Dodging Cupid's Arrow

Chapter Three

Perrie leaned back against the rough plank door and listened as Joe Brennan's footsteps crunched in the snow on the way back to his cabin. She was grateful to finally be out of range of those disturbing blue eyes of his. With a groan she let her shoulder bag slip to the floor. A few seconds later, she followed it, sliding her back against the door until she sat down with a thump. "I'm in prison," she murmured as she rubbed her sore arm. "That's what this is. Nothing but a gulag with a lovely dead-animal decor." She sighed. "And a warden cute enough to curl a girl's toes."

She glanced around the cabin at the mounted antlers scattered about the room, then silently cursed Milt Freeman and the scumbag that shot her. If it hadn't been for that one stray bullet, Milt never would have sent her to Siberia. She'd still be in Seattle, working on her story, following leads, tracking down witnesses. Instead, the only thing she had to occupy her mind was a thwarted plan to escape Muleshoe… and the possibility that Joe Brennan might kiss her.

If she had the time to spend, she might find Joe Brennan more than a little intriguing. Perhaps they might enjoy a tumble or two before she headed out of town. After all, Perrie wasn't immune to the charms of a ruggedly handsome man. She'd had a few men in her life-purely on her own terms, of course. But none of them had lasted very long once they'd realized they didn't rank high on her list of priorities.

Besides, she had already counted at least five good reasons why Joe Brennan got under her skin, five good reasons why she couldn't even consider allowing him to kiss her-or rumble her into bed. And the biggest was his refusal to return her to Seattle. How could she possibly respect a man who had no respect at all for the importance of her work?

She scrubbed at her face with her hands. Right now, she didn't want to think about Brennan. Her misguided attraction to him would only serve to distract her from her cause-getting back to Seattle. And he had vowed no assistance on mat front. "I'll find another way," she said. "There's got to be another way."

She clambered to her feet and took a slow tour around the cabin, dropping her jacket on the floor along the way. It was nice enough, kind of warm and cozy. The rough plank floors were covered with a colorful assortment of braided rag rugs, making the one large room seem as if it were actually three rooms. A fieldstone fireplace dominated the far wall; an overstuffed sofa and an antique rocker were arranged around it.

At the other end of the cabin, a pair of old iron beds and a scarred dresser served as the sleeping area. The beds were covered by pretty quilts and fluffy pillows. In the corner, a potbellied stove radiated a gentle warmth. Perrie held out her hands for a moment to warm them, men turned to survey the kitchen.

like the rest of the cabin, it was simple. An electric hot plate, a small refrigerator and knotty pine cabinets that looked as if they'd been homemade. A vase of dried flowers sat in the center of the old oak table. She sighed and rubbed her hands together, then crossed the room to brush aside the drapes of one of the cabin's three windows.

She expected to take a look at the weather. But instead, a face, lined with age and grinning a toothless smile, stared back at her through the glass. She screamed and jumped away, her heart leaping into her throat. The man waved at her, then tapped on the glass and pointed to the door. He wore a fur hat with earflaps flopping at the sides, bouncing up and down until it looked as if he might just take off like some human gooney bird.

Who was this? Surely Muleshoe didn't boast its own Peeping Tom along with all its other civilized features, did it? Placing her hand to her chest, she waited until her pulse slowed, then walked over to the door and opened it a crack.

The face pressed up to the opening, still grinning. "Hey there! You must be the little lady from Seattle."

"I am," she said, wary. "Who are you? And why were you looking in my window?"

"Burdy McCormack's my name." He shoved his hand through the door and she reluctantly shook it before she pulled the door open. Burdy scampered inside with a bandy-legged gait. "Just thought I'd look in on you. Wasn't sure you were here yet."

A cold wind trailed after him and Perrie quickly swung the door shut. His grin faded and he scratched his whiskered chin. "Guess yer not too fond of dogs. Strike is housebroke."

She glanced between him and the door. "I'm sorry, is your dog outside?" She opened the door again and peered out, seeing nothing but snow and trees and a single track of footprints on the front steps. "I'm afraid he's not out here."

"Come on, Strike," Burdy called, waving his arm.

"Come on in out of the cold, you sorry mutt. That's a boy. Good dog."

