by Tami Hoag
Bronwynn stood in the back doorway and surveyed the damage with a look of shock. She knew the room directly above the kitchen looked even worse, but she didn’t really care about that room. It was a small guest bedroom she hadn’t been planning to work on for a long time. The kitchen was the room that now made big tears swim in her smoke-stung eyes. She’d worked so hard in here—she and Wade.
A layer of grimy soot coated the once-pristine white cupboards and clung to the freshly sanded and sized walls. It dusted the abandoned dinner dishes and the food wrappers sitting on the work island, nearly obliterating the logo on a fresh box of Twinkies. It ran in muddy streaks down the outer wall.
While the water damage was limited to two rooms, the smoke had reached every corner of the house. It was even in the closets, Bronwynn thought dejectedly. Everything she had scrubbed and polished over the past few weeks would have to be scrubbed and polished again. Every floor, every wall, every ceiling, every pane of glass in the thirty-seven windows.
Not all the damage had been caused by the fire. The overzealous firemen had gone axe crazy on the back screen door. The thing hung drunkenly from one hinge, kindling held together by shreds of wire mesh. Upstairs there was a gaping hole in what had been the bedroom wall.
“Pretty simple to figure out,” the chief of the Shirley volunteer fire department said in an unusually cheerful voice. A small man with a round face and neatly trimmed black mustache, it appeared he was being swallowed whole by his brilliant yellow fireman’s coat. His hat was too large and wobbled on his head as he spoke, making Bronwynn think of those toy ball players with the big bobbing heads her nephew collected. “Pete was using a torch on the outside trim today. The heat started the squirrel’s nest in the upstairs wall to smoldering, the fire spread through the wall. If you hadn’t caught it when you did, we could have had a doozy of a blaze out here tonight.”
“We smelled smoke.” Bronwynn murmured hoarsely. What had been a vague aroma earlier in the evening was now a thick stench that burned her nostrils and throat. She had heard someone in the large curious crowd that had gathered on her lawn say that smell would permeate everything in the house—draperies, clothing, her new sofa.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” Wade said. He stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders. She felt thin and frail to him as she took a shuddering breath.
“First Ross, now this.” Bronwynn turned and looked up at him, not that she could see him through the tears pooled in her eyes. Her lower lip trembled threateningly. “I’m not having a very good night.”
“Oh, poor baby.” Wade wrapped his arms around her as she fell, sobbing against his chest. There was a lump in his throat the size of Rhode Island. Trying to be gentle, he dragged her out the back door into the yard. She had gone corpselike in his arms and made no attempt to move her feet. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get some fresh air.”
The Green Mountain night air was cool and cleansing. Stars made diamond points of light in the black velvet sky. Now that the possibility of danger had passed and the fire was out, there was almost a party atmosphere in the yard. The firemen and the citizens of Shirley who had followed them up milled around, talking. Someone had a radio going. Someone else had brought a cooler of beer along. Muffin and Tucker worked their way through the crowd, looking for handouts.
Wade helped Bronwynn up to sit on the bed of her pickup, then sat beside her with his arm around her shoulders. “It’ll be all right, honey. We’ll get the mess cleaned up in no time. Pete told me he felt so bad about his torch being the start of all this, he’s going to do all the repairs to the walls right away.”
All Bronwynn could manage to do was sniffle pathetically. She was exhausted from the events of the evening. She had reached the end of her rope and was too tired, emotionally and physically, to dig her fingernails into the knot and hang on.
“Have a brownie, dearie,” one woman offered sympathetically. She had a Roman nose and was built like a Marine, but her eyes were soft and kind. “Rose Lubonovich,” she said in introduction, then lifted the brownie pan. “They have caramel in them.”
Bronwynn turned her head into Wade’s shoulder and began to cry. Everyone was being so nice, she didn’t think she could stand it much longer. She was trying so hard to be strong, but it was darn near impossible with everyone offering her their support. She wanted to sob until she melted down into a puddle like the one that was ruining her beautiful parquet floor in her charbroiled kitchen.
“I guess she don’t like caramel,” Rose said to Wade.
