Elizabeth August - The Bride's Second Thought

But manners refused to allow him to continue averting his gaze. Turning to her, he didn’t think he’d ever seen eyes so dark brown or a woman who looked so deliciously disheveled. He scowled impatiently at himself. Keep your mind on business, he ordered.

As Ellen headed to the rack of coats, her stomach growled loudly, protesting once again.

Getting her on her way as quickly as possible was a priority, but he didn’t want her fainting from hunger. “You eat. I need to move more wood onto the porch before I head out to your car.”

She was certain he was changing his plans to accommodate her, but she was too hungry to argue. “I won’t take long,” she promised, already retracing her steps to the table.

As she gobbled down the pancakes, she wondered if they were as good as they tasted or if she was simply so hungry anything would appeal to her. Coming to the last couple of bites, she decided that they were truly excellent. And the bacon had been perfectly prepared as well. Peter Whitley, she concluded, would make a great husband. Unexpectedly she found herself wondering what it would feel like to be in his arms. “My cooking is just fine,” she declared, telling herself that she didn’t need lights of fancy clouding her mind. She was confused enough as it was.

The sound of wood being stacked reminded her she was slowing her host’s efforts to get rid of her. Rising as she forked the last bite into her mouth, she carried her dishes to the sink, rinsed them, then again headed toward the coatrack. Halfway there she recalled the icy wind that had entered the cabin when he’d gone out and paused to make a side trip to the bedroom. There she pulled on a sweater over the turtleneck and shirt she was already wearing and a second set of socks, then hurried to join him.

Seeing her, Peter dumped the load of wood he was carrying on the pile at the end of the porch and motioned for her to follow him. “The way this snow drifts, we’ll probably have to shovel some before Jasper can even find your car,” he said, explaining why two shovels were strapped to the side of the snowmobile.

She nodded, waited for him to seat himself, then climbed aboard. As the uneven terrain forced her to hold more tightly to him, and the cold wind caused her to huddle against his back, she found herself thinking she’d never known a more sturdy man. In her mind’s eye she recalled how he’d looked without his bulky coat...the broadness of his shoulders, his fiat abdomen, the sturdy columns of his legs.

She couldn’t believe the very close-to-lecherous path her thoughts were taking. It had to be some kind of rebound reaction, she reasoned. Having wanton thoughts about an almost complete stranger wasn’t like her. The moment the machine was stopped, she released him and dismounted.

Peter drew a breath of relief. Halfway to the car, he’d begun undressing her, imagining how her soft curves would feel in his hands. Clearly he’d been without female companionship far too long, he mocked himself. Unstrapping the shovels, he focused on the business at hand.

Bane circled the vehicle then ran off into the woods pursuing his own interests while Ellen examined the drift that had built around the front and passenger side of the car. On the passenger side, it formed a snowbank that continued to a good foot above the roof of the car. As soon as Peter finished unstrapping the shovels, she took one and began to free the vehicle.

“Tom Grady keeps the drive plowed,” he said as they worked. “I’ve told him to come and clear it as far as your car to make it easier for Jasper to pull you out. But he won’t be able to get around your vehicle. He’ll have to come back to do the rest once you’re gone.”

Again she heard impatience in his voice. “I’m really sorry to be such an inconvenience,” she said tersely. “I can dig out my car on my own. Why don’t you run along and take care of whatever chores you need to take care of.”

Peter frowned. She disturbed his peace of mind, but that didn’t make it right for him to make her feel unwelcome. “I didn’t mean to sound as if you were a nuisance.” He told himself that her business was her business and to say no more, but he couldn’t stop himself. “I just hope you think twice before you take off in a snit again. Next time you might not be so lucky.” That he’d felt he had to remind her of her stupidity grated on her nerves. “I’ve learned my lesson. So could we please drop the subject?”

Hearing the hostility in her voice, he mentally kicked himself for not keeping quiet. After all, he wasn’t her keeper. “Consider it dropped.”

Ellen nodded and concentrated on freeing her car.

They had it nearly dug out when a heavy duty, four-wheel-drive police car came to a stop at the end of the drive. “Morning,” the uniformed officer called out, leaving his vehicle on the main road, its hazard lights flashing to warn any motorists of its presence, as he climbed out and made his way toward them.

“Morning,” Peter called back, setting his shovel aside and walking to meet the man.

Wanting to ask about the condition of the main road to the south, Ellen also set her shovel aside and approached the policeman. He looked to be in his late forties, she decided, and about five feet ten inches tall without his wide-brimmed hat.

“Peter Whitley?” The officer held out his hand as the two men reached each other. “I’m Rick Mack.”

“Jack has mentioned you. Says you’re an excellent tracker,” Peter said, accepting the handshake.

The office grinned. “That’s a real compliment coming from Jack.” Bane came running up at that moment, not stopping until he’d reached Rick. “Morning, Bane.” The policeman gave the wolf a friendly rub on the head. Bane accepted the greeting, then took a stance to one side as the policeman looked to Ellen. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

“Ellen Reese,” she said.

“Ms. Reese,” The officer touched his fingers to the rim of his hat in a polite salute.

She saw the hint of interest in his eyes and knew he was guessing that she was an intimate friend of Peter’s, but she didn’t care. All she wanted was to be on her way back to Boston. But before she could ask him about the roads, he turned toward Peter.

“Jack Greenriver said we could count on your help in any rescue that might come up. There’s a plane down somewhere in these woods. A four-seater. Husband, wife, three-year-old son and one-year-old daughter on board. They took off this morning as soon as the storm had passed. The husband called in an SOS about an hour later. Transmission went dead in mid-sentence. The homing device must have been damaged in the crash because we aren’t getting any signal. If you and Bane could scout the area east and north of Jack’s cabin, I’d be grateful. We’ve got choppers flying overhead, but there’s a lot of forest to cover.”

“Count me in,” Peter replied.

Her own problems were forgotten as fear for the family in the downed plane swept through Ellen. “I’d like to volunteer, as well.”

Apparently the woman hadn’t learned her lesson about going off half-cocked, Peter thought dryly. “You don’t know these mountains. We could end up having to rescue you.”

“He’s right.” The policeman smiled politely at her. “I appreciate the offer, but it’d be best to leave this up to those who know what they’re doing.” He handed a walkie-talkie to Peter. “If you find anything, give me a call.” Having completed that bit of business, he looked toward Ellen’s vehicle. “Jasper said you’d put in a call for a wrecker.”

“Miss Reese didn’t realize how bad our weather could get up here,” Peter said in an easy drawl.

Ellen fought back another wave of hostility as the policeman gave him one of those good-ole-boy “women ain’t got no common sense when it comes to staying out of trouble” looks. “Since I can’t be of assistance here, I’ll head back to Boston as soon I can get my car onto the main road,” she said keeping her voice level.