She might have known.
The limb had knocked the breath out of her and it took a few seconds before she could reply. “Here!” she croaked as loudly as possible. “I’m okay...I think.”
Her face was buried in the dirt, her body in the underbrush. The smaller end of the limb lay across her shoulders, its needles covering her like a blanket.
“Where?”
“Over here.”
She could hear Zack’s muttered prayer as he scrambled to her and tried frantically to lift the branch. He swiveled it aside when he couldn’t pull the end out of the ground.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure?”
There hadn’t been time to see if all her parts worked. She wiggled fingers and toes, then moved her head as he watched, frowning with worry. “Uh-huh. It didn’t hit me.”
She started to rise, staggered, and he caught her, giving support until she regained her feet.
“Nothing broken?” he murmured, cautiously brushing her face, then her body to remove the worst of the dirt along with numerous pine needles stuck on with pitch. The smell of pine permeated the air. His hand had a fine tremor to it, his voice low and catching.
“No.” She stood still, letting her body recover, cocooned in the warmth of his concern. A new awareness of him coursed through her, making her skin ultra sensitive—all reaction to the near miss, of course. Her senses were extremely receptive to any tenderness shown.
She felt grateful for his solicitude, but should’ve known it wouldn’t last. Once he saw her standing upright, dirty and scratched, but basically unharmed, his fright gave way to a raging red-hot anger.
“Of all the crazy, stupid...!” He groped for words, his face white with fear, probably a reflection of her own.
She started to shake hard with aftershock, in no shape to yell back.
“What did you do a crazy thing like that for? You almost got killed!”
“I...I certainly didn’t do it on purpose!”
“You never, never, ever get close to someone running a chain saw!”
“But I didn’t—”
“You’re a walking disaster! You’re the most accident-prone woman I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet!” He was at full volume now, finding relief in hollering at her. His hands were white, clenched, shaking.
He clearly had had a rough few moments there, seeing the tree fall on her and not being able to do anything about it. She had been too busy getting out of the way to have time to be frightened, although her legs were now trembling like a tuning fork testing middle “C”, and it wasn’t because she was afraid of him. She almost felt sorry for him.
Like her mom had said, some men come unglued over things they can’t control. Unlike women—who had it happen often enough to take in stride—men were inclined to resort to anger rather than admit to feelings of helplessness.
She started to explain. “I—”
“I nearly killed you!”
“But—”
“If you’d have tripped...or...or anything, you’d be dead.”
“I know, but—”
“What were you doing out here?” The volume dropped as he took another large gulp of air and passed a hand through his hair, wiping out all resemblance of order. Was he going to give her a chance to talk? It seemed so, and she leaned for support against the smooth trunk of the madrona as she said, “I was out sketching... My case!”
“All day?”
“Yes.” She looked around in dismay at the forbidding pile of tangled branches, tugging at first one and then the other. Most were either attached to the tree or had one end buried deep in the ground. Had her case and all her work been destroyed?
“You missed Clyde.”
“Clyde? Oh...I forgot all about him.”
“You see what happened, don’t you?” he asked, his voice still unnaturally raspy. “I thought you’d gone...left with Clyde! I never dreamed you were still around.”
“I’m sorry, Zack.”
He sat down on the fir and let out two deep long breaths, not unlike the whales. He looked at her grimly, then shook his head and took one more long breath.
He pointed meaningfully towards the end of the branch where it was still buried deep in the ground.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you. But if that had hit you, it would’ve killed you.” He wiped at his forehead with an unsteady hand, reliving the past few moments. “I could see you didn’t have time to get clear. I thought for a moment you weren’t even going to move.”
“I couldn’t think.”
He stood up, looked across the few feet at her. “At least you had sense enough to go to the side. No one can run fast through the salal.”
“The salal?”
“These bushes.” He kicked at the two-foot-high shrubs that made up most of the underbrush.
The fir tree stretched out a good ten feet beyond where they stood, its top buried in the salal. If she had tried to run that way, she’d be dead. As it was, she was going to be bruised and sore. That branch had delivered a hefty wallop to her neck and shoulders.
“I froze. If you hadn’t yelled....” The tremor went through her again and this time Zack responded to the residual terror in her eyes. His arms went around her, strong and sturdy, holding her against the solid comfort of his body.
“It’s okay, okay,” he murmured, as she clung to him, very glad for support as the strong tremors continued to rack her body. “You made it...luckily.”
The strong, rhythmic beat of his heart under her ear steadied her quicker than his words. He had a powerful heart beat, the mark of a long distance runner. Jennel closed her eyes to listen, and felt the worst of the reaction begin to leave.
“What a mess!” His hand reached up to stroke her hair, undoing it to let the braid fall, checking its dark length, pausing often to remove pieces of bark, needles and dirt. “You might need help getting this clean.”
“No.” Her hair was as sensitive to his touch as if it had nerve ends of its own. Her pulse accelerated with the sweet delight of his care, beating more fiercely than it had when the tree dropped. Startled by the strength of her reaction, Jennel stepped away from him, then hesitated, immediately experiencing a sense of loss. “Thanks, but I’ll manage.”
“Are you sure?” Zack reached up and carefully separated a five-inch long twig from the crown of her head, seemingly unaware of the havoc he was causing.
“Yes.” It wasn’t her hair she was worried about. It was the growing attraction she felt for this man and the increasing difficulty of hiding it from him. She needed to rein in her own volatile feelings.
She had to keep her mind upon her job. Not on Zack. In this, he was her opponent, and she had best not forget it.
Her case was out there somewhere. Still dazed with shock, she staggered away from Zack, searching the tangled mass, finding it under a limb on the other side of the tree. When she couldn’t free it, Zack got his saw and cut the limb, then opened up her battered case.
All her boards were there, mute testimony as to how she’d been spending her time, the top one covered with various layers of paint from the squashed tubes of color. The others were still in fair shape.
Relief encountered reaction, and she sank to the ground, unable to stand on her shaky legs. The destruction of the top board felt like an enormous tragedy, although she knew it wasn’t.
It was just the thought that it could have been her.
Taking the elevations from her unsteady grasp, Zack sat down on the trunk of the fallen tree and carefully studied them one by one, a deep frown on his face while she watched in dismay. What would he do?
His anger rekindled. “So this is what you’ve been up to! I might’ve known!”
“I thought...if you could see what—”
“You don’t know what John wants!”
“Same as you!” she flared up in defense, her temper running ahead of her tongue. The anger was good medicine; it effectively counteracted the last of the shock. “You’ve never met his wife.”
“He okayed my designs.” Zack sat there, looking at her as if he would never budge on this point. She wanted to take a small branch—one she could lift—and hit him over his stubborn head. It wouldn’t do any good, of course, except make her feel better.
“She’s got to live here, too,” she stated, struggling to her feet.
“He married her, he must know what she likes.”
“True, but maybe—”
“What?” Zack was still scowling. If he’d stop interrupting her, she’d tell him!
“Maybe they just don’t talk to each other. Some couples don’t. Some people never know what their mate wants...really wants. They go through life with their head in the sand, even when the other person, with broad hints, tries to tell them.”
“Or maybe they’re having one whale of an argument, and we’re caught in the middle.” He sounded as disgusted as she felt.
“I hadn’t thought about that. She seemed desperate to me.”
