He twisted again and sat up, brushing the hair from his face and letting the water cascade down his back. He grabbed the burl into his fist and pictured his wound in his mind’s eye, sending the heat there, willing his flesh to seal itself up. He flexed his left knee, pulling against the skin on his thigh.
And he suddenly felt no pain.
Nothing but the warmth of pliant flesh.
Morgan opened his eyes and looked around. The sparks had disappeared. The water was calm again, gently making its way down to the river. His body was cool, his breathing even, his muscles relaxed.
And he felt wonderfully alive.
He opened his fist and looked down at the burl. It, too, was calm, softly humming in his hand. But it felt different to his touch now. Smoother. Smaller.
Dammit. It was smaller. He’d used up some of the magic.
Morgan stood up, let the burl fall back against his chest, and waded over to the bank. He threw himself onto the ground and lay face-up, staring at clouds colored red by the lowering sun. He stayed there motionless for several minutes, trying to come to terms with what had just happened.
He sat up suddenly and looked down at his thigh. There was no wound, no stitches, not even a scar. He rubbed the balls of his fingers over the smooth, hair-covered flesh.
Well, hell. How would he explain this to Mercedes?
Faol came slinking out of the brush much more silently than he had left and nudged Morgan in the back. The wolf let out an agitated whine and trotted several paces down the stream bank.
The animal stopped, turned back to him, and growled, his head lowered and his hackles raised in an aggressive posture. He lifted his nose in the air, sniffed, and took several more steps toward the river before he stopped and let out a bark.
Morgan grabbed his clean clothes and quickly dressed. He snatched up the water bottle and his sword and trotted after the wolf. Keeping in the shadows of the tall brush that lined the stream, he stayed alert to whatever was making Faol travel with the stealth of a hunter.
They both worked their way back upriver to where he’d left Mercedes, and Morgan heard the voices as he neared camp. He hunkered behind the protection of an outcropping of ledge, behind a dense bush, and watched as his disobedient wife strolled to the river and warmly greeted the very men he had told her to avoid.
“Why, if it ain’t Sadie Quill,”Harry said, waving his paddle at her. “Haven’t seen you in a year of Sundays. I thought you’d gone off to the big city to be a weather girl.”
Sadie grabbed the bow of their canoe to keep it from hitting a rock, then stepped back when Harry stepped out. Together they pulled the heavily packed boat halfway up onto the beach, pulling a grinning Dwayne with it.
“Hi, Sadie,” Dwayne said, nodding and smiling and shaking a finger at her. “You trying to beat us to Plum’s gold?”
“And I’m winning, too,” she shot back. “I’m a full day ahead of you two lazy prospectors.”
Dwayne giggled and scrunched his shoulders. “Not this time, missy,” he said with another giggle, his eyes nearly disappearing into his grin. “We got something better than a map this time.”
“Dwayne,” Harry snapped. “Get out of the boat before you roll it.”
Dwayne scrambled up the length of the boat until he found himself unable to get past their gear. He solved his problem by simply stepping into the water and wading ashore.
Sadie moved back, worried he might shake himself dry like a dog, and smiled when she saw his gaze drift down the shore and his eyes suddenly widen in surprise.
“You got a dead moose!” Dwayne said, pointing at the moose. He started running toward it. “You killed a moose, Sadie!” he yelped as he ran, stopping at it so suddenly he almost fell. He looked back at her and pointed his finger again, this time waggling it like a mother lecturing a naughty child. “You ain’t supposed to kill these, missy. It’s illegal.”
Sadie ambled after Harry, who had followed his brother to view the moose. “I didn’t kill it,” she told Dwayne. “My husband did.” Now what on earth had made her say that?
“The moose attacked his boat, and he was defending himself.”
“You got a husband?” Harry asked, first looking at her in surprise, then scanning the campsite for signs of the man. He looked at her again, his eyes narrowed. “You bring back one of them city fellows from Boston?”
Sadie slowly shook her head, still reeling from the thought that she had just told these men that she had a husband. “No. He’s a local. Morgan MacKeage.”
“We heard of them MacKeages,” Harry said, his eyes still narrowed. “They own the ski resort.”
“They’re an odd bunch,” Dwayne piped in, though he appeared more interested in the moose than in the conversation. He suddenly stopped handling an antler and looked at her, his grin still in place. “What made you go and get hooked up with one of them, Sadie?” he asked. “I heard they’re a big, mean-looking group of fellows that keep to themselves.”
“They are big,” Sadie agreed, unable to keep herself from grinning back. Dwayne’s unflappable cheeriness was always contagious. “That’s probably why I married Morgan.
He’s taller than me.”
Dwayne’s gaze scanned her from head to toe. He suddenly straightened to his nearly six-foot height, puffed out his chest, and shot her another crooked-tooth grin. “Well, hell’
s bells, Sadie. If I’d known you was looking for a husband, I would have offered to marry you. I don’t even care about your scarred hand or nothing. I think you’re right pretty just as you are.”
God save her, Sadie could feel her heart melting at his sincere offer. “Thank you, Dwayne,” she replied, nodding with gratitude. “But Morgan beat you to it. You’re going to have to let a girl know sooner that you find her pretty.”
Dwayne bobbed his head, his face flushed red as he nervously darted a look around the perimeter of her camp. “I hope your husband didn’t hear that,” he whispered. “I don’t want him thinking I was poaching on his property.”
Sadie waved Dwayne’s worry away, then tucked her arm through his and led him toward the campfire. “He won’t take offense,” she assured him as they walked. She guided him to a rock and sat him down, then motioned for Harry to take a seat on the log. “Now, how about a trade, gentlemen?” she said.
“What you needing, Sadie?” Dwayne asked. “You running low on supplies?”
“No,” she told him, shaking her head while she quickly scanned the woods herself, looking for Morgan. She hoped he had walked a fair distance to find a spring and that he wouldn’t suddenly come barging in waving his sword like a heathen. All she needed was another twenty minutes, and then she could send Dwayne and Harry safely on their way.
“I was thinking of trading you two some supper for a peek at what you’ve got that’s even better than a map,” she said, hunching down and stirring the soup, sending the delicious smell toward them.
Both sets of eyes staring at her narrowed, and the smile finally disappeared from Dwayne’s face. He waggled his finger at her again. “We ain’t telling you spit, missy.”
“Why you still looking for the gold, anyway?” Harry asked. “You don’t need it none.
Them MacKeage fellows are rich.”
“They are?” she asked, lifting one brow.
Both men nodded. “They own most of the land in these parts, all the way up to Canada,”
Harry continued, waving toward the west side of the valley. “And they got that fancy resort.”
“I’m still after the gold,” Sadie told them, “because it never was for me. You know that.
Dad was hunting for it only to prove the legend. He intended to donate the gold to a good cause.” Sadie lifted her other brow. “What are your plans for it?”
Dwayne was suddenly smiling again, rubbing his hands together. “We’re going to buy ourselves some wives,” he said, nodding to show he was serious.