Chris could think of nothing to say as she dressed. All day yesterday, during that long ride, she’d fantasized about this mysterious man and had begun to believe what she’d asked Asher about, that he was probably deformed or disfigured in some way and that’s why he didn’t want anyone to see him. But even in the few seconds that she’d had to look at him, she’d known he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. He was very masculine, with generous features, perfectly formed lips, eyes of a brilliant blue, a big, square jaw, and black hair that curled about the collar of a shirt that repeated the color of his eyes.
When she was dressed, Chris stepped from behind the tree. He was sitting on the ground, his back to her.
She’d had such a different idea of what he looked like, she’d begun to think that he was even fatherly after the way he’d tucked her in last night. But there was nothing fatherly about this man.
She walked toward him and when he didn’t turn around, she moved to stand in front of him. He didn’t look up, keeping his face concealed by the broad-brimmed hat. Boldly, Chris sat down across from him.
He kept his head down. “I want to apologize, Miss Mathison,” he said softly. “I seem to keep embarrassing you and I haven’t meant to. It’s just that we keep meeting under very unusual circumstances. I don’t want you to have the wrong impression of me. I was hired by your father to rescue you and take you back to him. And that’s all I mean to do.”
Chapter Three
Chris sat there looking at the top of his hat and thought how utterly bizarre the situation was. This man had made her look like a fool twice, he’d held her in his arms three times—not to mention that two of those times she’d had no clothes on—he had kidnapped her, telling her that it didn’t matter at all what she wanted, yet here she was feeling as if she should comfort him. She put out her hand to touch his and as she did so, she saw a red, raw place on his wrist, just barely visible beneath his shirt cuff.
“You’ve hurt yourself,” she said, immediately concerned.
He was on his feet instantly, and before Chris could say another word, he walked, half ran actually, to the edge of the stream and called to Prescott.
Chris was left sitting on the moss and wondering what she had said to offend him.
“Here she is,” she heard Tynan saying before he reappeared, leading the man as if he were herding a maverick. As little as she knew of Tynan, she was sure that the voice he was using was a false one. “You’ve introduced yourselves, haven’t you, Miss Mathison? This is Asher Prescott. He’s a friend of your father and will be with us while we slowly make our way through this forest. Ash, why don’t you take Miss Mathison fishing? We’ll need fresh food. And later, you two can gather firewood.” He gave Ash a little push in Chris’s direction.
Asher smiled down at Chris and offered her his hand to help her stand. “Shall we go fishing, Miss Mathison? I hear there are salmon in these waters.”
Chris was confused by what was happening. She didn’t want to spend the day with Mr. Prescott but it didn’t seem as if she had any choice. It seemed to be already arranged. She glanced at Tynan but he had his head turned so that she couldn’t see his face.
“Why, yes, fishing sounds like a delightful pastime,” she answered as she accepted Mr. Prescott’s hand. By the time she stood, Tynan had disappeared into the trees.
She and Asher walked back to the camp together to find that there were supplies and two mules that Chris had not seen before and Mr. Prescott was already handing her a fishing pole.
“Shall we go, Miss Mathison?”
He led her back the way she’d gone that morning, over rocks, past the place she’d bathed, but not far from the camp. “I think this will be a good place to try,” he said.
“Is that your idea or Mr. Tynan’s?”
He smiled at her. “I don’t think he’s Mr. Tynan. I’m not sure he has but the one name. But let’s not talk about him. I hear you worked on a newspaper. Is it true that you’re the infamous Nola Dallas?”
“Nola Dallas is my pen name,” she said stiffly, as she expertly tossed the fishing line into the water. She’d always lived in Washington and she’d fished since she was a child.
Asher looked stricken. “I didn’t mean to give offense, it’s just that, having read your articles, I thought you’d be a much older woman—or maybe even a man. Did you really do those things you wrote about?”
“Every one of them.”
“Even appearing as a chorus girl? Wearing pink tights on stage?”
Chris smiled at the memory. “And getting myself thrown out during the second act. I’m not much of a dancer.”
“But then who cares about dancing when you can implement the reforms that you have?”
Smiling, she felt herself warming to him. “Tell me, Mr. Prescott, why did my father choose you to help in this rescue mission? I would have thought he’d choose a man who knew this forest.”
“That’s Tynan’s job. He’s to take care of the animals and the food and look after our safety.”
“And what are you to do?”
Ash smiled at her in a very pleasant way. “My only job is to make your trip enjoyable.”
“I see,” Chris said as she looked back at the water. But she didn’t see at all. “What do you do for a living, Mr. Prescott?”