But he’d mounted it while she’d been alone in her chilly bedroom having her “temper tantrum,” as Keith had termed it when she discovered his action and took him to task. He’d also refused any pain medication.
“If Wilson comes storming in here, I need to have my wits about me. For all I know, you could be hiding in your room again. A helluva lot of good that would do us.”
Naomi looked away from the window and took in Keith’s sleeping form. He’s not a very diplomatic person, she thought. Even if he is right….
She closed her eyes, hating the sight of all that snow, hating this feeling of being trapped. Her hand dropped to her breast, then inside her wool shirt, fingers feeling for the small mass to reassure herself that it was the same size as yesterday. She’d had terrible nightmares the night before about its growing and spreading and taking over her body.
“Does it hurt?”
Her eyes popped open, and she self-consciously pulled her hand away from inside her still-buttoned shirt. Keith was awake, although his head remained on the pillow. The fact that he wasn’t sitting up disturbed her. Yesterday’s exertion had obviously been too much for him, she thought guiltily.
“Does it?” he asked, his gaze still on her.
“No—I just worry that it’s getting bigger.”
He continued to recline, his face pale on the pillow. “Is it?”
“Not as far as I can tell.”
“That’s good.” He continued to watch her. “Is it large?”
“What?”
“BB-size, pea-size…what?”
Big enough to scare me to death, she wanted to say, but she fought down the urge. He had his own problems, yet he was worried about her. She was supposed to be his caretaker, ease his pain. She worked out her answer carefully, hoping to allay his fears. “A little smaller than a pea…” Large masses are usually cysts. It’s the small ones that can kill. “But it’s near my cleavage, away from my armpit and lymph nodes, and those don’t hurt, so I’m confident the mass is contained.” What a lie. I don’t feel convinced at all. Any mass could be dangerous, no matter the location. “If I’m lucky, a lumpectomy and some treatment will put me right.” Heavy-duty treatment, like chemo and radiation therapy—and possibly a mastectomy. Which still might not get it all. Oh, dear God.
His good arm was now resting beneath his head, the other arm and shoulder propped up on a second pillow to keep them immobile. He hadn’t worn the sling or been up and about at all, except to get dressed and check the rifle. He seemed quiet—too quiet for her liking. Naomi went to his side and sat down on the bed, her hand automatically reaching for his forehead. It definitely felt warm.
“You don’t look good,” she said, unbuttoning his shirt to see if there was any seepage through the dressing she’d replaced.
“I don’t feel good.” He sighed. “I ache all over, not just my shoulder.”
His admission unnerved her. Keith never complained. Naomi gently lifted the tape from a corner of the bandage, then another, to take a look. The wound glowed an angry red in the area around the bullet hole, while the seepage wasn’t clear or pink fluid anymore, but a disturbing yellow.
“I think you’re gonna need some different antibiotics. Maybe put you back on the IV for a while, too.” Like Pam, he might need a surgeon.
“Whatever…” he said listlessly. “I haven’t tried the radio lately. You should see if you can get through to anyone.”
“After I’ve taken care of you.”
“Try the radio first. I know you’re worried about your brother.”
“After I’ve taken care of you,” she repeated, trying not to show how upset his wound’s appearance had made her. Can things get any worse?
WILSON TRAMPED BACK to the museum cabin, his snowshoes bogging with every snowy step. He cursed the weather that had upset his plans. Unlike the rangers, he didn’t have a winter’s supply of food and wood. He’d only planned for a short stay in Yosemite before crossing the border into Canada, and from there, even farther north to hide. Alaska, maybe. This falling snow would have rabbits or other edible mammals heading for shelter, and he certainly couldn’t stay outside himself for long. The weather could easily change for the worse and leave him stranded, unable to find his bearings. He’d have to head back to the cabin—where he’d burn some more chairs, more wood, and eat the dried jerky, trail mix and other lean pickings he’d brought with him.
