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The Bride's Second Thought
Elizabeth August


VIRGIN BRIDESCelebrate the joys of first love with the unforgettable stories by your most beloved authors.THE STRANGER AND THE VIRGINBride-to-be Ellen Reese was all set to wed "Mr.Right." But second thoughts sent her off on a ride that would change her life. Who knew that Mother Nature's worst blizzard would strand her in a mountain cabin with a ruggedly handsome stranger–a man who was everything her fiancé wasn't!Tall, strong and irresistible, Peter Whitley couldn't believe his good fortune. Miss Ellen Reese was by far the most desirable female ever to curl up in front of the fire. But Peter was a man of honor and would never dare to touch a woman promised to another. Unless that promise was meant to be broken….







Peter closed his eyes and pictured himself carrying Ellen to his bed.... (#u73ce2ef1-6e7d-5878-85a8-2d71f7d544f4)Letter to Reader (#u03360d0f-7e6e-55be-9bf4-dd7d9224ac0d)Title Page (#uaa495055-7be8-5e03-a6f2-fc268ae83d15)About the Author (#u71d500f5-fbdd-5e95-aab8-646282dd7bd5)Letter to Reader (#u76ebbc46-83e0-5ec8-9e10-0c884f75b774)Chapter One (#u24bfe69c-f898-5e85-819c-171cbfb35742)Chapter Two (#uf66952a4-743e-53a8-a3e3-39405f1ee6d5)Chapter Three (#ubf1384d7-1f2b-52be-9d38-036049647f43)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Peter closed his eyes and pictured himself carrying Ellen to his bed....

Suddenly the word virgin flashed into his mind. For a moment, the male animal in him reveled at the thought of being the first man to possess her. Then a chill of reality swept over him. Did he want that responsibility? Ellen had waited a long time for Mr. Right. Peter couldn’t take her in a moment of weakness....

He stepped back, releasing her completely.

“I told you that you were safe here. And I’m a man of my word. You came here a virgin. You’ll leave here as one.” Before she had time to respond, he headed back to the loft. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, he admitted. And he knew he would never have the strength to do it again....


Dear Reader,

This month, Romance is chock-full of excitement. First, VIRGIN BRIDES continues with The Bride’s Second Thought, an emotionally compelling story by bestselling author Elizabeth August. When a virginal bride-to-be finds her fiancé with another woman, she flees to the mountains for refuge...only to be stranded with a gorgeous stranger who gives her second thoughts about a lot of things....

Next, Natalie Patrick offers up a delightful BUNDLES OF JOY with Boot Scootin’ Secret Baby. Bull rider Jacob “Cub” Goodacre returns to South Dakota for his rodeo hurrah, only to learn he’s still a married man...and father to a two-year-old heart tugger. BACHELOR GULCH, Sandra Steffen’s wonderful Western series, resumes with the story of an estranged couple who had wed for the sake of their child...but wonder if they can rekindle their love in Nick’s Long-Awaited Honeymoon.

Rising star Kristin Morgan delivers a tender, sexy tale about a woman whose biological clock is booming and the best friend who consents to being her Shotgun Groom. If you want a humorous—red-hot!—read, try Vivian Leiber’s The 6’2”. 200 lb. Challenge. The battle of the sexes doesn’t get any better! Finally, Lisa Kaye Laurel’s fairy-tale series, ROYAL WEDDINGS, draws to a close with The Irresistible Prince, where the woman hired to find the royal a wife realizes she is the perfect candidate!

In May, VIRGIN BRIDES resumes with Annette Broadrick, and future months feature titles by Suzanne Carey and Judy Christenberry, among others. So keep coming back to Romance, where you’re sure to find the classic tales you love, told in fresh, exciting ways.

Enjoy!






Joan Madow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Romance

Please address questions and book requests to:

Silhouette Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269

Canadian: P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A SX3




The Bride’s Second Thought

Elizabeth August







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ELIZABETH AUGUST

lives in western North Carolina with her husband, Doug, and her three boys, Douglas, Benjamin and Matthew. She began writing romances soon after Matthew was born. She’s always wanted to write.

Elizabeth does counted cross-stitching to keep from eating at night. It doesn’t always work. “I love to bowl, but I’m not very good. I keep my team’s handicap high. I like hiking in the Shenadoahs, as long as we start up the mountain so the return trip is down rather than vice versa.” She loves to go to Cape Hatteras to watch the sun rise over the ocean. Elizabeth August has also published under the pseudonym Betsy Page.


Dear Reader,

I have been called old-fashioned and naive. I’ll accept old-fashioned because in many ways I am...at least as defined by the modern media. I confess, I saved myself for marriage, and my family has always come first.

As for being naive, I am not. Considering the threats to one’s health and the possibility of an unexpected pregnancy, I considered my choice to remain chaste a rational one. Certainly a safe one. And, because I am the person I am, it was the right emotional choice for me. Other women have made a different choice, and it has worked out just as well for them. And I am happy for them.

To those of you reading this letter, my hope is that you will listen to your heart and mind and do what’s best for you. And I sincerely wish each and every one of you a long and happy life.

Best,







Chapter One

“Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!” Ellen Reese muttered to herself. “Decisions made at 2:00 a.m. should always be reevaluated in the light of day.”

Of course she’d had all day to think, but she’d been too angry and hurt. The truth was she hadn’t wanted to think. Now she was in trouble and had no one to blame but herself.

When she’d left Boston this morning, the sky had been clear. Halfway through New Hampshire, fresh snow had begun to fall but she hadn’t stopped. For a foolish reason that had seemed rational at two in the morning, she’d vowed to keep driving until she’d crossed the Canadian border. So she’d continued north through the mountainous terrain, concentrating on the beauty of the white-blanketed wilderness and trying to block out the scene that had sent her on this journey.

She’d reasoned that she didn’t have to worry about a few flakes. There was already several feet of snow on the ground. People up here were used to snow. The highway department had plenty of plows to clear the roadways. After all, this was ski country and people made their money catering to tourists. Besides, if the roads got dangerous, she could always find a motel.