Perrie watched as Burdy McCormack reached down and patted the space near his knee. Space that was not occupied by man nor beast-nor anything real, for that matter. She bit her bottom lip. Good grief, the poor old guy thought he had a dog with him!

For a moment, she considered leaving the door open in case she'd have to make a quick escape. But the cabin was growing colder by the second so she decided the risk was worth staying warm. "That's a nice dog you have. Obedient." She leaned back against the closed door.

Burdy nodded, his grin growing so wide it seemed to envelop his entire weatherworn face. "Took me a long time to train 'im. There weren't no dog along the whole Yukon that could hunt better. But we've both been gettin' old, so we spend most of our time sittin' next to a warm fire." He looked around the cabin. "So, you have everything you need here? Joe asked me to look in on you every now and then."

Perrie rubbed her palms together and studied Burdy McCormack shrewdly. He seemed harmless enough, the type that might be swayed to her cause. A man who showed concern over the comfort of his imaginary dog couldn't be as coldhearted as Joe Brennan had been. "Actually, there is one thing you could help me with. I can't seem to find the bathroom."

Burdy scratched his chin. "That's out back of the cabin in the little house with the moon on the door."

Perrie gasped. "An outhouse? In the middle of winter?" She turned and began to pace the room. "You've got to help me find a way out of here. I can live without television, I can live without junk food, but I cannot live without indoor plumbing. I won't!"

Burdy wagged a gnarled finger at her and shook his head. "Aw, no you don't! Joe warned me about you. Said you'd try to talk me into taking you outta here. That's not gonna happen. I ain't gonna fall for no sweet talk from a pretty lady."

She added another to her list of reasons why kissing Joe Brennan was out of the question. He had a big mouth. Jeez, the whole territory probably knew by now that she'd set herself on escaping Muleshoe. "You don't understand," Perrie said calmly. "I have to get back to Seattle. It's a matter of-of life or death. There's got to be a way out of here."

"There's plenty of ways outta town. More than seven or eight pilots living here, an' each with a nice little bush plane, too."

"Pilots? You mean Brennan doesn't own a monopoly on air travel?"

"Ma'am, this here's Alaska. Cain't git around without a plane."

"Then you have to take me to one of these pilots. I'd be willing to pay you. A lot. You could buy yourself anything. A-a new dog."

The old man chuckled. "Now, why would I want a new dog when I have Strike here? We get along real well and he's hardly no bother. Never barks and don't eat much, either."

"I can see that. He's just about faded away to nothing."

The meaning of her comment didn't seem to register with Burdy. Either the man was totally daft or… or he was totally daft. There was no other way about it. Joe Brennan had left her in the care of a crazy man and his invisible dog.

Burdy shoved his hat back and stared at her with sparkling blue eyes. "Joe wouldn't like it much if I was to help you leave. And I 'spect he's let all the other pilots know that they won't be takin' you out, either. But I s'pose that ain't gonna stop you from tryin'."

"Not a chance," Perrie said. "There's got to be one pilot in this town willing to fly for cash."

Burdy sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Would you like to take a trip into Muleshoe? I was about to get me some dinner down at St. Paddy's and I'd sure love the comp'ny of a pretty girl like yourself."

"You have a church here?"

Burdy chuckled. "St Paddy's ain't a church. It's the local tavern. It's run by Paddy Doyle. We took to calling it St. Paddy's since most of us spend our Sunday mornings there. He makes a mean Irish breakfast-fried eggs and potato cakes and soda farl and homemade sausage-but he don't allow talking during his church service."

"He's a priest, then?" she asked. A man of the cloth would have to help her. He'd see that she was being held against her will and would prevail upon a local pilot to fly her out.

"Well, he does preside over the town's funerals, but he ain't a priest proper. He just makes us watch church on his big-screen satellite TV."

Perrie's hopes faltered. No priest.

"We all put up with it since the breakfast is so good," Burdy continued, "and 'cause Paddy takes his religion serious. Mass starts at eight and breakfast is served right after."

Perrie found her mouth watering at Burdy's description of breakfast. She hadn't had anything to eat since the previous night. She refused to count airline food as food. And the cup of coffee she'd guzzled at the airport hadn't done much to diminish her hunger. Dinnertime was fast approaching, and with it the need to cook, a skill she'd never quite mastered beyond microwave popcorn.