“I think she’s just a little overwhelmed by it all,” Wade said, stroking a soothing hand over Bronwynn’s hair.
“Oh, yeah, I don’t blame her a bit. You like caramel?”
He took a brownie to pacify Mrs. Lubonovich, then tossed it to Tucker after the woman had left. Kissing the top of Bronwynn’s head, he worked his handkerchief out of his hip pocket and offered it to her. “At least I’m prepared this time. I don’t have to rip your underwear.”
A watery chuckle escaped Bronwynn as she recalled the first time she’d met Wade, how he’d held her while she’d cried, and how he’d torn her slip so she could have a hankie. “You’re so sweet. You’re always right here when I need you. I think you’re the sweetest man alive, even if you do act like a porcupine half the time.”
Looking embarrassed, Wade changed the subject. “I think it would be a great idea for us to get away for a few days. You don’t really want to wash all those windows again. We can go somewhere while someone else deals with this mess.”
“Go somewhere?” she asked, raking her hair back out of her eyes. “On a minivacation? What about all that paperwork you keep making noises about?”
Wade shrugged and wiped a smudge of soot off her chin. “It’s not as important as you are.”
Touched beyond words, Bronwynn leaned up and kissed his cheek. She knew how seriously Wade took his career. If he was willing to put her ahead of it, it had to mean he had strong feelings for her. She had been on the brink of telling him she was in love with him when the fire had broken out. She wanted to tell him now, but her emotions were running so high and her strength so low, she was certain she couldn’t get through it without bursting into tears again.
Poor Wade had endured enough tonight. The last thing he needed was to have to sit through a profession of love delivered by a bawling woman who looked like a war refugee and smelled like a flame-broiled burger.
“Where do you want to go?” Wade asked, envisioning luxury accommodations, room service, and a Do Not Disturb sign. “Lake Champlain?”
Without the slightest hesitation Bronwynn said, “Camping.”
“Camping?” His voice was flat and unenthusiastic.
“Camping.”
“I had to be a sucker and give you a choice,” he said dryly. Camping with Bronwynn? Bronwynn set loose in the woods? He’d written the script for another disaster. On the other hand, the idea of having her totally to himself in the wilds definitely held a primitive appeal. Visions of afternoons spent swimming naked with her in some clear mountain lake, and evenings spent slowly making love between the flannel folds of a sleeping bag ran through his head. “Okay, camping it is. Tonight you’ll stay at my place.”
“No argument,” she said wearily, resting her head on his shoulder.
“You can take a long hot bath,” he said, then sniffed her hair. “In fact, I insist on it.”
Bronwynn managed to chuckle and elbowed his ribs.
Once the fire truck headed back into Shirley, the party broke up quickly. Mrs. Lubonovich left half a pan of brownies. Someone offered Bronwynn a thermos of hot coffee and the name of a professional cleaning service. Eventually the last of the neighbors drove away, taillights glowing red off into the quiet summer night.
Wade and Bronwynn sat on the pickup and watched as the dynamic duo of the raccoon world scampered into the kitchen through the tattered remains of the screen door.
Bronwynn sighed. “I’m too beat to c
hase them out.”
“There’s nothing left in there that’s fit to eat anyway.” He gave her shoulders a squeeze and winked at her. “Maybe they’ll discover the last of Wizzer’s fern fronds. That’ll cure them from going into the house. They’ll probably move to New Hampshire.”
They slid down off the truck and started for the front of the house where Wade’s car was parked. Bronwynn leaned against him, feeling safe and protected with his arm around her, her hip brushing his as they walked.
How would she have gotten through this night if it hadn’t been for Wade? She knew she would have gotten through the confrontation with Ross. She would have survived the fire. Experience had taught her that her strength ran deep. But it would have been an even bleaker evening if not for the man beside her. She felt as though the rug had been yanked from under her feet. Wade had caught her when she would have fallen hard. He had offered strength when hers had run out. He’d given her a hankie when she had needed to cry.
Wade Grayson was some kind of guy. Unless she was way off the mark, he was the guy.
