Craving a Hero: St. John Sibling Series, book 3 (21 page)

An earsplitting whine filled her ears. The next instant he was alongside her. He gave her a grin and a wink, then throttled past her.

Kelly hunkered down, well below the profile of her windshield and gave her machine full throttle. She pulled up almost even with him. The turn off the road into the woods would be coming up soon. Whoever got there first would have the advantage on the single track trail. But, no matter how much she urged her machine onward, he inched ahead.

She almost caught him when his sled bogged down on the bank where the trail hooked into the woods. But he had weight and upper body strength on her and rocked his machine free before she could pass him. The rest of the way back to the camp, she ate the snow fishtailing off his track, never quite able to get a clear sightline to a space where she could safely pass him. He was laughing when she slid to a stop beside him and his silent sled in front of the shed.

She turned off her sled, smiling, knowing she'd just had the most fun she'd had since…Dane had last been in her life.

Her good spirit faded, but she still teased him. "Glad you enjoyed beating me."

"Damn," he said. "I thought you were going to overtake me when we hit the woods. You're one scary chick on that thing."

Something akin to pride stirred in her chest. She shouldn't like that she had impressed him. But she did. Not that she'd let him know that. Still, she couldn't help but needle him a bit. "If I could have seen a way around you in the woods, I'd have overtaken you."

He stood and brushed away the remnants of snow her machine had kicked back at him during her brief period in the lead. "I don't think so. You saw for yourself that you couldn't overtake me on the flat."

She dismounted her sled and brushed from her shoulders the considerable amount of snow she'd taken off his tail. "I'd have outmaneuvered you through the woods," she said, striding over to him and eying the big snowmobile. "That sled is fast. But it's old and it's bulky. It shouldn't have been able to outrun mine. You modified it."

"Left the muffler off," he said.

"So I noticed," she said, lifting a smug smile at him. "Muffler's there for a reason. We have a noise ordinance in these parts."

His smile crooked. "Uh oh. Looks like the Game Warden lady is about to ticket me. Or is the offense serious enough to cuff me and take me in?"

"Consider this a warning. Just get that muffler back on the sled."

"Actually, I'd like to make my future forays into the woods without the noise of any motors." He motioned for her to follow him into the shed.

It took her eyes a few minutes to adjust to the dimness—to see what he pointed at in the eaves.

"Those are cross-country skis," he said.

"Yeah."

"Any problem with me using them?"

"You know how to—" She stopped, shook her head. "Of course you know how to cross-country ski. You know everything."

The lift of his lips slipped. "I don't know why you're so angry with me, Kel."

The comment hit her like a punch in the gut. Still, she responded with as much calmness as she could muster. "I'm not angry with you."

"Seems that way."

Going for misdirection, she pointed at the skis above his head. "Those require boots with a toe binding. You'll never fit into Dad's boots." She moved deeper into the shed and pointed at a weathered pair of skis with leather bindings. "Those bindings work like snowshoe bindings."

"Snowshoes?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Mr. I've done-it-all has never snowshoed?"

He ducked his head, his grin returning. "Looks like there's something else I don't know."

She smiled at his comment, but was thinking about what she preferred he not know—not figure out. As she saw it, better to give him occupation rather than time to think about the little girl with his eyes.

So she retrieved her dad's snowshoes from their wall mount in the cabin, and hers from the back of her truck…even though the lesson meant she'd have to spend more time with him. The important thing was to distract him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Dane tried to focus on Kelly's instructions about walking in snowshoes. But he was too busy doing mental backflips of joy.

Dragging out his visit with her dad until the old man dozed off and her mother excused herself to put the baby down for her nap hadn't paid off. He'd even waited another half hour in his truck for Kelly to show up without luck. But that visit had drawn her out—had gotten her to come to the camp to check on him.

Better yet, she was staying to give him snowshoeing lessons. The whole thing couldn't have worked out better if he'd planned it. So much for his siblings warnings about his impulsiveness. Looked to him like spontaneity worked as well as any plan.

"We'll start on the snowmobile trail where the going will be easier," she said, striding off past the end of the shed on her snowshoes.

He took two steps, the second landing one snowshoe overlapping with the other and sending him face-down in the snow. From the edge of the woods, she called back, "Wide stride."

He righted himself and untangled his snowshoes with the grace of a toddler taking his first steps. Was she laughing at him? She turned and headed into the woods before he could tell.

He headed after her, one awkward step at a time, every time he failed to remind himself to keep his strides wide, he planted one snowshoe on top the other and took a nosedive.

Meanwhile, she moved away from him with a steady grace. At one point, she even came loping back to him. Loping!

"You look like the abominable snowman," she said, hands on her hips, her spread leg pose making her look like a super hero as she looked down on him wallowing in the snow.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he stated more than asked as he righted himself and brushed snow from his clothes.

