Tall, Dark, and Determined (38 page)

“I didn't realize Evie added anything else.” Miss Lyman shrugged and took a dainty bite of her own clanger. “Mmmm….”

Mmmm
was right. Chase chomped in, savoring the combination of crust with pork-and-peas filling.
That's more like it!

“Oops, that's dessert.” As he watched, Miss Lyman turned her pastry around before taking a second, much larger bite.

Now curious, Chase upended his clanger. Careful to keep his hand over the hole he'd made in the first side, he tried the second. Same buttery crust with sweet spiced apples this time.

Suddenly, he knew why Miss Lyman called it one of her favorites. The combination of sweet and savory made for a rib-sticking meal to satisfy any preference. And all in one easy-to-carry package.

“This is genius,” he informed her between mouthfuls.

“Isn't it?” She beamed at him. “There's a sort of dividing wall of more pastry in between the two fillings. That way you can eat the meat side in one sitting and come back for the sweet side later. If you want to, I mean.” Her eyebrows rose as he finished making short work of his succulent lunch.

Cool shade, good food, and a pretty woman to share it with
. Chase leaned back, replete. He couldn't ask for anything more.

For now
.

    THIRTY-ONE    

S
ince they'd stopped in the gorgeous hidden haven, Dunstan's mood improved. After lunch he became downright talkative. “See that?” Dunstan pointed to the edge of the small pool. “Funny little bird's called a dipper. Watch him and you'll see why.”

Lacey squinted and didn't see anything at first. Then something moved on the rocks dotting the bank. “Oh, I see!” A little bird—small enough to rest in her cupped hands, perched atop a rock not much bigger. Beneath a head of brown feathers, it looked as though it wore a white cravat tucked beneath a red waistcoat. She didn't know much about birds, but his legs looked surprisingly long and spindly to support the rest of him.

As they watched, the bird stepped from its dry rock onto one partially covered with gently running water. Then it waded to an entirely submerged perch, hiding its legs and looking like a tiny, narrow-billed duck floating atop the water. Wading forward, it dipped its head into the pool and kept walking.

“Can he breathe?” she whispered. Lacey didn't really know why she was whispering, since she and Dunstan had been talking normally all through lunch. The little bird with its head beneath the water certainly wouldn't hear her and be spooked.

“They can hold their breath for a surprisingly long time,” he told her as their feathered friend came up for air. “It's the only bird I know of who truly swims—flies underwater, really.”

“Penguins do,” Lacey recalled from her wildlife reading. “They don't really have feathers the same way others do though. But it's not really fair to say it swims better than a duck.”

“Wait.” With that enigmatic reply, Dunstan said no more. Then again, he didn't have to. Almost immediately the dipper dove underwater. His entire body plunged beneath the surface.

Transfixed, Lacey stared at the place where he'd disappeared.
Birds can't swim. He'll bob back up in an instant
. Only it seemed to be taking him rather a long time. Far longer than he should be able to remain underwater.
Maybe he drowned
. Sadness crept upon her at the idea they'd lost the brave fellow.

“There.” Dunstan's voice called her to attention.

Lacey peered at the spot, anxious to still not see him. Her gaze scanned the bank, but still she found no sign of the bird. “I think you must have wished you saw him,” she mourned.

“No.” Dunstan leaned forward and tugged on her bonnet ribbons, turning her head to the far side of the pool. “
There
.”

The little dipper splashed his way to the opposite bank—not such a great distance to Lacey, but impossibly far for him to have traversed below the surface. He held something triumphantly aloft in his beak. Happiness flooded her to see his victory.

“He made it!” Wonder filled her. “Dippers really do swim!”

“Yep.” Dunstan rose to his feet and plunked his hat back on his head. “They go to the bottom, hunting for insects. Diving is more what they do than dipping. I'd have named it fisherbird.”

“Because he fishes for his food,” Lacey agreed. “Fisherbird makes a far better name. It describes how special his is.”

“If you didn't pay close attention, you'd miss it.” Dunstan's words somehow seemed to hold more meaning than the conversation warranted, but Lacey couldn't grasp why. “It's your next lesson. Don't look around for what you expect to see, or things pass you by. Always look to see what's really there.”

Lacey couldn't answer at first, so electric was the force of his gaze. She'd had many men stare at her, but this was the first time one looked at her as though trying to plumb the depths of who she was. It was tempting to write it off as him trying to impress the lesson on her, but the fine hairs on the back of her neck prickled. He didn't force that intensity.

As quickly as the moment came, it ended. He turned to pick up the now almost-empty leather bag. Which reminded her …

“Wait a moment while I use some of the feverfew infusion,” she half-asked, half-told him. When she took the jar from his outstretched hand, their fingers brushed. She pulled away, but chills traveled down her spine at even the brief contact.

