Wishmakers Page 14

  Neither of them said much. Chip appeared to be preoccupied with his own thoughts. Margaret took a deep breath and half turned in her seat to look at his face. He was frowning, his lips set in a tight line. She couldn't see his eyes to read his expression, but she noticed that his knuckles were white as his tanned hands clenched the steering wheel. Not sure this was the right time to say anything to him, she was still compelled to murmur, “Oh, Chip! It's so beautiful up here.”

  “This was my father's favorite place,” he said quietly after a moment or two.

  “And yours?” she ventured. She saw the broad shoulders lift.

  “There're hundreds of beautiful vistas like this all over the northwest.”

  “It seems impossible,” she remarked softly.

  The long magnificent sweep of landscape was green, yellow, and bronze. The colors glistened in the morning sun, providing a startling contrast to the snowcapped ridges of the mountains beyond. Margaret found it all breathtaking, overpowering, and beyond anything she could have imagined.

  “It's magnificent!” Her voice was joyous. She turned her head sharply and looked at Chip. He had taken his eyes from the road for an instant, and they locked with hers.

  “We'll be going down again soon, but first there's a place where we can turn off if you want to stop a bit.”

  “I'd like to, if we have time. Oh! Look, Chip!” A startled deer raced ahead of them and disappeared into the woods, its white tail standing straight out as it fled. She caught her breath and laughed with sheer delight.

  At the top of the crest he pulled the car over and stopped. Margaret opened the door and got out. The ravine was only yards away. She moved a few feet and stood almost on the edge of it, gazing at the view of vast forest tracks falling away below.

  “Careful.” Chip had followed and was standing behind her. “The ground can give way in some of these places.”

  Margaret stepped back, and his hands came roughly about her waist, drawing her even farther from the edge. They stood quietly for a moment, and then Chip suddenly jerked away. He yanked open the Jeep door and reached for the fieldglasses in the glove compartment. He adjusted them and, holding them steady, focused on a distant spot.

  It was several seconds before Margaret noticed the thin trail of vapor rising from the treetops below. Smoke—not a lot of it, but almost certainly too much for a small campfire.

  Chip scanned the distance for several seconds before he brought the glasses down. “It can't be far off the road,” he said tightly. “Hop in and hold on. It's going to be a rough ride.” Inside the car he picked up the mike and flipped a button on the CB radio. “Break for Anthony/ Thorn camp four. This is a ten-seventy. Repeat. This is a ten-seventy.”

  “Camp four. Go ahead.”

  “Chip Thorn. Smoke in the west section down a couple of miles from the ridge. I'm checking it out.”

  “Okay, Chip. Position noted. Will stand by for your report.”

  “Ten-four. I'm gone.”

  Margaret closed her eyes briefly as the rear wheels skidded on takeoff and the Jeep shot forward. She didn't speak, leaving Chip to concentrate on his driving. She kept her eyes on the spiral of smoke, and just as she thought they were about to pass it, Chip turned off into the trees. She registered how important it was for a vehicle to have four-wheel drive in this part of the country. The going was much slower as he angled the car downward between the trees, detouring around fallen logs and easing across gullies.

  “Is it likely to be a serious fire?” Margaret queried while clutching the dashboard to keep herself from being slammed into it.

  “Any fire out here is serious. There's a lot of dry underbrush. We need the fall rains to dampen things down.”

  He didn't speak again. They were going downhill at a perilous angle. It didn't occur to Margaret to be frightened. It was exhilarating to be sharing this experience with Chip. They could smell the smoke long before they reached the bottom of the gully and turned to the right. Borne on a light breeze, the acrid scent stung her nostrils. The actual fire was in an open area and was so far confined to grass and the brush edging it. Chip slammed on the brakes, flipped off the ignition, and jumped out. Margaret saw little flames lick across another expanse of dry grass and into the brush, then run up a small tree like hungry red tongues.

