authorities could arrive. So they’d packed Jackson onto a sled, and Carlie tried not to think about the murdered man. Instead she considered Sean’s claim that they were husband and wife.
The men’s silence in the pine forest was broken only by the slide of falling rocks, the crunch of leaves, snaps of twigs underfoot and the occasional masculine grunt. Buffeted by a heavy head wind and flanked by sheer rock walls, the trail—consisting of icy sheets and compacted snowdrifts alternating with steep dirt patches—was not conducive to asking questions.
But Carlie couldn’t resist glancing at Sean McCabe, who claimed to be her husband. He walked with the grace of a mountain cat and was just as unapproachable. For a man who was supposed to be her spouse, he hadn’t exhibited much sympathy toward her plight. His face, all harsh planes and angles, never turned her way. And yet, behind his mask of indifference, she sensed his keen interest in her.
What kind of husband was he?
From the first time she’d awakened, he’d accused her of murder. Why would a husband think the worst of his wife? And he’d given no indication then they had a personal relationship, treating her as if they were strangers. Nor had he given her explanations about the two years she couldn’t remember.
To be fair and give him credit, although he was still grieving over Jackson, he had defended her from the other men’s aggression.
He had helped her.
But she expected more from a man to whom she had committed to spend the rest of her life; he had to back her no matter how suspicious her circumstances.
But he had.
He hadn’t, however, gone out of his way to reassure her; not by a glance or a squeeze of the hand had he indicated he was more than a casual acquaintance.
While she couldn’t remember him, she’d assumed her marriage would contain a certain intimacy, a bonding greater than other relationships. She must have loved him if she’d married this man. But even if her memories were gone and she couldn’t recall her own feelings, why couldn’t she find any evidence of his feelings for her?
He must have been shocked when she couldn’t remember him, more shocked to find her next to the dead body of his adoptive father with the murder weapon in hand. Although he’d been grieving, he hadn’t acted shocked, he’d spoken clearly, concisely and taken charge right off the bat. But still…a husband should always support his wife. What kind of man had she married?
A small slab of snow broke loose and shot down a gully, reminding her she’d awakened in another world. Where had she met Sean? She must have loved him to distraction to have moved to Alaska, left her family and given up a job she loved. She felt awful that she couldn’t remember their first dance, first kiss or making love. Knowing they must have shared these intimacies as man and wife, she had difficulty reconciling her husband with the man who’d recently accused her of murder. No matter how often she searched his flinty stare, she could find no display of tenderness or affection. Right now, she’d settle for just a little familiarity.
But he seemed as forbidding as the mountain’s summit. And just as hard to reach.
They strode past alders, willows and pine, and she took the opportunity to observe him. Sure, his body appealed to her. Who wouldn’t be attracted to those mountainous shoulders tapering to a lean waist and narrow hips? Nor would she deny her fascination with how the northern sunlight played off the angles of his tanned skin. His black hair was cut short in a style she found attractive. But the outside was just window dressing. And looking at him gave her few clues to his thoughts.
Frustrated by her lack of memory, she peeked down to the one-street town below. A church squatted next to a few stores. Cabins, chimneys curling wispy smoke into the blue sky, dotted the steep landscape. She figured the town couldn’t have a population of more than a hundred people, and if the town was anything like Riverview where she lived, folks knew one another’s business. Likely some of these people would have attended their wedding and the town paper would have published the story.
So why didn’t either Roger or Marvin or the college-age kid named Tyler know she was Sean’s wife? While Sean’s announcement had left her breathless and shocked, Roger’s jaw had dropped, his pink lips peeking through his thick beard. Marvin’s eyes had gone wide. Only Tyler had simply cocked an eyebrow and taken the news in stride.
Their reactions piqued her suspicions. Not only didn’t they recognize her as Sean’s wife, they didn’t appear to know that Sean had married.
Yet she couldn’t deny the wedding ring beneath her glove. During the last two years, she must have met Sean, fallen in love and married. But the only emotion she could dredge up whenever she looked at him was curiosity and tingling awareness of his presence.
Just past head-high willows, the trail ahead widened and forked. With no discussion among them, Sean sent the three men with Jackson’s body down the right path of the mountain and gestured for her to follow him to the left.
Ice covered the steeper part of the trail, but Sean walked without concern, his feet steady. Silent, like a hunter. No twigs snapped beneath his feet. His clothing didn’t rustle. He moved as one with the mountain, quickly, quietly, methodically.
While he seemed at ease in the silence, she could no longer hold back her maelstrom of questions. “Where are we going?”
“To my cabin.”
She halted in her tracks, didn’t bother masking the suspicion in her tone. “Your cabin. If we’re married, don’t I live there, too?”
“You will now.” He kept walking in that steady stride that could eat up miles.
Her annoyance rising, she hurried to keep up. Was he deliberately being obtuse? How could she have married such a poor communicator?
She caught up, tugged on his arm, drawing him to a stop. “Do we or do we not live together?”
She didn’t like the way her words came out breathless, but blamed it on the lack of oxygen in the high altitude and not his stare or the full force of his personality hitting her squarely and making her feel jumpy. At the intensity on his face, she wanted to take a step backward. But hell could freeze over before she’d let him think he could intimidate her.
“It might be better if you remembered on your own.” His voice sounded reasonable.
“Better for whom?” she countered, her temper rising. “Look, mister, I appreciate you keeping your friends from stringing me up from the nearest tree, but I don’t know you from squat.”
“Are you in the habit of marrying strangers?” he teased, a gleam in his eyes softening his face.
“Obviously I’ve picked up some bad habits.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Now, why don’t I find that hard to believe?” she muttered, wondering how he’d changed the subject so smoothly. But she refused to let him distract her. “If you’re my husband, then start acting like it. I want some answers and I’d like them now. Please.”
“My cabin…our cabin,” he corrected himself, “is around the next bend. We can talk there.”
He set off without waiting for her agreement, once again leaving her to either tag along after him or not. Her blood sizzled