“That’s odd. He’s a pleasant enough man.” He hesitated, then slowly added, “I got hold of him this morning. His wife was visiting friends, so he’ll still have to ask her about hiring you. But he said to stay with my designs.” Zack began to flip back through her work, stopping to study each one more thoroughly.
Jennel sat down, slumped on the log beside him, forlorn, trying to keep back tears and control her voice long enough to make her point. As both anger and shock wore off, reaction had forced its way to the fore again. She’d had all the fighting spirit whumped out of her, and her voice quavered slightly. “Mrs. Van Chattan was afraid it would be too unpleasant for her to live in. Maybe she’d seen your designs and then called me. Maybe not. She didn’t mention you.”
She paused, saw he was giving her his full attention, and continued. “I’m sure if you had met her, you would have softened things up. She’s such an overly feminine woman. You don’t meet many like her today.” There wasn’t much else to say, so she stopped, having hit a dead end and seeing no other way out.
“That’s right, if what you say is true.” He put his chin down in his hand in thought, propping his elbow on his knee, while Jennel stared morosely at the ground.
She was beginning to ache all over. Her beautiful elevations were smudged, the top one destroyed. She felt more grief over them than over her own battered self. What now?
Zack watched as an expression of defeat settled across her expressive features, her shoulders slumped, proud head lowered. She’d put up a gallant battle. She really believed this was what Mrs. Van Chattan wanted.
He examined the elevations with more care. It was amazing. Somehow she’d made the house a home—comfortable and welcoming, giving it a feminine touch that a man responded to in a positive manner. If this was her idea of pink lace, he liked it. He’d enjoy living in it himself.
There was more to Jennel than just a beautiful woman who had managed to upset his well-arranged life in less than forty-eight hours. His irritation at her was gradually, reluctantly, changing to admiration. She was a do-or-die trier who wouldn’t give up. A tough chess opponent, and a first-rate designer.
Her sketchbook was at the bottom of her case and he flipped though it, coming to a full stop at the five sketches of his face. The pencil lines were few, but revealing. The look of arrogant pride was clearly stamped upon his features. Did he look like that...to her?
He too, carried a picture of her in his mind. Because of it, he had to get her off the island, or fix himself a different place to sleep. The first night hadn’t bothered him much, but this morning, when he woke up with her sleeping next to him, her silky black hair was spread over the pillows—his pillow as well as hers. He had lain there, imagining her in his arms every morning, the black silk streaming across his body, her lips welcoming his. The thought had severely tried his self-control.
It had also distracted him so badly, he couldn’t keep his mind on his work. No woman had ever done that to him. And to think it had to be someone who was so— so untidy. So unorganized. Even her braid wouldn’t stay up!
Zack rubbed the bristles on his chin, wondering how to announce his plans without losing face. “Look, I’ll send these to John and tell him to sit down and have a long talk with his wife. We’ll let them decide what they want.”
“You will? Really?” She lifted her head to stare at him, unbelieving, her blue eyes shining with a misty hope. It was the prettiest sight he’d ever seen, and he had to harden himself against it.
“In return, I want you off the island!”
“Oh, but—”
“For your own safety.” He neglected to tell her he felt it best for his own peace of mind. Decisively, he stood up and handed her the shattered case. “If Clyde doesn’t come tomorrow, I’ll take you back myself.”
She peered up at him, her soft lips parted expressively, the tip of her tongue barely visible. Zack found himself imagining what her lips would feel like under his, and almost missed what she said.
“But what if the Van Chattans want to use my interiors?”
“I’ll pay you for any they want to use. I just want you out of here.”
“But couldn’t I stay until—”
“Until what? Until you’re dead?” He never again wanted to feel the terrible helplessness that shook him when he had looked over to where he planned to fall the tree and saw her standing, transfixed, in its path. He tried to knock loose the wedge he had just hammered in, but already the tree had separated from its stump, leaving him powerless to change its direction. “Don’t you realize I nearly killed you?” He didn’t shout this time, but spoke with teeth clenched.
To Jennel, the cold restraint was more alarming than his shouting. “But you didn’t know I was there,” she stammered. “It was an accident. You weren’t to blame.”
“You’d have been just as dead, whoever was to blame. I’ve never come that close to killing a person before; I don’t care to repeat it.”
“But I’ll be careful—”
“What made you come running up on someone with a chain saw? That’s the most idiotic...” He paused, hands moving in large frustrated circles. He looked like a man who had greatly exceeded his measure of patience.
Jennel stopped trying to argue with him and tried reason instead.
“I didn’t realize it was a saw.”
“Everyone knows the sound of a chain saw,” he pointed out.
“Maybe they do where you come from. It sounded like a weed cutter to me.”
“A weed cutter?”
“Yes. A large, gas-powered one.”
“A weed cutter!” he repeated, looking stunned.
“They sound almost like your saw. I’ve heard lots of them. What did you cut the tree down for, anyway?”
He kicked at the forest floor debris. “To clear an area for the helicopter to land.”
“Oh!” She stopped long enough to remind herself that he did things on a grand scale, then asked, “Are you going to take out any more? If so, I’ll stay clear.”
“One more this evening. That one.” He pointed to a tree next to the fresh stump. “There are three close to the house that need to come out before they fall on it. And there are a couple where the pool will be. When the ’dozer gets here, we’ll push those down. No need to cut them. I have to cut these so the chopper can bring in the tractor and backhoe.”
“I see.”
“A gas-powered weed cutter,” Zack mumbled dazedly. “They do sound alike!” He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He’d been doing a lot of that in the last few minutes, his face gradually regaining its natural color. Jennel nodded, glad he could see what happened. She hadn’t acted out of stupidity, just ignorance. Although that didn’t sound very sharp either.
He shook his head slowly, giving her a faint smile. “You’ve got dirt on your face, needles in your hair, and your clothes are covered with soil and pitch. Why don’t you go inside, take a nice hot shower and get cleaned up. Then if you feel up to it, see what you can fix for our dinner while I cut this trunk into movable lengths.”
It sounded like a wonderful idea, but she jumped cautiously at it. “There’s hot water?”
“Yes. There’s a gas water heater. I started it earlier.” Still plainly upset from the near tragedy, he picked up his saw with the slow movements of an old man. “Don’t come out here while I’m cutting.”
“I won’t,” she promised earnestly, clutching her battered case. Dodging trees was not her idea of fun.
“See to it.” He waited until she had worked her way across the clearing before re-starting the saw. She could hear its deep whine as it cut into the tree.
He was going to send her designs to Mr. Van Chattan. She was happy, and she should’ve been jumping for joy. Instead she felt defeated. The added conditions were not what she wanted.
Either way—whether Mr. Van Chattan approved or disapproved—she was off the island. And she didn’t want to go. Aside from Zack being such a bear at times, the place was delightful. Sadly she went down to the boat and put her things away.
Brutus was tied up, his pleading eyes following her movements, his low whine begging her to set him free. Zack had probably secured him so he wouldn’t get hit by the tree. After what had just happened, he probably wished she was on a short leash, too!
“Nice, Brutus. It might be all right to let you go now, but if I make any more bonehead errors, your master will throw me in the water and hold me under.” The thought made her smile as she petted the friendly animal, which was as large as she. All Zack needed was time to recover. During the next few days, if she could manage to stay, there must not be any more accidents. Extra care. Extra alertness. He’d soon forget the near tragedy of today. Hopefully! Gathering up clean clothes and shampoo, she hurried back to the house. The saw was still buzzing away like an angry hornet when she went inside. Jennel hummed as she showered.
