Tying the Knot (7 page)

From his perch on the roof, Noah could trace the layout of the fifteen-acre camp, including the waterfront and the campfire pit with its rough-hewn rows of benches in a semicircle, to a field of purple violets and coneflowers, where they’d play capture the flag, soccer, and group-challenge games. The leaders at the church denomination had cut him a God-helmed deal. Hopefully, Noah could live up to the Almighty’s expectations.

Noah’s stomach growled, but he ignored it. He had a Snickers bar in the fridge downstairs. Any needs beyond that would require a trip into town. He was willing to starve in order to finish the roofing job today.

He heard gravel crunching from across the lake, where the road wound around the water, and he rolled over to track the vehicle. When he spied a black Explorer churning up dust, he grimaced. He made a mental note to keep Miss Lundstrom a good distance from the camp bus—she drove like a maniac.

He was climbing down the ladder when the SUV pulled in. Noah clambered under the porch roof for his shirt. Cleaning up would be futile. He already knew what she thought of him.

Since he had home-court advantage, he ducked inside the lodge and watched her exit her vehicle and wander around the weed-rutted courtyard. She looked so sleek in her black pants and crisp white blouse that it made him feel like roadkill. Noah grabbed his baseball cap and snuggled it down over his head to hide the grime. He hated to imagine what could be snagged in his two-day stubble.

She sauntered toward the porch. “Hello? Anyone here?”

“In here.” Noah met her at the door.

Her shock glowed neon on her face. She went white.

Noah winced. “Hi again,” he said softly.

“What are
you
doing here?” She backed away, as if she’d seen a ghost. He let her go, then followed a moment later. She stood in the sunlight, rubbing her arms and staring at the sky.

“I’m roofing the building.” He grimaced at his cowardice.
Lord, give me the right words.

She turned and surveyed his work. “You’re a handyman?”

“Among other things.”

“Rock collector and jack-of-all-trades.” She regarded him with cool interest while she twirled her keys round and round her index finger. “So, how’s your leg?”

He didn’t miss the way she flinched slightly when she asked, and it bolstered his courage. Maybe the memory of his sacrificing his skin for her dog would mitigate her less-than-stellar opinion of him.

“I’m fine, thanks. I cleaned it and put ointment on it, like you suggested.”

She nodded, but her wariness felt like a wall between them. “I’m here to see the director.” She scanned the lodge, then stared at an army tent airing out over a makeshift clothesline. Its open flap shifted in the breeze. “What is this place called?”

“Wilderness Challenge. Would you like a tour?”

She glanced at him, and a tiny smile poked through the wall. “Yes.”

His heart did a tiny jig. “It’s a small camp. Only twenty kids, but we have a great program planned, and I hope it’s really going to change lives.” He motioned to a trail between two trees and she moved toward it. “We sleep in army tents, but someday maybe we’ll build cabins.”

“Was this always a camp?”

“Fishing lodge. I rented it cheap about six months ago and spent the winter weekends remodeling the inside.”

She went silent. He saw her swallow—hard. “You’re the camp director.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, fighting every impulse to drop to his knees and tell her that he hadn’t meant to deceive her by omission last night. That he’d had every intention of confessing, but it had been forgotten between the attack of her mountain-sized dog and Anne’s resounding slap. Most importantly, he wanted to assure her that he’d keep her safe.

Instead, he gave her his most apologetic smile and shrugged.

Instant fury clouded her eyes and she shook. “Did you plan this? Are you stalking me?”

He blew out a breath, feeling punched. “Of course not. I need help, and God provided you.”

His confession didn’t have the calming effect he’d hoped. Her face paled; she blinked. Then, in a pinched voice, “He provided me?”

“Without you, my camp loses its funds.” He hated the desperation in his voice. “I need a full-time nurse on staff in order to get the church to back me.” He turned away, embarrassed by his raw need and the fear that it was scribbled all over his face. “And when you . . . uh . . . sputtered to a halt right in front of my eyes, I had to believe it was divine intervention.”

“Divine intervention?” Her tone made him cringe. “I think it’s down-to-earth deception! Coercion. Try
slave labor
.
”
She shook her head and shot past him. “This has to be some sort of sick joke—”

“No joke. I talked to Doc. He okayed it.”