  “Come on. Grab those blankets. Use your feet on the small patches,” he shouted. “Keep upwind from the flames.” He jerked a fire extinguisher from the back of the truck and flung it over his shoulder. “Be careful. Stay out of heavy smoke.”

  Margaret beat at the larger flames with the blanket while stamping out the small ones with her feet. No! No! You won't get to my trees! Like red and gold dancers they raced toward a young fir tree, and with a swish of the blanket she beat them back. Tears were streaming down her face from the smoke in her eyes, her vision was blurred, and the heat seared her throat. When the flames engulfed a bush, she circled behind it, flailing the grass with the blanket to keep the fire from spreading. She worked purely on instinct while the sweat rolled down her face and her hands became locked onto the end of the blanket.

  There was no time to think about her parched throat, her heat-flushed face, or her arms that felt as if they each weighed a hundred pounds. She worked as if her life depended on it, and gradually she began to win against the flames. It was an exhausting effort. As fast as one patch was stamped or beaten out, another seemed to flare into being. Chip had emptied the fire extinguisher and was now beside her, beating at the flames with another blanket.

  When at last it was over, they stood smoke-grimed and red-eyed in the blackened section. Margaret walked back to the Jeep, dragging a scorched blanket. She leaned wearily against the car.

  “Did we do it?” It was an asinine question uttered out of sheer exhaustion. She knew if they hadn't, they would both still be fighting the flames.

  Chip grinned at her. His face was blackened by smoke and his head wet with sweat. “You bet we did,” he said proudly, reaching into the Jeep for the CB to report the good news to the camp.

  “It was caused by a campfire, Joe. Pass the word along. If they catch the bastards I'll file charges against them. This whole section would have gone up like a tinderbox in another hour.”

  “I never did see the smoke, Chip,” the voice said. “Have you been fighting that fire all this time? It's been almost three hours.”

  “Is that all? It seemed more like three days to Maggie and me. If you see anything of those campers, let me know. Won't be moving from here for a while; we're too damned tired.”

  “Ten-four, Chip.”

  Chip hung up the mike, then stretched and rubbed his shoulders. “I couldn't have done it without you, Maggie.”

  “I never realized how fast a fire could travel. How terrifying it must be to get caught in a big one,” she mused aloud.

  “This was a little one that could have turned into a big one,” he said after a few minutes of carefully studying the area. “Someone made a fire this morning and left it smoldering. A little puff of wind was all it took.”

  “Were they hunters?” she asked, remembering the graceful deer dashing into the trees.

  “Hunters usually come in with a guide if they don't know the area. Anyone who lives around here would know better. More than likely it's a couple of backpackers out from the city.” He looked and sounded grim. He took out a jug, poured water into a cup, and handed it to her. “Would you rather have a cola?”

  “Oh, no. That was delicious,” she said after draining the cup.

  He refilled the cup for himself. “There's more water in the back of the truck if you want to wash up a bit.” He pulled down the tailgate and held up another jug with a spigot. “An absolute necessity in this country. Never go anywhere without water and a fire extinguisher.” He dug into his duffle bag and drew out a towel. After wetting the end of it, he held it out to her.

  She took the towel and pressed it to her face. “Oh, that feels good!” Suddenly she started to lau
gh. “I've lost that contact again.”

  “Good. Take the other one out, throw it away, and put on your glasses.”

  “I think I will,” she said, moving to do just that. She laughed up at him through squinted eyelids. “You'll just have to put up with my glasses sliding down my nose.”

  “I think I can handle that, but wash your face. You look like a kid who's been playing in the coal bin.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MARGARET PULLED A scarf out of her bag and tied her hair back from her face. Her cheeks felt warm to the touch, as if they'd been sunburned. She smeared her face generously with cold cream and carefully removed it with a tissue before applying a skin lotion.

  Chip had stripped off his shirt and hung it over the open car door to dry while he washed the soot from his neck and arms. She made a determined effort to keep her eyes away from his superbly built body, but they returned again and again. He was a strong man without an ounce of superfluous flesh on the whole of his muscular form. His back was wonderfully broad, the muscles across his shoulders and biceps well-developed and powerful.

