The Great Escape

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  Joan’s heart flopped around in her chest. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “Yeah.” He wasn’t buying it. She dropped it, asked a question of her own. “Who’s Cal?”

  “A high-school friend. And a fellow deputy.”

  She nodded. “Oh.” And asked her real question. “Who’s Lena?”

  His expression closed. He raised an eyebrow. “None of your business.”

  Joan nodded her head, said, “She sounds pretty.”

  “She is.” Dan then gave her a look that swung the conversation back to her business. “Cal says this bad guy was seen in Taos around the time of the murder. Then he left and came back, hunted for you and now he’s gone again. No one knows where. But talk has it that this guy killed Tony. So, my high-school chum says you’re more a witness than a suspect.”

  Joan eyed him right back. “I think your high-school chum thinks too much.” She tugged the quilt around her half-naked self and looked over at her drying jeans. Tossed over a chair, they roasted in front of the blazing fire in the grate. She swung her gaze back to the fully clothed deputy and felt at a disadvantage. Seeing him watching her every move, she said, “Will you please see if my pants are dry? I’d like to put them back on. My legs are cold.”

  He shook his head. “They’re not dry yet. I can see water still dripping off the hem. Just get another quilt.”

  “Sure. Since I’m chained to the bed, I’ll just drag it with me over to that linen chest right there by you.”

  He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why don’t I hand you one? It’d be easier.”

  “Thank you. And why am I handcuffed again? I’ve cooperated since you took me into your custody. I saved your life back at the airplane. I found this cabin and I heated up that ravioli for us. Yet this—” she glared at him, rattling her manacles for emphasis “—is the thanks I get. Why?”

  “Because I say so.” With that, he stood up and stretched. Despite being ticked at him, Joan caught her breath, watching the play of muscles under his knit shirt and shoulder holster. She flicked her gaze to his face. The tired lines, and maybe a few worry lines she saw there, melted her heart. Poor guy. He yawned and rubbed at his jaw. She really should go easy on—

  He waved a hand at her, ordering, “Get up.”

  Sympathy died as Joan arched an eyebrow at such an imperious command. I don’t think so. She stayed where she was, watching him lift the lid on the linen chest and grab two heavy quilts. Tucking them under his arm, he came toward her. He handed her a blanket, then again waved that hand and ordered, “Get up.”

  When he stood expectantly in front of her, Joan lost her defiant nerve and, clutching her quilts around herself, scooted off the bed. She then stood to one side as best she could, given the turning radius of her handcuffed arm. “What are you going to do?”

  He looked surprised by her question. “I’m going to go to sleep. It’s been a long day and I’m beat.”

  “What about me?”

  “What about you?”

  “Where am I going to sleep?”

  He looked from her…to the bed…and back to her. “Right here, I guess.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He shrugged his broad shoulders. “Suit yourself.” And climbed onto the squeaky-hinged bed. He rolled to the far side, against the wall, and stretched out, flipping his quilt over himself. Then he rested his hands atop his chest…and closed his eyes. Joan huffed out her breath as forcefully, as loudly as possible. He opened his eyes and rolled his head until he looked into her eyes. “What?”

  “We cannot both sleep on this one bed.”

  He sighed audibly and raised onto an elbow. “Under normal circumstances, I would be a gentleman and agree with you. But this is survival, Joan. Nothing less. We’re snowed in. We’ve been in a plane crash. And lived. What are the odds? I don’t think it’ll kill us to sleep in the same bed for one night. Do you?”

  Well, that was entirely logical. But standing there in her underwear and socks, a T-shirt and a couple of ratty quilts, she didn’t feel logical. The very idea of…sleeping with him. “Uncuff me.”

  He shook his head. “No.” Then he lay back down, snuggling under his quilt and closing his eyes.

  “I can’t sleep like this.” She rattled her chains to define like this. “My arm will get numb. And I can’t even turn over. I like to sleep on my stomach.”

  “Too bad. Now lie down. I could use your body heat.”

  Outrage forced a snort out of her. “Use your own body heat.”