She studiously ignored him as she set the jar atop the boulder where she'd been resting and began to untie her bonnet and roll up her sleeves. After unsealing the jar, she poured some of the cloudy liquid into her cupped palm. Lacey couldn't have looked at him now, even if she wanted to. The simple act of rubbing the solution onto her skin now seemed terribly intimate.

To avoid more discomfort, she turned her back and made swift work of the job. Only after she retied the bonnet ribbons beneath her chin, rolled down her sleeves, and smoothed the fabric, did Lacey feel composed enough to face Dunstan again.

He looked at her, expression now inscrutable, and held out his hand in an unspoken demand for the almost-empty jar. Once she'd passed it to him—careful not to touch him—he thrust it back into the bag. Without a word, he started walking.

But he didn't head toward the mouth of the canyon, as she'd expected. Instead he skirted around the pool and began ascending a low incline up to the rocky overhang. Decoy followed him closer than a shadow, but Lacey found herself hesitating.

Walking or even hiking through the forest was one thing; scrambling up a series of large rocks was entirely different.
My feet hurt. My legs ache. I'll snag my skirts on those jagged edges….
The litany ran through her mind. But swiftly on its heels came thoughts about how Dunstan didn't have to share the beautiful oasis with her—he could have kept walking. He didn't have to be congenial over lunch. In fact, Lacey expected him to remain taciturn. Instead he spoke pleasantly and decided to tell her about the dipper so she could watch it dive and rise.

Without making the decision to, Lacey began picking her way up the rocky slope, following the trail left by Dunstan and Decoy.
After all
, she reasoned,
who knows what I might miss if I look for what I expect? I expect the climb to be difficult, but what will I see when we reach the top? What more will I see of Chase Dunstan if I stop assuming he'll always behave rudely?

She didn't know, but she'd never forgive herself if she quit trying to find out. Lacey kept her eyes on her feet and her focus on Dunstan as the incline sharpened, loath to look down. Who knew? The climb might take her farther than she expected.

She'd come a lot farther than he expected, Chase grudgingly recognized. Maybe she and the other women had been right in saying he underestimated her.
Dangerous habit, Dunstan
.

Yesterday he'd gotten to thinking Lacey Lyman might be every bit as innocent—and intriguingly intrepid—as she appeared. A woman who couldn't hold her tongue couldn't have much guile, after all. But today she'd destroyed that theory by keeping quiet for hours on end—though she hadn't been happy about it.

Well, I'm not too happy about it myself
. Chase slowed his pace slightly, so he didn't get too much of a lead. He'd teased her before about her proclivity for tripping, but the smaller rocks this way shifted underfoot and made the going slippery.

Her shoulder healed well enough. Now that she'd gotten back into fighting shape, Chase didn't plan on watching her hobble about with a sprained ankle.
Predators go after the injured
. The rule of the wild applied all too well to men on the prowl. And Miss Lyman already had far too many men prowling after her.

Besides
, he added,
I don't want to have to carry her back!
If he'd gone alone, Chase would've reached the summit of the rocky overhang hours ago. Then again, if he'd gone alone, he wouldn't have gotten to eat one of those tasty clangers. On the balance, having her shadow him almost seemed worthwhile.

“All right?” He waited for her to catch up a little ways from the top. When she nodded, Chase didn't know if she was determined to stay quiet or if she'd become too out of breath. He gestured to her canteen then took a drink from his own.

“Here's the way it'll work.” He kept his tone low more from habit than necessity. “The roosts are farther to the west, tucked in a niche a couple yards beneath the overhang.”

“Underneath the—” Those blue eyes widened. “From what I saw, it's a steep drop after that overhang. You don't mean we're going to try to weasel our way into some crevices down there?” Despite her anxiety, she managed to keep her voice fairly quiet.

“Not in the plans,” he assured her. “When we get close, I'll signal like this.” Chase made a fist and moved it sideways, as though pulling rope in a game of one-handed tug-of-war. “Then you'll know it's time to be absolutely silent. If the partridge hear us coming, they'll panic and flush before we're ready.”

“How will we flush them?” Her brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Decoy. Those dinner-plate paws of his give him sure footing, and he's better able to navigate the decline than we are. He'll nose down there then look up and wait for my signal once he's beneath the roost. Decoy coming at them will make the entire covey rush right out into the air. That's our chance.”

“Does he bring them back afterward?” She cast an admiring glance at the dog and reached over to scratch behind his ears.

“When they fall on parts of the decline he can reach. Often the birds flush and get heights of about fifty feet. If we're lucky, we'll drop a few right up here.” With that settled, he started moving again. At the rate she traveled, they'd need a good bit of time to make it back to town. Longer than it took to get here, even. They'd be tired and hopefully weighted down with all the partridge they'd bagged. Chase snorted.