  Margaret felt a thrill of possession at the sight of him. The thought that she had really felt the full length of his naked body next to hers made the breath catch in her throat. She stayed where she was, breathing deeply to ease the ache in her chest.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, turning and putting on his shirt.

  “More tired than hungry.” She smiled apologetically.

  “Hey, your cheeks are red. Did you burn your face?”

  “A little. I've put some lotion on it.” She pushed her glasses higher up on the bridge of her nose, a purely nervous gesture.

  “How do you feel about staying out here tonight? We can make it to the lumber camp, but I'm not too crazy about driving that track at night.”

  “I've never camped out before.”

  “Afraid?”

  “Nooo…”

  “Well then, let's dig out the sleeping bags and take a rest before we eat. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Chip backed the Jeep up to a level place beneath the pines. Margaret walked alongside, hardly believing this was happening. From the back of the truck he pulled out a canvas tarp and the sleeping bags and, after kicking pine needles into a thick layer, he spread them out atop it.

  “If you lie on top you'd better use this. It'll start cooling down soon.” He tossed her a clean blanket.

  Margaret got stiffly to the ground, easing her limbs. “I'm not sleepy, just tired.” She stretched out with her arms raised and her hands clasped beneath her head. Had anyone told her before she left Chicago that she would be sleeping in the woods with Duncan Thorn, she would have thought they were out of their minds. Yet here she was, and she had never felt so secure, so out of danger, in her life. She closed her eyes and slept, a small smile still on her lips.

  It was almost dark when she awoke. Her limbs were stiff and aching. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the trees. For a few seconds she didn't know where she was, and she was startled. Then, as memory flooded back, she lay still again. Birds chattered to her from the treetops where they were preparing to roost for the night, but there was no other sound. Was she alone? Had Chip left her here? No. The Jeep was outlined against the darkness of the woods. She threw off the blanket and rolled onto her knees before she could get to her feet. It was cold, and she was tempted to crawl back under the blanket. Instead she went to the truck and reached for her jacket.

  She could see now. Chip had built a small fire enclosed within a circle of stones. The smell of the wood smoke tingled her nostrils, but it was unlike the acrid smell of the burning grass and brush. Her eyes swept the area for Chip. Strangely, she was unafraid, and she stood with her hands held out to the small flames.

  “Hello, sleeping beauty. I was beginning to think you'd sleep on through the night.” Chip came out of the trees and into the clearing with an armful of small branches. He piled them a safe distance from the flames and knelt to place a stick of wood on the fire.

  “Why didn't you wake me? I've wasted the whole afternoon sleeping.”

  “I figured you were tired. You did a terrific job helping me put out the fire, and you were exhausted.” He stood and she squinted up at him. “I took your glasses off. They're on the dashboard in the car.”

  “So that's why I can't see. I thought I was still half asleep.”

  “Silly girl. Stay where you are and I'll get them for you.” He returned with the glasses and set them in place. It was a gesture of tenderness, and she involuntarily began to tremble.

  He took a flashlight from his jacket pocket and put it into her hands. “If you feel the need, you can go behind those bushes,” he said, turning her with his hands on her shoulders and facing her in the opposite direction. “Hurry back. I'm starving.”

  “So am I. Don't start without me.”

  She felt the cold as soon as she stepped away from the fire, and she hastened to be out of sight so she could relieve herself. All her instincts urged her to hurry so she could get back to him. His mood toward her had changed since their battle against the fire. His fingers had lingered behind her ears when he set her glasses on her face, hadn't they? Oh, she chided herself, you're floating in a current of wishful thinking.

  As she was pulling up her jeans, a crackling sound came from the underbrush. She froze. The sound came again, a shuffling, slithering, swishing. A prickle of fear ran up her spine. She felt on the ground for the flashlight. Her fingers curled around it, but she couldn't find the switch to turn it on. She heard the sound again, and this time a small squeak accompanied it.

  “Chip!” she screamed.

