Lisa Jackson's the Abandoned Box Set

  She switched on the radio, hoping that music would dull the edge of tension that seemed to emanate from the man beside her. A Kris Kristofferson ballad drifted from the speakers.

  “Where, exactly, are we going?” the doctor finally asked.

  “To a point known as Fool’s Bluff.”

  “Appropriate,” he muttered, and slipped a pair of mirrored sunglasses onto the bridge of his hawkish nose.

  She let that one slide. But as the gravel of the lane gave way to rocky ruts, she hazarded a glance at this man who was to be her companion for the next thirty-six hours. He was handsome, no doubt of that, and his profile, made more mysterious by the dark glasses, was potently virile and male. His features were hard, his hair wavy and willful, for the black strands appeared to lie as they wanted, refusing to be tamed by any civilized comb or brush.

  He seemed to fill up the interior of her truck, the smell of him pure male and soap scents. His long legs were cramped, even in the roomy interior.

  She knew that he was watching her from the corner of his eye, and she felt self-conscious. Never before had she needed to rack her brain for conversation; her clients had always, through anxiety or their outgoing personalities, managed to keep up a steady stream of small talk.

  But not Dr. O’Rourke. No way.

  The noon sun was intense, and the sky offered no traces of clouds. Chandra drove along the winding road that followed the twisted course of the river. Through the passing trees, flashes of gray-green water sped by. “Okay, let’s go over a few safety rules,” she said as she fished a pair of sunglasses from the glove box and slid them onto her nose. “First, as I told you before—I’m in charge. I’ll let you guide the raft, but if we’re getting into trouble, you’ve got to trust me to take over.”

  O’Rourke snorted, but inclined his head slightly.

  “Secondly, you wear your life vest and helmet at all times.”

  “I read all the rules,” he said, rolling down his window and propping his elbow on the ledge. Cool mountain air, smelling of fresh water and dust, rushed through the rig’s interior, catching in Chandra’s hair and caressing the back of her neck.

  She rattled off a few more pieces of information about raft safety, but Dallas was way ahead of her, so she fell silent, watching the road as the Suburban jarred and bumped up the hillside. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the pines and aspen that clustered between the road and the river. Nearby, the mountains rose like stony sentinels, sharp-peaked and silent.

  The road began to lose its definition, becoming nothing more than a pair of tire tracks between which grass, weeds and wildflowers grew.

  “This part of the river is known as Grizzly Loop,” Chandra said, glancing over at Dallas.

  “So, there are really bears up here. I thought you hauled our provisions into the trees just to scare me.”

  “Did I…scare you?”

  His smile was arrogant and mocking. “I was terrified.”

  “Right,” she said sarcastically. “As for grizzlies, you’ll see about as many as you see rattlesnakes. The river and parts of it were named a long time ago. I suppose there were a lot of bears here once, and there could be rattlesnakes, but I’ve never seen either, nor has anyone I know. Disappointed?”

  “Relieved.”

  The radio, playing a mixture of soft pop and country, finally faded in a crackle of static, and the grass strip between the tire ruts grew wider. Long, sun-dried blades brushed the underbelly of the truck. Chandra fiddled with the dial, found no discernible signal and flipped off the radio. “I guess we’ll have to settle for brilliant conversation.”

  “Suits me.” He leaned against the passenger window and studied her more closely. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Baby Doe,” she said automatically. No reason to beat around the bush, and that way she could avoid discussing her life.

  “What about him?”

  “Has anyone tried to claim him?”

  Dallas shook his head, and Chandra felt a release of anxiety, like the rush of water from a burgeoning dam. Ever since she’d found the small child, crying and red faced in her barn, a tiny idea had sprouted in her mind, an idea that had grown and formed until she could recognize it for what it was. She wanted the baby, and though she’d argued with herself a million times, she knew that she was on a path to requesting guardianship. It was time she became a parent. She needed the baby, and, oh, Lord, the baby needed the kind of loving mother she could well become.