Leaving her hair loose to dry, she started dinner. Although she hadn’t known about cast iron pans, she did know how to turn simple ingredients into a feast, if she so desired.
If her drawings didn’t impress him, maybe her cooking would.
Forty minutes later, with a stew cooking, Jennel searched for another rag to wash off the table. She had used hers on the stove and it was now beyond salvaging. Remembering that Zack had one on the boat, she strolled down to get it.
Brutus thumped his tail hopefully, his dark velvet eyes mournful, but again she refused to free him.
“I’m not doing anything to get me into any more hot water with your master,” she said, stroking the dog’s massive head and gently scratching behind his ears. “I’ve already blotted my copybook as far as he’s concerned.”
The trouble was, her admiration for Zack was growing steadily while his opinion of her had to be quickly disintegrating. He probably felt she was as irresponsible as a school child. He had said she was the most idiotic woman he’d ever met. That wasn’t exactly a compliment one worked hard to get.
She was enjoying her stay on his boat, playing chess with him, even arguing with him, since he listened as he argued, using logic rather than emotion. Her mother argued emotionally; no one could win with her because she could only see one side— her own.
Zack stayed rational, even when he was shouting at her. Also, he cooled off quickly; much faster than her father ever had. Zack was stubborn, but then so was she, so she didn’t fault him for it. He was a top-notch architect, very resourceful, with a rugged efficiency that served them well out here.
And a very, very attractive man.
She stopped petting Brutus and sighed. Zack was attractive, even when he was yelling at her. All worked up, furiously angry or frustrated, nothing detracted from the power of his personality.
The attraction was even more pronounced when he was being considerate of her needs—pointing out the workings of the boat’s head, bandaging her feet, playing chess, or removing the worst of the debris from her hair.
Her hair. She threaded her fingers into its dark mass. He seemed fascinated with its long coil; both mornings watching her in silence as she braided it around her head. Did it bother him? Most men liked long hair but there were a few who didn’t. It’d be just her luck to fall for a man who preferred short blonde hair. It was a good thing she wasn’t falling for Zack.
She wasn’t, was she? Was she?
Watch it, girl. He can’t stand you. And you know you can’t stand the bossy type.
Grimly, she clamped down on her wayward emotions, strictly adjuring her heart to stay aloof. Had her warning come too late? There was nothing she could do if that had happened except try to keep from getting further involved. Picking up a washcloth, her flashlight and jacket, she walked back.
The saw was silent. Had he finished already? There had been a lot of tree there. Pushing open the door, she stepped inside, humming happily to herself as she envisioned a pleasant evening with him. Just the two of them—together. It would be a good time to get to know more about him.
Zack stood at the sink with the water running, his big frame bent over almost double, his pants leg dark and wet.
She frowned, puzzled, at the sight. He was in such an awkward position. Why? Her stomach felt sick at the sight of the dotted trail of fresh blood across the floor. Zack’s blood.
Chapter Eight
Blood on the kitchen floor!
“What happened?” Jennel plunged forward, stomach churning, a fearful dread scything through her muscles, weakening her legs.
“It’s okay! Okay! It’s not as bad as it looks.” His voice remained steady, reassuring, offsetting his strained features.
Whatever he claimed, it looked horrible--his right pants’ leg appeared soaked from the knee down, the material torn and ragged.
Her head whirling, Jennel stopped to steady herself. The thought of Zack getting hurt upset her a lot more than had the falling tree.
Her heart was tripping over itself, the beat so rapid and hard she could almost feel it outside her blouse. “You’d better take those off so we can see how bad it is.”
For once he did as she asked, unbuckling his belt to slip his jeans over the gash. Grabbing a chair, she thrust it behind him and he sat down. He explained what happened as he extended his leg carefully before him. “Someone had driven a spike into the tree. When I hit it with the saw, it bounced sideways and nicked me.”
The jagged gash cut at an angle, above and across the kneecap. If it had gone any deeper...! Resolutely she took a deep breath to make the room stop swaying. It wouldn’t help him any if she passed out.
The sight of blood had never bothered her, except for one time when her mother had cut her hand with a sharp knife. Why Zack’s injury should be so upsetting, she didn’t consider in depth, but the thought of how close he’d come to losing his leg horrified her.
He glanced at the small bundle she unconsciously clutched to her breast. “What’s that?”
She had forgotten about it. Blinking back tears, she looked down at her coat and flashlight and... “A clean dishtowel and a rag to wash the table.”
“Perfect. Tear off a section of that towel—”
“But...shouldn’t we put some antiseptic on first?”
“Later. There’s some in the first aid box in the boat.”
“That black stuff you used on me?”
“Right. We’ll clean this up and eat. That stew smells good, and I’m hungry.” His voice was calm, the volume strong and steady. Actually, he’d been a lot more shook up after he’d just missed dropping the tree on her.
The blood wasn’t flowing very fast, but enough was still seeping out of the wide gash to put her off food.
This time she was the one who had boiled a pan of water to make coffee. In a repeat of their first night, the water was used to bathe his knee with a torn piece of towel.
“Scrub harder. It’s dirty,” Zack said.
Jennel tried, but couldn’t make herself scrub hard enough, so he did it himself while she set the table and put on the stew.
The towel made an effective—if bulky—bandage. “Will you need stitches?” she asked, holding the towel while he secured it with a piece of duct tape.
“Maybe. It’s not a deep cut, but the teeth took out such wide strips of skin, it’s going to be hard to heal.”
A sickening vision rose before her, and she regretted her ability to have full visual recall combined with a vivid imagination. “Why weren’t you more careful? If it had cut any deeper—”
“Or if the chain had been running at full speed,” he added, nodding his head. “It was slowing down when it hit me. The instant I hit the spike I took my finger off the switch.”
Again she shuddered and had to steady herself. “Why are you cutting the trees down? Why don’t you hire a qualified tree remover?”
“I’ve cut down lots of trees.”
“But you’re an architect.”
“My dad’s a lumberjack. He taught me.”
“I see.”
“I enjoy making them fall just where I want.”
“But it’s so dangerous!” she protested.
“So is driving down the freeway. Now stop nagging. I can’t stand a nagging woman.” Firming his lips, he folded his arms across his chest.
Nagging! That wasn’t what she was doing. Why couldn’t men accept common- sense suggestions from women? Especially when it was for their own good.
“You would’ve been here all alone, cutting those trees, if I wasn’t here,” she said.
“Safer for you.”
“Not for you.”
“For my peace of mind,” he countered.
“You shouldn’t cut trees without someone around.”
“You sound like my mom.”
“She’s right, you know. Tree cutting is dangerous.”
“I know. I know.” He sounded exasperated, and she changed the subject.
“What do people do if they have an emergency way out here?”
He shrugged. “Radio for help. If nothing else there’ll be an emergency unit at the Whidbey Naval Station—they’d send a helicopter.”
“I see.”
“I’ll check it out and inform the Van Chattans.”
“That might be a good idea.”
“With you around, I’d better,” he mumbled, more of an aside to himself than a conscious statement to her; but she heard it plainly and took offense.
“What kind of remark is that?” she demanded, ultra-sensitive to any hint of criticism from him.