Time for new accommodations. First chance he got, he’d kill the male ranger and take over the rangers’ main cabin. There was plenty of food and fuel—and the hostage woman to do the chores until he could trade her for his daughter. If not, he’d just kill her. It didn’t matter one way or the other to him. What women wanted never did. After all, it was a man’s world, and he was—above all things—a man.
Motel
Same morning
LINDSEY AWOKE FIRST, the light from the bedside lamp assaulting one eye, the light through the curtains hitting the other. She blinked, squinted, turned out the bedside lamp, then turned away from the window. Confusion died as she registered where she was.
In Eric’s arms…. She smiled and remained motionless, forgoing her usual morning stretch so as not to disturb him. It was no wonder he was still asleep. She’d had the easy job of lying on a sled with Pam, while Eric had spent another couple of hours skiing down safely. Unlike Pam, Lindsey was no lightweight. Worse, the avalanche had totally blocked off the prearranged coordinates at the bottom of the bowl. Too much snow remained for any kind of chopper landing. That meant Eric had to negotiate down and through the snow, then even farther below to the more stable landing area, which the avalanche hadn’t reached.
He’d also had to help load them, load the gear, unload them at the hospital, contact headquarters, reload the gear into the ranger vehicle and deal with police, Pam’s mother and the doctors.
No wonder the man’s out cold. Poor guy, he must be exhausted. She stayed quiet for a long time as memories, past and present, good and bad, washed over her. Why can’t it always be this easy? she wondered. But she knew the truth. It was always easy in bed. It’s the rest of the time that nailed us. We fought about work, each other, our professional lives.
She sighed. As tempting as it would be just to linger in bliss, she couldn’t, not if she expected to hike back into Yosemite. She pressed a soft kiss on Eric’s forehead before reluctantly slipping out from the covers. She started the minipot of coffee, called the motel’s main desk to see when they stopped serving the free continental breakfast, then grabbed a fresh flannel shirt and wool pants, and headed for the bathtub. She craved another bath for the therapeutic effect.
I feel like I’ve been hit by a freight train. She turned on the faucet and rubbed her sore neck with one hand before bundling up her hair in the motel shower cap. If this was a luxury hotel, she mused, there’d be a whirlpool in a big tub. Eric loved the Jacuzzi. They both did…. She remembered the passionate times they’d spent in Yosemite’s plusher guest resorts, such as the Ahwahnee Hotel. One of the parks earliest hotels, it was a favorite of many, including photographer Ansel Adams, whose internationally known gallery still remained in the park. Presidents, European royalty and Hollywood celebrities all stayed there for its panoramic beauty. But to Lindsey and Eric, it had much more than a great view. They would rent a luxury room on their days off, and the loving would begin, with Eric’s lips and hands on her—and hers on his.
I could sure go for one of his massages right now. I’ll have to settle for a couple of Tylenols and moving around to work out the stiffness. But the bath should help.
She took her time, grimacing as she worked the wash-cloth over some of her sore areas. At least she felt better mentally and emotionally than yesterday. The panic and hysteria of being buried alive—literally—had almost suppressed her professional abilities.
I wasn’t seriously injured…just chilled and shaken up. Even without my skis, I should’ve changed into my boots and hiked down the mountainside…helped
Eric with Pam. Hell, Keith had a hole in his shoulder, but he sometimes got off the sled to walk over rough terrain. What did I do? Let myself be bundled onto a sled, then cried for a night-light like a little kid.
She flushed with embarrassment as she stood up and reached for a towel to dry herself. I’m definitely better at rescuing than being rescued. I’d better get my act together or Eric will never allow me to go back, no matter how much I argue.
Lindsey was determined to return. Keith and Ginger needed her. Naomi needed a hospital and Eric needed his twin well. Even if Keith and Ginger weren’t at the cabin, Lindsey would never desert Eric’s sister. He loved her too much to do without her.
That thought stabbed painfully, but it didn’t change her mind. If the only way she could show her love for Eric was by going back to help his sister, so be it. She didn’t care if there were a thousand other rangers willing to take her place. She wasn’t giving up her spot to anyone. Lindsey knew the definition of loyalty. As a ranger, and as a policewoman’s daughter, she also knew that once she’d taken the assignment, she was duty-bound to follow it through to the end. Now wasn’t the time to fall apart—yesterday’s embarrassing lapse with the night-light notwithstanding.