With those thoughts in mind, she hadn’t paid any heed to the increasing strength of the storm nor the steadily increasing buildup of snow on the road. Admittedly, when she’d passed through that last small town, she had considered stopping, but the border was so close, and getting there had become an obsession. Minutes ago the snow had suddenly begun to come down with blizzard force. Blocking out the remaining rays of daylight, it had brought with it an early dusk. Even with her windshield wipers moving rapidly, she’d barely been able to see beyond the hood of her car and had had to reduce her speed to a crawl. She’d considered turning back but, according to the. map, there was another town not much further in front of her. Besides, since she was hardly able to see forward, making a U-turn with no visibility hadn’t appealed to her.

It was about that time that the extent of the foolishness of her behavior had hit her full force. Straining her eyes, looking for evidence of other cars on the road, she’d recalled that she’d seem none for quite a while. Even in the small town she’d passed through, no one had been out.

“That’s because everyone else was smart enough to stay in or seek shelter a long time ago,” she’d admonished herself.

Driving had become more and more impossible. Out of desperation, when she’d seen a mailbox, she’d turned off the main road onto the private lane hoping to seek shelter at the home beyond.

Now she was hopelessly stuck. Even worse, she couldn’t see any indication of a house in the distance. The lane simply wound into the forest.

Fighting a rising panic, she peered hard into the dim twilight. The lane had been plowed after the last snowfall. She could tell that because of the mounds of snow on either side. That meant that someone lived out there somewhere.

“The house is probably just around the first bend,” she reasoned, using the sound of her voice to bolster her courage.

Wrapping her coat tightly around her body, she opened the car door and stepped out. A blast of arctic air greeted her. Feeling her feet already beginning to freeze, she silently congratulated herself for not being entirely foolish and popped open the trunk. She’d been driving in sneakers but had packed boots. Finding them and grabbing her suitcase, she climbed into the back seat. There in the shelter of her vehicle, she discarded her sneakers and wet socks. A strong gust of wind buffeted the car causing it to sway. After finding a pair of fresh socks, she pulled them on, then pulled on the boots. Already snow had covered her front windshield.

“Maybe it would be smart to wait until daylight or at least until the snow stops,” she murmured under her breath. Her short trip to the trunk had left her coat snow covered and a chill creeping through her body. If she remained where she was, she had a suitcase full of clothes she could keep layering to stay warm.

“Or I could end up freezing to death in the back seat of my car when there could be a house no more than a hundred yards away,” she argued, feeling the temperature of the interior of the vehicle dropping rapidly.

Suddenly the car jolted. Looking to the window beside her, she saw a pair of huge paws spread on the glass.

A gasp of fear escaped. Then recognizing the paws as belonging to a canine, she reminded herself that dogs had masters, and her fear was replaced by a flood of relief.

A long wolflike snout and sharp bared teeth became visible between the paws.

“I think I’ll just wait in the car until his master arrives,” she decided, hoping the glass would hold.

The animal lowered itself and took a stance a couple of feet away. Peering out the window, her breath caught in her throat. She’d assumed the dog was the pet of the people who owned the house the mailbox belonged to. But on closer inspection, it looked more like a wolf. “Some breeds of dogs look like wolves,” she reasoned encouragingly. Still, recalling that wolves ran in packs, she peered out all of the other windows to see if there were any others. She could see none, but then her visibility was extremely limited.

“It’s a dog,” she proclaimed, fighting to keep her panic from rising.

Suddenly the animal lifted its chin and began to howl. It was a wolf, and it was calling to its friends! For a moment she sat frozen in fear, then her fighting instinct took over. “Think!” she ordered herself.

“I’ve got to believe there’s someone just around that bend,” she said through clenched teeth. Leaning over the front seat, she paused with her hand above the horn. Was an SOS three dots, three dashes and three dots or was it three dashes, three dots and three dashes? The first, she decided, and pressed on the horn. After the forth repetition, she stopped. She didn’t want to wear out her battery. She’d wait. If no one came, she’d try again when the snow stopped.

The cold was creeping into her bones. Forcing herself to discard her coat momentarily, she pulled on a bulky sweater over the one she was already wearing and a pair of sweatpants over her jeans, then put her coat back on.

Outside the wolf continued to howl.

“Well, if he thinks he’s found dinner for his pack, he’d better think again.” Her jaw firmed as she checked the locks on the doors, then snuggled more tightly against the back seat.

Above the wind and the beast, another sound caught her attention. It was a motor. Quickly leaning over her front seat, she switched on her lights. Coming down the lane was a snowmobile. The driver threw his arm up in front of his face and, realizing she’d nearly blinded him with her lights, she switched them off. Suddenly afraid for her rescuer, she looked for the wolf. He was running toward the approaching machine.

Moving rapidly, she unlocked her door and stepped out of the car. “Watch out!” she screamed at the top of her lungs, then looked around for a weapon to help the driver fend off the beast and any of his companions that might be arriving soon.

The driver made no move to take any precautions, and she feared her warning had been covered by the sound of the motor. Panic threatened rational thought. Refusing to allow another person to be harmed because of her, she started forward intending to lend assistance to subdue the animal. But as the driver came to a halt and turned off the machine, the beast nuzzled the man’s leg, and he reached down and ruffled the wolf’s fur.

She’d let her imagination cause her to panic! It was a dog after all. It simply resembled a wolf.

Approaching her, the driver looked at her car and then at her. He was wearing a heavy parka. What she could see of his face was obscured by a full beard and mustache while his bulk was large enough to provide a buffer to the driving snow. The phrase “a mountain of a man” came to mind.

Peter studied the woman. The strain on her face gave the impression of a lost stray tossed out into the cold to fend for itself. Where women were concerned, looks could be deceiving, he reminded himself. “Only an idiot would be out on a night like this,” he finally said.

Ellen wanted to feel indignant, but her sanity had returned. “You’re right,” she admitted, and was certain she sensed surprise on his part.

