The Borrowed Bride by Susan Wiggs Page A

curling iron until she realized what she was doing, what she was thinking.
    It shouldn’t matter how she looked for Dan.
    But oh, God. It did.
     
    “That smells heavenly,” she said, a soft smile curving her mouth. “When did you learn to cook?”
    “It’s not cooking, it’s grilling.” Dan grinned at her as he set down a platter of trout and vegetables. His long, glossy hair was still damp from the shower, and he smelled of soap and wood smoke.
    He served a chilled local wine and even lit candles on the dining-hall table. They sat across from each other and lifted their glasses.
    For Isabel, the moment froze in time. In the blink of an eye, she was hurled back to the night she had told him about the baby. After she’d told him the news, she’d had ginger ale and he’d had beer, but they had laughed and clinked their glasses and made promises with no idea how to keep them.
    The soft chink of his glass against hers brought her back to the present. “Isabel?” he said in his low, rough voice. “What’ll we drink to?”
    “The eagle’s health?” she suggested, pleased that her voice did not sound as wobbly as she felt.
    He chuckled and made the toast. Isabel grew warm and flushed with the good food and the chilled wine, and the moments slipped past.
    She glanced out the big bay window to see violet shadows streaking the mountains. “I suppose,” she said, “you’ll tell me it’s too late in the day to start for Seattle.”
    “Isabel?” His large hand covered hers.
    “Yes?” The wine and his nearness gave her a pleasant, floating sensation.
    “It’s too late to start for Seattle.”
    “What a surprise to hear you say that.” She forced herself to stop smiling. “Tomorrow, then,” she said decisively. “First thing.”
    “Seeing as how you’ve been getting up at the crack of noon, that shouldn’t be a problem.”
    “It’s easy to sleep here,” she blurted out.
    His hand lifted to her face, knuckles grazing the curve of her cheek. “I’m glad you like the lodge.”
    “I didn’t say I—”
    “You didn’t have to.” His finger made a tender exploration, finding the shape of her chin and then tracing her lips until she almost cried out for mercy.
    “Dan—”
    “We could go somewhere,” he said lightly.
    “Where?”
    He didn’t answer, but got up and took her hand. He held out a leather jacket, and when she slid her arms into the slick lining and felt its comforting weight on her shoulders, she nearly wept with the poignancy of her memories.
    He had owned the leather jacket for as long as she had known him. Its shape was his shape. Its scent was his scent. It seemed to carry the very essence of him, to envelop her with the intimacy of a lover’s embrace.
    He seemed not to notice the effect it had on her as he took her hand and led her out to the shed where he kept his Harley.
    She asked no questions, and he offered no explanations. She simply got on, wrapped her arms around him, closed her eyes and leaned her cheek against his back. She felt protected and alive as never before.
    The bike roared down the mountain, headlightssweeping the wooded slopes. She had complete faith in his driving. Even at night, he knew the wilderness like an old song memorized in his youth.
    After a while, they came to a dirt road, and a few miles beyond that, the paved one. Isabel was startled and intrigued when they rolled into the town of Thelma.

Seven
    “I can’t believe you brought me to a dance,” Isabel said, standing in the foyer of the fire hall.
    Dan grinned and slid his leather jacket off her shoulders. “We used to go dancing a lot.”
    She turned her head and sent him a wry look. “Getting crushed in the cramped space of some seedy concert hall was never quite my idea of a good time.”
    “You should have said something. Shouldn’t have let me drag you along.” He exchanged greetings with Sarah Looking, who was in charge of the coat check, and handed her the jacket.
    Isabel gave a