The wheels spun, eating through a thick layer of humus and pine needles before the car gave a lurch and began to roll backward. Too speedily. Branches snapped beneath the wheels. Noah gave a shout. “Hold up!”
He stepped over the log, one hand shading his eyes from the harsh glare of the headlights slicing through the undergrowth. The woman eased the car backward out of the brush slowly, her head swiveling to check for clearance. So she wasn’t one of those completely self-centered clear-the-roads-I’m-coming-through city drivers.
Not even close.
Noah didn’t blame her for the deer, even if she had been naive enough to mistake him for a bear. Plenty of lifelong Yoopers who knew to be on the lookout could be surprised by a fleet deer bounding from the brush. The creatures seemed to have no sense when it came to traffic, crossing right when a car came along, running the wrong way, freezing in the lights.
Stopping so abruptly might not have been the woman’s initial intention, but he gave her credit for going back to look for an injured deer. Deluxe rental car, cell phone and high-heeled boots notwithstanding, she had more guts than your usual tourist. She’d even faced down a bear. That the bear had only been Scrap, who’d never met a stranger he wouldn’t slobber over, was not the point.
The car turned onto the shoulder of the road and rolled to a stop. For a moment it idled, lights cutting a swath in the dark night. Noah thought she was going to take off with only a wave of thanks for his trouble. Normally he’d be just as happy for their contact to be as brief as possible, but with this woman… Well, he couldn’t put his finger on what it was, but she had a way about her that had engaged his dormant interest.
It might have been the jut of her jaw and the tremble in her hands when she’d raised the club, ready to knock his block off. Maybe it was the perfectly smooth column of her throat and the strong pulse beating in the hollow at the base of it when she’d studied him with rounded eyes and a tilted chin. Or most likely it was the up-front femininity of her flagrantly curvy shape, undeniably sexy beneath the rich fabrics and tailored cut of her designer styles.
Then again, it could be a matter of simple deprivation. He’d been holed up in his cabin for so long the sight of a woman, especially one who smelled like lilacs in the spring, was a shock. Probably any woman—any but Wild Rose Robbin, the only female tough enough to take on the nighttime shift at the Buck Stop—would look as good to him.
The damsel in distress flicked off the headlights and stepped from the car. She didn’t look like a typical skinny, scaredy-cat city woman any more than she acted like one, although beneath the polished veneer of a stylish haircut and manicured nails, a certain wariness—and weariness—showed in her face. But he could also see that her legs were long, her body strong. And that her breasts were full and round beneath the thick cable-knit sweater she’d buttoned all the way to her neck.
She said, “I guess that does it,” as she walked toward him, leaving the engine running.
Running wild. Like Noah’s appetite.
Her kind of satisfaction he didn’t need. He’d been battling one of his cravings all evening, but only after he’d fed and watered and bandaged his menagerie had he finally given in and made the three-mile walk to the convenience store. Henry Jussila had been there, licking his chops over the liquor bottles. Wild Rose had watched the old lumberjack like a hawk, barely acknowledging Noah as he’d gotten what he needed and left her a couple of dollars. Wild Rose wasn’t like the rest of the local busybodies; she didn’t ask too many questions in the name of the small-town friendliness that had always felt more like gossip to Noah—even before he had something to hide.
“So…” The city woman crossed her arms over her chest like she was cold, though the weather was in the fifties. It had been a warm April, melting the snow by the first of May. You couldn’t ask for more than that. “Thank you for the push.”
Noah nodded. “No problem.” For the first time in a long while, he wanted to say more. But after so many months living alone with no one to talk to but wild critters, it seemed that he’d lost his knack for conversation.
“You live around here? May I—” she took a quick, nervous breath “—offer you a ride?”
“Scrap’s never ridden in a car.”
Incredibly, her eyes got larger. “Oh, right. The bear.”
“But if you’re game,” he said, only to tease her.
She swallowed. “Sure. Why not?” Scrap was in the bushes, sniffing at the rabbit trails. “I’ve never chauffeured a bear cub before. Should he misbehave, the car’s only a rental.”
Noah laughed, surprising himself with how good it felt to have something to laugh about. Strange that his amusement should come in such an unexpected package. “That’s okay. You couldn’t take a car like that where I’m going. I live in the woods, off the beaten path a ways.”
She glanced toward the trail that led into the forest. Her eyes widened as if the path were as fraught with danger as the Chisholm trail. When she looked at him, her stare was direct but not uncomfortable. Ever since he’d come back to Alouette, battered, busted and burned, he’d endured enough curious stares to last him a lifetime.
She doesn’t gape because she doesn’t know, he reminded himself, running a hand over the lower half of his face. The beard was an obvious attempt at camouflage. A mistaken one. Even in his isolation, he’d heard enough of the rumors to realize it had only upped his curiosity factor with the townsfolk.
“Then you’re an honest-to-goodness backwoods-man?” The twinkle of whimsy returned to her eyes. “Like the ones in Tall Tales of the North Country?” She shrugged. “I picked up a rather outlandish paperback at the airport.”
“I guess you could say that.”
“I’m in awe.” A wide smile transformed her somewhat plain face. She had character and smarts—he’d seen that right off—but her natural smile and the quirky sense of humor that accompanied it made her seem less serious and more attractive. Almost pretty. He thought she needed reason to smile more often.
Like he had any right to give advice on the subject.
“Don’t be. I’m not Paul Bunyan.” Noah dropped his hand to his belt. Tourists tended to consider the natives of Upper Michigan quaint in an uneducated, unsophisticated way. He wasn’t willing to be the source of their entertainment. All he wanted was to live his life as simply, decently and privately as possible.
Which didn’t allow for women with wide eyes, wide smiles and wide, curvy, made-for-a-man’s-hand hips.
Her eyes, having followed the direction of his lowered hand, became dark and serious again. “Then I’m off.” She spun on her heel and walked briskly to the car, all business. The way he’d thought he preferred it, right? “According to my map, I should be within a mile or two of Alouette. Is that right?”
“You’re on track,” he said, sorry for her departure all the same. It was only his loneliness, he decided. There were better cures. For one, he could pay his folks a long-overdue visit as soon as they got back to town. Maybe even drop in on old friend or two. It might be time.
“Well…” She paused beside the door for a moment, seeming to search for a suitable expression of gratitude. “Thank you,” she said, simple and sincere, a woman after his own heart. Which was strictly a manner of speaking, he reminded himself.
“Welcome.” He sounded suitably gruff, even though he wanted to ask her name or her destination. It was safer not to. This way, they’d never meet again.
For the sake of his peace of mind, that was best.
She slid behind the wheel and he closed the door after her, the soft thunk overriding the moment when she