“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.
She walked back and fed the fire some twigs, then sat down on Jack’s leather suit. The gravy was a lost cause, since lichen and moss had fallen into the open pot, so she ate both sandwiches, the crackers, and all four candy bars, then ripped open the cheese curls. She scoffed down half the bag before she decided she was more tired than hungry. With a sigh of contentment, she finally settled back on the bed Jack had made.
It was surprisingly comfortable. She rolled over and lifted the jacket sleeve, and saw that he’d arranged more than a foot of fir boughs on the ground, which kept her off the cold snow, just as her father had taught her. Apparently Jack had been listening when his great-grandfather had passed down his survival skills.
Which probably explained why he didn’t know squat about courting a woman. Being raised by an old man in the middle of the wilderness wasn’t exactly conducive to learning about the opposite sex. Still, Jack must have learned something once he’d gotten out in the real world. He’d been in the military, for crying out loud. Megan laced her hands together over her belly with a snort. That’s probably where he’d acquired his sex education.
Although, once he’d gotten over her surprise attack, he’d certainly…performed well enough. Oh, okay. He’d done better than merely perform. He’d actually taken her beyond the stars and back, she remembered with a shiver.
And then he’d done it all over again. And again.
“Don’t go there, Meg,” she growled, snapping her eyes shut. Only that merely made the memory stronger, to the point that she could practically feel his intimate touch.
“Damn,” she muttered, rolling onto her side, grabbing the blanket, and balling it up against her belly and chest. “Think of something else,” she commanded herself. “Think about your baby.”
Megan fell asleep a few minutes later and did dream about her child—of a little boy doing somersaults in the air as he flew from one trapeze to another.
Chapter Fourteen
J ack walked into camp three hours later to find Megan curled up on his suit. He also found four empty candy wrappers and half a bag of cheese curls on the ground beside her—which explained the orange powder all over her face.
“Trust me, playing possum only gets a person in trouble,” he said, knowing damn well she was awake. He picked up the bag of cheese curls and stuffed them in the pack basket. “Been snooping, have you? And eating my stash?”
“You ate my lunch,” she shot back, as she snuggled deeper into his suit. “What time is it?”
He picked up the candy wrappers and threw them in the basket. “Time to dig out the satellite phone and let Greylen know you won’t be back by sunset. The last thing I want are your uncles and cousins coming out to search for us.”
She still didn’t move. “You call him. He won’t lecture you.”
“No, he’ll just be waiting on my doorstep with a shotgun.”
“Daddy prefers a sword,” she mumbled.
Jack straightened with the pot in his hand. “A sword?”
Megan cracked open one eye, and one corner of her mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. “He’s pretty good with it, too. I’ve seen him cut a four-inch sapling clean through in one stroke.”
“What’s he doing with a sword?”
“It belonged to his father. All my uncles and cousins have swords,” she added, finally rolling onto her back and opening both eyes—likely to better gauge his reaction. “They’re very skilled with them, too. They clean up at the highland games down on the coast every summer.”
Not wanting to disappoint her, Jack looked stricken. “Damn, and I left my bow and arrows in Medicine Lake. They wouldn’t come after a defenseless man, would they?”
She finally sat up, stretching her arms over her head with a yawn. “That depends on whether or not I get home in one piece.”
“Hit the bushes, then. We’re leaving in ten minutes,” he told her, plucking the blanket from her lap and folding it.