His gaze shifted to the car. “You’re not going to be going anywhere in that for a while.” Then he turned back to her. “You’ll have to come with me.”

As he started toward the snowmobile, she remained in place. Until today, she’d lived by certain rules. And not going home with men she didn’t know was a very big one.

Reaching the snowmobile, he turned back. Seeing her where he’d left her, his frown deepened. “You have two choices. You can stay here and turn into an ice sculpture, or you can come home with me.”

The snow was matting the length of her body. That, plus a frigid blast of wind that nearly knocked her over, made her decision for her. Where there was life, there was hope, she told herself. And staying here, she was certain to die from exposure. “I need my purse and suitcase,” she called back, already on her way to retrieve them.

Trudging after her, he took the suitcase from her. “There’s no way you can hold on to that and me at the. same time. I’ll come back for it,” he said, tossing it inside the car.

His manner left no room for compromise. Following him to the snowmobile, she was aware of his pet watching her. The animal’s scrutiny added to her nervousness. “I don’t think your dog likes me.”

“He’s a wolf, and he’s not mine. He belongs to a friend of mine. So does the cabin we’re going to.” Peter motioned for the wolf to come closer. “Friend,” he said firmly. “Now home!”

The wolf took off at a run down the lane.

After brushing the snow from the seat, Peter climbed onto the snowmobile. Ellen climbed on behind him. With nothing else to hold on to, she was forced to wrap her arms around his waist. As they started down the lane, she’d intended to stay as far from her rescuer as possible. But the bitter wind changed her mind. Huddling against his back, she let his bulk protect her.

The lane wound through the forest for what seemed like forever. Just when she was beginning to wonder if there was a cabin, she smelled wood smoke. Peering around the broad shoulder protecting her from the elements, she saw a clearing with a building in the center. As they drew closer she realized it was a real log cabin.

The wolf shook the snow off its coat as Ellen and the stranger mounted the porch steps. Her rescuer also paused on the porch to brush himself off and stomp some of the snow off his boots. She followed his example before entering behind the wolf.

The interior of the cabin was a pleasant surprise. Considering her companion’s mountain man appearance, she’d expected something totally rustic. Instead, the furniture was comfortable looking, and there was a cozy atmosphere. A fireplace with logs blazing was to one side. A couch and chair grouping fronted it. Toward the back was a kitchen section with a heavy wooden table and chairs. Above the fireplace area was a loft. Three doors led off the central living area. One was ajar, and she saw a bed.

“The bathroom’s over there.” Peter motioned toward one of the two closed doors. “I’ll be back with your suitcases in a little while. Is there anything else you want from your car?”

Feeling guilty about sending him out into the storm, she said hurriedly, “There’s really no need for you to go out there again. I can get along fine until tomorrow, and then I’ll be on my way.”

At least she wasn’t spoiled, Peter thought. The last thing he wanted was to be cloistered with a demanding female. “There’s no way to be certain when we’ll get dug out up here. The snow is supposed to continue through the night, and, with the way the wind is blowing, it’ll probably drift up onto your car. If I wait, I’ll have to dig out your car just to get to your luggage. Now, is there anything else you want?”

She realized that arguing would be futile. “There’s an overnight bag in the trunk.”

He extended his hand for her keys. As soon as she dropped them into his palm, he left.

Turning to look out the window, she saw him remount the snowmobile and disappear into the snowy night. She’d hoped there would be a wife and children in the cabin, but there didn’t appear to be anyone else here. Recalling that he’d said the place belonged to a friend, she called out a hello. There was no answer. Apparently, it was going to be just her, the man and the wolf. This thought caused an uneasy curl to work its way through her. “You’ve gotten yourself into a fine mess,” she grumbled at herself.

Suddenly afraid that the wolf would decide she wasn’t a friend after all, her gaze swung to the fireplace. The animal was lying near the hearth, his head up, watching her, as if wondering if he should trust her or not.

“Don’t worry, I don’t intend to take anything or stay long,” she assured him.

He lowered his head onto his paws, but his gaze remained on her.

Moving slowly, not wanting to give him any reason for alarm, she removed her coat and hung it on one of the pegs by the door. Next came the boots. As she took off the sweatpants, she congratulated herself for having put them on. The snow had clung to them and, still unmelted, its dampness had not yet penetrated to her jeans.

Nature called and she headed to the bathroom. It was larger than she’d expected and clean. There was an old-fashioned, legged bathtub and all the other amenities. The faint scent of aftershave reminded her of her rescuer.

She hadn’t gotten a very good look at him when they’d entered the cabin. In fact all she’d really noticed was a pair of the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen... impatient, reproving blue eyes.

Leaving the bathroom, she walked slowly around the main living area, taking stock of her surroundings. A quick peek in the second room with a closed door revealed a study. Two walls were lined with filled bookshelves. There was a desk with an elaborate computer in front of the window. On the other side wall was another desk with a ham radio. Climbing the ladder to the loft she found a mattress up there and guessed this was the guest quarters.

“Nice place,” she addressed the wolf as she descended to the main floor. She’d been aware that the animal’s gaze had never left her.

He made no response.

Her body finally warming, the second sweater she was wearing was beginning to feel unnecessary. Stripping it off, she settled onto the couch. But she didn’t relax. Guilt for having allowed her rescuer to again go out in the storm plagued her. She told herself that he was obviously used to this kind of weather. Still, her anxiousness increased. The wind was blowing even more forcefully now, producing an angry wrathlike howl. Crossing to the window, she peered out at the night. The snow was falling so thickly, she could barely see beyond the rail of the roofed porch.

“He’ll be all right,” she said aloud, using the sound of her voice to bolster her courage. Glancing toward the wolf, she saw him continuing to watch her. “Well, I told him he didn’t have to go out,” she said in her defense.

Suddenly the wolf was on its feet, and the fear that it had decided she wasn’t a friend caused her legs to weaken. Then, above the storm, she heard the sound of a motor. A moment later she saw a faint light and breathed a sigh of relief.

