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Her head spun. Her stomach refused to settle. And she wished he’d stop staring at her as if she were an exotic animal in a zoo. “How do we know each other?”
Before he answered, voices and several dog barks from outside the cave interrupted. A new voice echoed through the cave. “Sean! You want us to bring the sleds into the mine or leave them out—”
Three men entered the cave. The first man was huge as a grizzly bear and looked as if he’d never used a razor. His black beard must have been a foot long. He towered over a slender youth who wore neon-green ski gear, goggles on his forehead and five earrings in his left ear. The third man looked ordinary enough, except when he scowled at her, she spotted a gold front tooth.
From somewhere in her mind came a saying about women searching for husbands in a state where men outnumbered women eight to one. The odds were good but the goods were odd. Even with the knot on her head she couldn’t have dreamed up an odder assortment of men.
All three visitors took in Jackson’s body beneath the blanket and then their hostile gazes settled on her. At the anger and accusations in their faces, she wanted to lie back down and close her eyes, but she forced herself to remain sitting upright.
The man with the long beard pointed at her and spoke with a harsh growl. “Marvin said my brother killed his murderer.”
No wonder the man eyed her with such hostility. He was Jackson’s brother. Automatically, she looked for a similarity in features—but she had no idea what the man she’d supposedly killed looked like.
As if sympathetic to her plight, Sean placed himself between her and the intruders and sat on a crate by the camp stove. “I was mistaken, Roger.”
“Hell of a mistake,” chided the man with the gold tooth. “We could have all walked into a trap.”
Carlie kept quiet, her gaze flickering from the other men to Sean, who’d clearly taken charge. He had a stillness about him, a calm that spread outward from his center, which reassured her.
But Roger, Jackson’s brother, was clearly incensed. And while the gold-toothed fellow seemed to find her predicament diverting, the twenty-something kid in the ski clothes looked none too happy with her, either.
The kid tossed his goggles to the ground and unzipped his ski jacket. “Want me to call—”
“Why bring in outsiders?” Roger muttered through his beard as he peered at her with a scowl. “We should string her up right now.”
The man with the gold front tooth turned his head and spit out a stream of tobacco juice. “I’m not hanging no female.”
“There will be no vigilante justice on this mountain,” Sean said with an authority that sliced through the argument and had the men looking at their feet. “If she killed Jackson, she’ll get the justice she deserves.”
The men settled around the stove, forming a circle that closed her out, their argument swirling around her like a tornado. Amid the shouts, an aura of great stillness surrounded Sean. He did not shout. He did not shift from foot to foot or clench his fingers. And he didn’t just take up space, he controlled it.
Exhausted, she lay back in the blankets, bunching the material in her fists. Sean appeared to be in charge and inclined to protect her from the others.
But who would protect her from him?
AFTER TYLER UNZIPPED his ski jacket, he poured coffee, and Sean glanced at Carlie. Although he caught an alert gleam of speculation in her expression, the effort to hold up her head was costing her. Fatigue crept in around the edges of her eyes and her mouth drew into a tight line of pain. She’d clenched her jaw, but after she caught him watching her, she’d forced her features to relax, as if admitting to pain was a weakness. He couldn’t help but admire her mettle. She was strong, this woman, and he’d long ago discovered that strength often hid powerful passions. He couldn’t help wondering what kind of passions simmered beneath her surface. He also wondered if she thought she’d told him the truth.
She required medical treatment, but first, he had to think of the best way to calm down Roger. Jackson’s brother had one hell of a temper. He loved nothing better than a good fight. Next to fighting, he liked shouting, but once he settled, he had a good heart. And he never held a grudge.
Sean wished he could have a few moments alone with the man. From his clenched fists to the tight cords in his neck, Jackson’s brother appeared as if the grief bottled up inside him was ready to burst. But short of a fistfight, Sean had no way to ease Roger’s grief, fearing even a few kind words might set off Roger in front of the others.
Tyler set the coffee back on the stove, but not before shooting Carlie a look of angry speculation. He, too, had liked and respected Jackson, who had been popular among the men, not just because he was an old-timer and one of the partners in the Dog Mush, but because he had the habit of adopting strays, the lost, the lonely, the forgotten. So even the irreverent Tyler held him in high esteem, and his anger at his murderer was fully justified in his eyes.