"Do they serve a good evening meal down at St. Paddy's?"

"Best in town," Burdy replied. "Except for the Saturday feeds down at the fire hall. I do the cookin' then. Spaghetti feed tomorrow night."

"And do the town's pilots eat at Doyle's?"

"Most of 'em."

"Then I think I'll take that ride into town, Burdy. I'm feeling a little hungry and I'm not really up to cooking tonight."

Burdy nodded, his earflaps bouncing. "All right, then. You'll find yourself a warm jacket and some boots in the closet over there. I won't be takin' you out in the cold unless you're properly dressed for it when there's weather rollin' in. And if old Sarah gets it in her head she don't want to go into town, we'll end up walkin'."

"Is Sarah your wife?"

"Nah, she's the lodge's pickup truck. We get on pretty well most times, but she can be an ornery old thing. If she sees you comin' she might get a little jealous and decide she ain't gonna take us into Muleshoe."

Perrie looked up from the floor as she pulled on a pair of oversize rubber boots and shrugged into a down parka. An invisible dog, a jealous truck and an old man more than a few sandwiches shy of a picnic.

Just what else would Muleshoe have to offer in the way of entertainment?

Doyle's Tap Tavern, or St. Paddy's as the locals called it, was already bustling with people when Burdy showed her inside. As she scanned the room, Perrie slowly realized that she was the only woman in the place. It didn't take long for the rest of Paddy's patrons to realize the same thing. Conversation slowly ground to a halt as every eye turned toward her.

Perrie forced a smile and reached for Burdy's arm. "Why are they all looking at me like that?" she murmured.

Burdy straightened and puffed out his chest. "I s'pose they're all wondering how an old coot like me managed to put such a fine-lookin' woman on my arm." He cleared his throat. "This here's Miz Perrie Kincaid. She'll be stayin' here in Muleshoe for a while. She's looking for a pilot to fly her outta here."

Six of the bar's patrons stepped forward, but Burdy held up his gnarled hand and shook his head. "The first guy to offer Miz Kincaid a ride will have to answer to me and Joe Brennan."

The six stepped back, their expressions clouded with disappointment, but their interest barely quelled. Perrie shifted nervously and glanced at Burdy.

"And she ain't here lookin' for a husband, either, so you all can stop your gawkin' and get back to your fun."

"I'm perfectly able to speak for myself," she said as Burdy drew her along toward a table.

He gallantly pulled out the red vinyl chair for her, then helped her out of her parka. '"Course, you'll be expected to dance with them," Burdy said, once he'd seated himself across from her and settled his imaginary dog at his feet.

Her gaze snapped up from the menu to his face. "What?"

"Well now, that's only common courtesy up here. They can't dance with each other, and when there's a woman about, they don't waste much time. I expect you'll get twirled around the floor more times than you'll be able to count. If you're lucky, the brides will stop by and reduce your odds of gettin' dizzy."

Burdy had no more said the words when the front door of Doyle's swung open and three women stepped inside. Perrie wouldn't have known there were women behind the parka hoods and scarves except that the conversation stopped again and every man in the place turned to look. "That's them," he said. "They're a promisin' lot. Better than the first three."

"There were three others?"

"Yep. The boys placed the ad down in Los Angeles. I guess they thought they might get lucky and nab themselves a movie star or one of them supermodels. Those three girls lasted about a week before Joe had to fly them out. They just weren't cut out for the cold. But these three-I got my money on at least two of 'em stayin'."

Perrie watched them slip out of their coats and take their places at a table. They looked like normal, intelligent women to her. All three were attractive in their own different ways and, from what she could see, ranged in age from midtwenties to early thirties. "What about their grooms?" she asked. "Aren't they going to get mad if someone dances with their girls?"

"It don't work that way. The boys that paid in get the chance to go through the letters and choose the girls. But once they're up here, it's pretty much a free-for-all. The man who woos 'er wins 'er fair and square."

"That doesn't seem fair to me. What about the men who didn't pay?"

"Well, there ain't many single men that didn't get in on it. There's me… and Paddy. He's still pinin' over the wife he lost a few years back. And there's Ralphie Simpson. He's been married and divorced five times so he don't want any part of a woman bent on marriage. And that's it, except for Joe Brennan and Hawk."

