Scarlet Fever Page 4

  Pain is funny that way.

  He had pulled her pants down, but not her panties. The Sergeant was, in many ways, an old-fashioned “gentleman,” and he was already a bit surprised at what he was doing to the woman sprawled over his lap and howling at the top of her lungs. The temptation to take down her panties was strong, though—almost overwhelming—but he resisted the urge. Not merely because he was a gentleman, but because he knew it would be distracting. She needed spanking. Not merely deserved it, but needed it. And she was going to get it. Hard. A hard, long, thorough spanking—hard enough, and painful enough to get through to her. To get her to understand the dangerous situation they were facing. To get her to cooperate. But while he was busy setting Anne Wilson’s extremely deserving ass on fire, Geoff Cameron couldn’t help but notice that it was an extremely attractive ass. And even covered by a filmy haze of pink nylon, the sight was—as he’d expected— distracting. Let alone the feel. Or the physical response he was having trouble hiding.

  Male anatomy is funny that way.

  All Anne knew was that she was in a world of pain. On the other hand, she was a journalist, and even as she kicked and squirmed in a desperate attempt to escape the sergeant’s iron grip, she found herself wondering how the hell anything so simple could hurt so much. How it could turn her—rabid feminist and equal to any man—into a blubbering, sniffling mass of jelly. And all it had taken to do that was a strong masculine hand, a certain amount of male muscle, and the determination to show her who was in control. Even as she wailed and begged, Anne found herself feeling grateful that he hadn’t used his belt, as he had threatened— the wide, brown leather belt that came with that gorgeous scarlet tunic. And the final thing that crossed her mind was the most puzzling of all. Why, in the midst of all this pain and misery and embarrassment, with her nose running and her ass on fire— why the hell was she getting turned on?

  Apparently, female anatomy is funny too.

  The seventy-four seconds (closer to seventy-four minutes, from Anne’s point of view) finally ended, and by the time the spanking stopped, the confusing feeling of sexual arousal she’d experienced had disappeared entirely—lost in a final flurry of especially vigorous swats to a spot just beneath her panty line.

  They walked back to the plane in absolute silence, but Anne wasn’t about to leave well enough alone. It had become a war of wills, and she wasn’t accustomed to losing that kind of battle.

  “There’s no way in hell I can sleep in there,” she complained when she opened the cabin door. “It stinks of gas. And you were worried about a little cigarette smoke?’”

  “I drained the gas tank to be on the safe side, in the event we’re struck by lightning. The odor will fade in a day or so.”

  She reached inside and pulled out a rolled sleeping bag. “The hell with it. I’ll sleep outside, under the plane.”

  He sighed. “I know you’re angry about what just happened, but you can’t do that. It’s going to start snowing, soon, and by midnight, the temperature will drop below freezing. You’ll be punishing yourself by sleeping outside, not me. And it won’t prove anything.”

  “It has nothing to do with that,” she lied. “It doesn’t feel like snow, and this sleeping bag was advertised as heavy duty. It damned well better be. It cost me two hundred bucks at a Bass Pro Shop in Seattle. I’ll be perfectly fine. Cozy as can be.”

  Finally, he gave up, and shrugged his shoulders. “Suit yourself.” He glanced up at the sky. “But it is going to snow. Around two, tomorrow morning, I’d say. Perhaps two-thirty. ”

  She looked up at the sky. “It’s not going to snow,” she said flatly.

  He smiled. “Whatever you say. Good night, Miss Wilson, and sleep well. For my part, I’ll rest more peacefully knowing that because of my efforts, at least part of you will be extremely warm tonight.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  The snow began at two-eighteen in the morning, silently. It announced its arrival with a an almost magical cascade of gigantic blue-white flakes that drifted into Anne’s improvised lean-to, and settled so softly on her sleeping form that she didn’t feel their touch. Moments later, though, a powerful gust of cold air dismembered the lean–to, and sent it cart wheeling into the lake. Within moments, the initial gust had turned into a howling wind, accompanied by an almost Biblical deluge of freezing rain and blowing sleet. By the time she struggled to her feet and made it to the plane, she was shivering with cold, even under her heavy, hooded parka.

