Heart of the Wild (8 page)

"Maybe you can, but I can't," he said, going to a closet, and coming back to her with a big flannel shirt. "You're not sleeping in my bed smelling like a fish."

He came closer, holding the shirt up to her.

"Well, I was fishing, and you didn't give me a chance for a shower."

"I guess that is my fault. But you will sleep in my shirt. A little big, but maybe you can survive one night in it. Too bad I forgot to take care of this problem, but I simply didn't think it would be necessary."

She glanced at the soft flannel shirt and shook her head. Sleeping in his shirt seemed—indecent.

"I don't think so." She barely breathed.

"It's either that, or nothing. And it gets a little cold for the latter."

She eyed him closely, facing his challenging words with not so much as a blink. "Point taken. I'll take the shirt, then."

"I figured you would."

"And you know me so well, don't you?"

"Better than most," he said with a low chuckle, handing her the shirt.

"It merely stems from a good upbringing. But let me put your mind to rest once and for all about me, Amory. I'd grow old and gray and alone before I would succumb to a backwoods Romeo like you again. I've grown up, and acquired some intelligence and taste in the process. While we're at it, let me remind you that I am still John Douglas' daughter, and I would think if you don't have any respect for me, at least you might show some for him."

Had she put him in his place yet? She knew if she was going to survive this ordeal she would need some leverage between them, and anger was as good as any. As long as he stayed reasonably angry with her, he wouldn't get other ideas, she decided, and neither would she.

"Are you through reading me the riot act?" There was no humor left in his face. She couldn't have been more effective if she had slapped him.

His voice cut through her, searing her skin like a hot-edged knife, his face registering an emotion she wasn't sure about. "I'd every intention of respecting you without the reminder. No one's more aware of who you are, than I. I'm doing my best to be civil with you, but you aren't making it easy."

She shrugged.

"Look, we're snowbound. Your father will be here shortly, and then you can be on your way again. So let's stop cutting each other down, and concentrate on surviving. I'm sorry I've been a part of this whole thing."

For just a moment, she felt a spark of sympathy for him. Perhaps he was only a victim of her father's manipulations? But that didn't change anything. He was weak where her father was concerned, and she didn't like or respect weakness in a man. Even if he did owe the man, it didn't mean he had to give up his own principles because of it. She was still here. Besides, she was too tired to spend the night warring with this insulting man. "I'm sorry I'm a part of it, too."

A long silence fell between them, then he glanced at her again, his eyes traveling slowly over her, so slowly that she reddened. She felt stripped.

"Then we understand one another. And you will see your father. Although I can't fathom your bitterness toward him. Aside from my brother Tanka, John's about the nicest person I know."

"My relationship with my father is none of your business. And I don't consider myself bitter, just indifferent. He's got to learn he can't lead my life for me. He's been trying for much too long, and I simply won't stand for it anymore. I've worked hard to be my own person, and had gained a certain amount of independence from both of them. I'm not about to let my father dictate to me now."

"I suppose eight years is a long time. Lack of communication can ruin any relationship. But the way he feels about you..."

"He has an odd way of showing those feelings. I haven't had so much as had a card from him since the day I walked out on y—" she burst out, unable to stop the flow of emotions erupting within her. Why did he have to pry into her private life again? She felt exposed and raw, emotions repressed for years stabbing at her heart. "Besides, how would you know how he feels about me? He wanted a son. He got daughter."

His eyes found hers and locked. "Maybe at first he did. But I know John. Deep down, he only wants what's best for you. Maybe he did want a son, most men do. It's natural. I only know he's scared for you. I suppose he comes off a little strong and overprotective. But his intentions are the best."

"Scared for me? What does that mean?"

"I'll let him explain."

While she contemplated his words, he stepped outside.

Kasie glanced about the cabin, squaring herself for her new fate. Quickly she went to the sink, pumped some water, and washed, then slipped into the big flannel shirt. Being in Amory's shirt made her shiver. Not from the cold, but from being in something that he wore. It felt as if his arms were around her now, holding her, protecting her. Foolish girl, she opened her eyes.

When Amory returned, she faced him as he rolled up her sleeves, and stared down into her startled face. He was doing it again, treating her like a child. She wanted to push him away, slap his face, and make him realize she was no child. Not any longer.

But his nearness affected her more than he could know, and she practically held her breath until he backed away. It was the way he looked at her, like a man starved. But what for? "Why didn't dad just come to California himself, if his intentions were well meant? We could have talked about it, and it would be over with. Now he's ruined everything. I can't help but be bitter about that."

"It would have been better, and faster, I agree, but you know your father. He does things his own way. Arranges things. Good or bad, you can't change him either."

"But Mother went to so much trouble over the wedding, now it's ruined. Just when things were smoothing out in my life, he has to come along and stir up trouble for me. Well, I won't have it. He's not ruining this for me. He's not running my life anymore."

"What kind of trouble is he stirring up?" he asked, and moved away from her abruptly.

"Mother, Rick, and my career, my life."

