Chapter 2

Gently, even cringing when he heard her moan, Thomas Stafford placed the limp woman on his narrow bunk. Still holding her, he peered closely, deeply at her.

As pale as she was, this creature was simply, extraordinarily, fantastically beautiful. Dark lashes rested on clear cheeks. Her walnut hair circled her round face, giving her a quality that he'd seen only on a painting from one of the great masters. Indeed, her trouser outfit could have been worn by 17th century Turkish concubine, for it glimmered in the firelight like silk woven with silver threads.

Thomas swallowed the lump forming in his throat and turned to quickly stoke the fire. Whoever she was, one thing was for sure: she was injured. He knew he should remove her garment and find her injury. But...

But confusion waffled through his resolve. From his quick examination, the only way to remove such a strange outfit was to somehow open the hard-toothed fastening device running from her neck to her waist. He cautiously tugged at its tab and found the teeth parted easily as it traveled downward.

"Ow," she groaned in her sleep. Thomas jerked back. Clearing his throat, he leaned over her again. "Come on, Miss, let's get you out of this wet thing."

It took a while to peel the suit off her, with Thomas gingerly tugging and pulling. That task done, he straightened back in shock. She wore only a thin shirt and long undergarments. Sweat burst onto Thomas' brow. No gown at all? Fascinated, he touched the fabric of her chemise. Thin and tightly woven, it clung to her like a second skin. He could see the outline of her breasts easily, despite the short corset she wore beneath it. Thomas wondered if he should throw more wood on the fire, for her shirt was damp with perspiration, and he wasn't prepared to remove it. But it was already quite warm in there. Too warm for him.

He dared to peek downward. She wore trousers so snug that they molded themselves to every shapely curve of her legs, just as her chemise did.

But no gown? Of course it would have been awkward to stuff one into her outer garment, but-

The woman moaned again. Thomas took one of his woolen blankets and tucked it about her body. He shouldn't be staring. The poor thing would probably faint when she'd discovered he'd undressed her. If she awoke and found herself without some modest covering, she may not take kindly to his attempts to help her. But still, she was injured. He should at least find out where.

If she would only awaken and tell him...

He pivoted and strode to his table. Taking the only medical book he owned from the shelf above, he sat down. Then, after opening the book, he adjusted up the oil lamp.

'When fainting in women is not caused by the Vapours, brandy may be administered. If the patient is unconscious, administer it through the-'

Horrified, Thomas slammed the book shut. Thank God he had no brandy here.

That's it. He would have to wake her.

Feeling a gentle nudge, Waneeta hauled open her eyes and focused on the most piercing blue gaze she'd ever seen.

"Hello, Miss," a deep voice resonated through her.

She blinked. The man's ruddy face was framed by a thick crop of dark brown waves. It was an odd foil for such startling eyes. She could see straight, white teeth, a strong jaw and the sweetest set of dimples that had ever bookended a smile.

Her breath drained from her. This man was gorgeous. And those eyes! Words couldn't do them justice. The blue was as pure as a winter's morning sky. When Waneeta finally inhaled, pain shot through her, and she winced.

"I was going to ask you how you feel, but I can see it isn't good," he said. "Where does it hurt?"

In answer to his question, she lifted her shirt and peered down at the ugly bruising on her side. A large cigar shaped rash curved along her lowest rib. "Right here. I think a branch got me."

The man frowned. Without touching her, he bent to examine it.

"Are you a doctor?" she asked suddenly.

The man jumped back. "No, I'm, um, a schoolteacher," he said with obvious embarrassment.

Waneeta bit back a smile. An actual gentleman. Now this was refreshing. "Which school?" Being a local girl, she knew of most of the schools in the county.

He rose and reached for a tin from the mantle behind him. "Nowhere at the moment, miss," he said. "I, er, just finished my studies in Kingston." Gingerly, Waneeta shifted her weight as she watched him. He was oddly dressed for a teacher, but then again, he couldn't be expected to bring his best suits to a cabin in the woods.

Still, that outfit? He wore a heavy woolen shirt tucked into dark pants held up by suspenders that stretched over a nicely massive chest. Her grandfather wore clothes like this when he went hunting. She followed the length of him down to the floor. On this guy's feet were thick, wool socks like the ones her grandmother used to knit. They were pulled over the hems of his pants as if to block the draft.

The man walked over to a small dry sink. "You've grazed the skin. I can put something on it if you like."

She felt her face warm. His hands on her? Interesting idea, and if she'd been any healthier, well...

...then she wouldn't need his hands on her, would she?

Despite her pain, she nearly snickered out loud. Immediately, she stopped. It hurt.