* * *
“Are you out of your mind?” Wade demanded to know.
Bronwynn blithely ignored the thundering scowl he wore. As he stomped around her, she sat on the living-room floor, calmly and efficiently packing their backpacks with necessary supplies—extra socks, insect repellent, and three kinds of candy bars. She very discreetly slid Wade’s carton of cigarettes under the sofa. “No. I’m a little unusual, but I’m perfectly sane.”
He really didn’t have to laugh to express his disbelief, the look on his face said it all. Bronwynn paid no attention to him. Anyone would have thought by looking at her that her announcement had been perfectly reasonable, when, in reality, it was about as crazy as she was. Not for the first time Wade wondered how she could manage to exasperate him and arouse him all at once. No other woman he’d ever known would have suggested what Bronwynn had. He wanted to pick her up and shake her—then hug her and kiss her and take her back to bed and make love to her for the next month or so.
“You want to take that four-legged lint ball camping with us.”
“I won’t leave her here with strangers.”
“Then leave her with the guy you got her from.”
“Myron and Phyllis are in their RV on their way to a Knights of Columbus jamboree in Oswego, New York. Don’t you keep up on anything that goes on around here, Wade?”
“Leave her with Wizzer.”
“Forget it. Wizzer has a recipe for herbed mutton and new potatoes, remember?”
“Yes.” Wade smiled unpleasantly. “I do.”
“Muffin is going with us.”
“What if we run across a bear? She’ll be the first thing it goes for.”
“Nice try. Wizzer told me there hasn’t been a bear sighting around here in years. They’re all farther north.” She zipped the packs, stood up, and kissed Wade’s cheek. He scowled at her again. She smiled, thinking he was unbelievably cute when he was being owly. “The only bear I’m likely to encounter on this camping trip is you, darling.”
Wade ground his teeth as he watched Bronwynn carry the packs to the front door. The argument was pointless; he knew he’d give in. Still he had to admit he enjoyed sparring with her. It was fascinating to see how her completely skewed logic worked. “Bronwynn, you can’t take a sheep camping.”
“You’re taking Tucker,” she pointed out, carefully leaning her backpack so it wouldn’t tip over.
“Tucker isn’t a sheep. He’s a dog. Dogs belong on camping trips.”
Bronwynn made a face. “Oh, Wade, you’re so traditional. Loosen up. If a dog can go camping, a sheep can go camping.”
An hour later, they stood in the deep mountain forest—Wade, Bronwynn, and Tucker—staring at Muffin, who had managed to entangle herself inextricably in a stand of cockleburs.
“This,” Wade said between his teeth, “is why you can’t take a sheep camping.”
Muffin was subsequently left in Wizzer’s care after Bronwynn extracted a promise from the hermit that he wouldn’t break out his recipe book. Wizzer gave them tea, directions, and some pastries made from the ground bark of birch trees. While Wade was poring over a hand-sketched map, Bronwynn took a neatly wrapped package from Wizzer and carefully tucked it away in her backpack.
It was afternoon by the time they made it to the spot Wizzer had told them about. It was exactly what Wade had pictured when he’d thought of having Bronwynn all to himself in the wilderness. Working together with quiet efficiency, they pitched their tent among the trees on the edge of a small meadow.
When the campsite had been set to rights, Wade wasted no time luring Bronwynn into the pool of clear cool water that was nothing more than a wide spot in a small, fast-flowing river. The beauty of the scene made his heart stop. The stream rushed down a wooded hill, tumbling over rocks, spilling in a spray of white over a ledge and into the pool. All around was the richness of the forest—the trees with their dark trunks and brilliant green foliage, ferns, tiny wildflowers of white, pink, yellow, and lavender. And the jewel in this setting was Bronwynn—so beautiful and uninhibited in her nakedness, she might have been a creature of the woods.
They splashed and played in the water, laughing like children. They made love under the spray of the tiny waterfall. Wade couldn’t get enough of touching her, running his hands over her slick skin. She gave herself to him with no thought of reservation. She loved him. He would know that before they returned to civilization and the time for making decisions. For now, she reveled in Wade’s lack of restraint, in the freedom of spirit that had seemed to be missing from his life when she’d first met him.