"Every unmarried man in town except for you and the other four is looking for a bride?"

"That's about it."

She glanced over the top of her menu at Burdy. "So, what's the story with Brennan? How come he isn't in on the bride deal?"

Burdy scratched his chin as he pondered her question for a long moment. "I don't rightly know. I 'spect he likes bein' a lone wolf. Though there ain't a shortage of ladies lookin' to put an end to that. They all say he's a real charmer, knows exactly how to treat 'em. They're always talking about his eyes, though I can't figure what's so special about 'em."

"His eyes? I don't see anything remarkable about his eyes, either," Perrie lied. "And as for charming… well, he certainly isn't my type."

"You know, he rescued a purdy thing off Denali just a few days back. Plucked her right off the mountain and saved her life. He's a helluva pilot, too."

Perrie's interest was aroused and she leaned forward. "Really? He didn't mention that."

"He don't brag on himself much. But everybody likes him. He's generous to a fault. Last winter, he flew Addie Pruett out when her ma fell ill. She didn't have the money to pay for the flight, so Joe told her she could do his laundry for three months in exchange. And he brings me fresh vegetables for my fire hall feeds without charging me for the freight. I 'spect he don't charge me full price for the produce, either, but I don't have proof of that."

Perrie's journalistic instincts kicked into overdrive. "What did he do in Seattle?"

A shrug was all Burdy had for that question. The old man cocked his head in the direction of the bar. "Why don't you ask him yourself? He's sittin' over there at the end of the bar. He's been watchin' you since we sat down."

She turned to look and found Joe Brennan leaning back against the bar, his pale eyes fixed on her with another disconcerting gaze. For an instant, she thought of looking away, of avoiding his direct stare. But instead, she tipped her chin up and gave him a little wave. His only response was an oh-so-subtle lift of his eyebrow before he turned to talk to the man next to him.

For the first time since she'd met him, he wasn't wearing a cap. His thick dark hair brushed the collar of his flannel shirt and fell in a boyish shock across his forehead, careless and incredibly sexy. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and her gaze drifted along smooth, muscular arms and strong, capable hands. She noticed how his jeans hugged narrow hips and long legs when he hooked his heel on the foot rail. No doubt about it. Joe Brennan filled out a pair of jeans better than any man she'd ever met.

"You fancy him?"

She twisted around at Burdy's question. "What? No. Why would you think that?"

Burdy shrugged, a grin quirking the deep grooves around his mouth. "Haven't met a lady yet mat could resist him. And you seem interested."

"I'm a reporter," she snapped. "Learning deep dark secrets about people is what I'm good at." Perrie leaned back in her chair. "And I'll wager you dinner tonight that I can find out what Joe Brennan did in Seattle before he came here."

"I'd take you up on it, but Joe said you don't have any money."

She frowned. Burdy was right. How was she supposed to live here in Muleshoe without a penny to her name? Milt had stolen all her money, had forced her into exile. Did he expect her to starve, as well. "You're right. I don't have any money."

"Not for gamblin'. But Joe said your boss gave him the okay to pay your way around town. Paddy'll run a tab and so will Louise Weller down at the general store."

"Well, if I choose to wager a dinner here or there, Milt Freeman can damn well pay for it," Perrie said. Her chair scraped on the rough wood floor and she stood up. "This will take me about five minutes. You can order the cheeseburger plate and a beer for me while I'm gone."

She fixed her gaze on Joe Brennan's wide, flannel-covered shoulders and headed across the room. But she'd barely gotten five feet before a beefy man with a thick black beard stepped in front of her.

He cleared his throat and she watched a blush creep up his cheeks. "Miz Kincaid. My name's Luther Paulson. I'd be obliged if you'd take a turn around the dance floor with me."

Perrie opened her mouth to refuse, but the poor man looked so nervous that she didn't have the heart. She smiled weakly and nodded. "All right. A dance would be nice. But just one."

"I wouldn't impose myself on you for any more," Luther said, his expression brightening.

True to his word, Luther didn't ask for a second dance. Nor did George Koslowski, Erv Saunders or the other three single men who came along after them to claim just one turn around the dance floor. She'd tried to remember their names, but after the third, they all became one big blur of facial hair and flannel. And the three brides hadn't fared any better, for they were out on the dance floor with her the whole time, chatting amiably with their partners.

