Always (2 page)

Dedication

For my beautiful granddaughters, Annabella Debra and Eliza Judith who remind me….

      Chapter 1 

      Gordon Lane climbed from the frigid mountain stream and looked for his towel.

      It was gone. Again.

      "You worthless, fur-covered sack of manure," he grumbled, clambering up the bank to the trail, noticing the dumb grin on his aging Irish setter's mug. "Why don't you ever bark at him, Max?" Of course, Gordon knew the answer–the dog was half blind and deaf at age thirteen.

      The dog didn't answer, so Gordon turned his attention uphill again at his invisible nemesis. "Well, at least you left my boxers.
Real
decent of you."

      To say he was angry would be the understatement of the century. Unfortunately, to say he was freezing his family jewels off would be the gospel truth.
 

      He glanced down, half-expecting to find icicles affixed to his anatomy. So far, so good. Scowling toward the trees above the stream, he shook his fist. "I swear there's going to be bear stew for dinner, then I'm going to turn what's left of you into a rug for Max."
 

      The bear–AKA practical-joker in residence–didn't belong to anyone. He came with the property. Though Gordon had never actually seen him, the evidence the klutzy animal always left in his wake was proof enough. The realtor should have listed the beast as a permanent fixture.
 

      Cocking his head at an angle, Gordon listened to an unexpected–and unwelcome–sound. A car. And instead of turning around at the dead-end, the intruder stopped in front of his cabin.
Great. Perfect.

      Putting dry clothes on his wet body wasn't Gordon's favorite way to start the day, but neither was streaking. He hesitated for a moment, mischievous thoughts skipping through his mind. Why not? After all, he hadn't invited anyone.
 

      "Whatcha think, Max?"
 

      The dog's tongue lolled out the side of his grinning face. "Okay, nah." Gordon tugged on his boxer shorts and decided he'd better get up there before the bear paid a visit. Gordon's breath came out in bursts of white vapor in the morning air as he picked his way barefoot through the trees.
 

      Then something bit him. Up close and
really
personal.

      He held his breath and looked down. Dozens of red ants were crawling out of his shorts and all over him, biting again and again.

      Howling in pain, he tugged frantically at his waistband. To hell with his company
and
that damned bear. Right now, all he could think about was getting rid of the attack-shorts and cooling the sting.

      Which was worse–frozen anatomy or burning?

      "Yeow!" An ant bit him in a particularly tender spot.

      No contest. Burning.

*
 
*
 
*

      Taylor Bowen stared in disbelief at the rustic cabin. She must've taken a wrong turn, thanks to a brand new overpass. One thing was for sure–this wasn't Digby.

      She opened her car door and climbed out into the coldest air she'd encountered in ten years. "Brrr. How soon we forget."

      The crisp temperature enhanced the fragrance of the pine needles cushioning the ground. She'd missed that fragrance, though she hadn't realized it until now. Awesome beauty mated with the incredible silence and closed in around her, making her feel totally alone.

      And vulnerable.

      Shifting her gaze from one side of the cabin to the other, Taylor half-expected some wild beast to leap out in front of her and make her its breakfast. Hard to believe she'd grown up in these mountains. She slid her sunglasses farther up on her nose and pushed back a strand of dark hair that had escaped from her braid.
 

      Her sweater was blue, so she wasn't in costume for Little Red Riding Hood. No big bad wolf lurked behind the next tree. Of course, that meant there was no grandmother's house at the end of the trail either.
 

      Pulling the front of her sweater closed against the morning chill, she stepped onto the front porch. Just as she lifted her hand to knock, a bloodcurdling howl shattered the silence.

      "What in the world?" She ran down the steps and froze beside her Volkswagen. "A cougar?" A dangerous, wounded animal? She shuddered as the unwelcome memory attacked from all fronts.
 

      "Yeow," came another howl.

      "That's no animal." She opened her car door and pulled her leather medical bag from the passenger seat, then ran in the general direction of the sound.
 

      Through the trees, a sparkle of water caught her attention and she hurried, half-sliding the last few yards until the trail took a sharp downward turn. She scanned the area for any sign of life–human or otherwise–then eased herself onto a boulder and looked down.
 