He looked up, dropping his hands into his lap. “A true one. You’ve been nothing but trouble since you arrived. I don’t believe in jinxes, but lady, you sure could make me—easily!” He tried to pull his jeans back on, but the towel was too bulky. The one side stopped at his hips. He tugged futilely at it. “Even this!”
Of all the unreasonable... “Don’t blame that on me!”
“Well...no.” He conceded her point, but still looked upset.
“We aren’t expecting company, you can leave your pants down while you eat. Your boxer shorts are quite presentable.”
“Oh, sure!” He frowned down at his bare legs, plainly ill at ease in his half- dressed state. “I enjoy coming to the table like this.”
His legs were well-muscled, slightly hairy—not bow-legged or skinny. Nothing wrong with them from Jennel’s viewpoint, and she’d seen lots of legs in her art classes, men and women. “They’re good, sturdy legs.”
He cocked an eyebrow in acknowledgment. “What if I said that to you?” he asked. “Would you feel any more comfortable?”
“That’s different!” she yelped.
“Is it now?” he challenged blandly, but a tiny twinkle in his eyes gave him away. He was enjoying the exchange and wasn’t past saying something to keep it going.
The eternal difference between male and female was too established a fact for her to argue about. “Yes, it is! I’m not sure how this got started, but if it makes you feel any better, tie my jacket around your waist.” She fetched it from across the room, thrusting it out to him while maintaining her distance. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He slung the jacket into place like an apron, tied it by its arms and hob- bled over to the table. After emptying the bowl of water, she joined him.
He was hungry, and their little discussion had helped settle her nausea and arouse her appetite, so both turned their attention to the delicious-smelling food.
Jennel had prepared enough stew for four, planning to fix leftovers tomorrow, but he cleaned out the pot, along with several slices of bread, making her hastily revise her estimate of how much it took to fill a working man his size.
“That was excellent,” he praised her, and she responded with a warm smile, then went cool as he spoiled it by dryly adding, “I see you can do something right.”
Her answer was indignant. “I can when I know what I’m doing. Or if someone takes the trouble to warn me first—usually,” she amended, remembering the way she had scrambled his plans.
Jumping to her feet, she gathered up the few dishes and took them to the sink. “Leave those,” he urged impatiently. “Let’s get back to the boat while there’s plenty of light.”
“Sure,” she said, surprised, as a pleasant glow again stirred in her. Maybe Zack wasn’t such a “neat freak” after all. Her father would never have left such a mess behind, injury or not.
Dumping the plates with a clatter, she quickly ran water over them as he started to hobble across the kitchen. Stove off, water off, lights out—she closed the door as they left, remembering just in time to step carefully across the veranda. Zack had thrown some baking soda over the section where they walked, so it wasn’t quite as slick, but the boards were still weak.
“Bring the saw, will you?” he asked. “I’ll need to re-sharpen the teeth.”
It was sitting at the head of the trail next to a tree, and she picked it up and carried it awkwardly along, holding it to one side to keep the claw-like teeth from rubbing against her leg.
As anxious as a mother bird, she hovered closely as he toddled down the steep trail, hampered by his jeans. He had to take extra steps to keep from bending his knee, and extra care stepping from the float up into the boat. He even accepted her help at that point.
Brutus met them with a whine and a lunge. Without the chain stopping him, he’d have knocked his master flat, and Zack had to balance on the edge of the boat until Jennel shortened the chain by wrapping it around a cleat.
“Down boy. Good dog!” his master praised him, all the while edging out of the eager animal’s reach and closer to the cabin door. “Let him go after I’m inside, will you?”
“Of course.”
The dog kept anticipating his release and strained against the leather collar, making it impossible to unsnap. Jennel struggled for several minutes, wishing Zack had acquired a smaller pet, finally persuading the huge dog to stop squirming long enough to set him free. With a rush he took off, his nose busily investigating all that had taken place since he had last been loose.
By the time she put the chain saw in a safe place and covered it up, Zack had changed into some wide-legged walking shorts.
Spots of blood were coming through the towel. “Get out the first aid kit,” Zack said quietly as he sat down, “and we’ll see if we can patch this up.”
He unwrapped the towel while she brought the kit. The blood was still flowing from the deeper gashes but the wound appeared clean of dirt and wood particles. For the first time, she could look at it without feeling faint or nauseated.
They tried pulling the skin together with some butterfly bandages but the gashes were too wide. Zack wouldn’t bleed to death, but he would surely heal quicker with stitches. She said so, and he agreed.
“Turn the radio on. We’ll see if Clyde can make it.” Jennel walked up the steps and flipped the switch, hearing the crackle of static. As she did this, she realized with a sinking feeling that even if they got through to Clyde, the boatman wouldn’t come unless she called.
What a mess! If she didn’t say anything, Zack’s knee wouldn’t get medical attention. Yet if she did, he would know she’d been keeping Clyde away. How was she going to get out of this without Zack finding out what she’d pulled?
Jennel fought back the rising feeling of panic within her. What should she do? Talk to Clyde herself, of course. “Tell me the number,” she offered brightly. “I’ll call.”
“No, I will.” He shook his head, and inwardly she seethed at his uncompromising stubbornness.
This time she tried adding a touch of gentle concern to her voice. “Let me, then you won’t have to walk—”
“I don’t have to, anyway.” His voice sharpened in impatience. “Just hand me the mike.” She hesitated, but it was a hand-held, cordless model, so she shrugged in resignation, and carried it down to him. So much for that idea.
Zack called and Clyde answered, his voice sounding amazingly near. After switching to an agreed-upon channel, Zack explained he’d nicked himself slightly with the chain saw and needed some stitches. Could Clyde come get him, take him to the doctor and back?
“Sure thing. I’ll be up there right away.” Clyde responded.
“Let me talk to him,” Jennel pleaded as Zack was going to sign off, her face pale and set with worry. If this didn’t work she’d have to admit to everything, and she would lose all she’d gained in way of concessions from him. There was no way to get around it. “Please!”
He looked puzzled at the intensity of her request, then shrugged indifferently and handed her the microphone. “Make it quick.”
She spoke rapidly, hoping Clyde—who had seemed reluctant to go along with her “surprise”—wouldn’t spoil her plan by saying the wrong thing.
“Clyde, this is Jennel Foster. I’m with Zack. Please be sure to hurry. His leg won’t stop bleeding, and it does need medical attention. Thanks. Over and out.” Relief caused her to let out a deep breath— which she hadn’t realized she’d been holding—and the muscles of her face and body relaxed perceptibly.
“What was that all about?” Zack was naturally puzzled, and she quickly assumed a look of concern.
“I was afraid he wouldn’t think it was serious. You tend to make light of it, and it looks bad to me.”
“No need for him to rush,” he scoffed, manfully disdainful of the pain, while pressing a large red square of blood-soaked gauze on the worst area.
“But the sooner the stitches are put in, the better.”
“Huh!” Zack looked helplessly around the snug cabin, unable to stand the temporary hampering of his movements. The curtains were open, and the last rays of the sun shone in the side windows with the pure golden aura that came just before sunset. It emblazoned all it touched with a radiant glow—including Jennel. To Zack, she looked as ethereal as an angel.
His angel. The thought struck Zack from nowhere, and he dismissed it. He’d never seen a black-haired angel with violet-blue eyes. Her hair was hanging loosely at the moment and seemed to have a life of its own, just begging him to feel its silken strands.