  They drove a few more miles until they reached Fool’s Bluff, which was situated some forty feet above the river. The rocky ledge provided a view of the curving Rattlesnake as it sliced through a canyon in the mountains. “That’s where we’ll be going,” Chandra said, parking the truck and climbing out to point south, toward the wayward path of wild, white water.

  “It looks pretty tame from up here,” Dallas observed.

  Chandra laughed. “Don’t you know that looks can be deceiving?”

  “I’m beginning to,” he said, and he sent her an assessing glance that caused her heart to trip-hammer for a second as their gazes touched then moved away. Quickly, she turned back to the truck, and balancing on the running board, began to unleash the raft.

  Dallas worked on the other side of the Suburban, and soon they were packing the raft and a few supplies along the narrow trail leading through the undergrowth and pines surrounding the river. “You’re sure this is safe?” he asked, a smile nudging the corner of his mouth.

  “You’re insured, aren’t you?”

  He snorted. “To the max. I’m a doctor, remember? Insurance is a way of life.”

  “Then relax. You’ve got nothing to worry about,” Chandra mocked, her eyes seeming to dance.

  But Dallas wasn’t convinced. With the single-minded perception he’d built a reputation upon, he realized that the next hours, while he was alone with Chandra in the forested hills, might prove to be his fateful undoing.

  CHAPTER SIX

  LIKE AN AWAKENING SERPENT, the river bucked and reared, rolling in a vast torrent of icy water that slashed furiously through the terrain. Chandra propelled the raft through the rapids, concentrating on the current, guiding the craft away from rocks and fallen trees.

  The raft hit a snag and spun.

  Adrenaline surged through Chandra’s blood as the raft tilted, taking on water. Hold on, she told herself. Freezing spray splashed in her face, and water drenched her shirt and shorts as she tried to concentrate on the idiosyncrasies of the river. The raft pitched and rolled as the Rattlesnake twisted back upon itself. “Hang on,” she yelled, putting her shoulders into the task of balancing the inflatable boat.

  Blinking against the spray of water, she was aware of Dallas shifting the position of his oars, of his body moving with the flow of the current as easily as if he, too, were a river guide.

  The raft hit a submerged rock and bounced upward, landing back on the water with a slap and a curl, spinning out of control for a heart-stopping second before Chandra found the channel again.

  Dallas, his black hair wet and shining, his face red where the water had slapped him, paddled with the current, helping Chandra keep on course.

  “You lied. You were a Boy Scout,” she screamed over the roar of wild water.

  His laugh filtered back to her. “No. But I was taught to be prepared for anything.”

  “By your father?”

  He didn’t answer, but threw his back into his oar, and the craft whipped past a slick boulder that protruded from the frigid depths.

  They shot past the final series of ripples, and finally, as the Rattlesnake’s strength gave out, their craft slowed in the shallows to drift lazily in the ebbing current.

  Chandra let out her breath in relief. Though she was always eager to challenge the river, she was also relieved when the most difficult part of the journey was over.

  “You do this every day?” Dallas asked, settling back against the stern of the raft to look at her.

&nb
sp; “No, thank God! Sometimes I guide trail rides or supervise campouts or rock climbs. In the winter, I work on the ski patrol and give lessons.”

  “The outdoorswoman who does it all.”

  “Not everything,” she countered, shoving her wet hair from her face. “I don’t hunt.”

  “No?”

  She narrowed her eyes against the lowering sun and paddled slowly, anticipating the next series of rapids. Though smaller than the last, they were still treacherous. “I’m afraid that if meat didn’t come wrapped in plastic on little trays in the store, I’d become a vegetarian.”

  He smiled at that, and his grin, honest in the outdoors, touched her.

  “Show time,” she said as the river picked up speed again, and together they slid through the rapids, following the Rattlesnake’s thrashing course until, half an hour later, they glided around a final bend to the beach beneath Fool’s Bluff, where their camp was waiting.

  “Home sweet home,” Chandra quipped, and Dallas couldn’t help thinking she was right. The faded tents and supplies stacked nearby, the bag of food swinging twenty feet in the air, the tall pines and rocky shore all did seem as much home to him as anyplace he’d ever lived.