She gave a little shrug. "Can't help it. It's all that ego you carry around. It makes it fun to take you down a notch now and then."

He laughed, but said, "After all the phone calls, emails, and texts—after spending those ten days together, do you really still think I have such a huge ego?"

The cocky slant of her lips slipped. "You want to learn how to snowshoe or stand around jawing?"

Afraid choosing
jawing
over snowshoe lessons would mean a premature end to their being together, he followed her for the next half hour, silent for the most part. He picked up the rhythm of snowshoeing quickly enough. But it was hard work, making him sweat.

He opened his jacket to the weather, even removed his knit cap. He should have noted that she'd stripped off her heavy jacket before strapping on her snowshoes and left it back at the shed. But, then, he'd been preoccupied with his success at having kept her from running away from him. Now, he was sweaty and thirsty.

"Can we take a break?" he called.

She glanced over her shoulder at him, slowed, and stopped where the path hooked around a fallen tree. He scooped up some fresh snow and shoved it in his mouth.

"Thirsty?" she asked.

"Dry as a desert," he said.

She unhooked a canteen from her belt, unscrewed its lid, and handed it to him. "This'll better quench your thirst."

"Thanks," he said, accepting the canteen and taking a long drink before handing it back.

She took a swallow, stoppered the canteen, and reattached it to her belt. "Ready to go?"

He leaned back against the deadfall, studying her. "Not quite."
Not when I've got a load of questions that need answering and we're far enough from any vehicles for you to make a speedy escape.

"Kelly, I'm confused," he ventured. "I thought we were building something. If that just petered out, I could understand you being…cordial, indifferent, distant even. But, when we met in the Buck Inn parking lot—when you left me at the cabin, you were angry."

She gave him her profile and he could see her working to retain control. Before she hid behind her CO mask again, he pressed, "You also started distancing yourself from me long before that made-up engagement announcement. What did I do to hurt you so badly?"

"There's that ego," she said in a tone that could have been mistaken as teasing were it not for the barely contained emotion blazing in the hazel eyes she slanted his way. "You think everything is about you."

She snorted and stepped away from him with a flippant, "Enough lessons for one day. Time to head back to camp."

Outside the cabin, as she stowed her snowshoes in her truck. He invited her to stay for hot chocolate. She declined with a terse, "I've got work to do."

"Thanks for taking the time to give me lessons," he said, when he wanted to grab her and hold her until she told him what was bothering her.

"There's ibuprofen in the medicine cabinet," she said, turning to the cab of the truck.

Thrown by her comment, he asked as she opened the truck door, "Why are you telling me about the ibuprofen?"

"You'll know why in a couple hours," she said, climbing into her truck without looking at him and starting the engine.

He stepped back, lost for an idea of how to make her stay without going Neanderthal on her. Like manhandling her would have worked. He'd seen her take down a man twice as big as her. Hell, she'd flipped him that time they were fooling around in bed.

To his surprise, she powered down her window, adding, "You might also consider hot compresses."

He'd have pressed for why she was giving him all this pain-reducing information except he was too focused on how her gaze failed to meet his. Then she powered up the window, put the truck in gear, and backed it and the trailered snowmobile down the steep slope of the camp road.

He lay on the lower bunk where they'd once upon a time ago made amazing love. But making love wasn't what was on his mind. What he needed to figure out was how to get her to open up to him—share with him what he'd done wrong so he could fix it. If there was anything left to fix.

But what if the problem was the long-distance relationship? Bad news because their respective careers meant there'd always be the distance issue between them.

What if she couldn't handle the gossip too readily reported by the rags? Another issue he was helpless to rectify because she was the one who needed the confidence to get past jealousy.

What if what they'd shared was too badly broken to repair? This one scared him most of all because it would mean
they
were beyond repair.

A soft mattress, a sleepless night, and a morning full of fresh air conspired against Dane, and he was asleep before he could find the answers to his questions.

An hour later, a Charlie horse ripped up the inside of his right thigh and jerked him awake.

He rolled off the bed with a curse, hopping on one foot as he fought to stretch his spasming leg. His stockinged foot met the cold floor, draining away the spasm but leaving behind a deep ache. Then his left thigh went into spasm.

"Damn," he howled, hobbling over to the medicine cabinet for the ibuprofen.

He shook the standard two pill dose into his palm, then doubled it and swallowed the pills without water. Staring at the bottle in his hand, a slow smile pulled across his lips. Kelly had known the over-use of seldom used muscles would take their toll on his body and she'd made sure he'd know where to find something to ease the pain. Oh, she definitely still cared for him.

