Wilderness Passion (6 page)

“We’ll be taking a logging road from this point to forty miles northwest of here. We’re at sixty-five hundred feet now and will be climbing steadily to about seventy-three hundred before we crest that ridge yonder and go down into some of those valleys that hold the mature stands of timber.” He glanced over at her. “Ready?”

She nodded, a smile forming on her lips. “Let’s do it.”

Libby was amazed at the amount of patience he took with her as he fitted the thirty-pound backpack to her body. He stood close, fingers running the length of her shoulder straps and adjusting the hip padding to ensure a snug but comfortable fit Stepping back, he looked her over critically.

“Well, how does it feel?”

She walked around a little bit. “Fine. Are you sure this thing weighs thirty pounds? It doesn’t seem like it”

“It will in a couple of hours,” he promised. “Bend over,” he instructed, “as if you were tying a shoelace on your boot.’’

Libby gave him a puzzled look but obeyed his command. The nylon strap at her waist cut into her stomach and she rose quickly, frowning.

“That’s what I thought,” he muttered, quickly loosening the buckle and easing the strap tension slightly. “Do it again.”

This time she did it with ease. She came up smiling. “Feels good.”

Dan turned, shrugging into his pack, which seemed a great deal larger and bulkier than her own. “Remember the procedure, because I’m not going to be checking on you every time you put that pack on.”

She ignored his derisive tone, too excited about actually beginning the climb up the gentle wooded slope in front of them. Keeping her notebook and pencil handy, she made a few preliminary comments about the immediate area and then tucked it away. She had tied her golden hair back in a ponytail to keep it out of the way. Wispy bangs lay across her forehead, barely brushing her wheat-colored eyebrows.

“Here, another gift for you,” he said without preamble. He handed her a red bandana.

“Thanks. What is it for?”

“Put it around your forehead. You’ll be working up a sweat real soon.” He tied his around his darkly tanned throat and gave her an expectant glance. “Okay, let’s get this EPA show on the road.”

The morning was young, with sparkling beads of dew clinging to the knee-deep buffalo grass as they walked through it. Libby tried to notice everything surrounding her as they walked at what she thought was a very slow pace. The dew coated her lower legs, the jeans turning a darker blue where the water soaked in. Within twenty minutes they were on the first slope, winding through the trees.

At first she didn’t notice her leg muscles tightening. But by the end of the first hour she was gasping slightly for breath, her cheeks blazing with color from the high altitude. She didn’t complain, realizing Dan would probably chide her cruelly for being weak and slowing down their pace. The muscles of her calves were protesting already. Resolutely she lowered her head, concentrating on each step.

“Libby.”

She half turned as he called her name. Each time he spoke it she shivered involuntarily. It was as if he were a cat licking her skin, making it tingle. She liked the way he said her name and her spirits rose simultaneously.

“Let’s take a break,” he ordered, finding a smooth granite rock and sitting down.

“I can go on,” she answered stubbornly. “I don’t intend to hold us up.’’

He gave her a warm grin, catching her wide brown eyes. “I know you can, but we have to take it easy the first couple of days or you won’t be able to walk at all. Take off your hiking boots and let me look at your feet.”

She found a soft spot on the carpet of pine needles, doing as he asked. No longer did she bother to question his motives or reasoning; she trusted him enough to know he wasn’t going to hurt her or take advantage of the situation. Pulling off the second wool sock, she stretched out her feet. Grinning, she said, “I washed them this morning, so it’s safe.”

He slid out of his pack and got up, moving to her side. “You do smell good,” he agreed, lifting her foot and gently examining the heel. “Like lilacs. It must be your perfume.”

Heat stole into her face and she refused to meet his teasing blue eyes. Just the rough touch of his fingers sliding along the surface of her foot sent crazy messages through her body. For one split second Libby found herself wondering what it would be like to be loved by him. His touch was sure, confident, and it was as if he had known her feet were a deliciously sensitive area of her body.

“What’s the prognosis, Doctor?” she asked, a hint of teasing in her tone.

Dan released her left foot, handing her the wool socks. “So far, so good. Every time we rest, I want you to pull the boots off and look for red spots on your feet. Those are areas where blisters may develop.” He patted her slender ankle and then stood. “That’s why we call people like you tenderfoots. You haven’t yet developed the tougher skin and calluses on certain areas of the foot that you need for extended hiking.”