She finally pleaded thirst and at least four men jumped to buy her a beer. But she waved them off and made her way to the bar through the crowd of hopefuls that surrounded the dance floor, refusing more invitations along the way.

The stool beside Joe Brennan was empty now, as were almost all the stools, the former occupants now cluttered around the dance floor hoping for a shot at a female partner. She slid in beside him, sending him a sideways glance.

He smiled. "You're a popular lady tonight," he said. He didn't look her way, merely stared into his mug of beer.

"Not so popular," she said. "You didn't ask me to dance."

He chuckled, then took a long swallow of his beer. He set the empty mug on the bar and turned to her. "Those men out there have a reason for dancing with you and it's pretty serious business. I'm not one to stand in their way."

"And I suppose you can't think of one reason you might have to ask me to dance?"

"Oh, I could think of a few," he said. "But then, I've got more than a few reasons not to dance with you, Kincaid."

"And what might those be, Brennan?"

"Well, beyond the fact that you'd talk my ear off and try once again to get me to take you back to Seattle, I also might be thinking that it would give you the wrong kind of ideas about me."

Perrie slowly nodded. "You're worried about what I said earlier. About you wanting to kiss me. Well, I won't hold that against you, Brennan. I've been fully informed of your reputation with the ladies." She reached over and grabbed his arm. "Come on, then. If you won't ask me, I'll have to ask you."

He growled softly in protest, but turned and followed her out to the dance floor. Perrie expected more of the same clumsy embarrassment that she'd had from her other partners. But Joe slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her effortlessly into his arms. He moved with the music, as if he'd been dancing all his life, and suddenly she was the one who felt clumsy and uneasy.

Her breath caught in her throat as his hand splayed across her shoulders, then slowly slipped toward the small of her back. His touch sent a tingle down her spine, and for a moment, her knees went soft. "You dance very well," she murmured, fixing her attention on his chest, avoiding his eyes once again.

"Surprised?"

"Maybe," she conceded. "So what's your story, Brennan?"

"My story?"

She looked up at him, now that she'd managed to start breathing again. "Yeah, what brought you up here to live in the Great White North? Burdy says you used to live in Seattle until about five years ago."

"Have you and Burdy been gossiping about me?"

"We were talking about the brides and the subject turned in your direction. He couldn't tell me much more. He says you're a crackerjack pilot, though."

He lifted a dark eyebrow. "I do all right. I haven't lost a passenger yet, although I was sorely tempted earlier today."

"Then you're fearless?"

Joe chuckled. "We have a saying here in Alaska, Kincaid. There are bold pilots and there are old pilots. But there are no old, bold pilots."

Perrie smiled. "I like that. So, who were you before you became a bush pilot, Brennan? And how do you know Milt Freeman?"

He stared over her shoulder for a long moment as if contemplating what he was going to tell her. But then he shrugged. "I had a job like most folks do. I sat behind a desk and pushed papers." He glanced down and met her gaze. "I'm afraid it's a rather boring story for a woman like you, Kincaid."

She narrowed her gaze. "And I'm afraid I don't believe you, Brennan. You forget that I've got a nose for a story and I smell one right now. Milt mentioned that you owed him a favor or two. For what?"

"Let's not talk. I thought you wanted to dance."

His voice was warm, persuasive. A little too persuasive for Perrie's taste. "Did you and Milt meet up here or did you know each other back in Seattle?"

"Were you born a reporter, Kincaid?"

"Actually, I was. From the time I was a little kid, I wanted my own newspaper. In fact, I used to publish a little neighborhood journal called the Honey Acres Gazette. I wrote the stories and drew the pictures and I made ten copies and passed them out to the kids in the neighborhood. I was the one who broke the story about the stray cat living in the culvert under Mrs. Moriarty's driveway."

"You are quite a woman, Kincaid." He chuckled, then pulled her closer. At first, the feel of his long, lean body pressed against hers was too much to take. Her pulse quickened and her mind whirled. But then, as they danced, she realized that she enjoyed the crazy sensations racing through her body.

That's the key, Perrie thought to herself. Don't fight it, enjoy it… but not too much. She cleared her throat. "Well, I told you about myself, now why don't you spill your guts, Brennan?"