She opened the door when the man reached the porch. “Thanks,” she said as he entered and set her suitcase and overnight bag on the floor, then removed his coat,

Sitting down in a nearby chair, Peter concentrated on taking off his boots. “You’re welcome.”

The relief she’d been feeling proved fleeting. Beneath his heavy coat, her rescuer was wearing a heavy red plaid flannel shirt over a white turtleneck. Despite the layering, she could see his shoulders were broad, and as he bent to unlace his boots, there was no evidence of a potbelly getting in his way. His jeans fit snugly around muscular thighs, and she guessed that with his boots off he’d stand a little over six feet tall.

She placed his age somewhere in the early- to mid-thirties. His thick, dark brown hair was shaggy around the ears and hung to his collar in the back. As for his face, when he’d looked up at her, the blueness of his eyes had again grabbed and held her attention. Now, however, she noted that his nose was average and his cheekbones high. Beneath the heavy beard and mustache, she guessed he probably had a lantern jaw. Of course, she could be entirely wrong. Maybe he’d grown the beard to cover a weak chin. That, however, would be the only weak thing about him, she thought as he put his boots aside and rose.

She’d been concentrating on her inspection of him in an attempt to ignore the growing fear within her. But she could ignore it no longer. She was alone in an isolated cabin, in the midst of a blizzard, with a man she didn’t know and a wolf who didn’t seem all that friendly.

He took a step toward her, and she took a step back.

Peter frowned patronizingly. “Don’t worry. I’m not a crazed backwoodsman who hasn’t seen a woman in years. You don’t have anything to fear from me.”

She knew she didn’t look her best. Her short brown hair was a wet stringy mess of curls. Her makeupless face was pale and drawn from strain causing her best feature—her dark brown eyes—to look sunken and overly large. Even at her best she was not a raving beauty, but she was pleasant enough looking. This man, however, made her feel like one of Cinderella’s ugly stepsisters. And I should be glad, she told herself, quickly overcoming the sting of insult as she realized his disinterest was the key to her safety. “I’m glad to hear that.” Her manner becoming businesslike, she held out her hand. “I’m Ellen Reese and I owe you a debt of gratitude.”

“Peter Whitley,” he replied, accepting the handshake.

Ellen had shaken hands with a great many men, but never had she been so aware of the contact. Her first impression was strength, then came the roughness of his work-callused palms. But the most disconcerting was the warmth. His hand was still cold from his recent trip outside, and yet a heat. raced up her arm. Breaking the contact swiftly, she again took a step back.

His impatient frown returned. “You can have the bedroom. I’ll take the loft.”

“I don’t want to put you out,” she said, again feeling like an unwelcome intruder.

In spite of her bravado, Peter sensed her continued fear. “The bedroom door has a lock on it. I figure you’ll feel safer in there. I wouldn’t want to have you lying awake all night worrying.”

She was about to say she wouldn’t worry, but the words died in her throat. He sounded honestly disinterested in her, but recent events warned her to distrust what any man said. “Thanks.” Not wanting to admit that he was the entire reason she wanted the locked door, she added, “I’m not so sure your friend’s wolf likes me.”

Peter had to admit the animal could be intimidating. He recalled the first evening he’d spent in the wolf’s company. No human had ever studied him so thoroughly. “He takes his time to decide how he feels about people. But he won’t hurt you. He’ll accept my decision to allow you to stay with us.”

“That’s encouraging,” she said dryly, letting her tone tell him she wasn’t so certain she should take his word for that. “Does he have a name?”

“Bane.” The animal had risen and was now standing by Peter. He looked up when his name was mentioned, and Peter petted him fondly. “Jack Greenriver, the owner of this cabin, found him when he was a pup. He was wandering around the woods alone, nearly starved to death. Jack figured his mother had been killed by a mountain lion or hunters. He never found her den or the rest of her brood. He brought Bane home and nursed him back to health with the intention of releasing him into the wild once he was strong enough. Jack even taught Bane how to hunt so that he could survive on his own, and he never gave him a name, just called him wolf. But when he tried to send him back into the woods, Bane continued to hang around the cabin. That’s when Jack started referring to him as the Bane of his existence. But the truth is, he’d grown as fond of Bane as Bane had of him, so they formed what Jack likes to refer to as an alliance, and Bane remained.”

Peter gave the wolf’s head a playful rub. “It’s Bane you owe your life to. He’s the one who realized someone had turned into the drive and insisted on going out to investigate. When I heard him howling, I knew something was wrong. Then I heard you honking.”

“Thanks,” she addressed the wolf.

He tilted his head, and she had the feeling he was studying her, but he made no move toward her. After a moment he returned to his place by the hearth and, laying his head on his paws, closed his eyes as if to say he was turning over the guarding of the cabin to Peter.

Peter picked up her suitcase and overnight bag and carried them into the bedroom. Returning to the living area, he headed to the refrigerator. “How about some dinner? I was just getting ready to make corn bread and heat up some of the chili I made yesterday,” he offered.

“Sounds good,” she replied, suddenly realizing how hungry she was. “What can I do to help?”

Keep your distance, was the response that flashed through Peter’s mind. Like he’d told her, he wasn’t a crazed backwoodsman, but he was only human, and she filled out that sweater and those jeans in all the right spots. “I can handle getting dinner on the table on my own. Just make yourself comfortable.” He motioned toward the study door. “There’s a phone in there. Feel free to make a call and let whoever is waiting for you know you’re going to be delayed. If they’re from around here, just tell them you’re at Jack Greenriver’s place. If not, say you’re between Colebrook and West Stewardtown.”

“No one is expecting me.” The minute the words were out she regretted them. Silently she berated herself for not making him think someone would be keeping an eye out for her. She studied his face for any clue that she’d made a gigantic mistake. What she saw was disbelief.

“This is not the kind of weather to be out for a Sunday drive in.”

“I had a destination,” she returned in her defense.

“And where was that?”

“I’d promised myself I’d see Canada. I’ve never seen Canada.”