Libby liked his touch and kept her eyes on him while she pulled on the socks and then relaced her boots. “I’ve had blisters before and they never bothered me,” she noted.

Dan shrugged into the pack. “Yes, but you didn’t have to walk fifty miles once you got one, either.” He pushed a rebellious curl off his forehead. “And I’m not carrying you if you do get one. So be a good hiker and pay attention to what your feet are telling you. Ready?”

“You bet.”

By noon Libby’s initial excitement had ebbed a great deal. They had broken out of the heavy timber into a small sun-dappled meadow when Dan finally called a halt to eat. She bit back a moan of relief as she shed the pack. The grass was inviting and fragrant, and she flopped down on her back, closing her eyes in sheer bliss. “Oh, God, I feel like my shoulders are on fire,” she whispered. The hot sun felt good on her face, the slight breeze cooling the perspiration on her flushed skin.

“You rest,” he said. “I’ll make us lunch. Are you hungry?”

She barely heard him; she just wanted to drift into the quick nap that her body was begging her to take.

“Libby?”

She roused herself, barely opening her eyes. He crouched down at her side, holding out a small plastic bag of trail mix.

“Is that lunch?”

“Yup. Come on, don’t get too comfortable,” he prodded. Reaching out, he gripped her upper arm, pulling her into a sitting position. Her hair spilled in pale golden tresses across her shoulders as she sat up. Dan smiled and remained close.

“Your ex-husband ever comment on how beautiful your hair is?’’ he asked.

Libby was engrossed in the contents of the plastic bag. “What?” she asked, lifting her chin and meeting his azure eyes.

Dan slid his hand down her crown, caressing her hair in a wistful gesture. “A man could go crazy just running his fingers through your hair,” he murmured huskily.

Her heart hammered. Finding her voice, she managed to say, “You mean I don’t look like a doctor of biology anymore?”

Dan lay down, propping his elbow against his head, eating the trail mix thoughtfully. “No. You deliberately put all that lovely hair into a bun to look more authoritative?”

Libby scooped up a handful of the nuts, raisins and granola, eating them with relish. She gave him a careless smile. “Let’s put it this way: Cascade Amalgamated hired me because they needed more women in managerial positions to fulfill the regulations set forth by the government so that they could bid on land leases. I’m afraid that if I walked in with my hair down, I wouldn’t look very professional. Personnel would probably have thought I was applying for a secretarial job instead.” She smiled fully, her teeth even and white. “I give them what they think they need.”

Dan studied her, but it wasn’t that piercing look he usually gave her. “And at home do you let down your hair?”

She laughed, peeling back the paper on an energy candy bar that was coated with carob. “I’ll have to be careful how I answer that one!”

He returned the smile, a new look of interest in his blue eyes. “So what do you do on weekends? Surely not lab work.”

“I love to go to the ocean and just walk along the beach.” She gave a shy shrug of her shoulders. “I love the peace I find there.” And then she looked around the quiet meadow nestled within the arms of the tall, silent trees. “And I love it here, too,” she confided, her voice tinged with newfound respect and awe for the mountains.

“What’s this? A city girl falling in love with the country? Are you sure it isn’t the rarefied air getting to you, Libby?”

Her brown eyes danced with unspoken happiness as she looked down at him. “Positive. I—” She sighed. “I love the silence. There’s such incredible peace here. In a way it’s a shame that, in less than a year, timber trucks will be roaring through here with their noisy diesel engines and most of these woods will be chopped down.”

“Remember, though,” he said softly, “it will all be reseeded and reclaimed. We’re harvesting, Libby, not destroying.”

She gave a funny little laugh, blushing. “This sounds silly, but I feel like these woods are a cathedral that God has made for us. It seems like desecration in a way.”

Dan gave her a long, measuring look. “Are you familiar with the history of the Celts?” he asked slowly, sifting a handful of dry pine needles through his fingers.

“No... I think I’ve heard something about them....” She shrugged, giving him a shy look. “I was lousy in history, if you want the truth, Dan. Why do you ask?”

