Using a glove as a pot holder, he filled her mug and a second one, then carried both over to the bunk, setting hers on the bare slats. Lifting his mug, he took a sip, watching her eat, wondering how long she’d gone without food. The way she was going after that stew, it had to be quite a while.
As if feeling his gaze on her, she looked up, her expression going very still when she saw he had only a mug in his hand. Then she abruptly clapped her hand over her face, obviously realizing the pot held shared portions. “Lord, I’m such a dummy.” Dropping her hand, she looked up at him, and even in the inadequate light, he could tell that she was blushing. “I’m not normally such a pig,” she said, extending the pot to him and looking sheepish. Then she gave him a warped smile. “I get a little territorial about food.”
Folding his arms, Finn leaned back against the corner of the roughed-in closet. Watching her over the rim, he took another sip, then offered a warped smile of his own. He indicated the nearly empty pot with his mug. “Go ahead and finish it off. There’s more where that came from.”
As if assessing him, she stared at him a moment, then gave him another sheepish grin. “If you were a gentleman, you’d turn your back on my gluttony. I tend to shovel when I’m this hungry.”
Amusement pulling at his mouth, Finn watched her a second longer, then went over to the stove, picked up the poker and stoked the fire. “By all means, shovel away.” Aware of the scrape of the spoon in the pot, he took the package of trail mix out of his saddlebag. Hooking the leg of a battered chair with his foot, he dragged it over to the stove, then sat down. He stretched out and propped his feet on the fender, watching the flames dance as he ate a handful of the trail mix. It was a miracle he’d found her. In all those thousands and thousands of acres of pure wilderness, it was a damned miracle. If he believed in it, he would have said it was fate.
“The china aside, dinner was excellent. Do I get to tip the waiter?”
His feet still propped on the fender, his cup of tea clasped in his hand, Finn turned his head and looked at her. The food and hot tea had had the desired effect. The sluggishness had disappeared and her eyes were absolutely clear. Sprawling in the old willow chair, he crossed his arms and considered her. With the effects of whatever was in her system obviously worn off, it was time to do a little tracking.
His gaze fixed on her, he took another sip of tea. Then he lowered the tin mug and cradled it in his hands, his eyes still riveted on her. Finally he spoke, his tone even. “I think it’s about time you gave me some answers, Red. Like who you are and what in hell you’re doing here.”
As if someone had just pulled the plug on her newly restored vitality, she carefully set her mug down on the wooden bunk and as if suddenly cold, she pulled the blanket up around her shoulders. Avoiding his gaze, she took off the extra socks he had put on her, her expression drawn, the flickering light from the candles casting her face in a patina of soft light.
There was a brief silence; then she finally spoke, her tone almost too quiet. “My name is Mallory O’Brien.” She hesitated a moment, then let out a sigh and tipped her head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling, her expression stark. “And to be absolutely honest, I don’t have a clue what’s going on.”
Finn didn’t say anything as he continued to watch her. He sensed she was gearing up to go on with her story, and he simply waited her out. Finally she dropped her head and met his gaze. She stared at him a moment, then began toying with the corner of the blanket. Her voice was devoid of emotion when she spoke. “None of it makes any sense. I live in Chicago. I was driving back to my apartment early last night, and I stopped for a red light. Two men wearing black ski masks yanked me out of my car. It happened so fast it was over before I had a chance to react. They forced me down on the floor of a van and blindfolded me, then injected me with something. And the next thing I remember is being moved—like on a stretcher—with my hands bound, and I was outside. I was lifted into something and given another injection.” She lifted her head and looked at him, her face ashen, her expression stiff. “Everything after that is a blank, until I came to in the passenger compartment of a crashed plane.”
His face impassive, Finn dropped his feet to the floor and swiveled his chair to face her. The mug still clasped in his hands, he leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs, fixing his gaze on her. “What happened?”
She held his gaze for a moment, her face like wax, then she took a deep uneven breath, rubbing her thumb against the tin mug. “I must have been jarred awake by the impact from the crash. I didn’t know where I was, and it was so cold.”
She took another deep uneven breath and continued, her voice just barely above a whisper. “I managed to push the hood up so I could see, and I was working on the bindings around my ankles when I heard movement in the cockpit.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, and Finn could sense the spurt of terror in her. She swallowed again and visibly pulled herself together. “I knew my only option was to get away while I had the chance. I managed to rip the rest of the tape off my ankles, and I crawled through the rupture in the side of the plane. I knew if I didn’t escape then, I wouldn’t escape at all. So I just started running.”
She paused again and finally met his gaze, not a speck of color left in her face. “You know the rest.”
He watched her, reading her expression. “What kind of plane was it? Big or small?”
She cupped her hands tightly around her mug, a stricken look on her face. “Small. Single engine, maybe six-passenger.”
His face devoid of any expression, Finn watched her, assessing what she had told him. He was pretty certain she was telling the truth. But he was also damned sure she hadn’t told him everything. Considering whether to push the issue or not, he continued to watch her, analyzing all the facts. Deciding that she had been as honest with him as she dared under the circumstances, he straightened. “Would you like more tea?”
As if realizing that he was not going to grill her, she managed an uneven smile, and Finn had the uncomfortable feeling she was on the verge of tears. But she pulled it together, and offered him a slightly embarrassed look. “What I’d really like is directions to the ladies’ room.”
Leaning back in his chair, he tipped his head to one side and gave her a very wry smile. “Like I said, the amenities leave a lot to be desired. The ladies’ room is outside behind the cabin.”
She gave him a genuine grin and dragged the blankets away. “And well air-conditioned, no doubt.”
He gave her a wry smile back. “That’s one way of putting it.” He indicated the pile of gear by the door. “I’ve set out a spare pair of boots—you’d better put them on. The snow will be deep back there.”
She stared at him, her eyes wide and steady, then as if giving herself a mental shake, she nodded. She crossed the room, resting one hand on the wall as she slipped out of her shoes and into his boots. It was all Finn could do to keep his butt planted in the chair, resisting the sharp urge to pick up the rifle and follow her outside. With the steady snow and the care he’d taken, there wasn’t a chance in hell that anyone could have picked up their trail.
But he wasn’t going to take any risks either. He spoke, his voice gruff. “My dog is in the doghouse under the big spruce. Take him with you. His name is Rooney.”
She met Finn’s gaze, then gave him a half smile and nodded, more than a little amusement in her eyes. “Yes, sir. I will take the dog with me.” She hesitated, then looked at him again. “Are you married?”
“No.” Not anymore.
“Me either. And I’ll still take the dog.”
Her show of cheek almost made Finn smile. Almost. And he made himself relax the grip on his mug. With Rooney along, he knew that nothing—not anything or anybody—could get within a quarter mile of them without the dog letting him know.
Finn stared