  “What the hell was that?” she screamed over the wind when Cameron opened the door.

  “Winter,” he replied.

  “Just like that? What happened to fall?”

  “Welcome to the Yukon. As I said, we have two seasons this far north: winter, and the first week in July. The First Nations people up here believe that this is where the North Wind sleeps, and now it’s waking up again. You’re damp,” he said reproachfully.

  Anne shot him a disgusted look. “No kidding?”

  “And you expect to be welcomed into my warm, dry bed in that condition?” He reached to the front and tossed her a flannel shirt. “One of mine. A bit large, but the best I can do. I thought you might be joining me, and I’ve seen what you regard as sleeping garments. You must have an interesting social life, Miss Wilson. Silk Cinderella pajamas?”

  “They were a gift. And what, exactly, gave you the right to go through my damned luggage?”

  “The usual customs check for smuggled items— distilled spirits, etc.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, you didn’t have any. All I found of a suspicious nature were some hand towels and a Gideon Bible, apparently stolen from a Red Roof Inn in Seattle. The towels I can understand, but the Bible?”

  “We big-time criminals enjoy reading,” she said sweetly.

  “I have it on very good authority that Al Capone began by stealing towels and Gideon Bibles,” he said. “Fortunately, you’ve been caught early in your crime career. Swift apprehension and certain punishment are the best ways to prevent first-time offenders from entering the criminal class on a permanent basis, you know.”

  “Fascinating! Did you learn that at the police academy?”

  “No, I learned that on reruns of Law and Order. Law enforcement is different up here, though. More personal, and direct. I can’t recall even one episode in which Sam Waterston was called upon to spank a prisoner. He merely sends the villain off to jail—to repent of his or her sins, presumably. Of course, Sam Waterston gets paid more than I do, too, and he probably has a nicer flat—overlooking Central Park.”

  He turned his back while she shed her wet clothes and slipped the flannel shirt over her head.

  “You can open your eyes, again,” she growled, tugging at the hem of the shirt. It was long enough to cover her knees safely, but bending over would still be perilous. “I’m decent—sort of. Let’s just hope the fashion police aren’t prowling around anywhere.”

  She looked down at herself, taking in the borrowed sealskin mukluks and the two pairs of thick gray wool socks he’d lent her—with their red stripes. “Maybe I’ll be the start of a new trend in lingerie,” she remarked sullenly. “The lumberjack look.”

  “These will add to the effect,” he said, handing her a pair of knitted sweat pants and yet another pair of woolen socks. “Take the boots off, and let them dry, and add these.”

  “Another pair of socks?”

  “By morning, you’ll wish you were wearing a dozen. In a day or so, we’ll be sleeping in the parkas, as well, so try to keep yours dry.”

  “I’ve seen movies where the Eskimos sleep naked, inside those ice houses they build,” Anne complained. “Not that I’m suggesting that, of course,” she added quickly.

  “If we were in a properly built igloo, and if we had six or eight more people crowded in here, with a fire and a nice pile of caribou and bear skins—maybe. And if the night didn’t turn colder than average. Meanwhile, keep your clothes on, and your head under the covers, and f
orce yourself to sleep as close to me as you can get, even if you have to grit your teeth while you’re doing it. Do all that, and we may not freeze before we’re rescued.”

  The following morning, while Cameron unpacked the rear of the plane, looking for useful items, Anne took her camera and slipped away to investigate their surroundings. The camera was more a “cover” than anything else. If the Sergeant got nosy about what she was doing, she could always claim she was documenting an eventual story about their ordeal. “Beautiful Reporter Saves Handsome Mountie From Certain Death in Frozen Wilderness,” maybe? No, too long. The title would need work. But, at the back of her mind, what she was really thinking was that their best chance at surviving was to hike out, and find help. She knew without asking that the Sergeant wouldn’t approve of her exploring for that purpose, and she didn’t want another quarrel. (Translation: Spanking.) Anne had learned a long time ago that there were moments to tell the absolute truth, and times not to. Especially when dealing with the kind of alpha male who was convinced he knew everything.