Anne whirled, white with fury. “Okayed it? Sure. Fine.” She shrugged, as if suddenly confused. “Why didn’t you just knock me over the head last night and drag me up here by my hair? I mean, that’s what a normal, red-blooded caveman would do.” She put a hand to her forehead while Noah fought to close his open mouth.

“I can’t believe it,” she mumbled, as if he weren’t standing there. “I’ve escaped the world of gangbangers and death by drive-bys into a world of Neanderthal chauvinists who’ve never heard of the—” she looked at him now and glared—“Emancipation Proclamation!”

“Now, c’mon, Anne.” Noah had to admit that from her vantage point it did look very . . . ugly. “We didn’t mean to—”

“Wait!” She stared at him with a look of pure horror. “You expected me to stay here with . . . with . . .
you?”

He took a deep breath, kept his voice steady. “That’s the general ‘camp nurse’ idea. Being on site in case the kids need you.”

“Kids?” She raised her hands, palms up, as if waiting for him to produce them.

“They’ll be here in a couple of weeks.” He took a step toward her, a desperate feeling knotting in his gut. “Look, I didn’t commit a felony. I mean, you
are
working for the doc, right?”

“That doesn’t mean I can be loaned out like a lawn mower.” She looked pointedly at the lodge. “I don’t see any other staff.”

“They arrive on Saturday.”

She regarded him with a stare that could freeze a slug. “Saturday? So until then it’s you and me, happy campers ten miles from the nearest telephone?” She clenched her teeth, then defied physics and spoke through them. “I. Don’t. Think. So.”

That crouching tiger–cat analogy was right on the money. He expected to see claws any second. “Listen—” he smiled ruefully—“I’m not Bigfoot. I won’t hurt you.”

She flinched, and for a desperate moment, he saw something vivid and painful flash in her eyes.

“I don’t get it,” he said. “I hardly know you, yet you’re shaking like I’m Jack the Ripper.” He closed his fists in his pockets, willing himself not to reach out to her. Her broken look told him she needed the comfort, but his gut said she’d flatten him faster than Joe Louis would.

“Well, just maybe it has something to do with the ‘hardly know you’ part.”

Her sudden sarcasm felt like a knife in Noah’s ribs. “Okay,” he said, “so we’ll get to know each other, be friends—”

“Not on this side of eternity.” She whirled and stalked toward her SUV. “I’m sorry. I’m not doing this.”

He was hot on her heels. “What do you mean? Okay, you don’t have to show up until Saturday. It’s not like I’m going to need a nurse between now and then.” He didn’t mention the fact that he felt like he was bleeding from a hundred tiny cuts. “After that, it gets easy. You don’t even have to talk to me. All you have to do is hang out for the summer in this incredibly gorgeous place, patch up the kids when they fall, administer cold packs now and then. How hard can that be?”

“Not hard.”

“Then what is it?” He braced his hand on the door of her Explorer as she tried to open it.

She looked up at him, and the smallest hint of pure terror entered her eyes. “Get away from me.”

Anger bubbled into his chest as he recognized the expression on her face, the set of her jaw. This wasn’t fear—it was prejudice. She didn’t want to help him because she believed everything she saw on the outside and refused to see beyond her preconceptions. He fought the same disease with the kids on the street. Ignoring her dark look, he edged in. “You don’t even care that the kids won’t have a camp, do you?”

She narrowed her eyes. “I do care. But how can I work for—”

“Someone like me?” His voice raised in challenge.

Her eyes sparked. “Yes.” She crossed her arms.

“You know only what you see. Not who I am.”

“I see a man who nearly ran me down last night. That tells me all I need to know.”

“You saw a man who wanted to introduce himself properly. A man who cared that you were going to be spending the summer with him. A man who saw in you potential and hope.”

“A man who wanted to use me to get money.”

He closed his eyes, looked away. “I’m sorry.” He cupped a hand around his sweaty neck. “You’re right. I didn’t consider your feelings. I just assumed you’d want to help.” He turned back and saw that she’d raised her chin, a give-me-a-big-stick expression in her simmering eyes. “Please forgive me.”

She tightened her glare, but moisture glistened in her eyes. So, Miss Tough-as-Steel had a heart under that polished veneer.

Suddenly, she yanked open her SUV door and dove inside.

