Stranded. Alice Sharpe

no more disappointments, no stress. Just over. And who was to say that that isn’t what happened? Maybe she’d moved on, maybe she’d even found someone else.

      Maybe he should stop borrowing trouble....

      “Are you hungry?” she asked, standing behind the chair he’d patted. It provided a good view of the garden and he’d already noticed the plethora of bushes and flowers that bloomed with an intensity he didn’t remember ever seeing before. Some plants were absolutely covered with buds, promising radiant blossoms in the weeks to come. She must have spent hours out there tending that garden, loving it.

      “The Bookers stuffed me,” he said, a bit distracted by the beauty sweeping across the yard toward the doors. He pulled his attention back to her. “They grow or hunt just about everything they eat. My poor digestive tract is probably struggling to cope after existing on three-plus months of pretty much nothing but fish.”

      She slid a basket of clothes across the table and started folding them. He got the distinct impression she was keeping her hands busy. Either that, or she was creating a barrier by positioning the basket between them. “Where did you meet these people?” she asked.

      “I literally stumbled into their garden and collapsed in their asparagus patch.”

      She stopped folding a lacy bra and stared at him. He tore his gaze away from the undergarment and all the memories it provoked as she said, “You’re not making any sense. Where have you been for three months? What exactly happened to you?”

      He told her about the storm and the dead engine, ending with the crash far off his reported route and the immediate sinking of the plane. He touched on his nightmare crawl across the lake to the relative safety of the shore and how he’d managed to live through the first night by digging out a trench around the base of a tree and covering it over with evergreen boughs.

      “I can’t believe you survived,” she said when he paused. “Did you ever see a search plane?”

      “Once,” he said, all but wincing at the memory. “I woke up to the sound of an engine and scrambled out of my hole like a crippled badger.”

      “When was this?”

      “Two days after the crash. I had to grab the makeshift crutches to get out into the clear where they could see me. The emergency beacon I carried went down with the Cessna.”

      She almost rolled her eyes and he smiled. “I know, I know. You asked me to update my equipment a hundred times.”

      “Two hundred,” she said.

      “Well, you were obviously right. Anyway, by the time I got out from under the trees, they were gone and they didn’t come back.”

      “That must have been horrible,” she said, visibly shuddering. “How is your leg now?”

      “Pretty good. I’ll probably limp for the rest of my life, but considering everything, that’s not so bad.”

      She nodded. “Okay, now tell me how you ended up in an asparagus patch.”

      He shrugged as though it was all no big deal. The actuality of it was a whole different matter. “I waited until the snow started to melt, smoked a bunch of fish, broke camp and stared downhill, following a stream that fed from the lake. After a few days, I ran into tended land, though I didn’t see a house. There was this big, tall fence surrounding some seedlings so I went through the gate to see if anything was mature enough to eat yet. I found a few strawberries, gobbled them up and must have passed out or fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, an older woman was shaking me awake. She told me her name was Doris and that she and her husband, Duke, had built themselves a place just over the rise. They nursed me for a day or so and then they insisted on driving me home and that took another two days.”

      “Thank heavens she found you,” Jessica said. “You should see a doctor about your leg.”

      “I will. Right now, it’s enough just to be sitting here.” He ran a hand across his hairy chin and added, “I need a shave and my own clothes. Duke lent me these.”

      “They sound like incredibly kind people. But, Alex, why didn’t you phone me?”

      “They don’t have a phone,” he said. “No television, no internet, no electricity. They’re the back-to-nature type. I did call my parents on the way, though.”

      “But not me.”

      Did that bother her? Was she thinking that in the months before he disappeared he’d often not reported in as often as he should because it always seemed to come with an argument or apathy, either one of them hard to take? “I didn’t want you to find out about me over a phone,” he said gently. “I wanted to see you. I wanted to look in your eyes, to know if it mattered to you that I was alive.”

      “Of course it matters to me,” she said, brow furling. “What a terrible thing to say.”

      “You know what I mean, Jess.”

      She nodded as she bit her lip and took a deep breath.

      “Still,” he continued, gesturing at the wall phone. “I’m kind of surprised that thing isn’t ringing off the hook. Mom has had time to tell all the relatives by now.”

      “I have it switched to message only,” she said. “I had to. It felt like every call was a possible ambush. I had to be able to deal with people on my own terms, at least once I was inside this house.” She met his gaze and smoothed back her hair. “I’m sorry, Alex, that must sound selfish to you.”

      “No,” he said gently, patting the chair again as she finished folding the laundry. “No, it sounds like survival, that’s all.”

      She sat down next to him, their knees all but touching. He ached to fold her in his arms. He wanted to tell her that he’d been thinking of little else but her for weeks and weeks and that he wanted them to be together, to make things work. But she was distant and jittery and he wasn’t brave enough to admit his feelings and have them dashed in his face.

      For that matter, dare he trust his feelings? The past several days had been a roller coaster of a ride, exhausting on all levels. Being back was strange and wonderful and truth be known, scary as hell.

      He caught her studying his face and wished he’d taken Duke Booker up on his offer for a shave and a haircut so he’d look a little more like he had before.

      “There are things you need to know,” she said.

      He braced himself. Here it came. She’d moved on.

      She shook her head as she added, “Maybe you should call Nate and get him to tell you.”

      “Nate?” What did his best friend have to do with her?

      “He’s been so concerned about you,” she said.

      “I can imagine,” Alex murmured, trying to imagine what it must have been like for Nate to keep waiting for a plane that never arrived. They’d met in the army, had both ended up with careers in law enforcement, Nate as a deputy in Arizona and Alex a police detective in Blunt Falls. Now they were fishing buddies when the opportunity allowed.

      “What does Nate need to tell me that you can’t?” he asked.

      She shook her head. “Okay, I’ll try to explain. Before people start asking you questions, you’ve got to know a few things. There are a lot of people, Nate included, who don’t think your plane crash was an accident.”

      He frowned. “What?”

      “Right around the time your plane disappeared, Nate was almost killed. That’s why he couldn’t join the search to try to find you. Worse than all that, though, is that Mike Donovan was murdered.”

      “Mike is dead?”

      “Yes. I’m sorry.”

      Mike wasn’t a close pal, like Nate, but Alex had cared for him all the same. Head spinning, he murmured, “Nate