He
The limb had knocked the breath out of her and it took a few seconds before she could reply. “Here!” she croaked as loudly as possible. “I’m okay...I think.”
Her face was buried in the dirt, her body in the underbrush. The smaller end of the limb lay across her shoulders, its needles covering her like a blanket.
“Where?”
“Over here.”
She could hear Zack’s muttered prayer as he scrambled to her and tried frantically to lift the branch. He swiveled it aside when he couldn’t pull the end out of the ground.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure?”
There hadn’t been time to see if all her parts worked. She wiggled fingers and toes, then moved her head as he watched, frowning with worry. “Uh-huh. It didn’t hit me.”
She started to rise, staggered, and he caught her, giving support until she regained her feet.
“Nothing broken?” he murmured, cautiously brushing her face, then her body to remove the worst of the dirt along with numerous pine needles stuck on with pitch. The smell of pine permeated the air. His hand had a fine tremor to it, his voice low and catching.
“No.” She stood still, letting her body recover, cocooned in the warmth of his concern. A new awareness of him coursed through her, making her skin ultra sensitive—all reaction to the near miss, of course. Her senses were extremely receptive to any tenderness shown.
She felt grateful for his solicitude, but should’ve known it wouldn’t last. Once he saw her standing upright, dirty and scratched, but basically unharmed, his fright gave way to a raging red-hot anger.
“Of all the crazy, stupid...!” He groped for words, his face white with fear, probably a reflection of her own.
She started to shake hard with aftershock, in no shape to yell back.
“What did you do a crazy thing like that for? You almost got killed!”
“I...I certainly didn’t do it on purpose!”
“You never, never, ever get close to someone running a chain saw!”
“But I didn’t—”
“You’re a walking disaster! You’re the most accident-prone woman I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet!” He was at full volume now, finding relief in hollering at her. His hands were white, clenched, shaking.
He clearly had had a rough few moments there, seeing the tree fall on her and not being able to do anything about it. She had been too busy getting out of the way to have time to be frightened, although her legs were now trembling like a tuning fork testing middle “C”, and it wasn’t because she was afraid of him. She almost felt sorry for him.
Like her mom had said, some men come unglued over things they can’t control. Unlike women—who had it happen often enough to take in stride—men were inclined to resort to anger rather than admit to feelings of helplessness.
She started to explain. “I—”
“I nearly killed you!”
“But—”
“If you’d have tripped...or...or anything, you’d be dead.”
“I know, but—”
“What were you doing out here?” The volume dropped as he took another large gulp of air and passed a hand through his hair, wiping out all resemblance of order. Was he going to give her a chance to talk? It seemed so, and she leaned for support against the smooth trunk of the madrona as she said, “I was out sketching... My case!”
“All day?”
“Yes.” She looked around in dismay at the forbidding pile of tangled branches, tugging at first one and then the other. Most were either attached to the tree or had one end buried deep in the ground. Had her case and all her work been destroyed?
“You missed Clyde.”
“Clyde? Oh...I forgot all about him.”
“You see what happened, don’t you?” he asked, his voice still unnaturally raspy. “I thought you’d gone...left with Clyde! I never dreamed you were still around.”
“I’m sorry, Zack.”
He sat down on the fir and let out two deep long breaths, not unlike the whales. He looked at her grimly, then shook his head and took one more long breath.
He pointed meaningfully towards the end of the branch where it was still buried deep in the ground.
“I’m sorry I yelled at you. But if that had hit you, it would’ve killed you.” He wiped at his forehead with an unsteady hand, reliving the past few moments. “I could see you didn’t have time to get clear. I thought for a moment you weren’t even going to move.”
“I couldn’t think.”
He stood up, looked across the few feet at her. “At least you had sense enough to go to the side. No one can run fast through the salal.”
“The salal?”
“These bushes.” He kicked at the two-foot-high shrubs that made up most of the underbrush.
The fir tree stretched out a good ten feet beyond where they stood, its top buried in the salal. If she had tried to run that way, she’d be dead. As it was, she was going to be bruised and sore. That branch had delivered a hefty wallop to her neck and shoulders.
“I froze. If you hadn’t yelled....” The tremor went through her again and this time Zack responded to the residual terror in her eyes. His arms went around her, strong and sturdy, holding her against the solid comfort of his body.
“It’s okay, okay,” he murmured, as she clung to him, very glad for support as the strong tremors continued to rack her body. “You made it...luckily.”
The strong, rhythmic beat of his heart under her ear steadied her quicker than his words. He had a powerful heart beat, the mark of a long distance runner. Jennel closed her eyes to listen, and felt the worst of the reaction begin to leave.
“What a mess!” His hand reached up to stroke her hair, undoing it to let the braid fall, checking its dark length, pausing often to remove pieces of bark, needles and dirt. “You might need help getting this clean.”
“No.” Her hair was as sensitive to his touch as if it had nerve ends of its own. Her pulse accelerated with the sweet delight of his care, beating more fiercely than it had when the tree dropped. Startled by the strength of her reaction, Jennel stepped away from him, then hesitated, immediately experiencing a sense of loss. “Thanks, but I’ll manage.”
“Are you sure?” Zack reached up and carefully separated a five-inch long twig from the crown of her head, seemingly unaware of the havoc he was causing.
“Yes.” It wasn’t her hair she was worried about. It was the growing attraction she felt for this man and the increasing difficulty of hiding it from him. She needed to rein in her own volatile feelings.
She had to keep her mind upon her job. Not on Zack. In this, he was her opponent, and she had best not forget it.
Her case was out there somewhere. Still dazed with shock, she staggered away from Zack, searching the tangled mass, finding it under a limb on the other side of the tree. When she couldn’t free it, Zack got his saw and cut the limb, then opened up her battered case.
All her boards were there, mute testimony as to how she’d been spending her time, the top one covered with various layers of paint from the squashed tubes of color. The others were still in fair shape.
Relief encountered reaction, and she sank to the ground, unable to stand on her shaky legs. The destruction of the top board felt like an enormous tragedy, although she knew it wasn’t.
It was just the thought that it could have been her.
Taking the elevations from her unsteady grasp, Zack sat down on the trunk of the fallen tree and carefully studied them one by one, a deep frown on his face while she watched in dismay. What would he do?
His anger rekindled. “So this is what you’ve been up to! I might’ve known!”
“I thought...if you could see what—”
“You don’t know what John wants!”
“Same as you!” she flared up in defense, her temper running ahead of her tongue. The anger was good medicine; it effectively counteracted the last of the shock. “You’ve never met his wife.”
“He okayed my designs.” Zack sat there, looking at her as if he would never budge on this point. She wanted to take a small branch—one she could lift—and hit him over his stubborn head. It wouldn’t do any good, of course, except make her feel better.
“She’s got to live here, too,” she stated, struggling to her feet.
“He married her, he must know what she likes.”
“True, but maybe—”
“What?” Zack was still scowling. If he’d stop interrupting her, she’d tell him!
“Maybe they just don’t talk to each other. Some couples don’t. Some people never know what their mate wants...really wants. They go through life with their head in the sand, even when the other person, with broad hints, tries to tell them.”
“Or maybe they’re having one whale of an argument, and we’re caught in the middle.” He sounded as disgusted as she felt.
“I hadn’t thought about that. She seemed desperate to me.”
