Текст книги "Secrets of the Highlander"

Автор книги: Джанет Чапмен

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Naw. Jack knew her better than that.

Was he afflicted with little-man syndrome, then?

Megan snorted. Jack might be several inches shorter than the men in her family, but he sure as heck didn’t appear to be trying to prove anything to anyone. Getting beaten up three days in a row—including Camry’s pie in his face!—wasn’t exactly impressive.

Megan caught herself gaining speed and realized her sense of urgency was coming from her bladder. Darn. Only half an hour into their trip, and already she had to pee. She drove until she found a little-used spur going off to the right, went up it a few hundred yards, then pulled to the edge of the trail and shut off her machine.

Jack pulled up directly behind her. Megan took off her helmet, climbed off her sled, and walked back to his. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said. “Shut off your engine so we can hear if anyone is coming down the trail.”

He took off his helmet, frowned at her, and said, “How come you didn’t take care of that before we left?”

“I did. You try riding around with a baby sitting on your bladder.”

His eyes dropped to her belly and his frown reversed to a lopsided grin. “Oh. I hadn’t thought about that.” He reached out to turn the key on his snowmobile, but stopped and looked at her. “Are you sure it’s okay to just shut if off? Shouldn’t I let the engine idle for a few minutes, so I don’t damage something?”

Megan reached over to shut off his sled. “It’s the other way around, Jack. If you let a powerful engine like this one idle too long, it can overheat. You grew up in Medicine Lake, so how come you don’t know anything about snowmobiles?”

“Grand-père was old school. We snowshoed wherever we wanted to go. I did get a snowmobile when I was sixteen, but it was older than I was and broke down within a month. I think it’s still sitting in the woods thirty miles north of Medicine Lake.”

“You told Camry and me that your great-grandfather died when you were fifteen, and that you got hauled off by human services after that.”

“I also said that I ran away again.” He grinned up at her. “Since they hadn’t found me the first time around, I headed straight back to where Grand-père and I had been living. The people of Medicine Lake diverted the social workers looking for me, and gave me odd jobs so I could support myself. That’s how I got the sled. I bartered it for some doctoring.”

Megan narrowed her eyes at him. “You also said you didn’t inherit your great-grandfather’s gift.”

“But I did inherit his herbs. And I’d gone with him whenever he tended the sick, so I knew the drill.” He shrugged. “People just assumed his gift had passed down to me. And the way I saw it, having fresh eggs to eat in the middle of winter was damn well worth praying over someone.”

“My God, you were a con artist, deceiving sick people.”

“No, Megan, I was just a kid trying to survive. Go on, go to the bathroom,” he softly told her, waving toward a thick patch of bushes.

Megan turned and walked into the woods, unzipping her suit with a scowl. Confound it! She was not going to feel bad for calling him a con artist, no matter how wounded he’d looked. It was a wonder lightning hadn’t shot from the sky and struck him dead. Even idiots knew better than to mess with the magic.

Still, shame washed over her, making her feel like she’d just kicked a puppy. She couldn’t imagine not having the security and love of her family. What would she have done, how hard would she have fought to survive, if she had been orphaned at nine, raised by an old man who probably needed more looking after than she did, and then been orphaned again at fifteen?

Heck, Jack literally had raised himself.

Safely out of sight of the trail, Megan tramped down a place in the snow. She slid her suit down to her knees, sat down on top of it, and pulled off her boots so she could take the suit completely off. She stuffed her feet back in her boots, dug around in her pocket for a tissue, then dropped her pants and long johns to her knees with a sigh. This was so much easier for men!

“I’m beginning to hope you’re a boy,” she told her baby, cradling her belly while leaning against a tree to support her back. “And I won’t mind if you want to write your name in the snow.”

A full five minutes later, huffing and puffing as she wrestled her snowsuit back on over her layers of clothes, she heard Jack call out, “Everything okay back there?”

“Just peachy!” she shouted.