Thomas pulled a strip of white linen from a paper wrap above the sink. Then he carefully poured some black liquid from the tin onto the cloth before returning to her. Waneeta clamped her eyes shut, gritting her teeth as she waited for the sting.

When it never came, she peeked up to find a wide grin plastered on her companion's face, the white teeth glimmering in the fire light.

"I won't hurt you, Miss, I promise," he told her with the smallest, cheekiest laugh.

This guy is so polite. Waneeta offered him a wobbly, sheepish smile. As he gently dabbed the rash, Waneeta inhaled vigorously, not from the stinging, but from his warm hand as it brushed against her skin. It was as if every single nerve ending she owned tingled at the same time.

Oh, this is foolish. "Here, let me."  She took the cloth and applied the iodine on the scrape herself. From the corner of her eye, she could feel the man shift away. But still so close, so there in her presence.

Injured or not, she recognized the attraction for what it was. Purely physical.

And yeah, despite the pain, welcomed.

Insane. But she wasn't about to deny her own reactions. She just needed to control them better. She thrust out the cloth. "All done." Their eyes met, and Waneeta found the sharp blue softening. He took the rag over to the enamel wash basin and rinsed it out with water from a pitcher. She watched him; oh, it was hard not to. He filled the whole room. His massive shoulders and thick muscular arms told her he worked out regularly.

I guess hauling water and wood in a hunting cabin keeps a guy in shape. Thank God for rural living, she thought with an appreciative smile.

The smile faded. She was only here because something really creepy happened to her. Hopefully tomorrow, she'd walk down that snowshoe trail and find the snow well-packed, the trail obvious, and everything normal again. 

Waneeta blew on her injury, checking to see if it was dry so it wouldn't stain her clothes. It was still damp, and while she waited, she made good use of her time by glancing around the cabin.

Simple furnishings crowded around the hearth made the cabin rustic and old-fashioned. To the left of the fireplace stood a washstand and to the right of it, the bed she rested on. The rough-hewn table with a single bench on one side was shoved against the side opposite the hearth. Beside the door sat a large, squat barrel. On the side closest to her stood a well-preserved pie safe.

The ceiling was low, not even seven feet. Since her host towered over six, Waneeta was sure; it must have been uncomfortable living here. The roof sloped to meet the walls at an even shorter height. He wouldn't be able to stand comfortably and look out of the window. Two huge logs spanned the length above her, supporting, Waneeta presumed, the logs on the roof. She looked up again, a frown forming. Logs on the roof? The logs on the walls had their gaps sealed with whitewashed clay, but the logs on the roof remained unsealed. How was it that the roof didn't leak?

She pointed at the ceiling. "Why didn't you seal those logs?"

Thomas frowned at the odd question. He followed the woman's gaze upward, where an understanding finally sank in.

"Oh, the roof? There are scoops on the outside, too. You don't need to seal them. The rain runs down the upper scoops and off the roof by way of the lower scoops."

"Scoops?"

He chuckled at her blank look. "The logs are split lengthwise, scooped out and then laid side by side. Then more scoops are laid over the joints. I guess you've never seen a camboose shanty before?"

When his guest shook her head, Thomas went on. "They're built to house the shanty men at the lumber camp. I suppose a lady such as you wouldn't be found around a lumber camp. Mind you, this isn't exactly a camboose shanty. I have the fireplace instead of the open pit. I wasn't anxious to have a gaping maw in my roof."

She laughed out loud at his description. "Now you're beginning to sound like that teacher," she teased.

He shrugged. "A hazard of the occupation. So, where are you from?"

"Pembroke. Lived there all my life. Great place. I love it. There's always tons of stuff to do, especially in the winter."

His eyebrows shot up. "Pembroke? What are you doing so far into the woods?"

Waneeta didn't consider here that deep in the woods, especially when she drove her Skidoo the whole way. Yes, it took a few hours, but travelling that distance on a Skidoo wasn't unheard of. She and Kevin had really planned a short ride, but the weather had been nice this evening, and they'd kept on going. Not the wisest decision. But, she shrugged, when a woman shows up alone at the doorstep of a strange man's cabin on a winter's night, it's bound to raise a few eyebrows.

She waved away her host's question. "My cousin took off on me and I lost his trail." Yeah, and just wait until I see Kevin next. Nice guy to take off.

The man lost his smile. "What a delightful cousin."

Waneeta perked up when she abruptly remembered what had happened. "I almost forgot! He took off because of the meteorite! Didn't you see it?"

"Meteorite? Do you mean a shooting star?" He shook his head. "No. But I've been inside all evening."

"Well, you must have heard it! It passed right over top. It sounded like a freight train." She snatched up her suit, ignoring the ache in her side. "It showered sparks all over my suit! See?"

The man took it and examined it in the firelight. Even from this distance, Waneeta could see the tiny spark holes. Drat. The suit was new and now it was ruined.