      A man danced down the sloping bank, slapping at his shorts and swearing while an Irish setter pranced excitedly around him. The man twisted and turned, clearly unaware of his human audience.

      He didn't seem hurt. Maybe she should leave before he saw her, saving them both the embarrassment. But as she turned, he howled again, then everything seemed to slip into slow motion. His arms windmilled as he tumbled down the bank and into the water.

      Shading her eyes, Taylor ran to the stream just as he dragged himself toward the bank, shaking water from his hair. Her relief that he didn't require rescue barely had time to register before he slumped back against a large flat rock, his lower half still submerged. The Irish setter took position at the man's head, on a flat–and very dry–boulder.

      Regardless of the man's bizarre behavior before the fall, Taylor couldn't leave him there. She had to make sure he was all right. Even if he wasn't severely injured, hypothermia could kill him just as thoroughly as drowning. Not taking time to kick off her sandals, she splashed into the pebble-strewn creek.
 

      A quick glance revealed his eyes were closed as he moaned quietly.
Breathing–okay
. At least that was encouraging, though he obviously hadn't heard her approach over the rushing stream.

      A nagging voice in the back of her mind insisted she look at his face again. Recognition waged a major assault...and won.

      
Gordon
. Her throat convulsed and her pulse hit the critical level. Suddenly, her need to determine the severity of his injuries became way too personal. He was going to be all right–he had to be.

      Because of his silver hair, she'd thought him a much older man from a distance. But of course, they were exactly the same age.

        
With shaking hands, she placed her bag on the rock and opened it, wondering how serious his injuries were. After jerking her stethoscope from her medical bag, she moved closer.
Airway, breathing, circulation,
she reminded herself. Her gaze dipped lower to check for bleeding, and she noticed the swirling silver hair covering his torso.
 

        
He moaned again and shifted slightly, though his eyes remained closed. "Those bloodthirsty little monsters better be dead, because I'm freezing," he mumbled.

      The setter–could it be Max?–barked in agreement.

      "D-dead?" she repeated.

      Gordon opened one eye to stare at her. "What the–"

      Taylor straightened so quickly she stumbled, barely catching herself before pitching forward. Now
that
would be a great way to start her career. She could already see the headlines.

      
Klutzy Quack Kills High School Sweetheart.

      With a groan, he pushed himself to a sitting position. "Between the ants and good samaritans, a man can't–"

      His gaze collided with hers and he blinked several times. "Taylor?"

      The dog said, "Woof."

      Taylor shook herself from her daze and took a step toward him. "I...I thought you were hurt."

      "Taylor," he repeated.
 

      His gravelly voice rumbled around in her belly and spiked straight to her bone marrow.
Easy
. She swallowed hard and tried to look away, failing miserably. "Are you hurt? Where are you hurt?"

      "You're home." Disbelief filled his voice, reminding her where she was...and who
he
was. He rubbed his temples and flashed her a crooked grin. "I'm going to stand up now. You finished playing doctor?"

      Taylor tried to ignore the implication of his words and his smile, but she couldn't. They
had
played doctor...once upon a time. "I'm not finished checking you yet."
 

      She lifted her chin a notch. This was the first time she'd laid eyes on him since leaving Digby. The relentless pain bypassed her brain and zoomed in on her heart.
 

      With perfect aim.      

      She didn't need this–not now. Sure, she'd known she would have to face him, but not so soon. Drawing a deep breath, she forced herself to meet his gaze without faltering.
 

      In spite of the bittersweet memories bombarding her, she saw the devil in his turquoise eyes. Gordon's sense of humor hadn't changed a bit, though she suspected it was more of a defense mechanism for him right now. Well, two could play at this game, and it might keep her from turning into a blubbering fool in front of him. She wasn't about to give an inch.

      "I'm not finished examining you," she repeated.

      "Exa–"
 
He closed his eyes for a moment and released a long, slow breath. "I guess you're a real doctor by now." He gave a nervous chuckle and shook his head. "You know, I didn't recognize you...at first." His voice fell to a whisper.

      Good thing his injuries weren't serious, because she was doing a pitiful job of maintaining any semblance of professionalism. Not to mention what seeing him again after all this time was doing to the rest of her, especially her heart.