Suspicion spread over his face. She had that innocent, girl-next-door kind of look, but he’d been tricked before. “Are you running from the law?”

She scowled. “No.” His gaze remained locked on her, and she had the feeling he wasn’t certain if he should believe her. “It’s a man. All right?” She’d meant to stop there, but the anger she’d been suppressing took control. “My fiancé, Charles. I didn’t want to be in the same country with him.”

“You nearly got yourself frozen to death because of a lovers’ quarrel?”

The “I can’t believe anyone could be so stupid” look in his eyes grated on her nerves. But she couldn’t fault him. “I’ll admit I acted a bit rashly. I regret it. It certainly won’t happen again. Now can we drop this subject?”

Whoever Charles was, he had a tiger by the tail with this one, Peter thought. “I’ve always made it a point to stay out of the middle of lovers’ spats.”

Her scowl darkened. “This was a great deal more than a spat.” Abruptly she clamped her mouth shut. She’d said enough. As she started toward the couch, a sudden worry came to mind. She’d called Paul Saunders, her supervisor, and explained that she needed to take a few vacation days effective immediately. She’d told him it was a family emergency. To her relief he hadn’t asked any questions. He’d simply told her to take the time she needed. But she hadn’t called her parents. They would have wanted an explanation, which she hadn’t been ready to give. And she’d been in no mood to be diplomatically evasive. “I will take you up on the offer of the phone. Charles will probably think I ran home to Kansas City to my parents. He’ll call them, and they’ll worry. If you don’t mind, I’ll tell them I’m visiting a friend.”

He gave a shrug of indifference and returned to making the corn bread. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the enticing little wiggle she had when she walked. A scowl spread over his face. She was already spoken for. Only a fool would consider getting involved with a woman who was in love with another man, and he was no fool.

Alone in the study, she made the call. Still unable to talk about the scene that had sent her on this insane drive, she simply reassured her parents that she was fine and that she just needed a few days away. After obtaining their word that they wouldn’t reveal her whereabouts to anyone, she gave them the phone number for the cabin in case they needed to contact her.

“You’re just having a little case of cold feet,” her mother soothed. “It will pass. After all, you’ve been waiting a long time for the right man.”

“I’m really not in the mood to talk right now,” Ellen replied firmly, and said a quick goodbye before her mother could do any serious prying.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she stared out the window at the storm beyond. She’d lied; she didn’t feel fine. Beneath her anger was the pain of betrayal, and it hurt worse than she’d ever imagined anything could hurt.


Chapter Two

Ellen dried the last pan and put it away. She’d insisted on cleaning up after dinner, partially because it was the polite thing to do and partially to keep busy. When they’d first sat down at the table, she’d prepared herself to discourage any further conversation about her private life. But she hadn’t had to. Her host had been content to eat in silence. The extent of their verbal exchange had consisted of her complimenting him on the meal and him thanking her for the compliment.

Bane had eaten at the same time they had and now he was sleeping in front of the fire while Peter sat in a nearby chair reading. She’d noticed the book earlier. It was a massive tome about the Mayan civilization. He didn’t exactly strike her as the scholarly type, but then she wasn’t the best judge of men, she thought acidly.

“I noticed a large assortment of books in the study. Would it be all right if I chose one to read?” she asked.

“Consider yourself at home,” Peter replied without looking up from the page. He’d been trying to concentrate on a map of the ancient Mayan empire, especially that portion that had spread into Guatemala, but his unexpected guest had proved to be a distraction. He’d found himself covertly watching her and enjoying the view. Hopefully, she’d find a book, sit down and he’d be able to ignore her.

Bane lifted his head, looked disgruntled at having had his rest disturbed, then again laid his head down and went back to sleep.

Clearly, I’m the sort of woman who can’t hold any male’s attention, Ellen mused dryly, going into the study. A handsome, blue-eyed, blond-haired man’s image filled her mind. Her stomach knotted and she felt sick. Pushing the image from her mind, she concentrated on the shelves of books. Most were nonfiction. Some were histories. The majority dealt with Native Americans. On closer inspection, she found that several pertaining to the healing arts practiced by the various Indian nations were written by Jack Greenriver. He’d also written one concerning the Eskimos. Choosing a book at random, she considered remaining in the study, but being alone made it too easy to remember what had sent her on this trek.

So far, her host and Bane had proved to be enough of a distraction to keep her mind off last night, and with any luck they would continue to be.

“You said this place belonged to Jack Greenriver?” she asked, returning to the living room.

Peter looked up. Her hair had dried into a mass of tiny ringlets. It looked cute, he thought, then frowned impatiently at himself. “Yes.”

She got the distinct impression he didn’t want to talk. “I just wondered,” she said crisply. “I found a shelf of books with that name as the author.”

She’s taken, Peter reminded himself curdy. “Jack wrote them. He’s in Arizona visiting family and doing some research for a new book at the moment.”

A blast of wind rattled the window in the kitchen area. “He’s probably having a lot better weather there than we are here. Warmer, at least,” she murmured.

Not any warmer than the heat she was kindling inside of him, Peter admitted silently. Apparently, he had been spending too much time alone. He returned his gaze to the page in front of him. “I suppose.”

Again sensing that her host was not in the mood. for conversation, Ellen told herself to keep quiet. She seated herself on the couch and began to read. But as interesting as the subject matter was, it could not hold her attention. Instead, she found herself covertly studying her host and comparing him to Charles.

Charles was thirty-five. She’d placed her host somewhere near that age. They were also near the same height and build. But they were clearly men of different ilks. Peter obviously did not make regular trips to the barber. She also guessed that the jeans and flannel shirt were his normal attire. Charles, on the other hand, had a standing weekly appointment with his hair stylist, and he never wore jeans. She tried to picture him in them but the image felt wrong. Denim didn’t suit his personality. At work, he was always in a suit. At play, he wore designer slacks or shorts. He was a sophisticated, well-educated man with impeccable manners. But he wasn’t a snob...just a louse.

