wanted to smile. “How did you know my name?”
“You’re Penelope Lear. Who doesn’t know the Lears of Anchorage.”
“That isn’t who I am.”
“You aren’t Penelope?” He stayed close to the fire, watching her gather herself. Lamplight flickered, casting shadows on a face that was beautiful in a way he wouldn’t have imagined. Maybe because of the light in her eyes, the animation of her features.
“I am Penelope Lear. But, but I’m not a spoiled little rich girl.” In the warm glow of the lamp, he saw tears pool in her blue eyes.
“I’m sure they’ll be looking for you.”
“Of course they will.” She shivered again.
But would they find her? Penelope huddled into the blanket, glad for its warmth, and for the fire. Her ankle throbbed and her throat was dry and sore. Probably from screaming at the bear.
“I have to try to get out of here, back to Treasure Creek. I have a compass in my pocket and I know I need to go straight south.”
“Straight south from where?”
Okay, that was a fair question. “From where I left the Jeep.”
This was not the way to prove her intelligence. She cringed a little as she replayed her words.
He smiled a little. At least he didn’t laugh at her. “Do you know where you left it? What direction you went? Where you got lost?”
“No.” The truth—stark, kind of cold and not what she wanted to admit to. “No, I don’t have any clue. I left the Jeep and started in the direction I thought was south. I guess that was about seven hours ago now.”
“You’ve never heard you’re supposed to stay in one place if you get lost?”
She glanced away from him. “Of course, but does anyone follow that rule?”
He hadn’t. “No, but they should. And I’m afraid that means you’re stuck with us for a little while.”
She flipped the blanket back and stood, wobbling a little as her weight settled on her swollen ankle. She bit back an exclamation and he watched her, as if he wasn’t sure what she’d do next.
“I can’t be stuck here. I have to—”
Brows arched. “Have to what?”
She sank back onto the couch, because it was no use. She had to find a husband who would love her. Cynical eyes didn’t want to hear about love, about a father who thought he could pick the perfect mate for his daughter.
It sounded positively Victorian when she said it out loud. Her friends had laughed when they heard.
“Nothing.” Why should she care if she got stuck here for a year? Maybe this was God’s plan, for her to hide here. And perhaps her father would forget his plans.
Tucker Lawson pushed himself up from the chair. He sat down on the edge of the massive coffee table and reached for her foot. She flinched but bit back her protest as he lifted it.
“If we had ice, we’d ice it down.” He touched the darkened flesh and she squeezed her eyes closed. “Bad?”
“Not at all.” She opened her eyes and he was watching her. Cynicism had been replaced by concern. He held her foot, hands gentle but rough and calloused. Not the hands of a lawyer, she thought.
No, he had the hands of a man who had been living off the land for several months. A man with broad shoulders cloaked in a flannel shirt. She remembered that he smelled of soap, not cologne or aftershave. He smelled of the outdoor air and laundry detergent.
He reached for a pillow and placed it on the table. As he stood he propped her foot on the pillow, easing it down gently. She stared at him, not sure what to do or what to stay.
“Thank you for rescuing me.”
“You’re welcome.” His voice was gruff, dismissive.
She wanted to tell him she wasn’t a bad person. She wasn’t another empty-headed socialite, intent on fun and not caring about others. She wished she could tell him she hadn’t traveled to Treasure Creek thinking she might find a husband. That would have been a lie. What woman didn’t want to find her dream man?
She thought it started for most girls when they turned five and had their first kindergarten crush. It was downhill from there. Every boy—and then man—that looked at them had the possibility of being “the one” they would marry.
She could have told him he had nothing to worry about. That would have been the truth. He was definitely not her type. He was the type her father wanted for her. He was a successful lawyer with connections and enough money that Herman Lear wouldn’t have to worry that he was after the Lear fortune.
For once she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t want Tucker Lawson to know how she felt about her life, or how much she wanted a new one.
She was reinventing Penelope Lear. That was no one’s business but her own.
“I’ll see if we have anything in the first aid kit.” Tucker stood in the doorway, his face in shadows.
“Okay.” She answered, still lost in her thoughts about her life and what she would have wanted it to be.
And he left her alone in a room lit with just a lantern, candles on the mantel and the firelight.
Tucker knew he should take her back to Treasure Creek at first light. If she could have walked, it would have been doable. But with her injury, they couldn’t walk it in a day.
They’d have to give her ankle time to heal. And then he’d have to take her back to civilization. He’d have to go as well. And he wasn’t ready. He didn’t know if he would ever be ready to go back.
To have it be Penelope Lear who forced him back, that made him a little itchy around the collar.
Just this past May, Tucker had said a polite “no thank you” to that offer. He had heard that Herman Lear had approached several other men, most of whom lived in Anchorage and were well connected. One of them had probably taken the offer, and that had sent her running to Treasure Creek.
A little bit of pity scolded him for being too harsh with her. No one should be married off that way, as if she were a stolen painting up for bid on the black market. There was no dignity in that kind of bartering.
He lifted the candle he’d taken from the parlor and walked down the dark hall in the direction of the kitchen. She was probably hungry as well as thirsty. From the aromas drifting down the hall, a combination of wood smoke and soup, he thought that Wilma Johnson had thought the same thing.
The kitchen was lit with lanterns and candles. Mr. Johnson, Clark was his first name, sat at the small table, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looked up from the book he was reading and smiled at Tucker.
“Found a stray?”
Tucker nodded. “Yeah, I guess I did. Her ankle is swollen