Amory stared at her again, as though reconsidering things. "Your mother will be mad, no doubt. This Rick character might be a little put out. But if he really cares—. And your career might be on the shaky side. So—maybe you have a little leverage now to work with, to make him see the light. Use that when you talk with him."

"Father has never seen the light. He thinks he has all the answers to everything."

"Look, I tried to talk him out of this, but he wouldn't have it. So if you really want independence, you're going to have to do battle with him. You know that."

"Yes, but how many times?"

"Until you win."

She shrugged and walked about slowly. "So, how long have you had this place?" she asked, going to the big chair in front of the fire as she changed the subject. It did no good to talk about her father, he wasn't about to change.

"About two years. I built it right after the big fire. I'd planned on finishing it this summer," he added, not looking at her.

"It's beautiful," she said, with a sigh of resignation, her eyelids becoming heavy as she stared into the flames of the fire.

"If you're not going to eat, you better turn in, and get some sleep."

"Fine, I'll just curl up here."

"No. You'll take the bed," he instructed, turning down the covers.

"I'd rather not. Thank you," she snapped, curling her feet under her, and relaxing into the confines of the lounger. The intimacy of sleeping in his bed sent a warm flush through her.

"Don't be difficult," he said, as his voice softened. Bending down and scooping her up in his arms again, his eyes burned into her. For a long drugging moment, time stood still. His head bent just a little, and she felt her body wanting to go to his.

Then suddenly he tossed her onto the bed. He glared down at her, as though he had second thoughts about his own actions.

"Get some sleep!" He stomped out the door again.

What was wrong with him, she wondered? Just when they seemed to be reaching an understanding, he got hostile again. Why?

She sighed heavily as she sank into the comfort of the bed. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to think any longer. The war was over for today; she'd start fresh again, tomorrow!

________________________________________

Chapter Four

The next morning, Kasie stole a biscuit from the counter. She had poured herself a cup of coffee, and was sipping it, when something loud thudded at the door.

Skeptical, Kasie slowly opened the door.

"Good morning. Thought you might like to see where most of the food is kept," Amory said, as he pulled Kasie by the hand to lead her outside and into the lean-to.

The touch of his hand sent currents of awareness through Kasie, but she hid it well. She had to face this attraction, and get rid of it, once and for all. But that wasn't going to be easy.

In his other hand, two rabbits and one wild turkey dangled, she noticed with sad regret. Was she the reason for their demise?

"The rabbits make a mean stew, and I'm sure you'll know what to do with the turkey. I thought we might have it when your father arrives. He loves turkey."

He didn't let go of her hand until he had laid the game on the table. Kasie noticed, but he seemed oblivious to his actions.

Kasie nodded numbly, her face turning ashen white as big tears pelted her cheeks.

"What in the ..." he thundered. He took a clean bandana from his back jeans pocket and handed it to her.

Blowing her nose loudly, she turned away from his intense gaze.

"Sorry. I hate women who cry. Really." Her face flushed." It's just that all this seems so cruel. I mean, to kill such sweet harmless little creatures. I guess it brings back the memory of my own pet rabbit."

He laid the butcher knife in the sink, then gently tipped her chin back with his elbow so he could look into her face. His expression seemed serious, almost thoughtful.

"Hey, look, this isn't murder, you know. It's just self-preservation. I don't kill for sport. You don't see me hanging trophies in my lodge. Up here it's what we eat."

"What about the bear rug, then?"

He sighed aloud, and rolled his eyes. "The bear rug was given to me by an old trapper. He's lived in the mountains most his life, and he makes use of all of his skins, although I doubt he bears any trophies, either. He just lives quite primitively. I haven't gotten rid of it, because it was a gift. You don't give gifts away, you keep them to remember people by."

She nodded.

"You'll find no heads in here. This is for food. So, what happened to your rabbit?"

She sniffled, her memory jarring. "Another kid let it loose, and it was hit by a car in front of our house. It was a long time ago, before I came here, while my parents were still together. When we actually had a home. I haven't thought about it in years."

"You must have been pretty young then."

"About six. Anyway, I found it minutes later, and I buried him in the back yard. Mother insisted I dig him up and take him to a pet cemetery, but I never did. I wanted him close to me. I guess that sounds a little silly."

Amory grinned, an Amory kind of grin. Her toes tickled. She stomped one foot.

"No," his voice went husky almost in a whisper, his eyes glued to her amusing action, "it doesn't sound silly at all. At least, not to me. It sounds very humane."

She blushed from his intense gaze, as their eyes met.

"I almost forgot what a animal lover you were. One of the few things we have in common."

He looked away, a muscle in his jaw working overtime. "My closest pet was a dog, a husky."

"What happened to him?"

Why hadn't she known all this about him, before? Had she been so blindly infatuated with him that she barely knew him at all?

"There was a logging accident. A good friend of mine got buried by a tree; the dog rushed in to save him, and got hit by another big limb falling away. It happened several years back."

"How awful."