He remembered her cold stare long after she’d gunned the motor and raced down the gravel road.

4

Anne’s SUV spit gravel as she floored it around Mink Lake. What had the trauma counselor told her? Deep, calming breaths. Physical reaction to emotional invasion was typical.

Despite the fact that Noah had seemed . . . well . . . kind . . . even desperate in his attempts to keep her calm, her heart pounded out a staccato rhythm of pure fear. Slave labor. Someone was going to hear about his attempts to use her, and in about twenty minutes she planned to rip her resume out of Dr. Simpson’s hands and head it for—

Where? Deep Haven had always conjured up feelings of peace and refuge. She needed that in her life more than she needed her self-respect.

But she wouldn’t stay there with him. In a nightmarish, backwoods tangle of shadows and sounds ten miles from the nearest telephone? No way. His words rang in her ears:
A man who wanted to introduce himself properly. Who cared that you were going to be spending the summer with him.

“Ha!” she slammed her fist against the steering wheel. She wouldn’t spend a minute, let alone the summer, with prehistoric, chauvinistic Noah Grizzly Bear.

A man who saw in you potential and hope.
Anne gritted her teeth, forcing herself to ease off the gas lest she take the bend in the road on two wheels. Potential and hope. Now how could he see something she didn’t have? Her potential had nothing to do with a bunch of rich suburban kids needing a nurse nanny. As for hope, any fragments had been excruciatingly demolished a year ago when a bullet ripped through her body. In its wake remained a consuming fear.

Anne swallowed the bitterness that still pooled in her mouth at the recollection of that day. She knew that she ought to be well along the healing road, but she couldn’t hurdle the fact that God had allowed her life to spiral into darkness. She couldn’t trust Him. This latest fiasco was perfect proof.

And if she couldn’t trust the One who was omnipotent, how could she possess anything remotely resembling potential or hope? Both, she guessed, entailed trusting in the unseen, having faith that God had the future safely in pocket and confidence that it was a good future at that.

No, Noah Standing Bear didn’t see anything in her but sheer despair. The destruction of both potential and hope.

Anne sailed past Hedstrom’s Lumber Mill, then slowed as she headed toward the hospital. Compared to the institutions in the Twin Cities, Deep Haven Municipal Hospital resembled some back-hills clinic out of the novel
Christy
—a whitewashed one-story building, a weed-sprouted parking lot, and an ambulance bay that housed one rusty unit. For a moment Anne smiled, remembering her hours spent as an EMT for the Minneapolis Fire Department. If Noah searched for hope, he’d find it in those heroes. They gave away a little chunk of their life every day in their desire to make a difference in the world. Anne’s smile faded and she shook her head.

She pulled into the parking lot, turned off the vehicle, and drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Now that she’d had a little time to calm down and think, she couldn’t deny that inside her lurked the smallest longing to dive into Noah’s hopes. The idea of steering children toward Christ and down a path that would help them say no to drugs, crime, and the abuse of their bodies tugged at a latent desire. Noah Standing Bear, for all his rough edges, had righteous goals guiding him.

Too bad he resembled so many of the hoodlums she’d grown up with, complete with roughshod manners and callousness to a lady’s feelings. He didn’t smell like a dream either, with all that roofing material coating his arms and army pants.

Anne tried to ignore the notion that underneath his uncouth coating, gentleness had reached out and intrigued her. His ears had turned red from her accusation that he’d stalked her, and his chagrined expression chipped at her anger. In spite of what she’d said, she wasn’t blind to the fact that he’d put an ugly abrasion on his leg yesterday trying to dodge Bertha. Without his quick reflexes, she wouldn’t have her Saint Bernard waiting at home right now, chewing on her aunt’s futon.

I’m not Bigfoot.
The echo of his words tugged at the corners of her mouth. She could argue that point, with his hair spiking around his cap, a smattering of whiskers on his chin, and his towering height. Magnetic honey brown eyes made her wonder at his ancestry. Native American obviously, but the color hinted at a genealogical story. She had a good working knowledge of the plight of Native Americans in Minnesota and guessed his history might not be pretty. Had he grown up on the Indian reservation? or in a foster home in some ghetto?

A tap on her window nearly sent her heart arrowing out of her chest.