Sean next glanced at Marvin. His normally gold-smiling visage was tight, as if having difficulty holding his poker face. Sean had his work cut out for him to defuse the men’s anger. Carlie was a stranger; Kesky’s inhabitants held a natural distrust of outsiders that was common in small towns and more prevalent in the Alaskan wilds.
Not liking the way all three men glared at Carlie and fearing their hostility could erupt into violence, Sean squatted back on his heels and accepted a cup of coffee. “When I called Marvin, I thought she—” he jerked his thumb at Carlie “—was dead, too.”
“Too bad you were wrong.” Roger’s dark brows drew together as he stared at his brother’s body.
“Why did she kill Jackson?” Marvin asked, his gambler’s eyes assessing Carlie with an interest that made Sean’s protective urges kick in.
“She isn’t going to tell,” Tyler said with a superior smirk that he probably thought made him appear worldly but instead revealed a hurt young man trying to be brave after the recent loss of his father in a hunting accident. “I’ll bet she’s claiming she didn’t even do it.”
“I’m not sure she did,” Sean said. At his words, the woman relaxed her body and eased her head back onto the sleeping bag.
Roger finally broke the tense silence. “Care to explain that, boss?”
Three pairs of male eyes locked on Sean as if he had the cabin fever that makes a man insane after spending too long indoors during winter. They all needed time to look at the murder more rationally. Calmly, he sipped his too-hot coffee, relishing the liquid as it burned his tongue.
“Those pretty eyes are playing havoc with your thinking,” Marvin said before Sean replied. “There wasn’t nobody up here except the old man and the girl. Who else could have done in Jackson?”
“There isn’t anyone else here now,” Sean stated with cool logic. “But suppose someone attacked both of them?”
“What are you implying?” Roger asked.
“When I first came into the cave, she looked dead. Maybe our killer made the same mistake.”
“Jeez.” Tyler shook his head in disgust. “I’m not believing my ears.”
“Is that what she said?” Eyes narrowing, Roger clenched and unclenched his fist.
Sean kept his gaze on the men, yet he was very aware of the woman on the sleeping bag. She’d been remarkably quiet during their discussion, not once interrupting to defend herself. He couldn’t fault her judgment and he respected her ability to realize that right now, remaining silent was the better part of valor. If she moved so much as an inch, they’d know it. But she wasn’t trying to escape. Instead she stared at him with pain-filled eyes edged with hope.
He softened his tone. “Look, all I’m saying is that Carlie was injured, too. Other possibilities exist. And I want to look into all of them.”
Tyler nodded. “That’s a good idea.”
“You aren’t the law,” Marvin challenged Sean without quite meeting his eyes.
“I should be in charge,” Roger muttered. “He was my brother.”
Sean ignored the interruptions. “Jackson practically raised me from a boy. I want to find his killer just as badly as you, maybe more. But I refuse to jump to any hasty conclusions.”
“Seems to me you’re jumping over backward to give the pretty lady the benefit of the doubt,” Roger complained.
Roger should know better. Jackson’s brother was well aware of Sean’s debt to the old prospector. He’d never forget Jackson’s patience as the man taught him to trap, hunt and solve word problems for school. When a restless boy had complained of homework, it was Jackson who had explained the value of an engineering degree, who helped Sean focus on the future instead of dwelling on the past. Sean would never forget the love Jackson had freely given to a homeless boy. Nor would he forget that Jackson deserved justice.
“She’s even got blood on her sleeve,” Marvin added. “What more proof of murder do you need?”
Tyler pointed rudely at Carlie. “What don’t we let her speak for herself?”
Sean stared the kid down. “She has a knot on her head the size of a goose egg. And she can’t remember anything that happened.”
Tyler’s eyes widened. “Wow! You’re saying she’s got amnesia?”
“How convenient,” Marvin muttered. “Ten to one, she did it.”
“We’re not betting on a poker game here,” Sean admonished him.
