Chapter 3

Suddenly, Thomas remembered his manners. "What a terrible host I am, Miss. You must be thirsty! Would you like a cup of tea or some water?"

He had seen worse injuries, but not on a tender lady as Waneeta. It would be improper to offer her an alcoholic beverage, and considering what he read in the book, he was glad he had none.

"Just some water, thanks," she answered quietly, as if all that was happening around her was perfectly normal.

Thomas took a china cup from a hook beside the fireplace and ladled some water out of the barrel. His guest hesitated when he offered it to her.

"Well, down the hatch. It can't be any worse than the treated town water I drink every day." She grinned bravely. "Besides, how else are you going to store water here, when you don't appear to have a well?"

She sipped the water and her smile relaxed. "It's good."

He found himself smiling back. "I have bread and cheese that I bought in Eganville on my way here. Would you like some of them?"

"No, thanks. I'm actually hoping Kevin will find me. It's getting late, and I really should get home."

Thomas walked over to the window and peered out. Then, turning and frowning, he shook his head, "It's already started to snow as you predicted. He'll most likely wait until morning to look for you, if he isn't injured himself."

"Ha! I doubt Kevin's injured," she answered. "He probably just went home, expecting me to follow."

"He would just leave you here to find your own way home? What kind of an idiot is he?"

Waneeta blinked, dumbfounded at his outburst. She wanted to explain that she knew her way home, but Thomas interjected, "I'm sorry. I've no right to speak that way about your cousin, Miss. I'm sure he's not the monster you make him out to be."

She frowned. "He's just immature, that's all. It's probably because I've always been in charge when the two of us are together. Because I'm older." She sighed. "But you're right. He won't bother to look for me until morning." Waneeta wished it was different, but Kevin was really just a big kid.

And not too bright.

Thomas shook his head. "Well, you need to stay here until he finds you. I insist you don't return home tonight. It would take you too long, and you're injured."

Waneeta raised her eyebrows, and Thomas turned away. Smothering a smile, she watched his wide, strong back. This guy's so Victorian.

Yet rather compelling.

Thomas continued to tidy something near the door, forcing Waneeta's smile to widen as she suppressed a giggle. He couldn't even look at her, now, while she was not the least bit embarrassed by his suggestion of staying the night.

Was he sensing the attraction she felt? She uncurled her legs to stick them out in front of her as she relaxed on the bed. Yeah, funny how relaxed she was. Gone was the eeriness she'd felt outside. It was so typical of a body. Once warmth and comfort were restored, a body was so willing to overlook any dangers that may lurk.

She drained her cup and set it down on a narrow table nearby. Did any dangers lurk? Any because of her sudden attraction? Not that she'd act on the emotions budding within her. But they were interesting to consider, however. A fun fantasy.

"You know," Thomas began as he finally turned, "When I first heard you outside, I thought you were the Wendigo."

Waneeta lifted her eyebrows. "What's a Wendigo?"

Thomas took a chair and dragged it closer to her, still keeping a conservative distance between them, she noticed. His eyes twinkled. Obviously, storytelling was a delight for him. Of course, considering the guy was a teacher, that wasn't a surprise. But could it also be that the tale provided a nice barrier?

"It's an old Indian legend," he began with melodramatic flair and mock sternness. "They say when you camp in the winter to hunt, the Wendigo will come for you."

"Are you here to hunt? It's not hunting season, and jacking deer is against the law. Maybe the Wendigo is a Natural Resources officer?"

"Jacking deer? You mean poaching? I'm not here for that, and nor is the Wendigo a member of the local constabulary." When those gorgeous dimples deepened, she knew he was enjoying himself as much as she was.

He cleared his throat to begin again, this time, his tone softer. "But the Wendigo doesn't know why you're there. He doesn't care, either."

Waneeta straightened on the cot, finding herself leaning forward to catch his quiet words. "Sounds like a demon, and they always know what you doing."

"Yes. The Wendigo is a supernatural creature, so perhaps he would know, but we're getting away from the tale now." He wagged his finger. "He was once human, a simple hunter himself, but an evil medicine man cast a spell upon him to prevent him from catching game. He couldn't eat, and driven mad by starvation, was forced to eat his own family."

She pulled a face. "Ug! Nice story."

With a light shrug, Thomas went on even more spiritedly, "After that, his appetite became insatiable, and he began to hunt other people."

"Why didn't the hunters just kill him?" She lifted her brows, her eyes wide with enjoyment. As gross as the story was, she couldn't help but be drawn into it. Thomas' varied tones, relaxed manner, everything about him told her he was a consummate storyteller. She leaned forward. "Or could they?"

Gravely, Thomas shook his head. "They couldn't kill him. His body had already swelled and turned to stone, so no arrows or even bullets could hurt him. And he wore only a loin cloth because the cold no longer bothered him."

