Tempting the Highlander (Pine Creek Highlanders #4)

Chapter Five

C atherine Daniels sat upright in bed when the lightning strike cracked so loud the cabin shook. She turned to check on her children and was both amazed and relieved to see they were still asleep. She climbed out of bed, felt her way across the cold floor of the rustic cabin, and quietly wrestled open the half-rotten wood door.

What in heck was going on around here? This was the second thunderstorm since last night, but the sky was filled with stars that faintly shone in the gentle light of dawn. Maine had the weirdest weather. One day it was snowing, the next day raining, and the next day it was warm enough that they didn’t even need their jackets. And now thunderstorms but no rain and lightning without clouds.

She couldn’t wait to leave this desolate place, though for the life of her she didn’t know which direction to travel. She’d gone as far north as she could without bumping into Canada, and the thought of actually traveling to another country was simply too scary.

She’d been on the run two and a half months, since she’d received the letter from the parole board, and she still didn’t feel she’d run far enough. Ron had nearly caught up with them in Iowa, and it was then that Catherine realized she couldn’t go to her childhood home; she had to find the last place he would think to look for her. And Ron knew she despised cold weather and that she’d had enough of rural settings growing up on a ranch in Idaho. In fact, she was counting on him expecting her to find a crowded city, and she hoped he was hunting for them in Chicago.

She’d made the right decision to change course abruptly and come to Maine, though having her car die had certainly put an end to her options. And then she’d gone and lost her backpack and a good chunk of her money to that huge, frightening man who kept chasing her.

“It’s cold, Mommy. Close the door.”

Catherine turned and wrestled the door shut, careful not to tear it off its rusted hinges. “Sorry, sweetie,” she said, lighting the candle on the table. The old one-room hunting cabin they’d stumbled onto six days ago filled with dim light, and she walked back to the sagging bed. “Did you sleep well?” She brushed the hair off her daughter’s face, feeling her forehead for a fever. “Your breathing sounded a lot better last night. I think your cold is gone.”

“Does that mean we can leave today? I don’t like it here, especially when you leave us alone.”

Catherine leaned over and kissed her forehead, then ruffled her hair. “Maybe tomorrow, sweetie. I still have to find us some new transportation.”

“They don’t have buses or taxis this far out,” Nathan interjected, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “We’ll have to hitchhike.”

“Hitchhiking is not an option,” Catherine told him, reaching over and feeling his forehead.

He pulled away. “I ain’t sick.”

“I’m not sick,” she corrected, going over to the rusty old woodstove and opening the door to prod the dying embers. “Ain’t is not a word.”

“Is too,” Nathan countered, climbing over his sister and out of bed. “Johnny showed it to me in the dictionary.”

“Johnny Peters is one of your friends I don’t miss. And ain’t is not a proper word.”

Nathan walked up and handed her the last piece of wood in the box. “Then how come they put it in the dictionary?” he asked. “The F -word’s in there, too. And so ain’t damn.”

Catherine sighed, closed the stove door, and absently wiped the rust on her hands onto her pants. “People are judged by their language, Nathan. And using words like ain’t and damn and the F -word gives the impression they’re ignorant.”

“I don’t say damn, Mommy,” Nora piped in, climbing out of bed, only to suck in her breath when her socked feet touched the cold floor. “I wanna go home,” she whispered, jumping back into bed. “It’s too cold here. And dark. It’s dark all the time.”

“The days are lengthening,” Catherine assured her, finding Nora’s shoes and putting them on her feet. “It’s almost spring. It’ll warm up.”

“Can we come with you this morning?” Nathan asked, slipping into his sneakers and grabbing his jacket from the peg. “Nora cries the whole time you’re gone.”

“Here, I’ll walk you both to the outhouse,” she said, grabbing Nora’s jacket and putting it on her. “And check for raccoons before you go inside. Remember what happened last time.”

“Can we go with you, Mommy?” Nora asked, echoing her brother with pleading eyes. “We’ll be real good. We promise.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Catherine whispered, squatting down to her level. “I don’t leave you here because I think you’ll be bad but because your daddy is looking for a woman and two children. If I go into town alone, no one will remember me once I’m gone. But they will remember a strange woman with two children, and if your dad comes through here asking questions, they’ll tell him they saw us.”

