His Pretend Wife

Would he see another dawn?

The ache in his left leg was gone; at least that part of his body felt blessedly numb.

Deep in the northern Maine pine woods, Jack was miles from anywhere. Earlier, he’d cut down a section of hardwood. When the rest of the logging crew left, he’d stayed on, hoping to get out one more load before quitting for the day. He’d almost finished when a doe crossed his path.

Startled, he’d swerved to avoid it. For one long sickening moment, the log skidder had started to tip. Jack tried to right it, but the track was uneven, covered in a thin layer of ice. The huge mechanical beast went into a slow roll, finally landing on its side and pinning him underneath.

Luckily a foot of packed snow had cushioned his fall, but there were rocks buried beneath. He’d struck his head and had been knocked out for a while. Now he lay trapped.

Ironically, he’d survived street gangs, a rough-and-tumble youth and even a spell in prison—only to wind up in a primitive forest in Maine. He’d read somewhere that logging, filled with physical hardships and risks, rated third from the bottom when it came to optimum occupations.

Maybe he should have aimed higher….

Abby Pierce lingered in her office at the Pierce Sawmill. Her assistant had gone home. The old post-and-beam building was eerily silent. No screaming saws, no grinding trucks loading and unloading outside in the lumberyard. No rumbling masculine voices—one voice in particular, calling her “Miss Abigail,” its owner taunting her with his sinfully blue eyes and a hard enigmatic smile, undoubtedly intended to put her in her place—wherever that was.

Abby glanced at the clock on the wall. Jack Slade was late, probably working—or stopped off at the diner flirting with a pretty waitress. For some reason, women were drawn to his dangerous edge.

But not Abby.

With an impatient sigh, she closed the payroll files. Jack hadn’t come in to pick up his paycheck, and she was tired of waiting for him.

It was New Year’s Eve—a time for shedding the past and looking to the future with new resolve. Lately, Abby’s life seemed caught in a holding pattern. She had a date with Seth Powers that evening. She should go home and change into the midnight-blue dress she’d purchased for the occasion, but something held her here. She couldn’t leave.

With a frown of irritation, Abby admitted the reason behind her unease—Jack Slade hadn’t checked in yet. Why should she care? Why indeed?

Abby rose hastily, dismissing the notion that Jack, with his dark good looks and devil-may-care attitude, could mean anything more to her than a thorn in her side. Like bad news, he’d arrived out of the blue, claiming her brother owed him a favor. Drew had given him a job, and she’d rued the day ever since. Was it only two months ago?

It seemed longer.

Nothing in Abby’s sheltered life could have prepared her for a man like Jack Slade. He was everything nice girls like her had been taught to avoid.

Abby stared out the window overlooking the lumberyard and watched the daylight fade to dusk. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t ignore the parking space where Jack’s logging truck should be. His motorcycle took up the space.

Running her hands up and down her arms, she felt chilled and weary. And worried. Jack could be hurt, or lost in the woods. It happened to even the most experienced loggers, and Jack hadn’t been around that long. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t thank her for sending out a search party simply because he was a couple of hours late.

Abby glanced up at the sky. Night was falling, and with it, the temperature. That settled it.

Taking a deep breath, she walked into her brother’s office. “Have you got a minute?”

Drew looked up from the pile of paperwork spread out on his desk. “I thought you’d left by now. What’s up?”

“It’s Jack. All the other men have checked in, but there’s no sign of him.”

Drew leaned back in his chair. “He’s probably just getting in a last load for the day. I wouldn’t worry about Jack, he can take care of himself.”

Abby had heard that before, it was little comfort to her now. “But it will be dark soon.” Afraid to reveal her personal interest, she admitted, “I know it doesn’t make any sense. I just have this bad feeling.”

He raised an eyebrow. “About Jack?”

She ignored the amusement in his voice. Naturally, Drew was aware of their mutual dislike. Jack was Drew’s friend—not hers. Never hers. From the first moment they’d met, it had been hate at first sight. Abby couldn’t hide her disapproval and Jack had responded with male derision. To this day, their working relationship remained awkward.

“Please,” she said, putting her reservations aside, “can you just check on him? Or send someone up there?”

“All right.” Drew reached for the topical map—an aerial view of the section of forest where the logging site was located. “He should be just about here.” He circled a dot on the side of a mountain. “I’ll go have a look around.”

Abby looked at the map, aware of how easy it would be to get lost. How long could a man survive out there?

“I’ll come with you,” she said on impulse, unwilling to be left behind where she would worry. About Jack. The knowledge curled around her heart and squeezed.

Half an hour later, they found the logging site. Jack’s truck stood parked by the side of the road. There was no sign of Jack. Abby felt a shiver of dread.

The mountain stood before them; a rough logging track cut a path upwards. Huge black rocks penetrated the pure white snowdrifts. Drew shouted Jack’s name into the silence. No answer. Only the wind whispering through the stand of towering pine trees. By now, a pale white winter moon rode high, frozen in black space.

Drew handed Abby a flashlight. “Here, you’ll need this. Stay close. I don’t want you getting lost.”

Abby nodded. She didn’t need to be reminded.

The climb was rough going, icy in spots. The surrounding forest was thick. Some winter branches were bare. In the moonlight, the shadows lengthened, darting in and out. The woods seemed to close in around Abby, bearing her down as the steep climb stole her breath.

She felt a stitch in her side. Ignoring the dull pain, she kept climbing. Then she saw the fallen skidder, the bright yellow flash of metallic paint against the frozen white landscape.

“Drew, look over there, to the left.”

Drew shouted back, “Any sign of Jack?”

Abby shook her head. “No, it’s too dark.”

“Don’t worry. If he’s here, we’ll find him.”

“He might have wandered off,” she said. For all his outer toughness, Jack was an inexperienced woodsman.

Abby walked closer to the fallen skidder. Under the twisted metal, a form took shape, broad shoulders in a buffalo plaid wool jacket.

“Jack,” she whispered, struck by the ominous silence all around her. Her heart stopped. Then, started again in a new erratic rhythm.

Abby rushed up the incline. She slipped once, but struggled to her feet and continued on. With Drew behind her, she was the first one to reach Jack. Removing one glove, she sank down on her knees beside him, and searched for a pulse in his throat. She held her breath—until she felt a slow but steady throb beating under her fingertips.

Jack was so still. Wedged between the ground and a heavy metal strip, only his head and shoulders were exposed. His hair gleamed black against the snow. His face was pale, his lips blue. A bloody, inch-long gash stood out against his wide brow. His thick eyelashes fanned out over high cheekbones.

He was frowning.

Typical.

Abby had rarely seen him smile.

“He’s alive?” Drew asked, the words clipped and taut.

“Yes,” she murmured, finding her voice.