"I'm not going to answer your questions. If you want to write yourself a story, why don't you write the one Milt gave you? About the brides."

She rolled her eyes. "The brides are easy. I need a challenge and I think I've found one. You're going to be sorry you didn't fly me back to Seattle, Brennan, especially if you're keeping any secrets."

He yanked her closer, his arm tightening around her waist until she could do nothing but allow her body to mold itself against his. Every thought in her head took flight again as her hips rubbed against his, as her hand skimmed along his muscular arm and her fingers folded against his palm. A flood of warmth seeped into her cheeks as her mind wandered to other aspects of Joe Brennan's anatomy.

But her speculation was cut short when Paddy Doyle appeared beside them. "Sorry to interrupt," he said, wiping his hands on his apron, "but Louise Weller just called here looking for you, Joe. She says little Wally was shoveling snow off the roof and he fell. She thinks he may have broken his leg."

Joe loosened his grip and she took the opportunity to step back a bit. As she did, his hands slipped from her body and a sliver of regret shot through her. She fought the temptation to step closer again, to place his hands where they'd once been. Instead, she risked a glance up at Joe, but he seemed unaffected by the break in their physical contact.

His jaw tightened, then he ran his fingers through his hair. "I swear, that boy has broken more bones than he's got in his body. His dad's insurance company's damn near paid for my plane."

Paddy nodded. "She's put a splint on it and said she'll meet you out at the airstrip."

"We've got weather and it's getting dark. I don't know if I'm going to be able to get him out." He turned and walked off the dance floor, his thoughts now occupied with more important matters.

Perrie followed after him, stumbling in the oversize boots. She snatched up her jacket from the chair across from Burdy, then grabbed the cold cheeseburger. "I'm going with you, Brennan."

He spun around, almost as if he'd forgotten she was there. He sighed and shook his head. "Give it up, Kincaid. You're staying right here. You're safe and I intend to keep you that way." He looked at Burdy. "Keep an eye on her, will you?"

Burdy nodded. With that, Joe grabbed his jacket and his cap and stalked out the door. Perrie watched him leave, his words echoing in her head. Her heart skipped and a smile twitched at her lips. It was kind of nice having someone care about her safety, especially a man as sexy and compelling as Joe Brennan. The notion made her feel all warm and gooey inside.

Perrie blinked, her silly fantasies grinding to a halt. Scowling, she shoved her hands into her jean pockets then turned back to the table where Burdy and her dinner waited.

"Get a grip, Kincaid," she muttered to herself. "Going soft in the head for Joe Brennan is not going to get you out of Muleshoe and back to Seattle." She pulled out her chair and sat down, tossing her jacket on the floor.

As she silently munched on the cold cheeseburger, she let her mind wander back to Joe Brennan. An idea slowly formed in her mind, and as it crystalized, a laugh bubbled out of her throat. Why hadn't she thought of it before? It was all so simple.

She knew exactly how to get back to civilization! And as soon as Joe Brennan returned from Fairbanks, she'd put her new plan into action.

"I'm pretty sure it's broke," Burdy said, scampering ahead of Joe on the snow-packed path to Perrie's cabin, his movements quick and nervous.

"What the hell happened? She was fine when I left last night."

"She says she slipped on a patch of ice and fell walkin' to the outhouse in the dark. I shoulda been there. A lady like Miz Kincaid ain't used to the weather here. They don't have ice in Seattle. And them boots I gave her are a couple sizes too big."

Joe frowned, a slow suspicion growing in his mind. "You weren't there when she fell?"

Burdy shook his head. "I'm sorry, Joe. I know you tol' me to watch her, but a man cain't stay with a gal like that twenty-four hours. It wouldn't be seemly." The old man gave Joe a solemn look. "People might talk."

A smile quirked Joe's lips as an image of Burdy and Perrie, caught in a romantic tryst, flashed in his mind. "I'm not blaming you, Burdy. In fact, I'd be willing to bet that Perrie Kincaid is up to something. She'd do just about anything to get out of Muleshoe."

"You mean to say that little gal broke her wrist on purpose?"

Joe took the front steps of Perrie's cabin two at a time. "No, I don't think her wrist is broken at all. I think she's faking, Burdy, and I'm about to prove it."