“We could hide in the bushes close to town,” Nathan said. “Just don’t leave us way up here.”

Catherine straightened, opened the door, and urged them outside. “Okay,” she agreed. “You can come with me today, but you can’t go in the store.”

“Can we go steal eggs with you?” Nathan asked, walking backward to look up at her as they walked toward the outhouse.

“I did not steal those eggs. I bought them.”

“You were pretty winded when you got back the other day. And the eggs were broken,” he said as he turned and slowly opened the outhouse door. “And then you lost your backpack.”

Nora stood far out of the way while both Catherine and Nathan peered inside. “It’s clear,” he said, quickly forgetting their conversation. “Me first.”

But Nora beat him to it and slammed the half-rotten door shut behind her. Nathan turned to Catherine. “Are you going to steal a car too, Mom?” he whispered.

“Of course not. Now that your sister’s feeling better, I’m going to find a job.”

“A job?” he squeaked, his eyes rounding. “We’re gonna stay here?”

Catherine looked at her eight-year-old son and shrugged. “It’s the end of the line for us, Nathan,” she said softly, pulling him away from the outhouse so Nora wouldn’t hear them. “There’s nowhere else to run. And we’re almost out of money. I have just enough left to either buy us a cheap car or rent a place to stay. But if I spend the money on a car, then we won’t have any money left to buy gas. And we can’t keep running forever, honey.”

“But then Dad will find us,” he whispered. “You said we gotta be careful about things like credit cards and your social number. That he can use them to find us.”

“It’s a social security number,” she told him, squatting down to eye level and tugging on his coat with a smile. “But maybe I could be a seamstress and work out of our apartment. That way, I won’t have to give any numbers to anyone.”

Catherine nodded at hearing her own thoughts of the last few days. She’d been mulling over the possibility of stopping long enough to earn some money, and voicing it out loud actually made it sound plausible.

“We can really get a place? With our own bathroom and a kitchen?” Nathan asked, his eyes lighting with excitement. “And you can bake us cookies again?”

Catherine reached out and hugged her young son to her chest, pushing his head down on her shoulder so he couldn’t see her misting eyes. For two and a half months, she’d been riddled with guilt and fear. What she was putting her precious children through was unconscionable, but letting Ron Daniels anywhere near them again was even more unthinkable. She had risked her life in the hopes of getting seven or eight years of freedom—enough to get her babies grown and safe—but the state of Arkansas had given her only three.

“I can work, too,” Nathan told her, clinging tightly. “I’m big now.”

“You are big,” she said, squeezing him just as tightly. “You take care of your sister, find us firewood, and help me out a lot.” She patted his back and stood up, took his hand, and walked to the outhouse. “Did you fall in?” she called to Nora.

A tiny giggle came through the door. “I’m done,” the little girl shouted, bursting out the door. “The only reason I don’t mind the cold is no spiders,” she said with a shiver, moving so Nathan could go in next. “We really can go with you today?”

“Yes,” Catherine told her, leading her back to the cabin. “Your cold is much better, so you can make the hike. And I’ll even buy you treats for being such wonderful children.”

Nora skipped on ahead but couldn’t get the heavy cabin door open. Catherine picked up two pieces of wood from the dwindling pile outside and opened the door. She put the wood in the stove and started rummaging through the small assortment of cans for something she could heat up for breakfast.

Not two minutes later, Nathan came bursting through the door, his eyes wild and his face as white as snow. “There’s a dead man in the woods!” he shouted, running up and grabbing her arm. “Come on, Mom. We have to get out of here!”

Nora let out a scream and threw herself at Catherine.

Catherine leaned down and stopped Nathan from tugging on her, taking him by the shoulders to look him in the eye. “Are you sure you saw a man?” she asked softly. “And not a funny-looking log?”