“That’s odd. He’s a pleasant enough man.” He hesitated, then slowly added, “I got hold of him this morning. His wife was visiting friends, so he’ll still have to ask her about hiring you. But he said to stay with my designs.” Zack began to flip back through her work, stopping to study each one more thoroughly.
Jennel sat down, slumped on the log beside him, forlorn, trying to keep back tears and control her voice long enough to make her point. As both anger and shock wore off, reaction had forced its way to the fore again. She’d had all the fighting spirit whumped out of her, and her voice quavered slightly. “Mrs. Van Chattan was afraid it would be too unpleasant for her to live in. Maybe she’d seen your designs and then called me. Maybe not. She didn’t mention you.”
She paused, saw he was giving her his full attention, and continued. “I’m sure if you had met her, you would have softened things up. She’s such an overly feminine woman. You don’t meet many like her today.” There wasn’t much else to say, so she stopped, having hit a dead end and seeing no other way out.
“That’s right, if what you say is true.” He put his chin down in his hand in thought, propping his elbow on his knee, while Jennel stared morosely at the ground.
She was beginning to ache all over. Her beautiful elevations were smudged, the top one destroyed. She felt more grief over them than over her own battered self. What now?
Zack watched as an expression of defeat settled across her expressive features, her shoulders slumped, proud head lowered. She’d put up a gallant battle. She really believed this was what Mrs. Van Chattan wanted.
He examined the elevations with more care. It was amazing. Somehow she’d made the house a home—comfortable and welcoming, giving it a feminine touch that a man responded to in a positive manner. If this was her idea of pink lace, he liked it. He’d enjoy living in it himself.
There was more to Jennel than just a beautiful woman who had managed to upset his well-arranged life in less than forty-eight hours. His irritation at her was gradually, reluctantly, changing to admiration. She was a do-or-die trier who wouldn’t give up. A tough chess opponent, and a first-rate designer.
Her sketchbook was at the bottom of her case and he flipped though it, coming to a full stop at the five sketches of his face. The pencil lines were few, but revealing. The look of arrogant pride was clearly stamped upon his features. Did he look like that...to her?
He too, carried a picture of her in his mind. Because of it, he had to get her off the island, or fix himself a different place to sleep. The first night hadn’t bothered him much, but this morning, when he woke up with her sleeping next to him, her silky black hair was spread over the pillows—his pillow as well as hers. He had lain there, imagining her in his arms every morning, the black silk streaming across his body, her lips welcoming his. The thought had severely tried his self-control.
It had also distracted him so badly, he couldn’t keep his mind on his work. No woman had ever done that to him. And to think it had to be someone who was so— so untidy. So unorganized. Even her braid wouldn’t stay up!
Zack rubbed the bristles on his chin, wondering how to announce his plans without losing face. “Look, I’ll send these to John and tell him to sit down and have a long talk with his wife. We’ll let them decide what they want.”
“You will? Really?” She lifted her head to stare at him, unbelieving, her blue eyes shining with a misty hope. It was the prettiest sight he’d ever seen, and he had to harden himself against it.
“In return, I want you off the island!”
“Oh, but—”
“For your own safety.” He neglected to tell her he felt it best for his own peace of mind. Decisively, he stood up and handed her the shattered case. “If Clyde doesn’t come tomorrow, I’ll take you back myself.”
She peered up at him, her soft lips parted expressively, the tip of her tongue barely visible. Zack found himself imagining what her lips would feel like under his, and almost missed what she said.
“But what if the Van Chattans want to use my interiors?”
“I’ll pay you for any they want to use. I just want you out of here.”
“But couldn’t I stay until—”
“Until what? Until you’re dead?” He never again wanted to feel the terrible helplessness that shook him when he had looked over to where he planned to fall the tree and saw her standing, transfixed, in its path. He tried to knock loose the wedge he had just hammered in, but already the tree had separated from its stump, leaving him powerless to change its direction. “Don’t you realize I nearly killed you?” He didn’t shout this time, but spoke with teeth clenched.
To Jennel, the cold restraint was more alarming than his shouting. “But you didn’t know I was there,” she stammered. “It was an accident. You weren’t to blame.”
“You’d have been just as dead, whoever was to blame. I’ve never come that close to killing a person before; I don’t care to repeat it.”
“But I’ll be careful—”
“What made you come running up on someone with a chain saw? That’s the most idiotic...” He paused, hands moving in large frustrated circles. He looked like a man who had greatly exceeded his measure of patience.
Jennel stopped trying to argue with him and tried reason instead.
“I didn’t realize it was a saw.”
“Everyone knows the sound of a chain saw,” he pointed out.
“Maybe they do where you come from. It sounded like a weed cutter to me.”
“A weed cutter?”
“Yes. A large, gas-powered one.”
“A weed cutter!” he repeated, looking stunned.
“They sound almost like your saw. I’ve heard lots of them. What did you cut the tree down for, anyway?”
He kicked at the forest floor debris. “To clear an area for the helicopter to land.”
“Oh!” She stopped long enough to remind herself that he did things on a grand scale, then asked, “Are you going to take out any more? If so, I’ll stay clear.”
“One more this evening. That one.” He pointed to a tree next to the fresh stump. “There are three close to the house that need to come out before they fall on it. And there are a couple where the pool will be. When the ’dozer gets here, we’ll push those down. No need to cut them. I have to cut these so the chopper can bring in the tractor and backhoe.”
“I see.”
“A gas-powered weed cutter,” Zack mumbled dazedly. “They do sound alike!” He took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He’d been doing a lot of that in the last few minutes, his face gradually regaining its natural color. Jennel nodded, glad he could see what happened. She hadn’t acted out of stupidity, just ignorance. Although that didn’t sound very sharp either.
He shook his head slowly, giving her a faint smile. “You’ve got dirt on your face, needles in your hair, and your clothes are covered with soil and pitch. Why don’t you go inside, take a nice hot shower and get cleaned up. Then if you feel up to it, see what you can fix for our dinner while I cut this trunk into movable lengths.”
It sounded like a wonderful idea, but she jumped cautiously at it. “There’s hot water?”
“Yes. There’s a gas water heater. I started it earlier.” Still plainly upset from the near tragedy, he picked up his saw with the slow movements of an old man. “Don’t come out here while I’m cutting.”
“I won’t,” she promised earnestly, clutching her battered case. Dodging trees was not her idea of fun.
“See to it.” He waited until she had worked her way across the clearing before re-starting the saw. She could hear its deep whine as it cut into the tree.
He was going to send her designs to Mr. Van Chattan. She was happy, and she should’ve been jumping for joy. Instead she felt defeated. The added conditions were not what she wanted.
Either way—whether Mr. Van Chattan approved or disapproved—she was off the island. And she didn’t want to go. Aside from Zack being such a bear at times, the place was delightful. Sadly she went down to the boat and put her things away.
Brutus was tied up, his pleading eyes following her movements, his low whine begging her to set him free. Zack had probably secured him so he wouldn’t get hit by the tree. After what had just happened, he probably wished she was on a short leash, too!
“Nice, Brutus. It might be all right to let you go now, but if I make any more bonehead errors, your master will throw me in the water and hold me under.” The thought made her smile as she petted the friendly animal, which was as large as she. All Zack needed was time to recover. During the next few days, if she could manage to stay, there must not be any more accidents. Extra care. Extra alertness. He’d soon forget the near tragedy of today. Hopefully! Gathering up clean clothes and shampoo, she hurried back to the house. The saw was still buzzing away like an angry hornet when she went inside. Jennel hummed as she showered.