  Skimming her paddles through the water, Chandra guided the boat to the bank. Near the beach, she hopped into the icy water. Dallas, sucking in his breath, followed suit, and soon they’d pulled the raft onto the beach, leaving it upside down to drain.

  “Now what?” Dallas asked.

  “Well, you can change into some dry clothes, or you can leave those on, they’ll dry soon enough. We’ll get started on dinner. Then, once it’s dark, we’ll tell ghost stories around the campfire and scare ourselves out of our minds,” she deadpanned.

  Dallas laughed, and Chandra couldn’t help but grin. Beneath his hard facade, Dallas O’Rourke was a man with a sense of humor, and here in the mountains, he seemed less formidable, more carefree. What else was he hiding beneath his surgical mask and professional demeanor? she wondered before closing her mind to a subject that was strictly off-limits. He was the client, and she was the guide. Nothing more. And yet, as the time she shared with him passed, she found her thoughts drifting to him as she wondered what kind of a lover he would be. What kind of husband? What kind of father?

  Before twilight descended, they drove upriver in his truck to retrieve the Suburban. By the time they returned, the sun was behind the mountains and long shadows stretched across the beach. Dinner consisted of sandwiches, fruit and cookies that Rick always purchased from a bakery on the first floor of the building housing Wild West Expeditions.

  “Not exactly Maxim’s,” he remarked, leaning his back against a large boulder and stretching his legs in front of him.

  “You complaining?”

  “Me? Never.”

  “You could have bought the deluxe trail ride and rafting trip,” she said. “The one with caviar, champagne, Thoroughbreds and a yacht.”

  His mouth lifted at the corner and he said lazily, “My brother’s too cheap.”

  “Are you two close?” she asked, and was rewarded with silence. Only the swish of water and drone of insects disturbed the silence. The sky, as if painted by an invisible brush, was layered in bands of pink and lavender. Above the darkening peaks, the boldest stars glimmered seductively.

  Chandra, leaning against a log, drew her legs to her chin and wrapped her arms around her shins. “It’s gorgeous up here, don’t you think? The first time I saw this place, I knew this was where I had to stay.”

  “Where’re you from?” he asked. She turned to find him watching her so closely that her breath stopped for a second. For the first time since the river run, she realized that she’d be spending the night with this man—all alone in the wilderness. Though it wasn’t a new experience—she’d led more than her share of trail rides and camping excursions—she could feel in the air that this night would be different. Because of Dallas. There was something that set him apart from the other men she’d guided along the river—or was there? She edged her toe in the sand, unwilling to admit any attraction for a man she’d met so recently, a man who could, for all she knew, be married.

  The scent of water filled her nostrils and the night seemed clearer than usual. The evening air was warm, its breath laden with the scents of spruce and pine.

  “I take it you’re not a native,” he pressed, those inscrutable eyes still staring at her.

  “No, I’m originally from Idaho,” she admitted. “Grew up there. My dad was a real outdoorsman, and since he had no sons and I was the oldest daughter, he spent a lot of time showing me the ropes of canoeing, horseback riding, swimming, rafting and mountain climbing.”

  “And you made it a profession?”

  Picking up a stick, she nudged over a rock, exposing a beetle that quickly scurried for cover. “With some stops along the way,” she admitted. “Why are you so interested?”

  He looked at her long and hard. “Because I’ve never met a woman who, with a few first-aid courses, could so quickly and accurately diagnose a patient as you did. You were right on target, Ms. Hill.”

  “Chandra. Remember?” she said, and considered telling him the truth. He deserved that much, she supposed. “And you’re right,” she admitted, though she couldn’t confide in him, not completely. There was too much emotional scarring that she wouldn’t reveal, at least not yet. So she hedged. “I’ve had more training than basic first aid. I was in medical school for a while, but I dropped out.”