“You believe her?” Tyler’s boyish voice rose an octave, indicating how upset he’d become as the news of another death sank in. After his own father’s accident, Tyler had become close to Jackson, often tagging along as the old miner hiked the mountain. Tyler would don his skis and tear down the slope with daredevil enthusiasm.
“Yes.” Sean held Tyler’s stare. “I’m inclined to believe her.”
Tyler dropped his gaze and blinked away a tear. “Mind telling us why, boss?”
Actually Sean minded a lot. He didn’t want to reveal Carlie’s identity and that she was Bill’s widow.
If Carlie hadn’t killed Jackson, then the person who had could be after her, too. Sean had known Bill’s work for customs was dangerous, had speculated the car accident that had taken his life might not have been an accident. During Bill’s assignment in Alaska, the men had fished, hunted and shared stories around a campfire. But Bill had been closemouthed about his cases and now Sean wished he knew more. In fact, how did he know that Bill’s murderer hadn’t followed Carlie to Alaska to kill her, too? Jackson may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Until the real killer was apprehended, Carlie wasn’t safe. Sean needed to keep her where he could watch over her, but how? He felt an obligation to protect his friend’s widow until they learned the truth. He owed Bill his life. When a wall of the mine had collapsed, a timber had trapped Sean. With his air running out, he wouldn’t have survived—but at risk to his own life, Bill had crawled back, dug him out with his bare hands, pried off the timber and saved him from suffocation.
Sean always paid his debts.
But how could he protect Carlie if the authorities took her away to Fairbanks? He wanted her close by until she recovered her memory. She had no reason to trust him, a stranger, and he didn’t believe she would stay with him willingly. And he needed to keep her identity secret, even from his friends in this small town where rumor spread faster than bear grease.
An idea suddenly popped into his mind. “I was hoping you all would give the lady—”
“She ain’t no lady,” Marvin protested.
Tyler turned on Marvin. “Let the man finish his sentence, will you?”
Sean stood and hooked his fingers into his belt. “We’ll give her our protection until we find out the truth. Jackson’s killer might be after her, too.”
“That’s some story you’re expecting us to swallow,” Roger muttered.
“There’s something I haven’t told you boys,” Sean said, lowering his voice to appear as if he was taking them into his confidence.
“Well, don’t keep us in the dark. Tell us.” Tyler’s tone rose, revealing his eagerness to hear a secret.
While Sean glanced out of the corner of his eye at Carlie, he did his best to keep his voice steady. “I want you to give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“But why?” Roger prodded.
“Because on my last trip into the city, we married. The lady’s my wife.”
Chapter Three
His wife?
They were married? Sean’s announcement stunned Carlie speechless as the men carried Jackson’s body down a steep trail. Although she’d suggested leaving the body in the mine until a homicide detective investigated the crime scene, Sean had informed her animals would get to the body before the authorities could arrive. So they’d packed Jackson onto a sled, and Carlie tried not to think about the murdered man. Instead she considered Sean’s claim that they were husband and wife.
The men’s silence in the pine forest was broken only by the slide of falling rocks, the crunch of leaves, snaps of twigs underfoot and the occasional masculine grunt. Buffeted by a heavy head wind and flanked by sheer rock walls, the trail—consisting of icy sheets and compacted snowdrifts alternating with steep dirt patches—was not conducive to asking questions.
But Carlie couldn’t resist glancing at Sean McCabe, who claimed to be her husband. He walked with the grace of a mountain cat and was just as unapproachable. For a man who was supposed to be her spouse, he hadn’t exhibited much sympathy toward her plight. His face, all harsh planes and angles, never turned her way. And yet, behind his mask of indifference, she sensed his keen interest in her.
What kind of husband was he?
From the first time she’d awakened, he’d accused her of murder. Why would a husband think the worst of his wife? And he’d given no indication then they had a personal relationship, treating her as if they were strangers. Nor had he given her explanations about the two years she couldn’t remember.
To be fair and give him credit, although he was still grieving over Jackson, he had defended her from the other men’s aggression.
He had helped her.
But she expected more from a man to whom she had committed to spend the rest of her life; he had to back her no matter how suspicious her circumstances.
But he had.