Leaving her hair loose to dry, she started dinner. Although she hadn’t known about cast iron pans, she did know how to turn simple ingredients into a feast, if she so desired.
If her drawings didn’t impress him, maybe her cooking would.
Forty minutes later, with a stew cooking, Jennel searched for another rag to wash off the table. She had used hers on the stove and it was now beyond salvaging. Remembering that Zack had one on the boat, she strolled down to get it.
Brutus thumped his tail hopefully, his dark velvet eyes mournful, but again she refused to free him.
“I’m not doing anything to get me into any more hot water with your master,” she said, stroking the dog’s massive head and gently scratching behind his ears. “I’ve already blotted my copybook as far as he’s concerned.”
The trouble was, her admiration for Zack was growing steadily while his opinion of her had to be quickly disintegrating. He probably felt she was as irresponsible as a school child. He had said she was the most idiotic woman he’d ever met. That wasn’t exactly a compliment one worked hard to get.
She was enjoying her stay on his boat, playing chess with him, even arguing with him, since he listened as he argued, using logic rather than emotion. Her mother argued emotionally; no one could win with her because she could only see one side— her own.
Zack stayed rational, even when he was shouting at her. Also, he cooled off quickly; much faster than her father ever had. Zack was stubborn, but then so was she, so she didn’t fault him for it. He was a top-notch architect, very resourceful, with a rugged efficiency that served them well out here.
And a very, very attractive man.
She stopped petting Brutus and sighed. Zack was attractive, even when he was yelling at her. All worked up, furiously angry or frustrated, nothing detracted from the power of his personality.
The attraction was even more pronounced when he was being considerate of her needs—pointing out the workings of the boat’s head, bandaging her feet, playing chess, or removing the worst of the debris from her hair.
Her hair. She threaded her fingers into its dark mass. He seemed fascinated with its long coil; both mornings watching her in silence as she braided it around her head. Did it bother him? Most men liked long hair but there were a few who didn’t. It’d be just her luck to fall for a man who preferred short blonde hair. It was a good thing she wasn’t falling for Zack.
She wasn’t, was she? Was she?
Watch it, girl. He can’t stand you. And you know you can’t stand the bossy type.
Grimly, she clamped down on her wayward emotions, strictly adjuring her heart to stay aloof. Had her warning come too late? There was nothing she could do if that had happened except try to keep from getting further involved. Picking up a washcloth, her flashlight and jacket, she walked back.
The saw was silent. Had he finished already? There had been a lot of tree there. Pushing open the door, she stepped inside, humming happily to herself as she envisioned a pleasant evening with him. Just the two of them—together. It would be a good time to get to know more about him.
Zack stood at the sink with the water running, his big frame bent over almost double, his pants leg dark and wet.
She frowned, puzzled, at the sight. He was in such an awkward position. Why? Her stomach felt sick at the sight of the dotted trail of fresh blood across the floor. Zack’s blood.
Chapter Eight
Blood on the kitchen floor!
“What happened?” Jennel plunged forward, stomach churning, a fearful dread scything through her muscles, weakening her legs.
“It’s okay! Okay! It’s not as bad as it looks.” His voice remained steady, reassuring, offsetting his strained features.
Whatever he claimed, it looked horrible--his right pants’ leg appeared soaked from the knee down, the material torn and ragged.
Her head whirling, Jennel stopped to steady herself. The thought of Zack getting hurt upset her a lot more than had the falling tree.
Her heart was tripping over itself, the beat so rapid and hard she could almost feel it outside her blouse. “You’d better take those off so we can see how bad it is.”
For once he did as she asked, unbuckling his belt to slip his jeans over the gash. Grabbing a chair, she thrust it behind him and he sat down. He explained what happened as he extended his leg carefully before him. “Someone had driven a spike into the tree. When I hit it with the saw, it bounced sideways and nicked me.”
The jagged gash cut at an angle, above and across the kneecap. If it had gone any deeper...! Resolutely she took a deep breath to make the room stop swaying. It wouldn’t help him any if she passed out.
The sight of blood had never bothered her, except for one time when her mother had cut her hand with a sharp knife. Why Zack’s injury should be so upsetting, she didn’t consider in depth, but the thought of how close he’d come to losing his leg horrified her.
He glanced at the small bundle she unconsciously clutched to her breast. “What’s that?”
She had forgotten about it. Blinking back tears, she looked down at her coat and flashlight and... “A clean dishtowel and a rag to wash the table.”
“Perfect. Tear off a section of that towel—”
“But...shouldn’t we put some antiseptic on first?”
“Later. There’s some in the first aid box in the boat.”
“That black stuff you used on me?”
“Right. We’ll clean this up and eat. That stew smells good, and I’m hungry.” His voice was calm, the volume strong and steady. Actually, he’d been a lot more shook up after he’d just missed dropping the tree on her.
The blood wasn’t flowing very fast, but enough was still seeping out of the wide gash to put her off food.
This time she was the one who had boiled a pan of water to make coffee. In a repeat of their first night, the water was used to bathe his knee with a torn piece of towel.
“Scrub harder. It’s dirty,” Zack said.
Jennel tried, but couldn’t make herself scrub hard enough, so he did it himself while she set the table and put on the stew.
The towel made an effective—if bulky—bandage. “Will you need stitches?” she asked, holding the towel while he secured it with a piece of duct tape.
“Maybe. It’s not a deep cut, but the teeth took out such wide strips of skin, it’s going to be hard to heal.”
A sickening vision rose before her, and she regretted her ability to have full visual recall combined with a vivid imagination. “Why weren’t you more careful? If it had cut any deeper—”
“Or if the chain had been running at full speed,” he added, nodding his head. “It was slowing down when it hit me. The instant I hit the spike I took my finger off the switch.”
Again she shuddered and had to steady herself. “Why are you cutting the trees down? Why don’t you hire a qualified tree remover?”
“I’ve cut down lots of trees.”
“But you’re an architect.”
“My dad’s a lumberjack. He taught me.”
“I see.”
“I enjoy making them fall just where I want.”
“But it’s so dangerous!” she protested.
“So is driving down the freeway. Now stop nagging. I can’t stand a nagging woman.” Firming his lips, he folded his arms across his chest.
Nagging! That wasn’t what she was doing. Why couldn’t men accept common- sense suggestions from women? Especially when it was for their own good.
“You would’ve been here all alone, cutting those trees, if I wasn’t here,” she said.
“Safer for you.”
“Not for you.”
“For my peace of mind,” he countered.
“You shouldn’t cut trees without someone around.”
“You sound like my mom.”
“She’s right, you know. Tree cutting is dangerous.”
“I know. I know.” He sounded exasperated, and she changed the subject.
“What do people do if they have an emergency way out here?”
He shrugged. “Radio for help. If nothing else there’ll be an emergency unit at the Whidbey Naval Station—they’d send a helicopter.”
“I see.”
“I’ll check it out and inform the Van Chattans.”
“That might be a good idea.”
“With you around, I’d better,” he mumbled, more of an aside to himself than a conscious statement to her; but she heard it plainly and took offense.
“What kind of remark is that?” she demanded, ultra-sensitive to any hint of criticism from him.