  Dan opened his eyes to narrowed slits. “This is not a battle you can win. Yes, there’s just you and me and one bed. But trust me, this whole day wasn’t one big scheme to get you into it. We’re here, and if we want to keep warm, we’ll have to sleep together. So, lie down. Or stand there and do whatever it is you’re going to do. Because I’m going to sleep.” Having said that, he resettled himself and closed his eyes.

  Curling her lip, Joan mouthed, Because I’m going to sleep, and then plopped down as heavily as she could onto the mattress, making sure she made the springs squeak and the whole bed shake as she twisted and turned, faking settling down. Without warning, without opening his eyes or even raising up, Dan clamped his hand over her quiltcovered chest. “Knock it off.”

  Joan knocked it off. Wide-eyed, she stared up at the cobweb-draped, rough-cut ceiling rafters. After a moment, Dan slid his hand away. Joan lay beside him, aware of his weight next to her, his heat warming her, his nearness comforting her. And couldn’t stand it. “I can’t straighten my quilt over my legs.”

  “Dammit.” Dan sat straight up. He wrenched her quilts from around her, neatly flipping her over onto her side and twisting her handcuffed arm. Squawking out her protest, mortified that her bottom was now greeting him, Joan flipped back over in time to have the deputy cover her with the quilt and stuff it all around her from neck to toes. “There,” he said, looming over her. “Anything else, Your Highness?”

  Joan’s jaw jutted out. The big jerk. “Yeah. Can I have a drink of water?”

  He glared down at her. “Go to sleep.”

  SOMEWHERE IN THE NIGHT, a powerful urge to sneeze wrenched Joan from sleep. Lying on her back, she helplessly sucked in a huge breath at the instant she awakened, and all but doubled over when her screechingly loud “Achoo!” reverberated throughout the cabin.

  Before she could blink, before the sneeze was an echo, she was smashed under Dan’s weight and had a faceful of his gleaming eyes and his gun. Joan’s muscles seized up, her jaw dropped. Fright tap-danced over her nerves.

  “What the hell are you doing?” His voice sounded gritty with sleep. But his grip on her and the feel of the gun’s cold steel against her cheek were anything but drowsy.

  Cringing, she squeaked out, “I sneezed. As in achoo. You know, bless you, Gesundheit?”

  He stared into her eyes another long, cold-steel moment, and then finally relaxed. But only enough to slide his weapon away from her and allow Joan to catch a gulping breath. She sucked in air to her grateful lungs. “Get off me. I can’t breathe. You’re too heavy.”

  “Am I? You really want me to get off you?” he said without moving off her. His expression warmed up, heating her through to her bones. Joan stilled in his embrace, blinked up at him, felt a growing tightness in her chest and also…somewhat lower down. “You haven’t answered me, Joan.”

  “I know,” she breathed, wrestling instead with what was going on inside her head. What was this instant attraction between them? She’d felt it from the moment he’d walked through the door of Interview Room 3. And now, why’d he look so darned right, here in bed with her? Did some parts of her know something they hadn’t told the other parts?

  “Is that your answer?” Dan all but whispered, his eyelids drooping sexily, his lips parting, his head lowering to hers.

  “I guess,” she murmured, raising her head and slanting her lips toward his. At the moment of sweet, firm contact, electricity crackled across her mo
uth, took her breath. A guttural noise escaped Dan. He gathered her into his arms. Joan melted against him.

  His plundering tongue hungrily took her mouth. Joan heard her own whimper. She wanted this. Didn’t want to think about how wrong it might be, just how good it felt. Breathing shallowly, she fisted her free hand in his black hair. He tasted good…so right. She couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had actually made her hurt. Or feel so…alive.

  Dan slid his mouth off hers, traced kissing nips down her cheek, her jaw and then her neck. Joan felt the cold air caressing her damp mouth. She arched into the deputy, then cried out when her arm cramped. He pulled back abruptly, stared wide-eyed down at her. Joan stared up at the fireshadowed planes of his face. Then, she stretched her arm out, causing the handcuff to clink against the iron headboard.