She growled under her breath when she heard him chuckle, and swore out loud when she had to put her foot down in the snow to keep from falling. She plopped down and brushed her sock clean before pulling on her boot with a sigh. It was going to be a long day.

Jack handed her a bottle of water when she returned to the sleds. “I prefer hot cocoa,” she told him. “You said you’d bring some.”

“In the interest of not slowing us down with bathroom breaks, I thought you should limit your cocoa intake, since it contains caffeine. But you need water so you don’t dehydrate, which can happen fast in winter.”

“You don’t need to lecture me on winter survival,” she said, shoving the bottle at him and stomping back to her sled. She picked up her helmet and took a calming breath. “I’m pretty sure this spur circles back onto the ITS trail in three or four miles. We might as well continue on it, since this whole area is part of the watershed I’m studying.”

“You’re just pretty sure it circles back?”

She glared at him. “I won’t get us lost.”

“Still, I think I’ll leave a trail of bread crumbs.” He pulled his own helmet down over his head, effectively shutting her out.

Megan sat down on her sled and turned the key, then shot up the narrow spur. The man obviously had no sense of adventure.

She drove eight or nine miles before she started thinking she might have to eat crow. The trail wasn’t going in the direction she thought it would; it was taking them northeast.

She came to another intersection and stopped. Should she go right or left? Even though left was east and she wanted to head west to get back on track, tote roads could be deceiving. Why weren’t these stupid trails marked?

Jack walked up to her sled and flipped up his shield. “I vote we go right,” he told her loudly, to be heard over their idling engines.

“Why? That’s east. We want to go west to get back to the lake.”

“Just a hunch.”

Megan looked around. Directly in front of them was a small mountain, though she wasn’t sure which one. She looked left and right, but both directions showed only a short piece of the trail, since it was winding through dense forest. She looked back at Jack. “And if I think we should go left?”

“Then we’ll go left.” He shrugged. “Either direction, it’s got to come out someplace.”

He turned and walked away, and Megan watched in her mirror as he got back on his sled and waited. She looked up the new trail in both directions again, then gave her sled the gas and turned right, having learned long ago that when someone had a hunch and she had nothing, it was smarter to go with the hunch.

Within four miles the knot in her gut began to unwind as the trail slowly curved westward, taking them up and over the mountain, heading back toward the lake. She smiled. Jack might not want to admit it, but some of his great-grandfather’s magic must have rubbed off on him.

Then again, maybe he was just lucky.

It was another ten miles before the area began to look familiar. The ridge to their right was the north end of Scapegoat Mountain, and she was sure the peat bog that she’d glimpsed through an opening in the forest was Beaver Bog. That meant the mountain ahead of them was Springy, and the deer yard she was looking for was…

She raised her left hand to warn Jack she was stopping, and brought her sled to a halt. She set the brake and got off, lifting her visor as she walked back to him. “I think the deer yard I’m looking for is just over there,” she said, pointing to a nearby ridge. “Let’s find a place off the trail to set up camp. If the yard is there, I don’t want to spook the herd by getting any closer with the snowmobiles.”

“That’s fine with me. I’m starved.”

“It’s ten-thirty.”

“I overslept and didn’t have time for breakfast. Did you remember the gravy?”

“Did you bring a pot to warm it in?” she asked, eyeing his small saddlebags.

He nodded toward her sled idling in front of them. “I’m sure your father stashed a pot in that pack basket.”

“For a man who grew up in the wilderness, you certainly don’t carry much survival gear.”

He grinned up at her. “Give me a good knife and some rope and I can live like a king.”

“Then you can set up camp and cook dinner while I check out the deer yard.”

“That’ll take you at least a couple of hours.”

“So have a nap.”

“Sounds like a plan to me. Pick a sunny spot out of the breeze,” he said, waving her toward her sled and flipping down the visor.