She finished dressing and carefully ran the brush through her hair so as not to touch the bump on her scalp. Her hair caught in her engagement ring. This damn thing. She yanked at it, and to her frustration, the ring still refused to budge. Once I’m home, I’m definitely going to give this back. I wish I could mail it, but Wade deserves more than a “Dear John” letter. Or does he? I’ve tried to tell him no in person, but he won’t listen. And who knows when I’ll get out of Yosemite…or if I’ll even want to leave?
Lindsey pulled at the ring one more time, then her wrist started to ache again. She gave up and braided her hair in one loose braid. When she left the bathroom, she found Eric awake and sitting up in bed.
“You okay?” were his first words.
Her smile was genuine. “Much better than yesterday. I almost feel like my old self.”
He ran his hand through his hair and stopped and rubbed his neck. “Did you eat?”
“No, but they have a continental breakfast in the lobby.”
“I’ll pass. I need more than stale doughnuts and watered-down orange juice.”
“We can go out to eat,” she offered. She firmly shoved aside her dismay at the idea of leaving the warm room, hiking through the icy parking lot and navigating through a snowy town. She needed Eric to know she was fine again. “I’ve got coffee made. Shall I pour you a cup?”
“Bless you,” Eric breathed. He waited as she fixed two cups, his with two sugars, no cream, the way he liked it.
“How’d you sleep?” she asked.
“Like the proverbial log.” He smiled, and he looked years younger, happier, like the Eric she’d fallen in love with. “You?”
“Great.”
“Sore?” he asked.
“Some, but not as bad as yesterday,” she said honestly. “I took another hot soak and some painkillers. All things considered, I have no complaints.” She passed him his coffee, and noticed how his glance zeroed in on her ring.
“Lucky you didn’t lose the stone,” he said.
“I guess…”
“Maybe you should take it off—for safety reasons,” he suggested.
“I can’t,” she replied.
Some of the light drained from his face. He set the coffee down.
“I can’t get it off. My finger’s swollen. Not enough so that a doctor has to cut the ring off, but enough to keep it stuck.” Lindsey sat down on the other bed to face him as he lay on his. No, ours. Our bed—even if it was just for one night. Lindsey stared at her coffee with a bittersweet smile. “All that snow on top on me yesterday, and you know what I remember thinking? How much money Wade paid for it—and hoping he could get it back if I died.”
“Is that all you thought about, Lindsey? The damned ring?”
Lindsey almost spilled her coffee. “Of course not! I worried about you and Pam—prayed you hadn’t been buried. Hoped you’d find me.”
“Well. At least that bump on your head didn’t knock you totally senseless.”
Lindsey blinked, aware of the change in his mood, yet unable to determine what had triggered it. Here we go again. I never know where the two of us stand. She waited a few more seconds for him to speak and, when he didn’t, reached for her coat and gear.
“I’ll go check us out while you dress and warm up the truck,” she suggested. “Then let’s get that breakfast.”
ERIC NOTICED LINDSEY’S fresh coffee left behind, aware he’d upset her. Again. But he’d woken up to find her missing, then before he’d recovered from that shock, he’d brought up the damned ring. The woman was near death, and all she’d worried about was that bastard’s diamond? Not if she’d live? Not whether she and Eric would ever be together again?
A sudden thought popped up. Lindsey had always been somewhat jealous of his relationship with Naomi—though certainly not as jealous as Naomi had been of his relationship with Lindsey—and he’d once asked her why.
“Because you talk to your sister—really talk. There’s no male-to-female nonsense, no boss-ranger-to-subordinate stuff between you. You can talk about anything and everything honestly, completely. I know that’s what’s special about siblings, especially twins. But you and I don’t talk that way. I wish we could.”
Eric remembered her long sigh, and her “I’m lost” look, a look she often wore when the two of them were together on a personal basis. He knew that look, and could identify with it.
