later, when he didn't come back to the counter, Ted and the waitress would wonder what had happened to him. It couldn't be helped. He had to find someplace to stay until he'd mended enough to travel home to Newell.
When Reece tried to run, the pain hit him full force. He walked as fast as the snow-laden ground would allow, then as the cold seeped into his body and he became one with the pain, he increased his speed, finally breaking into a run.
Incoherent thoughts raced through his mind. Panic seized him, forcing him onward when common sense would have cautioned him to stop. Bleeding, out of breath and disoriented, Reece felt himself falling, falling, falling. When his body hit the ground, cushioned by a good seven inches of snow, he wanted nothing more than to lie there and go to sleep. Can't do that! Got to get up. Keep moving.
Reece heard the voice as clearly as if someone was standing beside him, speaking. Dear God, I'm losing my mind, he thought. I'm hearing voices.
With an endurance born of a lifetime of struggle and determination, Reece rose to his knees and then to his feet. He walked. He ran slowly. He fell. He picked himself up and walked again. He sloshed through a partially frozen stream, the water rushing around chunks of ice. His foot caught on a limb and he fell, his hip breaking through the ice. Cold water seeped into his coveralls. Righting himself, he stood and tramped down and out of the stream.
Minutes ran together, warping his sense of time, until Reece had no idea how long he had trudged through the woods. The sky had turned from gray to black. Not a star glimmered in the heavens. Swollen snow clouds blocked the moon, allowing only the faintest light to filter through the darkness. Reece couldn't see a damned thing, not even his own hand in front of his face. And he was so numbed from the cold and the constant pain that he barely felt the chilling wind or the freezing dampness.
It had to be night. That meant it had been hours since he'd left the restaurant back in Dover's Mill. Why hadn't he found shelter? Surely someone had a cabin or a shack out in these woods.
Reece felt his legs give way. He stumbled to his knees. Knowing that if he lay down in the snow he would never get up, Reece struggled to stay awake, to keep moving. He began crawling. One slow, painful inch at a time.
Beckoned by an unseen force, by a comforting voice inside his head, Reece refused to surrender to the pain and hopelessness. Then suddenly a sense of excitement encompassed him. That's when he saw it-an enormous wood-and-rock cabin standing on a snow-covered hill. Lights shone in every window as if welcoming him home. Dear God in heaven, was he hallucinating? Was the cabin real?
With what little strength he had left he forced himself to his feet, then checked in his pocket for the automatic. He was going to find out if that cabin was real. If it was real, then someone lived there and that person wouldn't take kindly to an escaped convict spending the night.
Lifting his feet, forcing himself to trek up the hill, Reece felt weighted down with numbness. The cabin hadn't disappeared. Still there. A warm, inviting sight. Only a few yards away. Huge steps, wide and high, awaited him. Pausing briefly, he stared up at the front porch. He'd have to break in, maybe through a window. But first he'd try the door, test its sturdiness, check out the lock.
One step. Two. Three. Four. He swayed, almost losing his balance. Can't pass out. Not now. So close. He lifted his foot up off the last step and onto the porch. The front door was so close, but somehow it seemed a mile away. If he couldn't figure out a way to pick the lock on the door, did he have the strength to smash in a window? Whoever lived inside was bound to hear the noise. He ran his hand over the bulge the 9 mm made in the coat pocket. Would he use the gun? Could he? Whoever lived inside would be an innocent victim.
Reaching out, his hand trembling, he grabbed the door handle. With shocking ease the door opened. Reece couldn't believe his good fortune. The door hadn't been locked. Who in their right mind would leave a door unlocked?
He eased the door back an inch at a time, hesitant, wondering what he would face inside the cabin. When he had opened the door completely he stared into the softly lit interior, the warmth of the house enveloping his frozen body, creating razor-sharp pricks of pain as the protective numbness began to thaw.
The smell of chicken stew permeated the air. And coffee. And something rich and spicy. Cinnamon. Maybe an apple pie.