Once again, Megan found herself stomping back to her snowmobile. She had to stop letting him rile her. What had happened to Wayne-the-nerd, anyway? She actually missed him. Yet Jack-the-jerk was much more…stimulating.

Which was scary, considering she’d sworn off all men four months ago. Too bad her hormones hadn’t gotten the memo.

Chapter Thirteen

J ack added more twigs to the small fire he had going, gave the remaining gravy a stir, and licked the spoon clean. He then settled back on his leather jacket and ski pants, which he’d taken off and laid over some fir boughs to make a bed. He closed his eyes with a sigh, thinking that if he got any smarter he might scare himself. Being out here alone with Megan was just like when they’d been out on the tundra, only better. This time there weren’t any squabbling students to babysit or honking geese trying to peck him for messing with their young; it was just the two and a half of them in the middle of miles of wilderness.

Yup, he sure loved seeing a plan come together. Jack fell asleep with a smile, thinking life didn’t get any better than having the little woman off at work while he kept the home fires burning. With that thought warming his heart, he drifted off into dreamland.

His mother visited him first, her radiant smile surrounding Jack with familiar serenity. “I like her family,” Sarah Stone said. “Grace MacKeage will make you a wonderful mother-in-law. She’s exactly the feminine influence I’d hoped you would find.”

“Maybe she’ll be my mother-in-law,” Jack told the childhood vision of his mother. “I need the cooperation of her daughter for that to happen.”

“Megan will come around. You heeded your grand-père’s warning to send her home, and now you’ll simply have to undo the damage.”

“But how?”

“By being who you truly are, my son. The longer you deny it, the harder your journey will become.”

“You sound like Grand-père.”

“Because I am his granddaughter, Coyote.”

“Where are Dad and Walker? I want to see them.”

“They’re fishing with my father. Grand-père’s here, though. He has something to show you.”

“I’m not in the mood for one of his lectures.” Jack’s voice rose when his mother began to fade into the shimmering light. “Stay and talk to me about how to fix things with Megan. I need your help, Mama. I miss you.”

She stopped disappearing, only a faint image of her radiant beauty remaining. “You can’t miss what you’ve never lost, Coyote. Every breath you take is my breath; every beat of your heart is my heartbeat; every time you hear the wind in the trees, I am singing to you. I walk inside you, my son.”

“Stay, Mama.”

“I’ll be back again soon, but I must go find your father and brother now. Heed your grand-père’s words, Coyote, for with the gift he brings you, he also brings wisdom.”

“Mama!”

“Coyote! Quit your hollering,” Forest Dreamwalker commanded as he appeared out of the ether, the epitome of shamanistic lore from his flowing gray hair down to the wrinkles on his aged face. “You’re too old to be crying after your mama.”

“I will never outgrow my need for her, old man.”

“A father must be strong. Do you wish your son to think you weak?”

“What I wish is for you to stop plaguing my dreams,” Jack growled. “My brother was to be your heir, not me. Wait—you said my son. Megan’s having a boy?”

“Piqued your interest, have I? So now you’ll listen to me?”

“What is that under your robe?”

“This?” Forest Dreamwalker lowered the edge of the thick wool robe he wore. “Why, it’s an infant!”

“My son?” Jack asked, sitting up.

“According to what I saw when your mama changed his diaper,” the old shaman said with a chuckle.

Jack stretched out his hands. “Let me hold him.”

“In three and a half months, Coyote. Until then, he’s ours to play with.”

“Jack. My name is Jack now.”

“Only because some fool social worker didn’t know the difference between a coyote and a jackal. She had no right changing the name your mother and father gave you.”

Jack dropped his outstretched hands with a sigh. This had been a bone of contention with his great-grandfather for nearly twenty-six years. “She changed it because no one would have adopted a kid named Coyote,” Jack told him for the thousandth time. “And I’ve kept it because it suits me. Move your robe so I can see my son.”

