a tight white satin bustier that ended in ruffles at her hips. She’d thrown her silk stockings away back down the mountain somewhere. There hadn’t been much left of them after she dragged herself up to the road. As for her five-inch Louboutins and her giant half-slip covered in a big froth of tulle? She’d dumped those during the trek up out of the ravine.
The bustier, with satin panties underneath, covered her as well as a swimsuit would. It also showed the long, pale scar cutting down the outside of her right thigh—but she’d never been the least sensitive about that. She considered it a war wound, proof of an earlier attempt to escape a life that was always a prison for her.
Stepping free of the acres of dirty white lace, she held it up to him. “Burn it, will you?”
He took it gingerly. “What will you wear?”
“I don’t even care.” Unfortunately, she’d left her suitcases in Denver—turned them over to Charles yesterday to load into the limousine. She had nothing but the dress and her underwear, but she would go naked before she put that thing on again. “Burn it.”
“Up to you.” Garrett backed into the main room and shut the door.
Cami turned to the barrel tub and flipped on the taps.
* * *
Garrett had just doused the fire for the night when he heard the cabin door open.
Munch ran up the steps to greet their surprise guest as she emerged from inside wrapped in a towel. The light from the cabin outlined her curvy shape in gold as she knelt to give Munch the attention he’d come looking for.
As Garrett mounted the steps, she rose. “Thank you. Really. I feel so much better now.”
“Good—and it’s past midnight. You think you could sleep?” With a soft sound of agreement, she turned and went back inside. He and Munch followed her. Garrett shut the door.
She faced him with a sigh. “Did you burn it?”
“It’s nothing but ash.” He dropped to the old bentwood chair by the door and started taking off his boots.
When he looked up again, she was still standing there wearing a wistful smile. “Thanks.”
“Any time. You want one of my shirts to sleep in?”
Her smile turned radiant. “Yes, please.”
He got a faded Pearl Jam T-shirt from the dresser and handed it over.
“Thank you. Again.” She disappeared into the bathroom, emerging in the shirt that covered her to midthigh.
There was another awkward moment and it came sharply home to him that he didn’t know this woman at all. They were two strangers about to share the same sleeping space.
“I’ll just take my turn in the bathroom.” He eased around her, went in and shut the bathroom door. Hanging on the back of it next to his sweats was that sexy corset thingy of hers. It struck him all over again how bizarre this whole situation was.
When he came back out wearing the sweats, she’d already stretched out on the couch. She was settling his old afghan over herself.
He moved a few steps closer. “Cami, take the bed.”
“No way.” She wiggled her toes under the blanket and adjusted the thin throw pillow under her head. “This couch isn’t big enough for you and we both know it. Your feet would be hanging off the end.” Munch made himself comfortable in the space between the rickety coffee table and the sofa. She put her hand down and stroked his spotted coat. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m not budging.”
“Suit yourself.”
“Oh, yes, I will. From this day forward, I will be suiting the hell out of myself, just you watch me.”
He got the extra pillow from the bed and gave it to her. “You’re allowed to change your mind. If you can’t sleep on those lumpy cushions, I’ll trade with you.”
She yawned hugely. “’Night.” Pulling the afghan up under her chin, she shut her good eye.
* * *
In the morning, her black eye had opened to a slit and she refused a fresh ice pack for it. “It’ll be fine,” she assured him. “I’m a fast healer.”
He put a couple of logs in the woodstove to get the coals going again and made coffee and scrambled eggs. She shoveled it in like she hadn’t eaten in weeks, and he felt ridiculously pleased with himself to be taking good care of her.
But then he said, “After breakfast, I’ll drive you down the mountain.”
She guzzled some coffee. “You said you were staying for three more days.”
“Cami, you really need to—”
“Uh-uh.” She showed him the hand. “Don’t say it. Don’t tell me what I need. For the rest of my life, I decide what I need. And what I need is to stay here with you and Munch until you have to go.”
“But you—”
“Not going. Forget it. I need a few more days up here in the peace and the quiet before facing civilization and calling my parents to say I’m all right.”
“They’re probably really worried about you.”
“I know.” She chewed on her plump lower lip and looked away. “And I feel bad about that. But right now, I need this—you and me and Munch up on this mountain with nothing to do but breathe the fresh air and appreciate the big trees.” He marshaled his arguments, but then she leaned across the rough surface of the table and begged him, “Please, Garrett. Please.”
And he could not do it—could not tell her no. “Damn it,” he muttered.
“Thank you,” she replied, extra sweet and so sincere.
He got up to pour them more coffee. “So then, what do you want to do today—besides breathing and staring at trees?”
She dimpled adorably. “I’m so glad you asked. See, I left the church without my suitcases, but I did have my purse, with my credit cards and my driver’s license. I don’t know what I was thinking when I finally got my car door open and started climbing up to the road. I left my purse behind. I was hoping we might go back for it.”
* * *
Garrett gave her his flip-flops, another shirt and a pair of his jeans to wear, with an old belt to keep them up. She wore that corset thing under the shirt for a bra. He knew this because he was a man and thus way too aware of what went on beneath a woman’s shirt.
They piled in the Jeep, with her riding shotgun and Munch in his favorite spot all the way in back. More than halfway to the state road at the base of the mountain, she said she thought they’d passed the place where she went into the ravine. He turned around the next chance he got.
She found it on the way back up, recognizing a Forest Service fire danger sign a few yards from where she’d gone off the edge. There was enough of a shoulder to park