She turned her attention back to her host. He’d displayed pleasant manners while they’d eaten. He hadn’t belched or slurped. As for education, she knew he could read.

Peter had been attempting to ignore his guest. But her gaze was causing an uncomfortable prickling sensation. He cast an irritated scowl her way.

Quickly Ellen feigned intense interest in the page in front of her. But again her mind didn’t focus on the words, instead the blue of her host’s eyes intrigued her. Charles’s eyes were blue as well, but they were more pale in color. Peter Whitley’s eyes reminded her of sky darkened just before a storm.

Admitting that trying to relax was useless, she put the book aside, rose and went to the window to look out. In the dim light of the porch lamp she could see the huge flakes still falling, and the sound of the wind told her the storm was continuing to rage. “Shouldn’t we call the nearest garage and make an appointment to have their wrecker come pull me out as soon as the storm subsides?” she asked, abruptly breaking the silence hanging over the room.

“I did that while you were washing the dishes,” Peter replied.

She assumed that, like before, he would immediately return his attention to his book, but a prickling on her neck suggested otherwise. She turned and was met by a pair of cool blue eyes. “Thanks.” That seemed, she thought, to be the major extent of her vocabulary since they’d met.

Hoping to rid himself of all temptation, Peter said, “If you’re anxious to get out of here because you want to make amends with your fiancé, you could call him.”

Her jaw tensed. “I can’t talk to him. Not yet, anyway.”

Her nervousness was making him edgy. Worse, though, was her moving around the room. He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her. Deciding that, seated, she would be much less dangerous to his control, he said, “I apologize for not being a good host. If you’d like, we could play a game of chess or cards.”

His offer, she could tell, was genuine, but the thought of sitting made her legs ache. “What I’d really like to do is scream.”

“Go ahead. I’d be grateful for anything that would reduce the tension in this room.”

That her distress was affecting him surprised her. She’d been sure her presence was no more noticeable to him than one of the chairs or some other inanimate object. “I’m sorry.”

Peter found himself focusing on her lips and wondering how they would taste. He needed a diversion, something that would discourage such thoughts. Talking about her fiancé should do the trick. “I make it a rule never to pry into anyone else’s private life. However, if it would be helpful for you to talk about whatever sent you on this excursion, I’m willing to listen.”

The image of Charles wearing nothing but a bathrobe, caused Ellen’s anger to rekindle. “Being a man, you’ll probably think it’s amusing.”

He frowned at the implication that all men were insensitive clods. “I find nothing amusing about a person placing themself in danger.”

Realizing she’d lashed out unfairly at him, she flushed. “I apologize. It’s just that I trusted Charles. Now I’m wondering if I can trust any man.”

“No one is perfect.”

Too tense to remain in one place, she paced across the room. Coming to a halt behind the couch, she met his gaze squarely. “I never expected perfection. And I was perfectly willing to forget about any liaisons he’d had before we started dating. But once he’d declared his love for me and we became engaged, I did expect fidelity.” The anger in her eyes flared hotter. “Last night I caught him with another woman. I’m a mechanical engineer. He thought I was going to be at the plant all night working out a problem we were having with one of the robotic arms. But I solved it more quickly than I thought I would and stopped by his place with Chinese takeout. I figured we could have a late dinner together.”

Peter found himself thinking that Charles must be a real idiot. “He was probably having one last fling before he marched down the aisle. Some men feel that need.”

“You make it sound so frivolous, as if he’d done nothing worse than go out for a night with the guys.” She studied him coldly. “Are you men so shallow you don’t know the meaning of commitment?”

Again he bristled at being lumped into a single category with all other men. “I know the meaning of commitment. If I loved a woman, she wouldn’t have to worry about me straying.”

Ellen felt herself being drawn into the blue depths of his eyes. The purpose and resolve she saw there was so powerful it was akin to a physical force. Every instinct told her that this man meant what he said. As the blue of his eyes seemed to engulf her, the thought that he was what she’d waited all her life for flashed through her mind.

Peter was acutely aware of the way the brown of her eyes was softening. She’s in a vulnerable state right now. he reminded himself. It wouldn’t be right to take advantage of her, and he’d always tried to do what was right. “Did you give him a chance to explain?” he asked curtly.

“Who? Explain...?” For a moment she’d forgotten about everyone and everything but her host. The intensity of the momentary, unexpected attraction she’d experienced shook her. His sudden aloofness suggested he’d been aware of her reaction and wasn’t pleased. An embarrassed tint reddened her cheeks.

“Charles,” Peter replied.

“Charles,” she repeated the name. Her fiancé’s image came sharply back to mind, and anger washed away her embarrassment. Her gaze became icy. “He tried to blame me. Can you believe that? He actually tried to blame me!”

“He tried to blame you for his affair?” Interesting ploy, Peter mused.

Her shoulders squared with dignity. “I suppose you’d consider me a throwback to another era, but I was saving myself for marriage.” She caught the glint of surprise in his eyes. “Yes, that’s right. Standing before you is a twenty-nine-year-old virgin. Bet you never thought you’d see one of those in this day and age.”

“I never really gave it much thought one way or the other.” Peter found himself thinking that she looked kind of cute when she was angry.

Her jaw tightened in proud defiance. “I figured it was a good path to follow. The consummation of my marriage would be special. In addition, I would also avoid the possibility of contracting AIDS and other undesirable diseases or ending up pregnant out of wedlock.” Her anger flared hotter. “And it hasn’t been easy. I’m not frigid. There have been times when I was tempted.”

Peter saw the flicker of hurt that passed over her features and knew that behind her anger was the pain of someone who felt betrayed. “A lot of people would consider your decision admirable.”

“If so, they’re keeping awfully quiet,” she retorted, pacing once again. “Newspapers, television and magazines have the soap box, and the majority of what I read and see wouldn’t support your view.” She breathed a tired sigh. Again approaching the couch, she rested her hands on its back and faced Peter levelly. “But then I’ve never let what anyone else thought determine my course of action. Even after we became engaged I insisted on waiting until our wedding night. I thought it would make the consummation of our love more important somehow.”