The old man peeled back the wool a bit more. “You’ll have to trust me that he’s got your eyes,” he said. “I’m not about to wake him, as he has the scream of a warrior. Which gives me hope that he’ll inherit his mother’s highlander spirit.”

“There’s nothing wrong with wanting to travel a peaceful path.” Jack reached out again. “Let me hold him.”

“If I do, will you agree to listen to me?”

Jack stilled. “You would use an innocent child to bargain?”

“Only because you force me to such extremes.”

He really, really wanted to hold his son. “Okay.”

The old man hesitated. “Promise me you won’t wake him.”

“I just want to hold him,” Jack said, reaching out again. He took the child, surprised by how little he weighed. “He’s not very big,” he said, setting his son on his lap so he could study him.

“He will be when he’s born,” Forest said with a chuckle. “As I’m sure his mama will discover. No, don’t unbundle him,” he admonished, reaching out and tucking the blanket back around him. “He likes the security of being tightly swaddled.”

But the child—his son!—started wiggling, then gave a yawn and stretched his little legs, pushing his feet against Jack’s belly with surprising strength. His tiny arms started fighting the blanket, and he suddenly cracked open his eyes.

“Now you’ve done it,” Forest growled.

Jack opened the blanket. The baby went perfectly still, staring up at Jack with dark, solid navy eyes. Then his little cherub face scrunched up, his arms and legs started to windmill, and he let out a bellow that rocked Jack right down to his soul.

“Soothe him,” Forest said frantically. “Hold him up to your chest so he can hear your heartbeat.”

Jack pulled his shirttail from his pants high enough to expose his chest and carefully lifted his son, cradling the infant’s face against his bare skin. He shuddered at the contact, and closed his eyes on a sigh when the boy started rooting against his skin.

He was holding his son!

Forest Dreamwalker sat beside Jack and shook his head. “Even this young, they know what they want. Give him your little finger to suckle.”

Jack did, eyeing his great-grandfather suspiciously. “When did you learn what babies want? You had one son, and I doubt you spent much time with him until he was five or six.”

“Ah, but I spent a great deal of time with Sarah from the moment she was born. Your mother was always wanting to be walked, and my son had no patience for pacing in circles to soothe her. That precious chore was mine.”

Jack knew his family history by rote, since he’d spent five years alone in the woods with Forest Dreamwalker. Forest’s son had found himself the sole parent of a three-month-old daughter when his wife had suddenly decided to move to Vancouver—with no husband or baby to cramp her new lifestyle. Sarah had been raised by her father and grandfather, and to this day Jack wondered how the two men had managed to keep a baby alive, much less raise her to become such an amazing woman.

“Listen up, Coyote,” Forest said. “This puzzle you’re grappling with is even more dangerous than you think.”

“Which one?” Jack asked, looking down at his son.

“Aye, you’re right. There are two distinct problems, with two very real dangers. You must tread carefully, Coyote, if you wish to keep your family safe.”

“Aye?” Jack repeated, looking at Forest in surprise.

The old shaman smiled proudly. “I’ve added a new word to my vocabulary in honor of your son’s Scottish heritage. The child has grown used to Laird MacKeage’s voice, and responds favorably when I also say aye to him.”

Good Lord, his kid was going to have some interesting dreams, with shamans and Highland warriors for ancestors. “He’s my son,” Jack said. “And I’m going to teach him to solve his problems with cunning, not might.”

Forest gave a pained sigh. “Thank the moon Greylen will be around to teach him the ways of a warrior.” He glared at Jack. “Are you going to listen to what I have to say or not?”

“I’m listening,” Jack said, though he dropped his gaze again, rubbing his thumb over his son’s soft cheek.

“Your woman has something Mark Collins wants.”

“What is it?” Jack asked, looking up.

“I’m not all-knowing. But I can tell you it’s something Megan isn’t even aware of.”

“Do you at least know what Collins is up to? What sort of business he was conducting out on the tundra?”