“Something you said reminded me of what one Roman historian wrote about the Celts. When the Romans invaded Britain, they found the tribes strongly united by a religious clan known as the druids. They held their religious ceremonies in what they considered sacred groves of trees. The historian went on to say that the druids and druidesses actually communicated with the spirits that inhabited those trees. Later on, some Roman general ordered the groves to be cut down to break the power uniting the clans by destroying the druids’ sacred trees. When you said that these woods are like a cathedral and that chopping the timber down was close to desecration, it reminded me of how the druids must have felt when the Romans cut their forests down.” He gave her a bashful smile. “History and mythology happen to be my favorite subjects, if you haven’t already guessed.”

Libby was fascinated with his story, finding herself a mesmerized child sitting at his feet while he spun the myth. “If history had been taught to me the way you’ve made it sound, I would have loved it,” she responded, delighted in finding another facet of Dan Wagner that met with her approval.

Dan grimaced, getting to his feet. “Who knows, maybe you’re a druidess reincarnated, coming back to your rightful home.”

“You believe in reincarnation?” Another surprise. But then, he was a totally unique man in so many ways. So it really didn’t come as that much of a shock to Libby.

He shrugged. “I’ll turn the question back on you. Haven’t you ever experienced déjà vu? As if you’ve been in a certain city or country before? Maybe a vivid flash or recollection of an event?’’

She thought about it “Y-yes, I have.”

“Haven’t you been experiencing one just now? When you started talking about these trees, this forest, your eyes began to shine, Libby.” His blue eyes danced. “For a city gal, you sure are at home out here. Think about it,” he challenged, offering his hand to her.

Libby looked up, sliding her hand into his, aware of the strength and steadiness of his grip. Once on her feet, she stood dizzyingly close to his body, her heartbeat beginning to pick up. Reluctantly he released her fingers. There was a searching look in his eyes as he scanned her features. Unconsciously her lips parted beneath his hungry gaze; her breathing stopped. An electrical current seemed to pass between them. Their relationship changed in those few seconds, an unspoken need expressed. Libby trembled inwardly at the invitation in his blue gaze. It was as if he had removed the thick protective walls from around himself for those fleeting seconds so that she could sense how he felt toward her.

“Let’s go,” he urged huskily, and the magic of the moment evaporated like fog that had been struck by the rays of the sun.

4

S
ITTING CLOSE TO
the small fire, Libby fought to keep her eyes open. There was enough light to finish writing down her comments about the necessary changes that would have to be made to protect the land from the logging. But darkness fell rapidly, and finally she closed the book.

“All done?” Dan inquired, coming back into camp with another armload of wood. He dumped it near the fire and brushed pieces of bark from his sleeves.

“No. I’m so tired that I’m not thinking clearly,” she admitted. Glancing at her watch, she groaned. “It’s only nine-thirty! I’m used to going to bed around midnight.”

He walked over to her pack, releasing the lightweight sleeping bag and spreading it near the fire. “We made ten miles today, so it’s no wonder you’re feeling a little tired.”

Libby rubbed her eyes. “A little? Humph, a lot. I don’t think I even have the strength to go to that small stream and get cleaned up.”

Dan gathered a soft cushion of dry pine needles beneath the sleeping bag. Putting a ground mat beneath the bag, he unzipped it and motioned for her to climb in. “You can wash up in the morning. I’d advise you to sleep with your socks and at least a T-shirt on.”

“I didn’t bring a T-shirt,” she began lamely.

“I’ll loan you one of mine.”

She struggled to her feet, brushing the back of her pants off. Giving him a weary smile, she went over to the bag and flopped down. Unlacing her boots, she placed them near her head. “Thanks for making my bed, Dan.” She meant it sincerely, aware that he was a great deal more considerate than she had first thought.

He brought a white T-shirt over to her, placing it in her hands. “I was afraid you were going to keel over on that log and fall asleep,” he said.

Libby glanced up at him. He looked so much a part of the vast wilderness, someone who had grown tall and strong within those forests. My mind is playing tricks on me again, she thought, mumbling good-night to him. Barely aware of anything because of the exhausting day, Libby slept the minute her head rested against the pine-needle pillow heaped beneath the sleeping bag.