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The story of the crash and the events following it had appeared on the front page of that morning’s newspaper. The writer had, with only a few minor errors, meticulously chronicled Rusty’s and Cooper’s ordeal. The piece had been serious in tone and journalistically sound. But the public had a penchant for reading between the lines; it wanted to hear what had been omitted. Her friends included, the public wanted the facts fleshed out.
“Was it just awful? When the sun went down wasn’t it terrifyingly dark?”
“We had several lanterns in the cabin.”
“No, I mean outside.”
“Before you got to the cabin. When you had to sleep outdoors in the woods.”
Rusty sighed wearily. “Yes, it was dark. But we had a fire.”
“What did you eat?”
“Rabbits, mostly.”
“Rabbits! I’d die.”
“I didn’t,” Rusty snapped. “And neither would you.” Now, why had she gone and done that? Why hadn’t she just left it alone? They were looking wounded and confused, having no idea why she had jumped down their throats. Why hadn’t she said something cute, something glib, such as telling them that rabbit meat is served in some of the finest restaurants?
Following on the heels of that thought, of course, came one of Cooper. A pang of longing for him seized her. “I’m awfully tired,” she said, feeling the need to cry and not wanting to have to explain why.
But subtlety didn’t work with this duo. They didn’t pick up on the hint to leave. “And your poor leg.” The one with the bracelets clapped her hand to her cheek in horror. “Is the doctor sure he can fix it?”
Rusty closed her eyes as she answered, “Reasonably sure.”
“How many operations will it take to get rid of that hideous scar?” Rusty felt the air stir against her face as the other friend waved frantically to the untactful speaker. “Oh, I didn’t mean it that way. It’s not that hideous. I mean—”
“I know what you mean,” Rusty said, opening her eyes. “It is hideous, but it’s better than a stump, and for a while I was afraid that’s what I’d end up with. If Cooper—”
She broke off, having inadvertently spoken his name. Now that it was out, the carrion birds flocked to it, grasping it in their avidly curious talons.
“Cooper?” one asked innocently. “The man who survived the crash with you?”
“Yes.”
The two women exchanged a glance, as though mentally tossing a coin to see who was going to pose the first of numerous questions about him.
“I saw him on the TV news last night. My God, Rusty, he’s gorgeous!”
“‘Gorgeous’?”
“Well not gorgeous in the perfect sense. Not model gorgeous. I mean rugged, manly, sweaty, hairy, sexy kind of gorgeous.”
“He saved my life,” Rusty said softly.
“I know, my dear. But if one’s life must be saved, better it be by someone who looks like your Cooper Landry. That mustache!” She grinned wickedly and licked her chops. “Is what they say of mustaches true? Remember the joke?”
Rusty did remember the joke. Her cheeks went pink while her lips went pale. What they said about mustaches was true.
“Are his shoulders really this broad?” The friend held her hands a yard apart.
“He’s rather brawny, yes,” Rusty admitted helplessly. “But he—”
“Are his hips really this narrow?” The hands closed to less than a foot apart. The ladies giggled.
Rusty wanted to scream. “He knew things to do that I would never have thought about. He built a travois, using my fur coat, and dragged me away from the crash site—for miles. I didn’t even realize how far until I saw the distance from the helicopter.”
“There’s something deliciously dangerous about him.” One friend gave a delicate shiver. She hadn’t heard a single word Rusty had said. “Something threatening in his eyes. I’ve always found that primitive streak wildly sexy.”