The bitter edge returned to her voice. “He claimed it simply made him frustrated. He said he was a healthy male and needed female companionship. He said it was my fault he had to seek out a different companion.” She straightened, indignation etching into her features. “And do you know who he chose? No, of course you don’t. Well, I’ll tell you. It was the twenty-two-year-old redheaded receptionist from the plant. I’d seen her flirting with Charles, but I trusted him.”

Peter found himself not liking the role, but he heard himself playing the devil’s advocate. “There is another way to look at this.”

She glared at him. “And what way is that?”

“Maybe he’s gotten his cheating out of his system. Better now than after the vows are said.”

“I can’t believe you’re defending him! Do you men always stick so close together?”

Peter frowned. “I’m not defending him. I just think that since you obviously care a great deal for him, you should consider all the possibilities.”

“Cared. Past tense,” she corrected.

How much he wanted to believe her, stunned him. If you do, you’re a fool, he warned himself. “If you don’t still care, then why are you so upset?” he asked. “Because I feel humiliated! Duped! Made a fool of!”

He wasn’t convinced. “I think you should relax and get some sleep. Once you’re rested, you’ll be able to think clearer.”

Ellen stared into the fire. “Maybe I don’t want to think clearer. My mother didn’t say so, but I know she’s worried I’ll never find anyone to marry if I don’t marry Charles, and maybe that same fear is lurking down deep inside of me. It might convince me to overlook Charles’s indiscretion, even if I’m not totally convinced he would remain faithful once we were married.” Her jaw tensed. “I don’t want to be married to a man I can’t trust.”

“It could be that he’ll realize how much he cares for you and never stray again,” Peter said.

Ellen breathed a tired sigh. “Maybe.” Having revealed a great deal more about herself than she’d wanted to, she fell silent.

The man would be a fool if he didn’t, Peter thought. Sensing their conversation had reached its end, he returned his attention to his book. This time, telling himself that his guest was still in love with her fiancé and therefore totally off-limits to any further lustful thoughts, he ordered himself to concentrate on his research.

Rounding the couch, Ellen sat down and stared into the fire. Bane had woken during the exchange between her and Peter. Now, out of the corner of her eye, she saw that he’d gone back to sleep. That he’d shown no reaction to her display of anger caused her to realize that the wolf had accepted her as a nonthreatening entity. That, at least, was a relief.

Still, she remained tense as, uninvited, her host’s image filled her mind. She recalled her sudden, very strong, totally surprising attraction for the bearded man. Obviously she was experiencing some sort of rebound reflex, she decided. She’d never thought of herself as the kind of woman whose emotions could bounce so radically, but then, she’d had a shock, catching Charles with Janet and been terrified, thinking that she might freeze to death or be eaten by wolves. It was only natural her emotions were a little out of control.

Also, she had to admit that Peter wasn’t bad looking in a caveman sort of way. On top of that, he’d saved her life. It was only natural, she’d feel a certain affinity toward him. Just don’t go thinking what you’re feeling is anything more than gratitude, she warned herself. She had enough trouble ahead, sorting out her feelings about Charles. She didn’t need to confuse the issue with a rebound attraction to a stranger.

Having had this little talk with herself and confident she had her emotions reined in, she still found herself being curious about her host. “What do you do when you aren’t cabin- and wolf-sitting for a friend?”

Silently Peter groaned. He’d been trying to ignore her, but it was obvious she wasn’t going to make that easy. He looked up.

She read the impatience in his eyes and felt like a nuisance. “Never mind,” she said with apology. “It’s none of my business.”

He knew he’d behaved impolitely. But she was a strain on his control. “I travel a lot. I’m a geologist. I go where my work and interests take me,” he informed her, then returned his attention to his book, letting her know he considered this exchange over.

And you’re not inclined to talk about yourself, she added mentally. Respecting his right to privacy, she closed her eyes and leaned her head back on the couch. The image of her and her host climbing a mountain together began to play through her mind. Scowling, she opened her eyes and glared at the wall above the mantel. Her emotions were in turmoil, and now her mind was traveling absurd paths! Peter was right. She needed some sleep.

“I’m going to bed,” she announced, abruptly rising. “Good night and thank you for your hospitality.”

Peter read and stoked the fire while he waited for his guest to settle in for the night. It wasn’t until she’d finished in the bathroom, entered the bedroom and closed the door that he relaxed.

Reaching down, he scratched Bane’s neck. “Jack always says you have a nose for trouble. He’s right. The sooner we send Miss Reese on her way, the better.”

After closing and locking the bedroom door, Ellen climbed into the bed. From the next room she could hear her host muttering something and guessed he was talking to the wolf. He’s probably making a joke about my stupidity, she mused. She couldn’t fault him. She had behaved stupidly. If she’d wanted to cross a border, she should have headed for Mexico.

The wind buffeted the cabin. As she snuggled farther under the fluffy down comforter, the phrase “snug as a bug in a rug” ran through her head. Clearly she was still in shock from the discovery of Charles with Janet. She was a prisoner of the storm, trapped in a cabin, seemingly in the middle of nowhere, with a stranger and a wolf for companions. There should be nothing comforting or snug about that.

Too tired to ponder this curious course of emotions, she closed her eyes and immediately drifted to sleep.


Chapter Three

Ellen woke to the smell of bacon frying. Recalling that she’d not only told her host the embarrassing details of her breakup with Charles, she’d even told him about her mother’s fear of her becoming a spinster, she groaned and buried her face in the pillow. The thought of hiding out in the bedroom for a while longer appealed to her. Unfortunately hunger and the call of nature thwarted that plan. Dressing quickly, she ran a brush through her hair. The thick mass of brown tresses had a touch of natural curl and were cut into a short, easily managed style. Usually, she wet any wayward strands then blow-dried them into submission. This morning she ignored the fact that one side was flattened, while a patch of hair toward the back of the top wanted to stick out. She also opted to forgo any makeup.

Impressing her host was not at the top of her list of priorities. Getting her car unstuck and heading back to Boston was.

