Thanksgiving Groom. Brenda Minton

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СКАЧАТЬ you,” he finally answered, the only words that he could say. He could no longer question why she was here. He thought maybe she had good reasons.

      Maybe she was escaping a father who thought he could control her life. From what he knew of Mr. Lear, that was more than plausible.

      “I can’t get you a shower, but tomorrow Mrs. Johnson can help you heat water for a bath.” He stood and really wished that Wilma would reappear. He wasn’t a nursemaid or a nanny. “I can get you a book to read.”

      “A book would be good.”

      He would bring her a book, and then he would escape to his room. Not what he normally did at six in the evening, but tonight he wouldn’t mind being alone. More than anything, he wanted to be as far from Penelope Lear as possible, because she had brought his old life into this safe place. She had reminded him of everything he’d been running from. And she was exactly the kind of woman he didn’t want to deal with.

      “Tucker, thank you.”

      He nodded as he walked out the door.

      Chapter Three

      Penelope woke to a steady chopping sound. She sat up, brushing hair back from her face and blinking a few times to clear her vision. The room was in shadows. That didn’t mean it was early, it meant it was winter.

      She glanced at her watch. It was almost nine. Her second day lost in the wilderness. Her second day in these clothes. Not much she could do about that. She left her one change of clothes in the ravine with her backpack.

      The most pressing matter was to find a cup of coffee. If they had coffee. She stood, flinching a little when weight hit her foot. But it wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be. She took a few careful steps. And then she saw it: sitting on the chair by the door was her backpack.

      Tucker had gone back for it. She picked it up, opened it and sorted through the one change of clothes, her cell phone—worthless that it was—and the bottle of water.

      The door opened and Wilma peeked in. “Well, you’re up and around. Would you like coffee and breakfast?”

      “I’d love coffee and breakfast.” She’d love a shower, a toothbrush and toothpaste.

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