What now? John asked himself. He hadn’t invited this helpless woman into his life, and he had no obligation to keep her. Common sense dictated that he drive her into Ketchikan, drop her off at the police station, and forget he ever saw her. No complications, just an interesting memory.
But she was cold, muddy, barefoot, and probably still scared half to death. Unless there was something in the pocket of her jeans, she appeared to have no money and no identification. Dumping her at the police station would be like leaving a storm-soaked kitten on the front step of the animal pound.
Besides, against his better judgment, he’d become curious. She’d mentioned a husband, and he’d noticed that she was wearing a gold wedding band. What was her story? What kind of bastard would chase his wife into the forest with dogs and a rifle?
Or maybe the question should be what kind of woman would drive her husband to that kind of rage in the first place?
* * *
The engine was already running in the Jeep, the heater roaring full blast. Emma sank into the leather seat, savoring the heavenly warmth.
“I don’t believe I thanked you,” she said. “You literally saved my life.”
“I did what anybody would do.” He seemed uncomfortable with her gratitude.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked as he shifted into reverse and backed the Jeep away from the dock.
“Up to you,” he said. “After I drop off the mail, I can leave you at the police station in Ketchikan, or you can come home with me for the night.”
She looked slightly startled. “Would that be all right with your wife?”
“No wife. Just me. But I’ve got a spare room, a shower, and a washer and dryer for your clothes. You can talk to the police in the morning. Your choice. I’m not trying to talk you into anything.”
Emma studied his clean-chiseled profile in the faint light.
Could she trust him? Maybe she was being too cautious. After all, the man had saved her life. But given what had happened the last time she’d trusted a man, she had every right to be suspicious.
“Where do you live?” she asked.
“Not that you’re familiar with the area, but my cabin’s a couple of miles off Revilla Road, past Talbot Lake, on an old logging road. If you’re not comfortable with that, I can leave you at a hotel in town. Think it over.”
Emma weighed her new reality. She wasn’t ready to talk to the police, especially since Boone had bragged about being friends with some of the officers. She didn’t have money for a hotel. She didn’t even have shoes or a change of clothes. She was filthy, exhausted, and scared that Boone would still come after her. Whether she liked the idea or not, this wasn’t a good time to be on her own. And this taciturn stranger was the only refuge she had.
“I’ll take you up on your offer,” she said. “Thanks—and I’ll try not to be any trouble.”
“Fine. For what it’s worth, you’re already trouble. I’ve had a few house guests over the years, but never a runaway wife.”
A knot tightened in Emma’s stomach. He had thrown down the challenge, and she owed him the truth. It was time to come clean.
“You said it was a long story,” he prompted her. “I’m listening.”
“I’m not sure where to begin.”
“For starters, you can tell me the name of your husband. Maybe I know him.”
She stared down at her hands. “His name is Boone Swenson.”
“Good God!”
The Jeep swerved slightly before he corrected his jerk of the wheel. “You’re married to Boone Swenson?”
“I take it you know him.”
He touched the brake as a deer bounded into the headlights and disappeared on the far side of the road. The release of his breath was slow and controlled. “I do know him,” he said. “And if you don’t mind saving your story until I’ve dropped off the mail, I’ll listen to every word.”
* * *
John checked in the mail pouch. Then, leaving Ward Cove, he turned onto Revilla Road and headed the Jeep toward home. He kept his eyes on the road as she began. She was brutally honest, sparing herself nothing.