Still fingering the material, he said, "I've never seen anything like this material before. It seemed to melt rather than burn. How could you think you were going to be warm in it? And where's your gown?"

Waneeta snorted unfemininely. "Gown? You're not serious? Oh, you don't wear a dress under that." She watched the man as he laid the suit back onto the chair to dry. "But it is made of a new material. It only came out this winter. It's supposed to wick away the sweat and reflect your body heat back to you." As manager of a sports store, Waneeta had jumped at the opportunity to try out the latest sportswear innovation. But now it was ruined. And two hundred bucks down the drain.

"Perhaps we can look for your meteorite in the morning," her host suggested, turning to arrange the suit closer to the fire.

"Thanks. And thank you for helping me." She didn't mind spending the night here, and this guy certainly wasn't giving off any creepy vibes. Not like that eerie feeling she had out there by her snowmobile. She wasn't even sure how to describe that.

But should she be assuming she'd be allowed to spend the night? To be honest, as she always strived to be, she really didn't mind being here. It was cozy and a heck of a lot better than being outside leaning against a broken snowmobile. But she should get back home.

"Excuse me," she asked. "You don't have a cell phone, do you?"

The man's expression turned blank. "No. Should I have one?"

"It wouldn't be a bad idea out here. I'd sure like to talk to my cousin."

"We'll find out which way he went," the man answered, a vague note to his voice and a frown on his face. "There are a few homes closer to the river, so let's hope your cousin found them. Though I have no sympathy for the man for leaving you, I don't want him to be stuck outside all night."

That was true, and maybe it was poor judgment on her part to go out tonight, with the weather forecast predicting snow. But what was done was done, and couldn't be undone. "I'm not worried. He's got the better machine and will probably go straight home, once he can't find me. But I'll have to leave early tomorrow if you don't mind putting up with me for the night. We're supposed to get more snow later on in the day," she said. She saw no radio or TV in her quick scan of the cabin, so it was unlikely he'd caught the latest forecast. And with no cell phone to call anyone-

The man swung around, amazed. "And how do you know when it will snow?"

"From the weather channel, of course. Well, up here, it's called a network, not a channel. Not that you'd get cable service here. Or even satellite. My own cell service is spotty at best."

"Channel?  Cells?" His voice edged with gentle teasing, he noted, "There are plenty of deep gorges here, especially along the Barren River Canyon, but I don't know of any channels with prophetic abilities. Are you a student of nature?"

Waneeta laughed out loud. Was he for real? "No, but I've lived here all my life. When they say we'll get more snow, you can be sure we will."

He frowned. "Here all your life and never heard of a camboose shanty?"

"Well, you said yourself that a lady doesn't have much to do with lumberjacks, right?" Of course she didn't know any lumberjacks, except maybe some of Kevin's friends who went to work in the woods straight out of high school. Still, this guy was so, well, gentlemanly. So...old fashioned.

So close, too. Waneeta became aware of how close he was standing. His clean male scent filled her nostrils, and she let her eyes wander up his wide chest to his face. He was no longer smiling at her. He stared into her eyes, and, well, right into her soul. Her heartbeat ripped upward as her breath stalled within her. This guy didn't realize it, but the sex appeal pouring from him was torrential. The fire had since quieted down, and for the longest minute, there was nothing but the two of them, and her sharp intake of breath.

Feeling suddenly warm, Waneeta whispered, "I don't even know your name."

"Thomas Stafford." His gaze held hers and oddly, he took her hand and drew it up to his lips. The warmth he radiated surged up her arm, heating her further. Oh, wow. Even as his lips touched her hand, his eyes remained fixed on hers. "Charmed to meet you, Miss..."

Oh, double wow. She was the one who was charmed. Now, what the heck did he ask? Oh, yeah, her name.

Waneeta found her voice. She'd lost it somewhere between his smile and his whisper. Somewhere around the time those lips found the back of her hand. "Waneeta Meadows," she whispered.

A smile lingered on his smooth, sensuous lips, lips she could still feel on her skin. "Juanita," he repeated, testing the name with Hispanic flair. "You don't look Spanish."

"I-I'm not. It's spelled phonetically." She was having trouble catching her breath. He was so handsome. So debonair, a gentleman in plaid. When she reddened yet again, he took her arm and eased her back onto the pillow.

"You'd best lay down, Miss Meadows," he advised her politely. "You were unconscious when I found you, remember?"

Mutely, Waneeta obeyed. Gone was the gentle teasing, and the wonder of what was surely an unreal man that had suddenly dropped into her life.

All that remained was the essence of attraction, distilled until it would surely burn if ignited by a spark like those she'd had rain on her this very evening.