Thanksgiving Groom

“Come on down. Can you make it okay?” Wilma looked at her foot, shaking her head. She was a sweet lady, with dark hair and eyes that were so kind, Penelope wanted to know her better and maybe keep her in her life for a long time.

“I think so. It doesn’t feel that bad today.”

“Good. And later you can change clothes and we’ll wash the ones you have on.”

“Without running water?”

Wilma smiled and laughed a little. “We’ll heat water and wash them in a tub. And you can take a bath, too.”

“That would be wonderful.” She set her pack back on the chair. “How did it get here?”

“Tucker went out early, hunting, and he brought it back.”

“Hunting?”

“Yes, hunting. He didn’t get anything, though. I think sometimes he uses hunting as an excuse to walk.”

Penelope peeked through the opening in the curtains. The chopping sound again echoing in the quiet morning. She saw Tucker swinging an axe at a log. Of course, they would need firewood. He swung again, connecting, splitting the log. As if he knew she was watching, he glanced toward the house. He couldn’t see her though. He swiped his arm across his brow and continued to chop.

Wilma smiled and started down the wood-paneled hall, in what must have been the direction of the kitchen and the most wonderful aromas.

“How do you cook?” Penelope followed her.

“Wood burning stove in the kitchen.”

Of course, that explained the smokey smell. They walked into the kitchen. A lantern hung from the ceiling, and dim light came in through the windows. No curtains. The room was walled with pine paneling and the floors were stone. It was warm, and the sweet smell of something wonderful and baked scented the air.

“I made muffins. It isn’t easy in that old stove, but they turned out decent.” Wilma placed two muffins on a plate. “Pour yourself a cup of coffee and have a seat.”

The coffee pot was on the stove, an old blue pot like the ones she’d seen in antique stores. Penelope took the cup that Wilma handed her and poured the dark liquid into it.

“Would you like me to pour you a cup?” She turned to Wilma, who had set their plates on the table.

“Oh, no, I’ve had plenty. My heart races if I drink too much coffee.”

Penelope carried her cup back to the table and sat down, wincing a little. Her ankle throbbed from the short walk down the hall. Wilma watched her, brown eyes warm, full of compassion.

“Not better today, is it?”

“I thought it might be. I was hoping. Thinking if it was, I could head toward Treasure Creek.”

“You can’t do that.” Wilma shook her head. “It’s too far.”

“But they’ll be worried. My family will be worried.”

“They’ll search for you. Maybe they’ll find you here. If not, you’re going to have to wait until you can walk. It isn’t a short trip to Treasure Creek from here.”

“How did you get here?”

“We flew in. A friend has a helicopter and he put us down in a clearing a short distance away. He drops supplies occasionally. We do have a map, and we can find our way out if we need to, but it isn’t a short walk. It certainly isn’t one you can make with a sprained ankle.”

Penelope bit into the muffin, glad that it was sweet and still warm. She needed a minute to get herself together, to stop thinking of this as a disaster that would only prove to her father that she needed a keeper.

She could survive out here. Even if it meant chopping wood and hunting for her own food. Even if it meant using the old outhouse she’d been introduced to last night. She could make it in the wilderness because she had survived in worse places. And when she got back to town, she would help Amy find the treasure.

She did wonder why the Johnsons had felt a need to hide away in this cabin, far from civilization.

“Does the cabin belong to your friend?” Penelope wiped her fingers on a napkin and fought the urge to reach for another muffin.

“It belongs to his uncle. Years ago they used it for hunting. They would bring out groups and rough it for a week. The uncle got sick and the cabin sat here empty, other than an occasional relative coming out for a few days to get away from it all.”

“It is definitely ‘away from it all.’” Penelope would have liked to share with Wilma Johnson that this wasn’t her first trip that landed her far from civilization. It wasn’t even close to being the most difficult place she’d ever stayed in.

Tucker headed down the trail, searching for more signs like the ones he’d seen earlier that morning. Penelope had been with them all of forty-eight hours and already she was bringing trouble their way. He wasn’t going to say anything to her, but he definitely wasn’t going to let her out of the house alone. Not that he’d have a lot of luck keeping her inside. Wilma had found an old wooden crutch in the attic.

They’d had company during the night. And it hadn’t been the kind of company that knocked on the door. It had been the kind that sneaked around in the gloom, leaving boot prints in the snow and breaking branches off bushes as they pushed around in the dark. They were too far from civilization for that kind of company.

For now, he’d keep his discovery between himself and Clark Johnson. But it proved his point that Penelope Lear was trouble.

“Hey, where you going?” A singsong voice called from behind him.

Great, just what he needed. He considered going on, pretending he hadn’t heard. From what he knew of her, she’d just pick up speed and track him down. But she’d also probably find some way to get into trouble in the process. He stopped walking and turned around.

There she was, his punishment for all the wrong things he’d ever done. She hobbled after him, smiling brightly. A stocking cap was pushed down on her head, framing her face. Every now and then the crutch under her arm tangled with roots or got caught on rocks. She’d hobble, nearly fall, and then right herself.

It didn’t help matters that she was carrying a fishing pole in the other hand. Great. He didn’t have to guess what she was up to today. Yesterday she’d nearly smoked them out of the house in her attempt at fire-building in the fireplace. Today she was going to fish.

Peace and quiet. That’s what he’d found out here until he’d dragged her out of the ravine two days ago. One moment, one second of weakness, and all of that peace and quiet was gone. Sucked out of the world. By this one female.

If he could walk her out of here today, he would. It would save them all a lot of trouble. But if he took her out, it meant he’d be returning to the real world.

He wasn’t ready to give up his time here.

But how long could a guy stay lost in the wilderness, locked away from reality? He knew that this couldn’t last forever. Even the Johnsons knew that eventually they’d have to return to civilization. They’d all have to make some decisions about their futures.

They discussed it last night, after Penelope had fallen to sleep. The Johnsons had talked about their son. He’d spoken about his dad. He still wasn’t talking about the devastating news he’d gotten from Seattle before he left Treasure Creek.

He was still processing that. He was still trying to figure out how he had become this person, a man who no longer knew where he came from or where he was going.

“What are you doing out here?” He waited until she was nearly next to him. “In those boots, and with a fishing pole?”

The boots were ridiculous things, mostly fur and no real sole. He shook his head and then looked up, meeting blue eyes that flashed with humor.

She smiled, and the gesture nearly knocked him on his back. When she smiled like that, a guy needed to be warned. That smile could change everything a person thought about her.

“Give a man a fish and he’ll eat for a day…” she recited.

“Teach him to fish and he’ll eat for life.” He shook his head. And then he got it and he didn’t feel like smiling. “I’m not teaching you to fish.”