His eyes huge with fright, Nathan nodded. “I almost stepped on him.” He took a deep breath. “I was looking for firewood up on the hill,” he said with another gulp, pointing at the back cabin wall. “He’s…he’s only half dressed. And he’s dead.”

Nora whimpered, burying her face in Catherine’s sweater.

Catherine took a steadying breath of her own. “Nathan,” she said calmly. “How do you know he’s dead?”

“I…I poked him with a stick, and he didn’t move.”

Catherine gently pried her daughter off her. “You sit on the bed and wait for us, sweetie,” she told her. “Nathan, show me where this man is, then come back and sit with your sister.”

She urged him toward the door, only to have Nora grab her sweater again and stop her. “I’m not staying here!” the girl cried. “Don’t leave me!”

“Okay,” Catherine said softly. “We’ll all go.”

She opened the door and took hold of their hands, letting Nathan lead them around the side of the cabin. They walked up the hill a little over two hundred yards, then Nathan stopped and pointed.

“There,” he whispered. “On the other side of that tree.”

Catherine turned both of her children to face her. “I want you to stay right here,” she told them. “Right by this stump. Nathan, hold your sister’s hand,” she instructed, putting Nora’s hand in his. “And don’t either of you follow me.”

“Mom!” Nathan hissed. “We have to leave! Whoever killed him might still be here!”

Catherine forced herself not to look around but kept her eyes on her children. “We don’t know that someone killed him. He could have had an accident. I have to go see,” she gently told them. “And if he is dead, then we’ll leave. We’ll go tell the authorities.”

She hesitated only long enough to make sure they stayed put, then turned and walked toward the tree Nathan had pointed to. It took all of Catherine’s willpower to make her legs move. She’d never seen a dead body other than in a casket, and those had looked rather tranquil, as if they were sleeping.

Was the dead man bloody? Gruesome? Ravaged by wild animals? No. Nathan had poked him. He wouldn’t have stayed around long enough to do that if the man had been mutilated.

Catherine stopped just before the tree and looked to make sure her children hadn’t followed. Nora was clinging to Nathan, who was hugging her back, both of them staring at Catherine with wide, terrified eyes. She smiled assurance, turned back to the tree, took a deep breath, and stepped around it.

Well, she definitely wasn’t looking at a log. It was a man, all right, and he certainly did appear dead.

Catherine leaned around the tree to see her children in the strengthening sunrise. “I’m just going to check if he’s alive,” she told them, so they wouldn’t panic when she moved out of sight.

“Mommy!” Nora wailed. “Come back!”

“It’s okay, sweetie. Nothing bad is going to happen. You and Nathan just wait one more minute.”

Catherine turned back to the half-naked man and stepped closer, picked up the stick Nathan must have used to poke him, and held it like a club. She took another step closer, studying him.

He was a huge man, well over six feet tall, with dark auburn hair and several days’ growth of beard shadowing the harsh planes of his face. He was wrapped in a length of plaid cloth, cinched around his waist with a wide leather belt. There was another, different-colored plaid lying beside him.

Catherine took a quick step back when she noticed the long sword clutched in his left hand, half covered with leaves and the edge of the plaid blanket he was wearing.

A sword?

The man looked like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, only scarier.

She crept closer and slowly bent down, keeping her stick poised to strike. She reached out and touched his shoulder, only to gasp at the realization that he was warm.

Not dead. Unconscious.

Catherine scanned his body and saw the blood seeping through the cloth on his right side. She also noticed several scratches on both his arms and legs, some of them deep. Only half of his broad chest was covered by the cloth, and she could see a large gash on his right shoulder. There was a bruise on his left cheek and another one on his temple. He’d been in some sort of fight. She leaned forward, still careful not to touch him, and saw a good deal of blood covering the ground.

“Mommy!” Nora shouted.

Catherine stood up and leaned past the tree. “I’m okay, sweetie. And he’s not dead, he’s unconscious. He’s bleeding quite badly, though.”

“Then come back, Mom,” Nathan hissed. “We gotta leave before he wakes up.”

Catherine looked back at the man. If she didn’t stop that bleeding, he never was going to wake up. She looked back at her children.