Gathering his resolve, he knocked at the front door, then pushed it open. He caught a brief glimpse of Perrie before she scrambled back into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. Burdy waited on the porch, carrying on a low dialogue with Strike. By the time Joe closed the door behind him, she was beneath the quilts, her right arm clutched to her chest.

She looked so small and frail, tucked into the huge iron bed. Her auburn hair was mussed, falling in disarray around her face. For an instant, he felt a small measure of delight in seeing her again. But then he quickly smothered the feeling as he realized that it would have meant he had actually missed her. Hell, he barely knew her.

He crossed the room in three long strides, composing an expression of deep concern on his face. When Joe reached the bed, he slowly sat down on the edge. Her wince at the movement told him that either Perrie really had hurt herself-or she was a consummate actress. He was willing to wager on the latter.

Reaching out, he gently brushed her hair from her forehead, ignoring the flood of heat that seeped into his fingertips and set his nerves on fire. "What happened?" he asked, his voice soft with feigned worry. "Burdy says you hurt your wrist."

"I-I think it's just sprained. Nothing to worry about. It-it'll be fine in a few days."

Joe hid a smile. So she was trying to turn the tables on him. "But it could be broken." He reached out and took her forearm in his hands. Her wrist was limp and he wove his fingers through hers to test the joint. His mind instantly focused on her hand, so smooth and soft in his. A lady's hand. Long, delicate fingers that might drive him mad with-Joe cleared his throat and blinked hard.

"Do you really think it could be broken?" Her words were soft and breathy and he glanced up to meet her wide green eyes.

The intensity of her gaze rocked him, yet he couldn't draw his eyes from hers. "I'm not sure," he said, leaning closer. "What do you think?"

He could feel her breath soft on his face, quick and shallow, as if his nearness made her uneasy. "It really does hurt," she offered. She added another wince for good measure.

Joe let his gaze drift down to her mouth. Suddenly all thought of catching her in her lie slipped from his mind. He found himself transfixed by her lips and he leaned forward and brushed his mouth against hers.

A tiny moan escaped her and he deepened his kiss, savoring the taste of her. He'd thought a lot about kissing her in the hours since he'd left Muleshoe, many more times than he'd care to admit. But he'd never imagined it would be as good as it was.

Perrie Kincaid knew just how to kiss a man, how to tease and tantalize with barely an effort. Her mouth moved gently under his and tiny sounds rose from her throat, urging him on. Her fingers slowly splayed across his chest and slipped up inside his down jacket until they twined through his hair at the nape of his-

Her fingers. Joe's thoughts came back into sharp focus and his mouth curved beneath the onslaught of hers. "I don't believe it's broken," he murmured, letting his lips slide down to her throat.

"Hmm?"

Slowly, he reached back and grabbed her hands, unwinding her arms from around his neck. Dazed by what had passed between them, she stared at him, uncomprehending. "I said, I don't think your wrist is broken." He held her arm out in front of her and shook it until her hand flopped back and forth. "I'm not a doctor, but I'd say your wrist is just fine. It even looks like that sprain cleared up pretty quick. Maybe it was the kiss."

Slowly her eyes cleared and her confusion was replaced with anger. Anger at him, and at herself for falling into his trap. She sputtered, then cursed softly. "You did that on purpose."

Joe lifted his eyebrow. "What?"

"You know what! You-you kissed me. Distracted me."

"And you kissed me," he countered. "And I do believe you enjoyed it. Enough to forget your little plan to get me to evac you out to the hospital in Fairbanks, Kincaid."

She shoved him aside and crawled out of bed, then began to pace the room. Every few seconds, she shot him a frustrated glare before returning to her pacing. "I can't believe this," she muttered. "I'm trapped here. There's no way out. No one cares that I've got a huge story to break back home." She stopped and braced her hands on her hips. "Do you have any idea how important this is?"

"Important enough to get killed for?" Joe asked. "No story is that important."

Perrie opened her mouth to reply, then snapped it shut. For a long moment, she was silent. "What do you care?"

Strangely enough, he did care. The more time he spent with Perrie Kincaid, the more he cared what happened to her. But the hell if he was about to tell her that. "Milt Freeman cares. And I owe him a favor. So, whether I want to or not, I have to care."