  The snow made walking difficult, and she had barely gotten to the top of the ridge, where the trees began, before she had to stop and rest. There wasn’t much to see beyond the ridge, other than more trees and snow, and she was already breathing hard in the freezing air. As annoying as it was, she had to face it. The know-it-all Cameron had been right for once. Hiking out wasn’t going to be an option.

  She turned to start back, and stopped abruptly. There were animal tracks in the snow in front of her. Big ones. Tracks that led from the copse of trees where she’d been standing seconds earlier, all the way down to the lake.

  She made it back to the plane a lot faster than she’d made it from the plane to the ridge, and arrived there gasping for breath. Cameron was still unloading the junk from the back.

  He stopped what he was doing, and looked up. “What’s wrong?”

  There was no way in hell Anne wanted to appear frightened, but she was. Frightened enough to be close to wetting her pants. His pants, actually.

  “What do coyote tracks look like?” she inquired casually, forcing herself to sound calm.

  “Like dog tracks, but bigger. Wider pads. Why?”

  “How much bigger?” she asked. Even to her, her voice sounded strangled.

  “Would you just tell me what you saw?” he said. “Coyotes aren’t usually something to worry about. They’re more a nuisance than …”

  “Well it wasn’t a coyote,” she said. “That’s for damned sure.”

  He reached inside the cabin and pulled a rifle from behind the seat. “Show me.”

  When they reached the spot where she’d seen the tracks, he dropped to one knee and touched the impressions in the snow. “Grizzlies,” he said. “At least two.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Do you think they could be, like, man eaters?” she breathed.

  Cameron smiled. “Please don’t concern yourself with my safety, Miss Wilson. I’m sure they’ll just as happily eat a woman. In any case, we’ll need to stay together, now, and close to the plane.”

  She pointed to the holstered revolver on his belt. “Won’t that thing take down a grizzly bear?”

  “I’ve never encountered a bear robbing a bank or a gas station, so I’m not actually equipped to take one down—as you put it. I believe a large grizzly would be more annoyed by it than anything else. They’re very easily annoyed, I understand. The rifle is probably powerful enough to ruin his day, though, if nothing else.”

  “That’s very comforting,” she growled. “It just keeps getting better. Before, all we had to worry about was freezing, starving, or food poisoning. Now we can look forward to being eaten alive, into the bargain. You picked a fabulous place for an impromptu vacation, Sarge.”

  As they walked back to the plane, Anne kept her eyes moving, checking the ridge for lumbering brown shapes.

  “I want your promise that you won’t wander off again like that,” he said, as he opened the cabin door for her. “Do I have it?”

  When she didn’t answer, he reached under the front seat, pulled out a small, triangular leather case, and opened it. A pair of steel handcuffs dropped out, into his palm. “How would you feel about spending the remainder of your vacation cuffed to a seat?” No answer, again. Cameron rolled his eyes heavenward and threw up his hands. “What the devil is wrong with you?” he asked. “My orders are to deliver you back to the United States—safely. What do I have to do to prove to you that I’m going to do just that? To do my damned job, whatever it takes?”

  Anne yawned. “Well, Sarge, so far, you’re not doing such a bang-up job of that, are you? I’d have done better to wait for the first Greyhound bus that came through. Their drivers wear cute uniforms, too, and they’re a hell of a lot less obnoxious.”

  This time—the second time—he didn’t bother looking for a rock to sit on. He simply pulled her across his thigh, yanked her pants—and panties—down to her knees, and delivered six sharp swats to her bare behind.

  “Now,” he said grimly, “we need to get a few things straight. Until you have a far better grasp of who’s in charge, here, you’re going to be spending a lot more very disagreeable time over my knee than you already have.”

  “You can’t be serious about this crap!” she cried, fumbling to get her pants back up.

  “Try me.” He took her elbow, whirled her around and landed another swat. Hard enough to draw a yelp of pain.

