knew that it would make her feel good, to think she was stomping off, leaving him behind.

  And then he took a few steps and caught up with her.

  “I’m not laughing at you. But honestly, how did you think you could find it? Do you have the map?”

  She pointed to her head. “Up here.”

  “Oh, of course.”

  She glared and kept going. “Don’t talk to me.”

  “Okay, tell me how you were going to do it.”

  She slowed and then stopped, but she didn’t turn to look at him. Snow was falling, light flakes floating to the ground on a gray and chilly afternoon. It landed on the crocheted stocking cap that was pulled snug down over her head, and frosted her shoulders.

  “I’m so sick of people believing they know me.” She turned and a tear streaked its way down her pink cheeks. “You have an image of who y
ou think I am. But do you know that I have photographic memory? If you’d like, I’ll recite the articles I’ve read about you, and about your disappearance.”

  “No, thank you.” That was a little uncomfortable.

  She looked a little smug and he gave her props for not backing down. “I peeked at the map the other day when Amy was showing it to someone. I thought that if I could find the treasure and give it to her, the town would survive. The people of Treasure Creek need that treasure, and I wanted to do that for them.”

  “You seriously have a photographic memory?”

  “I seriously do. I also have a degree in economics.”

  He opened his mouth—but what did he say to this revelation?

  “Shocked speechless?” She smiled and trudged on, that one crutch under her arm, hobbling and hopping every few steps.

  “Yes, I suppose I am. And I owe you an apology.”

  “Because you had me pegged under the stereotypical heading of ‘brainless heiress’? Now that we know you’re wrong, why don’t you tell me about yourself? Did you run from grief, or something else?” She smiled back at him. “A broken heart?”

  “I’m not playing this game.” Because there was something sweet and refreshing about her, and he didn’t want to ruin it with the nightmares that had plagued him for months. Or the guilt that wouldn’t go away. He figured it wouldn’t matter. She’d go with the grief and probably make up something about romance gone wrong.

  “What about the Johnsons? Why are they out here?”

  “The Johnsons have a right to their privacy. Don’t play this game with them.”

  “I’m not playing a game, just asking a question. It’s obvious they’re hurting. It’s obvious that they’re kind and good. I wondered what happened to them, that’s all.”

  “And I’m not going to share their story.”