"Nor did his eating habits, apparently," Waneeta added drolly.

Thomas' dimples deepened further as he chuckled. "The hunters say when someone hears his breathing, it weakens them and they fall. They're unable to move and can only watch him come and devour them. But the Wendigo comes only in winter, and retreats north when the snow melts. With a stone body, he can't stand the heat of summer."

A pause lingered between them. Her expression turned chiding. "So you thought I was a big, ugly, guy with a stone body?"

Thomas laughed out loud and dipped his head as he shrugged. "Well, you were panting. One can never be too careful."

"Nor have too many pleasant bedtime stories."

"Don't worry, you've got me here to protect you."

His timbre was soft, lulling and so completely mesmerizing. Oh, how she could easily fall for it. She mentally stiffened herself. "And who's going to protect me from you?" she teased, enjoying the diversion from her troubles. The thought of what he might do to her brought an unexpected blush to her cheeks. She smiled to herself. It was as if she was some kind of Victorian maid herself.

Well, she wasn't. And while she wasn't going to stop herself from openly admiring him, she wasn't a fool, either.

"Don't you trust me?" His whisper was barely heard over the crackling fire, yet it danced through her like a delicious tickle. Those sharp blue eyes watched her closely, too, adding to the sensation.

Which was far stronger than she expected. Had she made a mistake getting comfortable here? But what was the alternative? The snow was falling heavily now. Out the tiny window to the left of the door, the snow already filled in the corners of the pane. Her side hurt, her Skidoo damaged.

But had she jumped from the frying pan into the fire?

"Well? Don't you trust me?" he asked again.

"Yes I do, but perhaps I shouldn't." Although his right side was to the soft glow of the fire, she could easily see his eyes teasing her. She may be safe.

Then again, she may not be. The thought dried in her throat when she swallowed, and it almost hurt her.

"Yes, I do," she repeated in a hoarse whisper. "So remember that."

Thomas threw back his head and laughed, again showing those straight white teeth. When his laughter died, he rose and dragged the chair back to its place by the table.

"Do you have any more ghost stories?" Waneeta had never felt uncomfortable around any man before. But tonight, she wasn't sure what she felt. This anticipation, well, it wasn't so much discomfort, but rather, wishing that he wouldn't break the spell he'd woven around her. She didn't want the comfort of the storytelling to slip away.

"The Wendigo isn't a ghost. And yes, I do have ghost stories, but, however, it's late, you're hurt and you must be tired." His voice dropped, but still carried the warm concern. "Perhaps tomorrow."

Waneeta glanced at her watch. Seven forty. Still? It had been that when the meteorite had raced past. The thing must be broken. The hands were frozen at the moment she was thrown from the Skidoo.

"What time is it?"

Thomas glanced up at the mantle where an antique clock ticked patiently. "A quarter after ten." He walked to a cupboard in the far corner and drew out several woolen blankets. Then he laid all but one on the wood floor in front of the fire. He handed the last one to her.

"It's warm in here, Miss, and I'll stoke the fire, but if you get cold in the night, here's another blanket. I'm sorry I don't have any nice ones for you."

Waneeta smiled as she took the blanket. Nice ones? These were Hudson Bay blankets, with their telltale coloured stripes at one end. Although wool wasn't as soft as the newer synthetics out, these blankets weren't cheap. Their quality was excellent, the wool almost sleek. "Call me Waneeta," she said, after thanking him and taking the blanket.

Thomas dropped his head almost shyly, and quickly took up another log and set it on the fire. That action sent a spray of sparks up the chimney, so like the meteorite had sprayed when it ripped past her.

If it hadn't, she'd never have met this intriguing man, the man she couldn't figure out.

Thomas folded one of the blankets into a makeshift pillow. Waneeta winced slightly as she tried to make herself comfortable.

Immediately, and wordlessly, he came to her rescue. Cradling her shoulders in the crook of his arm, he gently lowered her. Her hair waved over her face. After settling her into a more comfortable position, he brushed back the locks that had fallen onto her cheek.

For a moment, it felt as if the breath in her lungs had simply dissolved. "I haven't thanked you for helping me, Thomas. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't found me."

"I'm glad I was here to help you, Waneeta." He was still bending over her, and his close proximity scrambled her senses. Yet, she was no more ready for him to release her than she was to cut out her own heart. But if Thomas didn't set her down soon, she wasn't sure what would happen. Or what initiative she may dare to take.

Thomas did nothing. For several, long, delicious moments, they seemed frozen in time.

"Thank you," Waneeta finally whispered. Then, on that impulse that had pressed against her all evening, she slid her hand up along the corded muscles of his neck. Her hand rested on his jaw with her fingers teasing the ends of his dark hair.

Then, adding to her shock, she craned her neck upward toward him and brushed her lips against his cheek. And the bristles of his growing beard shot shivers through to her very core.

So incredibly delicious.