Northern Exposure Read Online Free PDF Page B

something.
    Yesterday, from the moment she’d discovered the caribou and had started tracking it, she could have sworn she wasn’t alone. Someone, not Joe, had been out there with her. She knew it wasn’t Joe because he’d shown her on the map yesterday afternoon the route he’d taken from the station. He’d only intercepted her by chance. She’d covered territory he hadn’t even been in that day, and she’d had company.
    The thought of it gave her the creeps.
    Shaking it off, she padded down the hallway toward the bathroom and noticed that the door to the bedroom was open. On impulse she moved toward it.
    Joe Peterson was a strange animal. He reminded her a little of the rogue bull whose photo she’d been so desperate to shoot yesterday on the rock. He lived out here alone, miles from anywhere and anyone, ina world where he was master. At least, he thought he was. That made everyone else a mere minion, a position with which Wendy was overly familiar and was determined never to assume again.
    She’d spent years working with all kinds of people. Except for her bad judgment where Blake was concerned, she considered herself a pretty good judge of character. Something told her there was a good reason for Joe Peterson’s less than friendly behavior toward her. By the end of the evening his cool indifference had turned to outright irritation, and it bothered her that she couldn’t fathom a reason.
    Intuition told her he was a man in pain. That alone should have set off a loud warning bell in her thick head. Men in pain were a problem for her. The problem was she couldn’t not help them. Her natural instinct was to nurture, be a helpmate. That’s what had gotten her into trouble with Blake. Over the years being a helpmate had turned into being a doormat.
    Never again.
    At the door of Joe’s bedroom she stopped, remembering the fleeting moment before he’d gone outside, rifle in hand, recalling the way he’d looked at her mouth, her body, and had made her heartbeat quicken. There was no doubt she was attracted to him, and he to her. She hadn’t bothered fighting it because in the morning someone would take her back to her car and she’d never see him again.
    The thought of that wasn’t as soothing as it should have been.
    The bed in Joe’s room was empty, pillows askew, sheets twisted into a pile on the floor. Moonlight flooded the airy space. The room smelled like him, cool and green and unstable. Those were the impressions that had taken hold of her when she’d touched his arm, when she’d stood so close to him she’d felt his breath on her face.
    With a start she realized the rifle he’d taken outside with him was propped against the wall by the bed. Without thinking, she took a step into the room, then swallowed a gasp.
    Joe sat in a big Adirondack chair by a row of old-fashioned windows overlooking the deck. Clad only in jeans, his chest was bare, the muscles in his arms tight. There were no drapes on the windows. His face, reflecting some terrible pain, was bathed in the bright light of an August moon.
    Her gaze followed his to the framed photo he’d moved to the antique nightstand. Wendy hadn’t even noticed it was missing from the mantel.
    All at once she knew.
    â€œShe’s dead, isn’t she?”
    Slowly, as if he’d known all along she was standing there, Joe turned to look at her. “Yes.”
    â€œI’m so sorry.”
    â€œWhy?”
    She felt awkward all of a sudden, her tongue thick in her mouth. “I…”
    â€œGo back to sleep, Ms. Walters.”
    â€œI wish you’d call me Wendy.”
    He rose from the chair and placed the photo facedown into a drawer. “How about Willa?”

Chapter 3
    I t was hard to pretend she hadn’t gotten under his skin, but he forced himself.
    Joe poured Willa Walters a cup of black coffee, and while she sat at the kitchen table and