He heard a noise, a low animal groan, then a deep growl. That's when he saw the animal. Thick black fur. Eyes like amber glass ovals. Sharp white teeth-bared. Hackles raised. What the hell was it? It looked like a damn wolf.
'Easy, Mac.' The voice was gentle, soothing and captivatingly feminine. 'It's him.'
Reece gazed into the eyes of the most incredibly beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She stood just inside the enormous great room of the cabin, the wolf at her side. Her hourglass figure was covered with a pair of faded jeans and a red turtleneck sweater, overlaid with a plaid jacket. Reece couldn't stop staring at her, gazing deeply into her pure blue eyes.
'Shut the door behind you.' Her voice held a melodious quality. 'You're letting out all the heat.'
Reece slammed the door, then closed his eyes for a split second. Shaking his head to dislodge the cobwebs of confusion was a mistake. Pain so intense that he nearly doubled over shot through his head.
'You're injured.' She took a tentative step toward him, the wolf following. 'Let me help you.'
Reece touched the 9 mm in his pocket, then glared at the woman, hoping she wouldn't do anything foolish. What could he say to her? How could he explain being here inside her cabin? Unless she was a total fool, she'd soon realize he was wearing county jail coveralls and a deputy's stolen coat. Under the best of circumstances Reece wasn't much of a sweet-talker, and now sure as hell wasn't the time to learn how to become one.
'I need food and shelter for the night.' He watched her face for a reaction. 'I'll leave in the morning.' She only stared at him. 'I'm not going to hurt you. You don't need to be afraid of me.'
The wolf took several steps ahead of his mistress, stopping only when she called his name and ordered him to sit.
'You don't need to be afraid of me, either,' she said. 'I only want to help you. Please trust me.'
Reece grunted, then laughed, deep in his chest. 'Yeah, sure. Trust you. Trust a stranger. Lady, I don't trust anybody.' Reece couldn't figure her out. Why wasn't she her head off? Why wasn't she deathly afraid of him? Any sensible woman would have been. 'I'm hungry. I need some food. A cup of coffee to start.'
'All right. Please come in and sit down. I'll get you some coffee.' She turned, but the wolf continued watching Reece.
'No, you don't. Stop!' She could be going to call the law, to turn him in. Reece covered the distance separating them in seconds, his head spinning, darkness closing in on him. Grabbing her by the arm, he whirled her around to face him. 'I don't want you out of my sight. Understand?'
He wished the room would stop moving, wished his stomach didn't feel like emptying itself, wished the pain in his body would stop tormenting him.
'I'm not your enemy,' she told him.
He heard her voice, but could no longer see her face. Darkness overcame him. His knees gave way. His hand slipped out of his pocket. He swayed sideways, then, like a mighty timber whose trunk had just been severed, Reece Landry dropped to the floor.
Elizabeth knelt beside the stranger who had invaded the sanctuary of her home as surely as be had invaded her heart and mind repeatedly over the past few months. MacDatho sniffed the man's feet and legs, then lifted his head to stare at his mistress, their eyes connecting as they shared a common thought. This man, although weak, sick and at the moment disabled, could be dangerous. Her mind warned her to be wary of him; her heart told her to help him.
Touching his cheek, Elizabeth sensed the tension within his big body, despite the fact that he appeared to be unconscious. A day's growth of dark brown stubble covered his face, adding to his strong, masculine aura.
'He's cold, Mac. Almost frozen.' Elizabeth began unbuttoning his heavy jacket. 'We've got to get him out of these wet clothes and warm him up.'
The man groaned. His eyes flickered open, then shut again. Elizabeth's hand stilled on his chest. She felt the hard, heavy pounding of his heartbeat and sensed the great strength and endurance he possessed.
Working quickly, she finished unbuttoning the sheepskin jacket, pushed it apart across the stranger's broad chest and tried to lift his left shoulder so she could ease his arm out of the garment.