“It has to do with energy,” Forest said. “Oil or some other sort of fuel.”

Jack canted his head in thought. “Maybe she brought back samples or data that would prove there’s shale oil under that part of Canada. Collins might be trying to hide that fact from the government, and that’s why that man was killed.”

“Maybe. But Collins is the least of your worries right now. You need to keep a close eye on that Kenzie Gregor fellow.”

Jack looked up sharply. “So he is interested in Megan.”

“No,” Forest said with a shake of his head. “It’s not her heart he’s wanting.”

“Then what?”

“Her knowledge. But that’s not what you should be worried about. It’s Gregor’s connection to your break-ins that you must pay careful attention to.”

“So what’s the connection?”

Forest leaned closer. “Magic,” he whispered. “Ancient Celtic magic, Coyote. A very powerful kind.”

Jack gaped at his great-grandfather. “There’s more than one kind of magic?”

The old shaman nodded. “The drùidhs have been charged with protecting the trees of life, whereas people and animals are my thing. My duty is to a person’s more immediate well-being, so I was given the gift of helping individuals deal with daily life.”

“Is Kenzie Gregor a drùidh?”

“No, but his brother Matt is. And Megan’s sister Winter also possesses the power.”

Jack leaned back, splaying his hand over his son in a protective gesture. “Winter’s a drùidh? And Megan knows this?”

Forest nodded. “But you can’t let her know that you know. That’s something Megan must tell you herself.” He smiled. “When she does, you’ll know she finally trusts you and has completely forgiven you for what you said to her four months ago.”

“I acted on your advice,” Jack snapped.

Forest looked affronted. “I told you to send her away. The way you did that was your poor choice.”

“It was the only thing that would make her leave. I sure as hell didn’t mean it.”

“I know that, and you know that, but does Megan? What you said, Coyote, is not something a woman easily gets past—no matter how much apologizing you do.” Forest reached out to take the child.

Jack leaned away. “Wait. What about this magic business? How do I deal with Kenzie if his brother’s a wizard?”

“By staying well away from Matt and Winter Gregor. Catching their interest could prove dangerous. Instead, you need to…” Forest dropped his gaze to his lap as his mind turned inward in thought.

Jack knew this could take awhile, so he gave his attention back to his son. He leaned forward to cradle the boy in his hands and lifted him up to kiss his tiny forehead. “Don’t you frown at me,” he said with a laugh. “It seems like I’ve been waiting forever to meet you.”

The little bundle of joy he was holding stared up at Jack, the wisdom of the universe shining in his deep, dark, bottomless eyes. “Should we tell your mama she’s having a son?” Jack asked. “Or keep this our little secret for a while?”

“You can’t tell her,” Forest suddenly interjected. “How would you explain how you know?”

“The same way I explain everything you tell me—that it’s my gut instinct.” He grinned down at his son. “It’s worked for me for thirty-four years. I’ll teach you how to rely on your own gut, baby boy.” He looked up at Forest. “So, how do I deal with Kenzie Gregor?”

The old shaman squared his shoulders. “It’s not my job to tell you what to do. You must find your own path, Coyote. That’s what life is all about.”

Jack gave a soft snort. “That never stopped you in the past. At least give me a hint.”

Forest remained silent, true to his stoic Cree heritage—which he used only when it worked in his favor.

“Can you at least tell me what ran out of that store the other night and flew away?” Jack asked. “Was it man or beast?”

“It was both.”

“Both.”

“Aye, though I’d say it was more magical than real.”

“What do you mean? Are you saying a figment of everyone’s collective imagination is breaking into those buildings?”

“You’ll solve that mystery when you discover Kenzie Gregor’s secret,” Forest told him, raising his voice to be heard when the baby began to cry.

Jack laid his son back on his lap and quickly swaddled him in his blanket. The infant grew even more unhappy, and his crying got louder. Jack stuck his little finger in its mouth, but apparently his son wanted to exercise his lungs and muscles, because he kicked off his blankets and cried even louder. Jack held him up to his chest again, but that didn’t help, either.