And she cared big time or she wouldn't have come all the way up to the camp before dawn and tracked him into the woods to make sure he hadn't broken down or gotten himself hurt. He had his answer to his last, most troublesome question. They weren't broken beyond repair, not as long as Kelly still cared about him.

Not as long as she still had strong emotions towards him like anger.

Not as long as she could forget whatever it was that had gotten between them and enjoy his company as she had this morning, racing their sleds—teasing each other. She'd even hung around to give him snowshoeing lessons.

Things hadn't gone bad until he'd asked her point blank what he'd done to hurt her. So, directness scared her off. That meant he had to use a less straight forward approach to get to the bottom of what was going on with her. Which meant he needed to go against his instinct to be candid with Kelly. He wasn't keen on the idea. But, if it was the only way to get them back to the point where she would talk to him, then he'd do it.

Now all he had to do was figure out how to create contact between them.

#

Four days had passed since she'd come to check on him. He'd purposely not called her cell or the house phone, hoping she'd come back out to check on him. But she hadn't.

So here he was, plan B. His planning-obsessed brother, Roman, would be so proud of him.

Dane strode the half block from where he'd parked his SUV to the Jackson house. Like last time, Kelly's truck wasn't in the driveway. Like last time, Alma answered his knock. Unlike last time, she didn't act as nerved up as she had the first time he'd shown up unannounced on their doorstep. Still, he was quick to establish his misdirection.

"Frank up for some company?"

Alma actually smiled as she let him in. "I'll let Frank know you're here while you take your boots off."

Frank met him at the kitchen table with his cane and lopsided smile. Alma plopped two mugs of coffee on the table.

"Beer," Frank said.

Eyes lowered, Alma turned to the countertop saying, "Just brewed a fresh pot of coffee."

"Want beer." Frank looked at Dane. "Dane? Beer?"

He caught the sideward glance from Alma. There was that beer issue again. Then the woman said, "You can't drink alcohol with your meds, Frank. You know that."

Okay. That made sense, and Dane said, "Coffee sounds great to me."

Halfway through the mug, Dane brought up the reason he'd stopped by, at least the smokescreen reason. "Kelly tell you I got the sled running?"

Frank nodded.

"I promised you a ride if I got it going. You up for a run?"

Frank's eyes brightened. "You betcha."

Alma appeared at the top of the basement steps, laundry basket on her hip. "But Frank, you wouldn't even go up to the camp before your stroke."

He waved her off.

"I'll take good care of him," Dane said.

"He doesn't go out much." She glanced between Dane and Frank. "The drive to camp alone could tire him out."

Dane hadn't thought things through as thoroughly as he should have and he wasn't sure wearing Frank out was worth it for the sake of getting Kelly's attention. But, before he could withdraw his invitation, Frank waved his wife off with both hands this time.

Alma set the basket on a chair and nodded. "Okay. It'll be good for you to get out, even if it ends up just a ride to the camp."

"Underwear," Frank said, pushing himself up from the table and tapping his chest. "Shirt."

"Long johns and wool shirt," Alma said, heading through the front room for the stairs. "I'll bring them to your room."

By the time Alma came back down the stairs, Frank had gone into his bedroom off the kitchen and Dane had answered the gurgling call of their granddaughter in dining room end of the rooms across the front of the house. Alma slowed as she came off the steps toward where he and Angel were making faces at each other through the mesh of the playpen, laughing.

He glanced up at her when she didn't pass. "Hope you don't mind. I can't seem to resist the flirting of little girls. I blame it on my sister, Dixie. She's been a flirt all her life."

Alma patted his shoulder. "You need to know…"

He peered up at her. Alma looked from him, to Angel, to the archway between the front room and kitchen.

"What do I need to know, Alma?"

She looked at Angel, then shook her head.

"Alma. Is there something I should know about taking Frank out?"

Her shoulders sagged and she gave him a sad smile. "Sure. About Frank. After he got shot, he said his life was over. Nothing any of us said or did could get him back into the woods."

"He helped at the command center when that boy was lost."

"DNR business." Alma gave a little huff. "
That
motivates him. But, he hasn't been up to the camp since then."

"If I'm overstepping—"

She shook her head, cutting him off. "I don't know why he's willing to go now. But bless you, Dane."

#

The ride to camp had tired Frank. But, when Dane suggested they take a rest in the cabin before going snowmobiling, the old man had swung his cane and jabbered disjointed words from which Dane had deciphered "ride" and "now."

So Dane had driven the sled up to the passenger side of the truck to make transitioning from vehicle to sled easier for Frank. And they'd ridden, not too far, not too fast. Just far and fast enough to stretch Frank's lopsided grin about as wide as it would go.

When they returned to the camp, Frank had hobbled to the end of the cabin facing the point.

"Stupid o-old man," Frank said.