“Morning,” she said as she left her room and walked briskly to the bathroom.

“Morning,” Peter returned, keeping his back to her and continuing to watch the food he was preparing.

His tone was polite but cool, and Ellen had the distinct feeling that the sooner she was gone, the better he’d like it. Two minds that travel the same path, she mused, entering the bathroom.

“Hope you like pancakes,” he said when she came out a few minutes later. Without waiting for a response, he set a plate with a stack of three, along with several strips of bacon, on the table at the place she’d occupied the night before. “If you want more, help yourself. There’s more batter in the refrigerator,” he added, heading to the door. “The snow has stopped and the weather is supposed to remain clear for the next few days. I’m going to go see about your car.”

She looked at the pancakes and her mouth watered. But pride rebelled at allowing him to do all the work. “I want to come along.” Abruptly, her stomach grumbled loudly in protest.

He paused in the act of pulling on his coat. Until now, he’d purposely avoided looking at her. She’d drifted in and out of his dreams last night, each time running back to a shadowy figure named Charles. Both his conscious and his subconscious minds were warning him to stay clear of her, and he intended to do just that.

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.

Rick Mack’s expression became apologetic. “The roads are still in bad shape. Even four-wheel-drive vehicles are having a difficult time of it. We’re advising people to stay put for a day or so. Besides, Jasper’s helping with the search. He told me to tell you it’d be a while, tomorrow at the earliest, before he could get here.”

Hating the idea of imposing on Peter Whitley for even another minute, Ellen asked, “Is there any way I could get to a hotel or motel?”

The policeman glanced toward Peter, a frown beginning to form and suspicion entering his eyes.

“Mr. Whitley has been a perfect gentleman. And I greatly appreciate him giving me shelter for the night.” Ellen spoke up quickly, not wanting to get Peter into any trouble. “It’s just that I hate imposing on him further.”

The policeman’s expression relaxed. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to. According to the latest reports, all of the local hotels and motels are fully booked.” Obviously eager to resume the search, he again extended his hand to Peter. “Good luck. Even if any of the people in the plane survived the crash, if we don’t find them soon, they’ll freeze to death.”

“Bane and I will start looking immediately,” Peter promised accepting the parting handshake.

The officer nodded his thanks and headed back to his vehicle.

“I’ll drop you off at the cabin,” Peter told Ellen as he collected the shovels and strapped them to the snowmobile.

She knew he would think she was a hindrance but she refused to sit idly. “I’m coming with you. I know a little first aid.”

He started to insist that she remain at the cabin. He didn’t need her distracting him. But he knew if he did find survivors, he could use help. Besides, he didn’t have time to argue, and she looked determined. If he left her behind, she might set out on her own. “Fine. We’ll stop by the cabin and pick up some blankets and a medical kit.”

Turning to Bane, he pointed in the direction of the area he’d been asked to cover and said, “Search.”

Immediately the wolf took off at a loping run.

“Jack taught him that the command search means to look for people in need of help. If he finds them, he’ll come back and lead us to them. His nose is worth a dozen pairs of eyes,” Peter explained as they mounted the snowmobile. Then he started the engine, cutting off any further conversation.

A short while later, they’d gotten rid of the shovels, picked up the blankets and first aid kit and were making their way through the woods. The rough terrain and abundance of trees made the going slow. Periodically Peter stopped the snowmobile, turned off the motor, listened, called out, then listened again. When they received no response, they continued.

The winter wind was bitter, and even Ellen’s heavy clothing was not a total protection against it. Her legs felt icy and her hands were cold beneath warm covering. But she thought of the two small children, and fear for them made her forget her own discomfort.

Suddenly Bane appeared, coming at a run from the north. He yapped, saw that he had Peter’s attention, then turned to retrace his steps.

“Keep your fingers crossed he’s found them,” Peter yelled to her as he followed the wolf. “They can’t last much longer in this cold.”

“I’d cross my toes as well if I could,” she yelled back.

What seemed like forever, but was only a few minutes later, they entered a clearing. At the far end was a small plane, its wings sheared off and the body wedged between the trees.

“Looks like the major portion of the body’s intact,” Peter noted as they sped across the small clearing. “That’s a hopeful sign.”

Reaching the plane, he shut off the snowmobile and began talking into the walkie-talkie. Ellen could see how the helicopter, if it had passed over this area, could have missed spotting the wreckage. The skid path across the clearing looked like a shallow ravine. Only a very small portion of the plane’s tail would have been visible from the air and even that might be hidden by some of the higher branches, depending on the angle at which the chopper would have flown over.

Bane howled, and from inside, Ellen heard the cry of a child. Grabbing the blankets, she hurried to what was left of the cabin while Peter gave their location to the other rescuers. Opening the door, she climbed inside. The two children were still strapped into their seats by special safety harnesses. The windows had miraculously stayed intact. Still the interior of the plane was frigid and the smallest child looked blue around the lips and was slouching lifelessly.

The mother was limp against the back of her seat. A trail of blood from her head had seeped into the fabric of her heavy sheepskin coat. The father was draped over the control panel.

The oldest child looked up at her. “Help?” he asked hopefully.

“Yes, help,” she replied, fighting back the threat of tears.

Taking only enough time to cover him securely with a blanket, she turned her attention to the second child. Pressing her cheek against the little girl’s, she held her breath hoping to feel some sign of life. She was not certain if it was wishful thinking or real, but she thought she detected a tiny whimper. Lifting her head away, she looked at the small, soft-featured face. Nothing. Praying they were not too late, she freed the baby, wrapped the child in a second blanket, then opening her coat, held the little girl against herself, hoping to share her own body warmth.

Peter had entered the plane and was checking the mother. “She’s still alive,” he said, wrapping another blanket around the woman. He looked up at Ellen. “How’s the little one?”

She was again pressing her face against the child’s cheeks trying to detect any signs of life. A second tiny whimper reached her ears. “She’s alive,” she said around the lump in her throat. “But my guess is just barely.”




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