  “Why?” he asked. The word seemed to hang between them in the night air. The moon had risen, and dusk, like a familiar warm cloak, closed them off from the rest of the world. The river rippled by, shimmering with the silvery light of the moon. The mountains, craggy and black, loomed toward the twilight sky.

  “I didn’t think it was right for me,” she lied, cringing inwardly. Why not tell him the truth and get it over with? But, though she tried, the words wouldn’t pass her tongue. Standing, she dusted her palms on her shorts. She felt a chill, though the air still held warmth from the afternoon, and she didn’t know how much she should tell Dallas.

  He was leaning forward, hands clasped, watching her every move, but when she didn’t explain any further, he stood and walked toward her, his gaze still fastened on her face. He stopped just short of her, and she was all too aware that he was standing inches from her, his sleeve, still damp, brushing the crook of her arm. She tried not to notice how close he was, how intimate the night had become. Dry leaves fluttered in the wind, rustling and whispering as the breeze moved along the course of the river.

  Lifting her head, she focused on the straight line of his chin, his square jaw, the way his hair ruffled in the wind. As if he understood her pain, he didn’t ask another question, just took her in his arms and held her. Her throat burned with his sudden gentleness, and tears threatened her eyes. She didn’t try to break away, just let his arms and the sounds of the river envelop her. How long had it been since someone had held her?

  His breath whispered across her crown, and his body was warm, a soothing balm for all the old wounds. Her arms wrapped around his as if of their own accord, and he groaned. “Chandra,” he whispered, and his voice had grown husky.

  Good Lord, what was she doing, embracing this…this stranger, for crying out loud? And why did she feel the need to tell him her life story? This was all wrong. Even if his arms felt right, he was a client, a doctor, for God’s sake, not a man she could get involved with. He could be married, for all she knew! She tried to break away, but his arms, strong as hemp, wouldn’t budge. “I think…this isn’t right…. I don’t know anything about you.” She gazed up at him steadily. “Look, Dallas, I don’t fool around. Especially with married men.”

  “Then you’re safe.”

  “You’re not married?”

  The muscles surrounding her tensed. “Not anymore.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t know what to say.

  She tried to slip out of his arms, but his grip tightened.
“I still don’t think this is very smart.”

  “I know it isn’t.”

  “I don’t get involved with any men,” she clarified, her voice unusually low, her pulse beginning to race wildly. They were talking about a very serious subject, and yet she felt that there was an undercurrent in their conversation, and she couldn’t concentrate on much more than the feel of his hard body pressed so close to hers.

  Embracing him was crazy! Downright insane. She didn’t even know the man—not really. All she had were impressions of an honest, overworked physician, who at times could be cuttingly harsh and other times as textured and smooth as velvet.

  “I know you were right on the money with the baby,” he said, his breath fanning across the top of her head. “I’ve seen you handle Alma Lindquist and Bob Fillmore. I know for a fact that I couldn’t put you off when you demanded to know about the infant’s condition. And I’ve seen you navigate one helluva river. My guess is that you do whatever you set your mind to, Ms. Hill.”

  “Chandra,” she reminded him again, but the words strangled in her throat as his night-darkened gaze locked with hers for a heart-stopping instant. She knew in that flash of brilliance that he was going to kiss her and that she was unable to stop him. He dropped his head then, and his mouth molded intimately over hers.

  It’s been so long…she thought as a river of emotions carried her away. The smell of him was everywhere—earthy, sensual, divine. And the feel of his hands, so supple against her skin, caused tiny goose bumps to rise on her flesh. He locked one of his hands around the back of her neck and gently pulled her hair as his tongue traced the rim of her mouth.

  Her breath was stilled, her heart beginning to pound a cadence as wild as the river rushing through this dusky canyon.

  This is a mistake! she told herself, but didn’t listen. She heard only the drumming of her heart and the answering cadence of his. Warm, hard, primal, he provoked a passion so long dormant, it awoke with a fury, creating desire that knew no bounds. He shifted his weight, drawing her down, and her knees gave way as he pressed her slowly, intimately, to the beach.