  Fear propelled her, and she bolted. She met him running to her, and she threw herself against him.

  “There's something back there! I heard it under the brush.” She clutched him in terror.

  “Give me the flashlight and I'll see what it is. Go wait by the fire.” His voice was the merest whisper in her ear.

  She stood with her back to the fire and her eyes riveted on the beam of light flashing about the area. It seemed an eternity before the light was coming back toward the campfire.

  “I didn't see anything. It was probably an owl catching a mouse.” He turned off the light and put it into his pocket. “I can understand your fright. They can make a hell of a racket.” His hands grasped her shoulders, and he shook her gently. “Okay? Hey, you haven't even zipped up your jeans,” he chided softly. She stood, docile as a child, while he tucked her shirt down into her waistband, fastened the snap, and pulled up the zipper. “The moon will be up soon.”

  Margaret had the odd feeling that the world was standing still. “I'm sorry.”

  He smiled at her reassuringly. “I hope you put enough food in that hamper. My stomach thinks I've deserted it.”

  He brought the tarps and the sleeping bags over to the fire and spread them on the ground. They sat opposite each other with the hamper between them and pulled out thick meatloaf sandwiches, celery, cheese, deviled eggs, and a plastic sack of chocolate-chip cookies.

  “Ahhhh,” he sighed contentedly as he viewed the food. “Now if that coffee in the thermos is still hot, we've got it made.” He smiled into her eyes, and at that moment she was sure she would never be frightened of anything as long as he was with her.

  “Thank you,” she murmured after taking a deep breath.

  “You're welcome. But what did I do?”

  “You're so calm, so unafraid. I feel perfectly safe with you.”

  “Why are you whispering? It's nice to know I inspire confidence, but I'm not all that sure it's such a compliment.” He gave her an inquiring look. “Do you realize that you're alone with me, deep in the woods, miles from anyone?” He lowered his voice to a stage-villain's whisper. “I may ravish you!”

  “Ravish?” Her laugh rang out. “Will you permit me to finish my sandwich first?”

  Chip took a swallow of his coffee. “All that stands between you and that fate
worse than death is the fact that I'm an Eagle Scout, dedicated to helping maidens in distress and old ladies crossing busy streets.”

  “Thank heaven for that!” Her eyes continued to smile into his, and her heart beat faster.

  Chip built up the fire, moving methodically as he always did, while Margaret repacked the hamper. The moon had appeared from behind the treetops, rendering the flashlight unnecessary. The air was still and cold, and she missed the heat of the campfire when she rose stiffly to take the hamper back to the Jeep. By the time she returned, her body was shaking with a sudden chill not entirely due to the night air. Chip was feeding small sticks into the fire. She looked down on his bent head and broad back, and her legs suddenly went weak with a trembling awareness of him.

  “We'll have to smother the fire when we go to bed,” he said over his shoulder. “The woods are too dry to risk it. We really need a drenching rain.”

  “The fire doesn't give out much smoke,” she observed.

  He sat down beside her on the blanket. “I'm a Boy Scout. Remember?”

  Margaret drew her legs up and wrapped her arms about them. “Do you do this often?”

  “Camp out? Not as often as I'd like.” One corner of his mouth tilted.

  “You'd hate living in the city.” It wasn't a question.

  “I wouldn't do it,” he said firmly. “Are you cold?”

  “Only my back. The fire feels heavenly on the front.”

  “I can remedy that. Boy Scout Manual page two hundred and twelve.” He moved until his back rested against a small sapling. “Come here.” He held out his hand, and she walked on her knees toward him. She found herself sitting on the blanket with her back against his chest, his arms looped around her and his long legs stretched out on either side of hers.

  “Now your back will be cold.”

  “I can fix that, too. Hand me that other blanket.” He took it from her hand and draped it around his back. With his hands at her waist he pulled her to him and wrapped her in the folds of the blanket. “How's that? Ingenious, isn't it?” There was a thread of laughter in his voice. “Now sit still, wiggle-worm, and I'll get you warm.”