He hadn’t, however, gone out of his way to reassure her; not by a glance or a squeeze of the hand had he indicated he was more than a casual acquaintance.
While she couldn’t remember him, she’d assumed her marriage would contain a certain intimacy, a bonding greater than other relationships. She must have loved him if she’d married this man. But even if her memories were gone and she couldn’t recall her own feelings, why couldn’t she find any evidence of his feelings for her?
He must have been shocked when she couldn’t remember him, more shocked to find her next to the dead body of his adoptive father with the murder weapon in hand. Although he’d been grieving, he hadn’t acted shocked, he’d spoken clearly, concisely and taken charge right off the bat. But still…a husband should always support his wife. What kind of man had she married?
A small slab of snow broke loose and shot down a gully, reminding her she’d awakened in another world. Where had she met Sean? She must have loved him to distraction to have moved to Alaska, left her family and given up a job she loved. She felt awful that she couldn’t remember their first dance, first kiss or making love. Knowing they must have shared these intimacies as man and wife, she had difficulty reconciling her husband with the man who’d recently accused her of murder. No matter how often she searched his flinty stare, she could find no display of tenderness or affection. Right now, she’d settle for just a little familiarity.
But he seemed as forbidding as the mountain’s summit. And just as hard to reach.
They strode past alders, willows and pine, and she took the opportunity to observe him. Sure, his body appealed to her. Who wouldn’t be attracted to those mountainous shoulders tapering to a lean waist and narrow hips? Nor would she deny her fascination with how the northern sunlight played off the angles of his tanned skin. His black hair was cut short in a style she found attractive. But the outside was just window dressing. And looking at him gave her few clues to his thoughts.
Frustrated by her lack of memory, she peeked down to the one-street town below. A church squatted next to a few stores. Cabins, chimneys curling wispy smoke into the blue sky, dotted the steep landscape. She figured the town couldn’t have a population of more than a hundred people, and if the town was anything like Riverview where she lived, folks knew one another’s business. Likely some of these people would have attended their wedding and the town paper would have published the story.
So why didn’t either Roger or Marvin or the college-age kid named Tyler know she was Sean’s wife? While Sean’s announcement had left her breathless and shocked, Roger’s jaw had dropped, his pink lips peeking through his thick beard. Marvin’s eyes had gone wide. Only Tyler had simply cocked an eyebrow and taken the news in stride.
Their reactions piqued her suspicions. Not only didn’t they recognize her as Sean’s wife, they didn’t appear to know that Sean had married.
Yet she couldn’t deny the wedding ring beneath her glove. During the last two years, she must have met Sean, fallen in love and married. But the only emotion she could dredge up whenever she looked at him was curiosity and tingling awareness of his presence.
Just past head-high willows, the trail ahead widened and forked. With no discussion among them, Sean sent the three men with Jackson’s body down the right path of the mountain and gestured for her to follow him to the left.
Ice covered the steeper part of the trail, but Sean walked without concern, his feet steady. Silent, like a hunter. No twigs snapped beneath his feet. His clothing didn’t rustle. He moved as one with the mountain, quickly, quietly, methodically.
While he seemed at ease in the silence, she could no longer hold back her maelstrom of questions. “Where are we going?”
“To my cabin.”
She halted in her tracks, didn’t bother masking the suspicion in her tone. “Your cabin. If we’re married, don’t I live there, too?”
“You will now.” He kept walking in that steady stride that could eat up miles.
Her annoyance rising, she hurried to keep up. Was he deliberately being obtuse? How could she have married such a poor communicator?
She caught up, tugged on his arm, drawing him to a stop. “Do we or do we not live together?”
She didn’t like the way her words came out breathless, but blamed it on the lack of oxygen in the high altitude and not his stare or the full force of his personality hitting her squarely and making her feel jumpy. At the intensity on his face, she wanted to take a step backward. But hell could freeze over before she’d let him think he could intimidate her.
“It might be better if you remembered on your own.” His voice sounded reasonable.
“Better for whom?” she countered, her temper rising. “Look, mister, I appreciate you keeping your friends from stringing me up from the nearest tree, but I don’t know you from squat.”