  And that sound, more than the one she’d made, acted on Dan like a cannon shot. He looked down at what he…they were doing, and instantly rolled off her. For her part, Joan lay absolutely still, having no idea what she was supposed to think, much less do. From his side of the narrow bed came, “I told you not to make any sudden moves.”

  “What?” The word was a cry of protest. A taut jerk of her head and she was facing him. “All I did was sneeze. You’re the one who—”

  He reared up on his elbow again. “I know what I did. Just go to sleep.”

  Joan clamped her lips together and glared at him. Finally, Dan lowered himself to the mattress and stretched out. His shifting about and settling in rocked every spring the ancient bed possessed. Joan clutched at the old ticking, held tight, feared she’d end up dumped on the floor. But finally he settled in, stilled. The room quieted.

  After long moments, Joan stole a glance his way. His eyes were closed. She shifted her position to see him better. The man was handsome. And some kisser, for a deputy sheriff. But more than that, he wanted to help her, was going to help her. Why? He didn’t know anything about her, but it didn’t seem to matter. So, what manner of man was he that he’d risk his life to help her—a stranger and a convict? Well, a nice man, that’s what. A caring man. A man of honor and scruples.

  And armed with a 9-mm Beretta. But sound-asleep. Joan inched her hand over to him, aiming for his belt loop, for the metal ring that held the keys to her handcuffs.

  WHEN DAN AWAKENED the next morning, the only thing remaining in the bed with him was his own handcuffs. They dangled, like a taunt, from the iron bar to which he’d fastened them yesterday. Son of a—He jerked upright, aware of the cold bed, the colder cabin and the dead ashes of the fire.

  The day’s achingly bright sunshine streaming in through the window over the bed pointed out the lack of drying clothes over the chair and the lack of their owner on the premises. Instantly gone from his mind was any memory of her rounded little bottom stuck up against his groin for more than half the night. Only an embedded sense of decency, and a severe grip on his pillow, had kept him from—

  “Oh, just shoot me now,” Dan appealed as he took inventory of himself. Beretta still holstered. Checked his jeans’ pockets. Everything in there. Belt loop…key ring…dammit…gone. Prisoner gone. Cessna gone. Career gone. So escaping was how she paid back his many kindnesses, not the least of which was his intention to save her from herself? His jaw set with rage, Dan kicked free of his tangled quilt and scooted off the bed.

  In a flash, he’d shrugged into his parka and was lacing his boots. She couldn’t have gotten far. Not in this snow and cold. He tried to tell himself he worried only because she was the state’s property and his responsibility, but he couldn’t even sell that to himself. Damn her. She’d get herself killed, that’s what. If he had a lick of sense, he’d leave the misguided little nutcase out there to freeze to death.

  Yeah, yeah, Hendricks, tell it to someone who’ll believe it. Ignoring his morning bladder, Dan jerked open the cabin door. Stopping short, he raised a hand to shield his eyes as he blinked against the stark white of the landscape. Polarbear-in-a-snowstorm white. Rubbing away the tears, he blinked again and looked around.

  “Dan? Oh, thank God. Over here. Hurry.”

  Dan heard Joan’s frantic whispery call and wondered when he’d become Dan to her. But couldn’t see her. He looked to his left, to his right, all around. She wasn’t anywhere he could see. Refusing to admit he was the least bit spooked, he reached for his gun. “Where are you? What’s wrong?”

  “Shh. Keep your voice down. Just come here. Over to your left.”

  Palming his gun, he looked to his left. Lots of trees. No Joan. “If this is some kind of a trick, I’ll—”

  “There’s no trick. Just hurry.”

  She sounded increasingly desperate. Leading with his weapon, Dan set out toward the trees. Just as he passed a particularly gnarled-up pine trunk, he heard a hissing sound above him. In less than a second, his attention and the 9-mm were aimed at the sound. Finally, what exactly he was looking at registered.

  Joan O’Leary, confessed murderess and escaped convict, straddled a high-up thick branch and was hugging the trunk. Dan didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so he settled for calling out, “How in the—?”

  “Get up here. Hurry. Bears in the outhouse.”

