Spirit Lake Read Online Free PDF Page A

reticence. Heat washed down his half-hidden face.
    He struggled to sit up but the world took on an unexpected spin. It spun Laurel right to him.
    “Lay back,” she said, gently pushing him down to the floor. He quickly turned his head away from her. She fussed some more. “I didn't mean for you to get up so fast. You knocked your head good last night and you're bound to have a doozy of a headache."
    That wildflower essence hit him again, shuffling the heat from his face down the rest of him. His head rested on a stack of old cardboard she must have fashioned into a pillow sometime during the night. Her hands seemed everywhere at once, fluttering like butterflies. She laid her jacket in place again, patting and tucking it over his shoulders and arms and smoothing it down his chest and belly. A slight tightening gripped his groin.
    “You warm enough?” she asked.
    “Sure,” he grunted, thinking an icy splash of that creek water he'd fallen into would feel good about now.
    He didn't remember Laurel being the fussing kind and it kept niggling at him how much she'd changed. She'd been a tomboy, damnit. Fun and giggly. Never serious. This woman had a two-by-four weapon within reach somewhere and a focused demeanor to match.
    She sent a furtive glance right at his belt buckle. “May I?"
    More heat waves crashed over him until they settled in one delicate spot. Suddenly the tightening there told him he didn't want her long fingers filching for a belt.
    “You sure your idea will work?” he grumbled.
    “You think I'm too heavy for the belt?"
    Now that was the sassiness he remembered. “It's an old belt. And it's seen a lot of country."
    “An expensive one, too. Nice feel to the leather."
    “How did you—"
    “Now give it up. I'll buy you a new one.” Before he could protest more, she'd unbuckled him and he was forced to finish the job or suffer embarrassment.
    She set about tossing the belt buckle at the broken boards above them. She was tireless, which impressed Cole, but she needed more height. Cole rolled out of his makeshift nest and lumbered up. The world tipped, but he fought to steady himself.
    She picked up the two-by-four weapon and glowered at him. Cole looked down at her, a surprise itself. As teenagers they were about the same height. Right now she didn't seem to appreciate the growth spurt that had hit him back then. Her weapon wiggled back and forth, right under his nose as if it were an irritating mosquito, something else irritating he didn't like about Wisconsin's northwoods.
    He turned away to pick up her jacket from his makeshift bed, then dangled the jacket off the end of his outstretched arm.
    “Here,” he growled, “put it on. You'll catch cold."
    She snatched the garment away, then waved the board at him. “Go sit down."
    “I could hoist you up closer."
    “You're weaving like a drunk."
    “Did we drink last night?” Muzzy, he squinted at her. “What did we do last night?"
    Her face squirreled up in repugnance. “Absolutely nothing and that's the way I liked it, thank you very much."
    “But I am listing to the starboard side a bit much."
    “Just don't fall,” she snapped. “Not after all I've gone through to make sure you survived the night."
    So she took her doctoring seriously. She was worried about his health. He was right up there with some vermin she healed on other days of the week. That amused him, but confound it, he had to get rid of her before she discovered who he was.
    Again she set to slapping the belt up at the screw sticking out of the crossbeam. She said, “Please. Sit down. I'll be out and back with help in a jiffy."
    “Won't be necessary. I was just passing through."
    “More like dropping in."
    He wanted to chuckle in the worst way, but restrained himself. Instead, he lunged to catch the belt. When he did, she stiffened, stumbling away from him, almost tripping over her two-by-four. Grimacing against a sharp pain in his leg, he stooped over and picked up the board,