He looked up, dropping his hands into his lap. “A true one. You’ve been nothing but trouble since you arrived. I don’t believe in jinxes, but lady, you sure could make me—easily!” He tried to pull his jeans back on, but the towel was too bulky. The one side stopped at his hips. He tugged futilely at it. “Even this!”
Of all the unreasonable... “Don’t blame that on me!”
“Well...no.” He conceded her point, but still looked upset.
“We aren’t expecting company, you can leave your pants down while you eat. Your boxer shorts are quite presentable.”
“Oh, sure!” He frowned down at his bare legs, plainly ill at ease in his half- dressed state. “I enjoy coming to the table like this.”
His legs were well-muscled, slightly hairy—not bow-legged or skinny. Nothing wrong with them from Jennel’s viewpoint, and she’d seen lots of legs in her art classes, men and women. “They’re good, sturdy legs.”
He cocked an eyebrow in acknowledgment. “What if I said that to you?” he asked. “Would you feel any more comfortable?”
“That’s different!” she yelped.
“Is it now?” he challenged blandly, but a tiny twinkle in his eyes gave him away. He was enjoying the exchange and wasn’t past saying something to keep it going.
The eternal difference between male and female was too established a fact for her to argue about. “Yes, it is! I’m not sure how this got started, but if it makes you feel any better, tie my jacket around your waist.” She fetched it from across the room, thrusting it out to him while maintaining her distance. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He slung the jacket into place like an apron, tied it by its arms and hob- bled over to the table. After emptying the bowl of water, she joined him.
He was hungry, and their little discussion had helped settle her nausea and arouse her appetite, so both turned their attention to the delicious-smelling food.
Jennel had prepared enough stew for four, planning to fix leftovers tomorrow, but he cleaned out the pot, along with several slices of bread, making her hastily revise her estimate of how much it took to fill a working man his size.
“That was excellent,” he praised her, and she responded with a warm smile, then went cool as he spoiled it by dryly adding, “I see you can do something right.”
Her answer was indignant. “I can when I know what I’m doing. Or if someone takes the trouble to warn me first—usually,” she amended, remembering the way she had scrambled his plans.
Jumping to her feet, she gathered up the few dishes and took them to the sink. “Leave those,” he urged impatiently. “Let’s get back to the boat while there’s plenty of light.”
“Sure,” she said, surprised, as a pleasant glow again stirred in her. Maybe Zack wasn’t such a “neat freak” after all. Her father would never have left such a mess behind, injury or not.
Dumping the plates with a clatter, she quickly ran water over them as he started to hobble across the kitchen. Stove off, water off, lights out—she closed the door as they left, remembering just in time to step carefully across the veranda. Zack had thrown some baking soda over the section where they walked, so it wasn’t quite as slick, but the boards were still weak.
“Bring the saw, will you?” he asked. “I’ll need to re-sharpen the teeth.”
It was sitting at the head of the trail next to a tree, and she picked it up and carried it awkwardly along, holding it to one side to keep the claw-like teeth from rubbing against her leg.
As anxious as a mother bird, she hovered closely as he toddled down the steep trail, hampered by his jeans. He had to take extra steps to keep from bending his knee, and extra care stepping from the float up into the boat. He even accepted her help at that point.
Brutus met them with a whine and a lunge. Without the chain stopping him, he’d have knocked his master flat, and Zack had to balance on the edge of the boat until Jennel shortened the chain by wrapping it around a cleat.
“Down boy. Good dog!” his master praised him, all the while edging out of the eager animal’s reach and closer to the cabin door. “Let him go after I’m inside, will you?”
“Of course.”
The dog kept anticipating his release and strained against the leather collar, making it impossible to unsnap. Jennel struggled for several minutes, wishing Zack had acquired a smaller pet, finally persuading the huge dog to stop squirming long enough to set him free. With a rush he took off, his nose busily investigating all that had taken place since he had last been loose.
By the time she put the chain saw in a safe place and covered it up, Zack had changed into some wide-legged walking shorts.
Spots of blood were coming through the towel. “Get out the first aid kit,” Zack said quietly as he sat down, “and we’ll see if we can patch this up.”
He unwrapped the towel while she brought the kit. The blood was still flowing from the deeper gashes but the wound appeared clean of dirt and wood particles. For the first time, she could look at it without feeling faint or nauseated.
They tried pulling the skin together with some butterfly bandages but the gashes were too wide. Zack wouldn’t bleed to death, but he would surely heal quicker with stitches. She said so, and he agreed.
“Turn the radio on. We’ll see if Clyde can make it.” Jennel walked up the steps and flipped the switch, hearing the crackle of static. As she did this, she realized with a sinking feeling that even if they got through to Clyde, the boatman wouldn’t come unless she called.
What a mess! If she didn’t say anything, Zack’s knee wouldn’t get medical attention. Yet if she did, he would know she’d been keeping Clyde away. How was she going to get out of this without Zack finding out what she’d pulled?
Jennel fought back the rising feeling of panic within her. What should she do? Talk to Clyde herself, of course. “Tell me the number,” she offered brightly. “I’ll call.”
“No, I will.” He shook his head, and inwardly she seethed at his uncompromising stubbornness.
This time she tried adding a touch of gentle concern to her voice. “Let me, then you won’t have to walk—”
“I don’t have to, anyway.” His voice sharpened in impatience. “Just hand me the mike.” She hesitated, but it was a hand-held, cordless model, so she shrugged in resignation, and carried it down to him. So much for that idea.
Zack called and Clyde answered, his voice sounding amazingly near. After switching to an agreed-upon channel, Zack explained he’d nicked himself slightly with the chain saw and needed some stitches. Could Clyde come get him, take him to the doctor and back?
“Sure thing. I’ll be up there right away.” Clyde responded.
“Let me talk to him,” Jennel pleaded as Zack was going to sign off, her face pale and set with worry. If this didn’t work she’d have to admit to everything, and she would lose all she’d gained in way of concessions from him. There was no way to get around it. “Please!”
He looked puzzled at the intensity of her request, then shrugged indifferently and handed her the microphone. “Make it quick.”
She spoke rapidly, hoping Clyde—who had seemed reluctant to go along with her “surprise”—wouldn’t spoil her plan by saying the wrong thing.
“Clyde, this is Jennel Foster. I’m with Zack. Please be sure to hurry. His leg won’t stop bleeding, and it does need medical attention. Thanks. Over and out.” Relief caused her to let out a deep breath— which she hadn’t realized she’d been holding—and the muscles of her face and body relaxed perceptibly.
“What was that all about?” Zack was naturally puzzled, and she quickly assumed a look of concern.
“I was afraid he wouldn’t think it was serious. You tend to make light of it, and it looks bad to me.”
“No need for him to rush,” he scoffed, manfully disdainful of the pain, while pressing a large red square of blood-soaked gauze on the worst area.
“But the sooner the stitches are put in, the better.”
“Huh!” Zack looked helplessly around the snug cabin, unable to stand the temporary hampering of his movements. The curtains were open, and the last rays of the sun shone in the side windows with the pure golden aura that came just before sunset. It emblazoned all it touched with a radiant glow—including Jennel. To Zack, she looked as ethereal as an angel.
His angel. The thought struck Zack from nowhere, and he dismissed it. He’d never seen a black-haired angel with violet-blue eyes. Her hair was hanging loosely at the moment and seemed to have a life of its own, just begging him to feel its silken strands.
He
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