That wasn’t enough for the environmentalists. They wouldn’t be happy until all the forested land was rendered untouchable. They were targeting clear-cutting this time, but Emma feared it was just the first of several calculated steps aimed at turning millions of acres of woodland into another forest reserve or national park.
She’d been minding her business this morning, headed for a crystal spring she knew had the sweetest drinking water in the area, when she’d heard the echo of metal thunking against live wood. It was a distinct sound that had rattled around in the forest, and it had taken her a good twenty minutes to find the source.
Now she was wet, and cold, and getting madder and madder the longer she watched. But she couldn’t go charging in, like when she’d rescued Ben. These men were out-of-staters, not neighbors, and they didn’t look as if they would like being discovered.
Yet she couldn’t walk away, either. There was no way she could point out all the vandalized trees, and no way the loggers could take metal detectors to all these trees.
She could scare them off. Stay hidden and blast the air with birdshot, making them think the calvary had arrived. Maybe even find Pitiful and get him to introduce himself, the way he had to Ben yesterday.
Emma checked her shotgun, making sure both the chamber and the magazine were full, then patted her pocket to make sure she had more shells so she could quickly reload. She raised the butt of the gun to her shoulder, aimed it ten feet above the men’s heads, and clicked off the safety.
A large, powerful hand suddenly covered hers, muffling the click of the safety being replaced. Another large hand covered her mouth as a crushing weight landed on top of her, pinning her on the wet forest floor.
She usually wasn’t one to panic, but Emma wildly struggled to dislodge her heavy assailant. Her shotgun was ripped from her hand and pushed away, and she was roughly grabbed by the shoulder and rolled over. Still pinned and her mouth still covered, Emma stopped struggling when she looked up into the iron gray eyes of a very angry Benjamin Sinclair.
He didn’t speak. He didn’t even offer a curse word.
She didn’t even squeak, she was so stunned. The face less than a foot from hers didn’t belong to a city sport or corporate executive. She was looking at a man ready for battle, who didn’t intend to let her win it.
He lifted off her and grabbed her shotgun and pack. He kept his other hand latched on her jacket and pulled her to her feet with one swift, powerful jerk, then started dragging her down the hill.
Unable to do anything else, Emma stumbled after him. She tried to dislodge his grip on her jacket, but Ben Sinclair didn’t break stride, turn around, or even acknowledge that she had to run to keep up. He did start with his infamous cursing again, once they were far enough away they couldn’t be heard.
Emma gave him a few choice words in return. When he stopped, she stumbled into the fist shackling her.
“Lady, if you don’t shut up and quit struggling, I promise you won’t be able to sit down for a week.”
Emma snapped her mouth shut and glared back at him. He turned and started along a brook, once more dragging her behind him.
“How you and my son have survived this long is the eighth wonder of the world.”
“What are you doing here?”
He stopped again and turned to her, his scowl darkening even more. “I’m on a fool’s mission.” That information given, he pushed her ahead of him and then prodded her back. “Keep going until I tell you to stop.”
Emma thought about planting her feet, but he was a head taller, sixty pounds heavier, and definitely stronger than she was. So she walked.
“You were going to go charging right in there, weren’t you? You were going to take on six men with a four-shot gun and not a soul to help within twenty miles. You’re more insane than your moose.”
The lecture continued and Emma learned that she was impulsive, irresponsible, and lacking the brains of a chipmunk. She discovered she was too brave to rush in where even fools wouldn’t go, and that she needed a keeper. And then he asked her again how she’d managed to raise his son to manhood without getting either of them killed.
Emma suddenly sat down on a rock beside the brook, put her chin in her fists, and scowled at the water.
Ben loomed over her.
“Are you through yet?” she asked, still not looking at him.
“Not by half.”
“Should I be taking notes?”
Her pack and shotgun fell to the ground with a heavy thud, and the legs standing beside her bent at the knee, bringing an even angrier face within an inch of hers. “You could have gotten killed.”
Emma smiled at him. “That would have solved a lot of your problems.”
He lunged for her and Emma pulled back. He caught her shoulders and followed her down off the rock. Ben was back on top of her, and Emma was starting to get more than a little angry herself. “If you don’t quit manhandling me, I’m gonna make sure you never father another son.”
Completely ignoring her threat, he grabbed her hands pushing against his chest and pinned them over her head with one of his own. Then he took his other hand and gently brushed the hair from her face.
“Emma Sands. Such bravado you show the world. Such a scam artist you are.”
“Get off me.”
He used his knees to spread her legs, and Emma sucked in a surprised breath when she felt him nestle far too intimately between her thighs.
“That was the wrong direction!”
“But the safest, if I want more