He also wished he could talk to Lindsey the way he did to Naomi, but he hadn’t shared his life—literally his whole life from conception through college—with her as he had with Naomi. He and Naomi could communicate without thought. Each knew how the other reasoned, acted and reacted in almost all situations. How could he ever have that with anyone except Naomi? She was his twin. No one could replace her. By the same token, Lindsey was his dearest love. No one could replace her in his heart, either.
He and Lindsey had never had it smooth. He wondered if he’d taken too much for granted with her—and with other women, too. He was so used to Naomi’s knowing his every thought, he’d taken it for granted, and he’d done the same for her. Once he’d even tried to talk to Naomi about it, asking if she and Bruce had ever been in sync. The conversation hadn’t gone well. Naomi had said the only place they’d ever been in sync was in bed. Not only that, Naomi’s husband had been jealous of Eric until the day he died. After that, Naomi and Eric had drifted back into their childhood pattern of being together as much as possible. Naomi—admittedly with Eric’s blessing—had taken up much of his time, and left Lindsey out in the cold.
Lindsey never complained once, he remembered. She’d envied Naomi’s ability to communicate so easily with him, but nothing more. She’d said she would never make him choose between his family and her.
Thoughtfully, he took a sip of the too-hot coffee and set down his cup to reach for his clothes. He hadn’t understood how wrong he’d been until he’d nearly lost the one woman he truly loved. His soul mate. When the snow cracked, heralding the avalanche, his scream had torn from his throat like a madman’s. If he hadn’t had Pam with him, he would have dived into that maelstrom after her. As it was, those fifteen minutes he’d spent searching for Lindsey had changed him, aged him and scared him to death.
Time to find out what Lindsey wants—what she wants from life, from me. I’ve wasted four years without her. And what do I do? Get upset because she thought about her fiancé and not me.
He should be turning handstands with joy that she’d survived, instead of driving her out of the room. She’d fallen in love with him once. Time to see if he could make her love him again…. Time—they didn’t have a lot of that, and he’d let her leave him to go and check out of the motel. What an idiot he was. Maybe they’d have a few hours to themselves, without all the official business, befo
re they had to head back to Yosemite. Three rangers needed him. But for as long as the snow continued to fall, he and Lindsey were free.
Cinderella liberty—that was what the sailors called it. A few free days in port. He was tired of being lonely. Sometimes Yosemite seemed like his own personal prison. He missed Lindsey too much. Loved her too much. There was no one else for him. There would never be anyone else for him. He couldn’t lie to himself anymore, not after yesterday.
I’ve got to do more than just keep her alive. Time to find my way back into her heart before the bastard slips a wedding ring on her finger.
THERE WAS A LONG LINE of people waiting to eat at the restaurant Eric had suggested—a combination motel-truck stop just outside town—but the food was great, and the line moved quickly. It was near the crossroads of Interstate 395 and State Highway 120, with a lot of truck traffic heading to Southern California or Reno or Las Vegas. The waitresses took orders and delivered hot food just as speedily as the cooks prepared it. It wasn’t long before Lindsey and Eric sat in front of a large trucker’s breakfast of eggs, toast, sausage, pancakes and hash brown potatoes, with the best coffee Lindsey had tasted in years—and their waitress provided refills without being asked.
Lindsey dug into her breakfast with the hearty appetite prompted by a body needing extra calories to stay warm. Other travelers crowded around them in the warmth of the restaurant; they included truckers, winter sportsmen on their way to Lake Tahoe, gamblers on their way to Nevada, and a few local families with children headed to school and work.
“Lord, but it’s good to be back in civilization,” she sighed, popping another bite of pancake into her mouth, her glance taking in the traffic outside. “Another cup of coffee and a newspaper, and I’ll be in seventh heaven.”
Eric nodded. He seemed somewhat quiet to her.
“You okay?”
“Just thinking about Pam’s surgery,” he said, peeling back the top of an individual tub of grape jelly.
The Replacement Page 17