“What have you done to my great-grandson?” Shadow Dreamwalker demanded as he appeared out of the ether.

Jack smiled up at his grandfather. “Grand-père pinched him.” His grin widened when Mark and Walker Stone also appeared. “Hi, guys. How was the fishing?”

“Give me the child,” Sarah Stone said, also appearing from the swirling light surrounding Jack’s dream. “Grand-père, how could you?”

“I didn’t pinch him! He just started in for no reason.”

The moment Jack’s mother cradled the baby to her bosom, the boy snuggled down with a contented sigh.

Jack looked around in awe. Five generations of Dreamwalkers were present, and his father and brother. How amazing was that?

Shadow Dreamwalker had died before Jack was born, but Jack had gotten to know his grandfather quite well in his dreams. One big happy family; except that they were all over there, and he was over here—alone.

He smiled at his eleven-year-old brother, Walker. It had taken Jack quite a few years to come to terms with feeling responsible for killing his family. It had been Walker who had persuaded him that all siblings engaged in petty fighting, and that their father’s stopping the car and making Jack sit under a tree in a time-out…Well, no one could have seen the accident coming. Fate, Walker had repeatedly assured Jack, did not lie in the hands of a nine-year-old boy.

Still, it was going to take more than a few imaginary conversations with his very dead brother to convince Jack that pacifism wasn’t the better path.

“It’s time to go,” Sarah said, gently rocking her grandson. “Megan is on her way back.” She smiled down at Jack. “I hope you saved her some lunch.”

“When will I see you all again?”

“When you need to.” Mark Stone leaned down and kissed Jack on the cheek. “You’ve found yourself a wonderful woman, son. Do whatever you must to keep her, even if it means getting beaten up a few more times.”

Forest harrumphed and stood up. “Megan MacKeage is leading you on a merry chase, and you’re letting her.”

“She earned that right, wouldn’t you say?” Jack countered. He lay back down on his jacket, laced his hands together behind his head, and gave his father a nod. “I’ll find a way to keep her.” He looked at his mother and winked. “Take good care of my son. You’ll have him to yourselves only for three and a half more months. Then he’s all mine.” He looked at his great-grandfather. “And he’s going to travel a peaceful path if I have to drag him down it myself.”

Forest Dreamwalker swirled his robe around himself with his usual dramatic flair, and vanished into thin air. Everyone else, with waves and cheerful good-byes, slowly turned and walked into the shimmering ether.

Smiling with deep happiness, Jack decided to continue sleeping, hoping to extend the memory of his son’s downy-soft skin pressed against his own.

Huffing and puffing with each step, Megan wondered how she’d gotten so out of shape. She was known for snowshoeing the full ten miles up and down TarStone Mountain in less than six hours, but today two miles in three hours was pretty much doing her in. The twenty-four pounds she’d gained in the last five months was obviously the culprit.

She was suddenly glad Jack had tagged along today; she was cold and tired and so hungry she could eat a horse, and the thought of returning to a cozy camp with a roaring fire and hot food was the only thing keeping her going. Though she knew she’d better not get used to it, that didn’t mean she couldn’t take advantage of Jack’s attentiveness for the time being.

She finally trudged into camp, only to find Jack asleep, the fire out, and the basket of food nearly empty. She bent over and scooped up a handful of snow.

“You throw that, you’d best be prepared for the consequences.”

“You ate all the food!”

“I saved you some,” he said, sitting up with a yawn.

“And you let the fire go out.”

“If you’re cold, I can warm you up,” he offered, patting a spot beside him.

“In your dreams.”

“You might enjoy my dreams,” he said with a chuckle, leaning forward to lace up his boots. “Did you find the deer yard?”

“No.”

“Are you sure this is the right area?” he asked, looking around. “There aren’t any cedar groves here.”