“Nathan, I want you to go get that old wheelbarrow from behind the outhouse and bring it here. Nora, walk over to me and stand next to this tree.”

“No!” Nora cried, shrinking back.

“It’s okay,” Catherine assured her, holding out her hand for her to come. “He can’t hurt us. He’s just a poor wounded man who needs our help. Go, Nathan,” she said more firmly. “He’s bleeding to death.”

Nathan urged his sister forward, then turned and ran back down the hill to the outhouse. Nora walked over slowly, her eyes rounded in apprehension.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of, sweetie,” Catherine said softly. “Come see for yourself. He’s just a man.”

Nora finally reached the tree and sidled up to it, hugging it for protection, and peered at the ground behind Catherine.

“See?” Catherine said. “He can’t hurt you.”

“He…he’s big,” Nora whispered.

“Yes, he is. And he’s hurt real bad, baby, and we have to help him.”

Nora looked up at her mother. “Can’t we call an ambulance?”

“I’d have to run down the mountain to call one, and he could die before an ambulance can get here. We have to take care of him ourselves,” Catherine explained, turning back to the man. She set down her stick and started loosening his belt enough to slide it out of the way. “Now that you see there’s nothing to be afraid of, can you do me a favor, Nora?”

“Wh-what?”

“Can you run back to the cabin and get me a towel?”

“The blue one?” the little girl asked.

“The blue one would be just fine,” Catherine assured her, carefully peeling back the sticky cloth. “And grab a couple pairs of my wool socks and bring them also,” she called to the retreating girl.

She looked back at the man. He was covered head-to-toe with dirt and leaves, and his skin, even his tanned face, was ashen.

Catherine slowly lifted the cloth away from his right side, sucking in her breath at the sight of the ugly gash just above his hip bone. It was about six inches long, and deep, the skin pulled wide as blood slowly oozed from it.

“Well, mister, we may have found you just in time,” she whispered, gently prodding the cut to see if anything more than blood was involved. No organs or intestines popped out, and Catherine blew a small sigh of relief. She wasn’t up to performing internal surgery, but her many years assisting her dad in his veterinary practice had left her capable of stitching closed a wound like this one.

“What’s the wheelbarrow for?” Nathan asked, pushing it over the bumpy roots of the large pine tree.

“To get him to the cabin,” Catherine explained, moving to shield Nathan’s view as she lifted the plaid to see if he had any other wounds. She dropped the cloth as if she’d been burned, bowing her head to keep Nathan from seeing her blush. Her daddy’s animal practice hadn’t prepared her for anything like this. The guy was a brute of a man and looked as if he had more testosterone than blood in his veins. In fact, that was probably all that was keeping him alive right now; his powerfully fit physical condition was compensating for losing so much blood.

“How are we going to get him in it?” Nathan asked, walking over and staring down at him. His eyes suddenly widened. “That’s a sword!” he said, reaching down to grasp it.

Catherine caught his hand. “Don’t touch it.”

Nathan stepped back and blinked at her. “What’s he doing with a sword? And he’s dressed funny.”

“I have no idea,” Catherine admitted. “Maybe there’s some sort of gathering in Pine Creek, where people dress in period clothes. You know, like when I took you and Nora to that Civil War reenactment last summer. This guy is dressed like an ancient warrior. Maybe there’s a Scottish festival going on.”

“Here’s the towel, Mommy. What’s the socks for?”

Catherine took the towel from Nora, placed it under the plaid, and slid his belt down to hold it over the wound. “He’s in shock, sweetie, and his body temperature is dropping. Here,” she said, handing one pair of socks to Nathan. “Put these on his feet.”

She carefully pried the sword from the man’s left hand, slipped one of the socks over his fist, then slipped the other one over his right hand.

“He’s got six toes!” Nathan blurted, stepping back. “On both feet!”

Catherine snapped her gaze to the man’s feet. His toes did look rather crowded. She looked up and gave Nathan a reassuring smile. “I’ve heard of people having six toes.”

“Is he a monster?” Nora whispered, hugging the pine tree again. “He’s awful hairy, and he’s real big and scary-looking.”

