“Do you have any idea what it does to a woman when she gives herself to a man that completely, and he throws it back in her face?”
“No, ma’am. I only know what it did to me.”
“Do you love her?”
“More than I ever thought possible.”
“And have you told her that?”
Jack stilled in surprise. “Not lately,” he admitted.
Grace gave a feminine snort. “Don’t you think you should?”
“She won’t believe me.”
“I believe you, Jack.”
“You do? Why?”
“Because you’ve let yourself get beaten up all week.”
“You think that’s been on purpose?”
“Are you incapable of defending yourself, then?”
Damn, she was perceptive. “But what would my getting beaten up prove to Megan?”
“Maybe that you need her as much as she needs you?”
“Are we leaving today, or what?” Megan called out. “You’re slowing me down, Jack.”
She’d finally called him Jack! “I’m ready when you are,” he called back, quickly stashing his Thermos and picking up his helmet. He looked at Grace. “You think it’s as simple as me telling her that I love her?”
“No—I think it’s that complicated.”
Megan pulled up beside them on her sled. “What are you two talking about?” she asked through the open visor of her helmet.
“You, mostly.” Jack slid on his own helmet, then reached out and started his sled. Megan zoomed off, heading up the cove, and Jack looked at Grace again. “Thanks for the advice.” He slapped down his visor and gave his sled the gas, aiming for the cloud of snow dust already half a mile up the lake.
Megan zoomed up the lake with abandon, every fiber of her being humming in joy. Finally she was back doing what she knew and loved. How had she strayed so far from herself? She didn’t belong behind some counter selling her sister’s paintings; she belonged outdoors with the cold wind nipping her nose and the crisp air sharpening her senses.
She felt so exhilarated, she didn’t even mind that Jack was tagging along. It rankled that her father had so quickly decided that he liked him on some man-to-man level, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy today’s outing—and maybe even have a bit of fun at Jack’s expense.
Megan checked her mirror and saw that Jack had caught up and fallen in line behind her, and she stifled a snort. Did he think she was falling for his act? She was on to him now; under that defenseless-appearing exterior, Jack Stone was as hard as his last name implied.
Megan continued across the lake as fast as she dared, considering every little bump bounced her baby down on her bladder. Damn. She hadn’t thought about having to stop for bathroom breaks with Jack along. She’d borrowed Elizabeth’s suit from when her sister had been pregnant, but she was going to have to take off the damn thing completely to pee in the woods—which was going to be chilly and time-consuming.
She sure hoped Jack was a patient man.
Megan frowned. Those had definitely been angry bees, not butterflies, fluttering around in her stomach when she’d stood nose to chin with him yesterday, jostling for position. And she didn’t care how stressed he had looked, or that any fool could see he needed a day in the woods as much as she did. Why had she capitulated so quickly and agreed to let him come along?
Because she was a softhearted sap, that’s why.
Megan zoomed past a lone ice fisherman tending his traps, gave him a wave, and aimed her sled toward a well-traveled path leading to shore. She slowed down to maneuver over the rough transition from lake to solid ground, then glided up the winding spur to the ITS trail.
Maine had an amazing Interstate Trail System that took advantage of many of the unused logging roads in the winter. These virtual highways were proudly maintained by local clubs, to the point that they were nearly as wide and often smoother than their automobile counterparts.
They were definitely faster.
Megan stopped at an intersection, looked for sled traffic before turning north onto the ITS trail, and accelerated to thirty-five miles per hour. She noted Jack still in her mirror, and wondered how he liked taking second place. When a man owned a snowmobile engineered to attack the trails at speeds in excess of ninety miles per hour, that usually meant he had a lead dog mentality. Did Jack?
Of course he did. He’d bought that chick magnet, hadn’t he?
Good Lord! Did he see her as some fluffy snow bunny who would swoon over a man riding a cherry red rocket?
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?