She kissed him back, matching his desperation. Within seconds Ben felt sweat running down his forehead, and it had nothing to do with the warmth of the cave.
He broke off reluctantly, and gently held her away from him. “We’ve got to keep moving, Emma.”
Her flushed face suddenly brightened. “Beaker’s out there somewhere.”
“What?”
“It’s amazing—he followed Wayne’s truck all the way out here! He saved me, attacking Wayne just as he was going to shoot me.”
“Where’s Beaker now?”
“Probably stalking Wayne.”
Ben smiled. “Then it’s three to one. Poulin doesn’t stand a chance.”
“He may be crazy, Ben, but he’s also smart. Don’t underestimate him.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.” He started repacking his backpack. “What’s our best way back home?”
When he didn’t get an answer, Ben looked up to see Emma holding Homer’s cage, a speculative look in her eye. “We can send a message. When Mikey gets home from school, he’ll check out the coops. We can use Homer to call in the cavalry.”
Ben reached into his pocket for the message canister and a pen. “What should we say?” he asked, pulling out the piece of paper inside.
“Just write, ‘Trouble. Medicine Creek. Poulin.’ And sign it Emma and Ben,” she instructed as she took Homer out of his cage.
Ben saw her kiss the bird on his head.
“I’m glad the fumes didn’t get you, little one,” she whispered, holding the bird for him to attach the canister.
Then Ben walked to the entrance of the cave and released him.
The bird soared into the sky, circled once, and landed in a tree a hundred yards away.
Emma sighed. “He does that sometimes. He’s just learning.”
“Great.” Ben turned and scanned the forest below, but he couldn’t see very far. The trees were thick, growing right up the side of the mountain to the base of the cliff. He turned back to help Emma out of the small entrance. “Are you okay to travel?”
She was a god-awful mess. Her long hair was a tangle of knots, half-dried and still wet in places. Her face looked like a prizefighter’s after a rough bout in the ring. His clothes hung from her slender frame, pooling into a folded mass of wrinkles at her ankles. He couldn’t see her hands; the sleeves of his sweatshirt were so long that they dangled empty-cuffed.
“I can make it.”
He frowned. “Maybe you should stay here. I could turn the tables on Poulin by doing a little hunting myself since I have the element of surprise.”
“No offense, Ben, but your battlefield is usually a boardroom. This is Wayne’s turf. And he’s truly insane.”
She started down the mountain.
There wasn’t one blasted spot on her body that didn’t ache, and there were a few places that outright pained her. But Emma kept walking, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, determined to lead Ben out of the woods.
This was a hell of a mess, and it was all her fault.
If she hadn’t gone snooping in the first place she’d be home right now, making wedding plans. Instead, she was running for her life with Ben, away from the man who’d murdered her father and sister.
“Slow down, Emma,” Ben said. “You’re going to burn out.”
They had twenty-six miles to go before they were safe, but she stopped and waited for him to catch up. She knew he was slowed down from watching their back trail.
“We’re not going to make it before dark,” she said when he reached her. “We’ll have to find a safe place to bed down.”
“Any suggestions?” he asked, brushing the hair off her forehead.
“I’ll tell you if you share some of that food in your pack,” she teased.
The poor man looked so stricken, Emma was immediately sorry for asking. “Lord, Emma, you must be starving,” he said as he shrugged off the pack.
She took the pack and looked inside, and found a container of Elmer Fudge cookies. “No more than you,” she said, opening the lid and grabbing one. She popped the entire cookie in her mouth, and immediately thought of Beaker. Was he still stalking Wayne?
“What’s the plan?” Ben asked around his own mouthful of cookie.
“Medicine Creek starts up on the mountain, and gathers water from various streams as it flows down to Medicine Lake. So we just follow the creek, and come out at Medicine Bay and my camps.”
“How far?”
Emma reached into the pack for some water before she replied. “We’re still about twenty-six miles from home, but beavers dammed the stream about four miles from here and created a nice little pond. There’s trout in it the size of baby whales.”
Ben ate another cookie, his eyes darting up the trail they’d just walked down.
“I keep a canoe stashed there,” Emma said, regaining his attention. “And the stream is navigable below the pond … for a while.”
He lifted a brow, silently asking her to explain.
“About eight miles before home, there’s a monster set of falls and then some pretty mean white water. Do you have any white water experience?”
His frown returned.
“That’s assuming the canoe holds up,” she added before she popped another cookie in her mouth.
Ben looked at the rifle leaning against a tree, then back up their trail, and then at her again. “I’m not sure you’re in any condition for that kind of trip. Your limping has gotten worse the last couple of miles. Maybe I should turn the game on Poulin. Then we can take our time getting out of here.”
“No, you’re nothunting Wayne. I’m not kidding, Ben. The man is too good.” She shoved the package of cookies in the backpack, then held the pack for him to put on. She grabbed the rifle and started off downstream.
“Emma, wait.”
“We’re walking out of here, Ben. And that’s final.” She wondered how seaworthy the old canoe really was.
“I owe you an apology,” Emma said two hours later, collapsing onto a rock by the pond’s edge as Ben sat beside her and shrugged out of his pack. “I really thought you were a ‘take charge’ kind of guy, that in a crisis things would have to be your way or no way.” She leaned against him as she continued. “But you’re going along with my plan, even though I know you’re dying to go after Wayne.”
He wrapped an arm over her shoulders and cuddled her against him, resting his chin on her head. “I like to think I’m man enough to listen to an expert. In fact, I’m betting our lives that you’re more knowledgeable than Poulin.”
She stared up at this man of her young dreams, and her heart started to race. He was hers. He belonged to her, just as much as she belonged to him. “It’s going to be okay, isn’t it?” she asked, gazing into his eyes. “Our getting married, I mean. It’s really going to work.”
He turned her more fully to face him. “You’re just deciding this now?”
Emma ran a finger over his stern jaw. “I know you said I’d still be independent, but you can’t blame me for having doubts. You do get a little bossy on occasion.” She leaned up and kissed his chin. “But you’re being so … democratic today.”
His expression darkened. “Don’t paint me pretty, Emma. If I had a choice, I’d have chained you to that couch this morning to keep you safe. I’m just dealing with the circumstances as I get them. Next time I might not be so cooperative.”
She stroked his clenched jaw and turned to look at the pond. “I’m ready for some supper. Did your son put any fishing tackle in that fancy pack of yours?”
Silence answered her, and Emma knew he wasn’t pleased at how their conversation had ended. She smiled toward the beaver pond. Benjamin Sinclair was practically blanketed in moss.
They sat in quiet companionship, soaking up the peacefulness of the pond as they rested. Emma’s joints soon began to stiffen, however, protesting today’s punishment. She tried to relax them without letting Ben know just how badly she hurt, straightening her swollen right knee as she fought the urge to rub it.