  “All that proves is you’re bigger than me,” she seethed, “not smarter. You’re turning out to be exactly the kind of domineering bastard I thought you’d be.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, but the simple fact is, I’ve been up here long enough, and had enough experience, to understand our situation better than you do. You obviously don’t agree, and while I’m always willing to debate an issue, it’s clear to me you’re not especially good at debating, or at listening to good advice.”

  “And could that be because you’re an officious, arrogant sonofabitch who always thinks he’s right?” she asked sweetly.

  He thought for a moment. “I believe that’s what I just said, in somewhat different words. In any case, the bottom line—and one that you keep forgetting—is that you’re still in my custody, which means that I’m allowed to make whatever rules that have to be made. I may not be your idea of the perfect wilderness guide, but I’m the one you’ve got, and I know considerably more than you about how to stay alive under these conditions. I have no way of knowing how long we’re going to be here, but from this point forward, we do things my way. It’s quite simple, really. I make the rules, and you follow them—without an argument. Every rule broken will result in your being spanked, again. Spanked, I might add, in a manner I guarantee you don’t wish to risk. The very first rule, and the most important, is that you are never—repeat never—to leave the immediate vicinity of the airplane without my knowledge and express permission.”

  Anne rubbed her rear end and glared at him. “So, now I have to ask permission to go to the fucking bathroom?”

  “Should you should find a bathroom, Miss Wilson, I hope you’ll be kind enough to share that information with me, as I would very much appreciate the opportunity to shave and have a proper shower. Since the only hygienic facilities available to either of us are shared by grizzly bears and other potentially dangerous mammals, however, I’ll expect you to notify me each and every time you go in search of such an amenity. I promise to remain at a respectful distance, with my back turned, and to only discharge a firearm when absolutely necessary. And before you start swearing at me, again, I’m giving you fair warning. The next obscenity out of your mouth will be regarded as a punishable offense.”

  “And the rest of these so-called rules?”

  “That’s it, actually. All of the rest are more on the order of minor complaints. Smoking, calling me vile and unkind names, that sort of thing. Still punishable, mind yo
u, but perhaps not as vigorously.”

  “So, you expect me to just accept being spanked?”

  “Until further notice, yes. This is as new to me as it is to you, and my first experience with it has left my hand numb. So, if you wish to deprive me of whatever perverse pleasure I might derive from spanking you, again, try adhering strictly to the rules.” He rubbed his right hand for a moment. “Now, since it appears that we may be here a while, we’ll need to get organized, and make a proper camp. Would you like to pull up your pants so we can get to work?”

  “Like I have a fucking choice?” she muttered, under her breath.

  The third spanking wasn’t appreciably harder, but it hurt appreciably more, since she hadn’t yet pulled her pants back up, and since he took the time to remove his belt and bend her over the damaged landing gear cowling. As he re-buckled the belt, Cameron shook his head, and sighed. “You may just be the slowest learner I’ve ever met, Miss Wilson,” he said. “I’m afraid you going to be spending a good deal of our time together with your backside on fire.”

  * * * * *

  The rest of the afternoon was spent in taking careful inventory of the items he’d found in the back of the plane.

  A half-box of shells for the rifle. One lightweight tarpaulin, a small camp stove with a lidless pot, and a bottle of something called “denatured alcohol.” Neither medicinal nor recreational, Cameron explained, but fuel for the tiny stove. An ancient first-aid kit, including a snakebite kit, even though there were no snakes anywhere in the Yukon. Some iodine, gauze, disinfectant, aspirin, ammonia ampoules—all packed forty years earlier. A small coffee pot, but no coffee. A handful of tea bags, with stains of unknown origin. One rusted metal cup and two tin plates, equally rusted.

  At the bottom of the first aid kit, she found several safety pins. “Nice to know I can fix a hem if I need to, or maybe a bra strap.”

  “Or make a fishhook?” he suggested.

  “You really think there are fish in that pond we’re stuck in? Or lake? Whatever it is?”