  “What?” He holstered the Beretta and put his hands to his waist. “Did you say you were bare in the outhouse? It’s kind of cold for—”

  “Not me. Last night, you were asleep and I had to go…potty. So I took the key to the handcuffs. And then again this morning, I—If you’ll come up here, I’ll explain.”

  Dan couldn’t believe this. She’d done it again—stolen official police property. Just like she’d tried to do in Houston with that officer’s gun. He shook his head, but to keep from chuckling. “I’m not going up there.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Suit yourself. But there’s a mama bear and two babies coming up behind you.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure there is. Go on.”

  “Okay. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Anyway, I got up this morning and dressed, thank you, and went outside. I was in the outhouse when I heard a noise.” Something behind him distracted her momentarily, but then she refocused on him. “There really are bears. Do you think that I’d be sitting up here on this branch otherwise?”

  “That’s another thing…how did you get up there?”

  “Very quickly, that’s how.”

  He nodded, quirked his mouth. “Because of the bears, right? You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  “Well, I’m sorry, I can’t. It’s the truth.”

  “Somewhat like your confession?”

  She eased her two-handed grip on the trunk enough to lean over and send her cascade of long red hair falling forward. “If I were you, I wouldn’t split hairs right now. You’re in a lot of danger.”

  Dan realized he was enjoying bantering with this good-looking crazy woman up a tree. “From who—you? I’ve got the gun.”

  She shoved her hair out of her face and held it back. “You may need it. Because coming up behind you is a nursery rhyme turned ugly.”

  “The Three Bears, I take it?” Dan grinned at her. “Does that make you Goldilocks?”

  Joan started to say something, but swallowed the words and stared without blinking when, from behind him, came rooting and snuffling and grunting. Dan tensed. He stared up at Joan. Saw the bulge of her eyes. Knew he was in trouble. Before anyone could say, “Who’s been sleeping in my bed?” he’d skinned up the tree, forcing her to scoot backward on the branch, and sat perched next to her. Only then did he look down.

  Sure enough, a mother grizzly and her two good-size cubs ambled from behind the cabin and into the clearing around it. Dan’s heart nearly tripped over itself. He turned to Joan and whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me there really were bears down there? I could’ve been killed.”

  Disbelief shaded her green eyes. “I ought to push you out of this tree.”

  “Just try it.” Dan kept his gaze on the grizzlies, saw the big, brown mother become aware of them. Acr
oss the way, the hairy critter raised on her back legs and sniffed the air. Dan clutched at Joan’s parka-covered sleeve. “Don’t move,” he whispered. “But be ready to jump. Bears can climb trees.”

  Her inhaled breath was a mere hiss. “My, aren’t they clever?”

  Dan spared her a glance but reserved his undivided attention for the heavyweight mama now directly below them. Just as the grizzly shuffled up to the tree’s base, her cubs got into a rolling ball of a squabble, bleating their displeasure with each other. Mother Bear turned and, with an indifferent swipe of a massive paw, separated them. Undaunted, the cubs scrambled to all fours and followed their mother’s ambling gait into the open front door of the cabin.

  Oh, hell. No one had to tell Dan what the next words out of his prisoner’s mouth would be. He glanced at her. Sure enough, “Don’t look at me. You were the last one out, Sheriff.”

  He wasn’t taking this lying down…or sitting in a tree. “Only because I had to come find you.”

  She pointed a finger, opened her mouth, but got distracted, along with him, by the unmistakable sounds of the cabin being vandalized as only three hungry bears can do it. After a sickening there-goes-the-food moment, Dan exchanged a look with Joan. She immediately quipped, “It’s not like we have to eat every day, I guess.”

  He nodded, trying his best not to appear as though he was staring into her green eyes and remembering their kiss. “Good thing,” he finally thought to say by way of a response.

  She stared back, her expression warm. Then she looked down and away, and chuckled, swinging her gaze back to his face. “So, Sheriff, do you go out on a limb like this for all the girls?”

  Dan’s eyebrows veed toward his nose. “No. Just the ones charged with a capital crime and being chased by bears.”

  Joan’s expression crumpled some. But she gamely raised a hand, as if to identify herself at a roll call. “Here, sir. Joan O’Leary, president of that club.”