Megan plopped down on the snow and started unlacing her snowshoes. “There’s a large stand of it on the back side of the ridge, but the deer stripped it clean as high as they could reach several years ago. They must have found another yard.”

Jack pushed her hands away and finished taking off her snowshoes for her. He then unlaced her boots and took them off, then stood, scooped her up in his arms and plopped her down on his snowmobile suit. Before she could even yelp in surprise, he was already sitting down and putting on her snowshoes. “There’s a couple of sandwiches left, some crackers, and a full Thermos of hot cocoa,” he told her. “Why don’t you eat and then have a little nap?” He scanned the sky, then looked back at her. “We’ve got a few hours of daylight left. You mind snowmobiling after dark?”

“Why, where are you going?”

“To find your deer yard. You’re in no condition to drive without having a nap.”

Knowing he was right—though loath to admit it—Megan settled down on his jacket and rubbed her belly. “I don’t know what got into the baby a little while ago, but it started kicking something fierce. I actually had to stop and sit down on a log. But just as suddenly as it started, it stopped.”

Jack stilled, a funny expression on his face. “Just a short while ago?”

“Yeah. I swear the kid was doing somersaults.”

Jack crawled over and placed his hand on her belly, his eyes meeting hers. “Maybe he’s going to run away and join the circus when he’s ten.”

“Or she might become a ballerina,” she said, feeling disconcerted to have his hand on her belly.

“Will you mind much if we have a boy?”

“I won’t mind if we have a puppy as long as it’s healthy.”

That made him smile. Megan felt her insides flop—and it wasn’t the baby doing gymnastics this time.

“Then I vote we have a boy. Would you consider naming him Walker, after my brother?”

“You have a brother?”

Jack gave her belly an affectionate pat, then started stirring the fire, putting on twigs and coaxing it back to life. “I used to.”

“What happened to him?”

“It’s a long story, best left for another time.” He stood up. “Look, if you really are that hungry, I can bring back a rabbit.”

Megan stared up at him. Who did he think he was, Nanook of the North? “I’m not loaning you my gun.”

“I don’t need a gun,” he said with a shrug. “Eat your sandwiches, Megan, and drink a whole bottle of water. I’ll be back in less than three hours, I promise. There’s enough firewood to last until then.” He grabbed the blanket beside the pack basket and tossed it to her. “It’ll get chilly as the sun drops. Keep this close.”

“You need your jacket,” she said as he started to leave.

“I’ve got enough layers on. Sweet dreams, sweetheart,” he called back with a wave, tromping around a thick stand of alders.

Megan blinked at the spot where he’d disappeared, then dropped her gaze to the food basket. For a man trying to win her back her affections, Jack Stone didn’t have any more of a clue how to go about it than Wayne Ferris had had. He expected her to survive all day on a box of crackers and two sandwiches? She’d packed five!

Megan stuffed her feet in her boots, tromped over to Jack’s sled, and unzipped his tank bag. She pulled out a map, a handheld Global Positioning System receiver, and a mangled candy bar. She pocketed the candy bar and put the other stuff back, then unzipped the right saddlebag.

Four long-neck brown bottles peered up at her, two of them missing their caps and obviously empty. She pulled out a full bottle, and snorted. “Beer. Had yourself quite a little feast, didn’t you?” she muttered, shoving it back in the bag. Something crunched in the bottom.

She reached down beside the bottles and pulled out an unopened bag of curly cheese puffs. “You bring beer and junk snacks, yet eat all the healthy food. I’m the one growing a baby here.” She turned and tossed the cheese curls toward the bed, then looked back in the saddlebag. Stuffed between the bottles to keep them from breaking were a pair of socks, a thick wool hat, and spare mittens.

Megan moved on to the left saddlebag and found it contained a sturdy rope, a small ax, and two thin Mylar space blankets. She also found three more candy bars—which she pocketed—and a flattened roll of duct tape.