“He’s not a monster,” Catherine said firmly. She took the socks away from her gawking son and put them on the man’s feet herself. “Come on, help me get him into the wheelbarrow,” she said, standing up. “The sooner we get him back to the cabin and I stop that bleeding, the better we’ll all be.”

“We ain’t gonna be able to lift him,” Nathan said, grabbing the wheelbarrow.

Catherine didn’t bother correcting his speech but squatted beside the man’s head and grasped him by the shoulders. “When I lift him up, try to wedge the nose of it under his back,” she instructed. “Okay, now.”

She lifted him only a few inches, then had to ease him down and get a better grip. Good God. The man was solid dead weight.

“Again,” she said as she lifted, grunting against the strain. “Push it under him, Nathan.”

Nathan wedged the nose of the wheelbarrow under his back. Catherine pulled the man more upright, carefully eased him back against the wheelbarrow, then moved to between the handles and took hold of him again, this time under his arms.

“Okay, Nathan,” she said, panting from the exertion. “I’m going to give him a final tug while you push on his legs.”

“I don’t want to touch him,” Nathan whispered.

Catherine didn’t much care to be touching him herself. The guy was solid muscle, with not an ounce of fat on him anywhere. He was so warm to the touch, and so frighteningly male, she wasn’t sure if she was trembling from being this close to such an imposing man or if her muscles were quivering from moving his dead weight.

“Then get on the side and try to pull the wheelbarrow under him,” she suggested. “You can help, too, Nora. Get on this side, opposite Nathan, and pull when I lift him up.”

Neither child moved. “Come on, you two,” Catherine pleaded. “Don’t wimp out on me now. It’s going to take the three of us to save his life. This is our chance to be heroes.”

Just as she thought it would, the words wimp and heroes galvanized Nathan. He bent down and grabbed the side of the wheelbarrow and looked over at Nora.

“Come on, sis,” he urged. “You can be a hero, too.”

Not looking all that convinced, the six-year-old hesitantly took hold of the rusty metal and looked at Catherine.

Catherine nodded. “Okay. On the count of three. One. Two. Three!” she growled, pulling on the man with all her might.

He rose only about six inches, but it was enough for Nathan and Nora to slide the wheelbarrow under his backside.

“We did it!” Catherine cried, grabbing the handles and pulling them down.

The wheelbarrow dropped level with a jarring thud, and both Catherine and Nathan scrambled to stop it from tipping sideways. Nora scrambled back to her pine tree.

“You’re both my heroes,” Catherine whispered. “Now we just have to get him to the cabin without bypassing it and rolling him all the way down the mountain.”

Her plan was easier said than done. They nearly lost him out of the wheelbarrow more than once and almost ran him into the side of the cabin. Getting him through the narrow door was even more of a challenge, but they finally wheeled him up to the bed and rolled him into it. All three of them were panting by the time they finished.

“Are we a great team or what?” Catherine said, tightly hugging her two kids. “Good job, guys. Nathan, take the bucket and the large pot, and get some water from the spring. Nora, you carry in what’s left of the wood from the pile outside.” She patted both of them on the backside to get them moving. “We have to hurry,” she said, going over to her suitcase and rummaging through it, looking for her sewing kit. “I have to get him cleaned up, warmed up, and sewn up.”

Nathan stopped by the door. “And then what?” he asked.

Catherine looked up from her suitcase. “And then…I don’t know,” she admitted. “I guess the three of us head down the mountain and tell someone he’s up here.”

Both children appeared to like that plan and hurried to do their chores. Catherine set her sewing kit by the bed, lit the last of their candles, and turned and stared down at the man.

He looked vaguely familiar.

She might have seen him in Dolan’s Outfitter Store when she’d been buying the hats and mittens, or they might have passed on the street.

She suddenly stepped back. No, it couldn’t be him. But the more she studied the giant, taking in his size and build and auburn hair, the more she realized who he was.

Well, darn it to hell. Of all the blasted bad luck she’d had lately, this was the prize. The man she’d stolen from—and had outrun twice—was bleeding all over her bed.