"What kind of favor?" she challenged.

"He saved my life." Joe wasn't sure why he chose to tell her that, though he wasn't prepared to explain himself further. Maybe he'd hoped that she'd see how determined he was and forget about leaving Muleshoe. But he could see from her expression that he'd only kindled her curiosity.

"And when was that?" she asked.

Joe shook his head. "That is none of your business. Now, if you've recovered sufficiently, I've got work to do. I'd suggest you go into town with Burdy. He's got to get ready for the spaghetti feed and you can shop for groceries. You're going to be here for a while."

Turning on his heel, he headed toward the door, satisfied that he'd finally put an end to all her escape plans. Whether he liked it or not, he was stuck with her.

"Just wait one minute, Captain Charm," she called. "I'd like to discuss the plumbing situation with you."

Joe braced his arm against the doorjamb, refusing to turn back and face her. "And what might that situation be?"

She stalked across the room and placed herself between him and the door. "Where the hell is my bathroom? Burdy has me traipsing through the snow to a damn outhouse."

"You should be satisfied with running water," Joe replied. "Most folks in town still get their water from the town's well house."

"I demand a cabin with indoor facilities."

He gently pushed her aside and opened the cabin door. "You've got hot water. And there's a tub on the back porch. You drag it inside and fill it. Or you can take a sauna with me and Burdy and Hawk every night if that's too much work."

She followed him out onto the porch. "And you consider this civilization?"

"We discuss all manner of subjects during our saunas. Philosophy, literature, politics. You'd be surprised."

"I'm not talking about your conversations. I'm talking about toilets."

Joe turned to face her, meeting her angry gaze. "This is Alaska, Kincaid," he said in an even voice, fighting the urge to soften the hard line of her lips with his mouth. "It's supposed to be rugged. That's part of the experience. I told you it was a tough place, especially for a woman."

He expected her to make another plea for escape. After all, she hadn't chosen to come to Alaska of her own free will. She'd been coerced into coming and he really couldn't blame her for being uncomfortable with the amenities-or lack of them. But Perrie surprised him by bracing her hands on her hips, a stubborn expression suffusing her flushed and angry features.

"Just what are you saying? That I'm not tough enough for Alaska?"

Joe shrugged, disarmed by her mercurial moods. "You're the one who's whining about the plumbing. Now, if there's nothing else, I've got a flight to make." She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand. "No, I'm not taking you with me."

"That's not what I was going to say!" she shouted as he strode down the path. "If you can live without indoor plumbing, I can, too."

"Good," Joe shouted over his shoulder, "because you don't have much choice."

Burdy caught up to him halfway back to the main lodge. He fell into step beside Joe, then gave him a sideways glance. "I don't s'pose yer plannin' to tell her that there's indoor facilities in the lodge?"

"And have her move in with me and Hawk?"

"There's an empty room until Sammy and Julia and Tanner come back for the summer."

Joe stopped and shot Burdy a disbelieving look. "Would you want to live with her?"

"Well, she really didn't choose to come up here. You could make her life a little more comfortable," Burdy suggested.

"There's no room in the lodge for guests. Tanner and his new family are coming back in a few days. And you know what happened when Julia set foot inside the lodge. I'm not willing to take any chances."

Burdy chuckled. "I expect that you and Hawk will meet your match before long." He paused and grinned. "Maybe you already have?"

Joe sighed. "Don't you start on me. I've got enough on my mind trying to run Polar Bear Air. With Tanner involved with his wife and new son, he hasn't been much help here at the lodge. And Hawk is long overdue for one of his disappearing acts."

"Then why don't you jest do as the lady asks and take her back to Seattle? Must be a pretty big debt you owe her boss."

"Why don't you mind your own business," Joe growled.

Burdy shook his head and whistled for Strike. When the imaginary dog reached his side, he leaned down and patted him on the head. "Seems to me yer protestin' a little too loudly."

With that, the old man took off toward the lodge, muttering to Strike as he walked.

Joe pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. Truth was, he'd love to return the woman right back to where she came from, but Joe Brennan didn't welch on his debts. He owed Milt Freeman his life and he wasn't about to let his friend down.

Even if it meant putting up with Perrie Kincaid for another few weeks.