“What kind of candy bars do we get for supper?” Wade asked, teasing lights dancing in his eyes as he arranged wood for a camp fire.
Bronwynn shot him a look from where she sat on a log brushing her hair dry. “Supper was going to be the fish you didn’t catch while we were making love.”
“You expected me to catch fish while I was making love to you? That’s kind of kinky, Bronwynn.”
Rolling her eyes, she thrust his fishing pole into his hand. “Go see if you can get some trout to rise to your bait, Grayson. I refuse.”
Wade kissed her nose and left camp whistling. Bronwynn watched him go, a warm smile of satisfaction curving her generous mouth. She looked at Tucker, who was sprawled on a bed of ferns.
“He’s really coming around, Tucker,” she said. “When I first met him he wouldn’t have taken time to whistle, let alone go fishing.”
The Labrador grumbled in his throat, obviously more interested in the cookies Bronwynn had dug out of her pack than in the important changes his master had undergone in the past few weeks.
The sun was sliding down over the mountain when Wade returned with their dinner—two small trout. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to find at the campsite upon his return, but it certainly wasn’t a red plaid blanket spread beneath two place settings of gleaming white china and sparkling silver flatware.
“I didn’t dare risk crystal,” Bronwynn said, thrilled by the look on his face as he surveyed her handiwork. “We’ll have to drink our wine from tin cups and pretend.”
Speechless, his gaze fell on the bottle of white wine chilling in a container of water. The camp fire was burning—and nothing else. Bronwynn had wrapped two potatoes in aluminum foil and had them baking. She had gathered wild flowers and put them in a cup for a centerpiece. There was even a candle on their “table.” The white taper was a little worse for wear, after spending the day in a backpack, but its crookedness only made it more endearing. Wade went to Bronwynn’s pack and peeked inside.
“What? No evening gown?” Wade asked, teasing her gently.
Bronwynn dodged his gaze, fighting a secretive smile. She wore jeans and a baggy sweatshirt that hung nearly to her knees. “No. No evening gown.”
They cooked their trout over the open fire and dined without interference from the dog, who had earlier been bribed w
ith cheese sandwiches and now lay snoozing on the other side of the fire. When the meal was finished and the dishes done, Wade pressed a kiss to Bronwynn’s lips.
“Thank you,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes. “That was a very special dinner.”
Bronwynn’s heart jumped into her throat in nervous anticipation of what was yet to come. “It isn’t over,” she said softly, lifting her hand to his cheek. “This whole night is going to be special.”
Wade felt his stomach tighten with desire as Bronwynn stood up. She unfastened her jeans, dropped them, and stepped out of them. Slowly she lifted the hem of her sweat shirt, peeling it up her body, leaving a trail of shimmering peach silk in its wake. The shirt was tossed aside and forgotten as she stood in the light of the fire letting Wade look his fill.
Sheer lace cupped her high, firm breasts and ran in a seductive vee that ended in a point below her navel. The silk clung to her subtle curves, skimming the tops of her long legs. Without a word, she turned and went into their small tent.
When Wade stepped into the tent, his breath caught in his throat. A small battery-powered lantern glowed in one corner. The functional sleeping bags had been covered over with an ivory satin sheet, and Bronwynn lay stretched across it, looking up at him with undisguised desire.
Like a man in a trance, he unbuttoned and stripped off his shirt. His shoes and jeans followed. Not willing to take his eyes off the lady waiting for him, he struggled to deal with white cotton briefs that were snagged on the evidence of his passion.
Bronwynn came to him, eager to help, eager to drive him to madness with her hands. While she worked to free him, she ran her lips across the fevered skin of his tanned chest, her tongue flicking across the hard-knotted flesh of his nipples. Her mouth followed the line of dark hair down over the quivering plane of his belly and lower.
Wade wove his fingers into her fine hair, his trembling hand cupping the back of her head. He moaned aloud as she freed him from one prison and trapped him in a sweeter one.
