Free Survival Instinct by Rachelle McCalla

touching his fingers to his forehead, which was an inch or two higher than it had been in college. He made a face. “Just think—it doesn’t take me very long at all to comb through my hair.”
    She shook her head. “I like it. It makes you look distinguished.”
    “It makes me look old.”
    “I like it,” Abby repeated.
    Scott leaned one shoulder against the door frame. If Abby hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might not have noticed the wince he tried to suppress.
    “You’re sore.”
    “I’m old,” he said, chuckling.
    “You’re not old,” she protested, fighting a knot in her hair. “What birthday did you just celebrate? Thirty-one?”
    “Thirty-two.”
    “You’re not old. You carried the canoe, paddled all the way here in rough weather, and then carried me. You have every right to be sore.”
    Scott rolled his eyes.
    “And by the way—” Abby kept her eyes on the mirror, but spoke to his reflection “—thank you. You saved my life.”
    “You saved mine,” he countered.
    Unsure whether she believed him, Abby kept her eyes on the mirror and kept combing. She’d have thought after all they’d been through that she’d have gotten over her schoolgirl crush on him, but instead it seemed to have gotten worse.
    Scott reached for the towel she’d left draped over the edgeof the tub. “Elda said she’d throw our clothes and towels in the wash. Burt’s been in touch with the Coast Guard, but the weather’s not cooperating. We can probably have our clothes washed and dried before we’re ready to leave.”
    “Perfect.” Abby ran the comb through her hair one final time, checking for any stray tangles. “I’ve never appreciated dry clothes so much before.”
    “Want me to take your things down to her?” Scott asked, pointing to Abby’s jeans, which hung dripping from the towel rod over the tub.
    “No, that’s fine, I’m about ready.” Abby patted her damp hair with the towel from her shoulders. “I can take this one, too.” She reached past Scott for her jeans and gave them a tug. As they flew free of the bar, something hit the floor and skittered under the sink.
    “Oops, you lost something.” Scott reached for it.
    “It’s probably one of your mom’s earrings. I can get it.” Abby reached into the rear pocket of her jeans and pulled out the two earrings which had been securely nestled there. She felt her cheeks go red as she realized what had fallen out, and hoped Scott wouldn’t find it.
    But Scott called out from under the sink. “I’ve got it.” He stood. “It’s not an earring, but it is jewelry.” He handed the diamond ring back to her, and she watched with a sinking stomach as his cheeks colored to match her own. He didn’t ask her about it or comment any further. “I’ll meet you downstairs,” he said simply, and retreated.
    Abby watched him go, furious with herself for being so careless with the ring. What if she’d lost it? She wasn’t sure what bothered her more—wondering what Scott must think, or the threat of what Trevor would do if the ring didn’t make it back to him.
     
    Scott hurried down the stairs to the living room where a warm woodstove burned a cheery fire, keeping the cold and the darkness at bay. He pulled a wooden chair as close to the stove as he dared, soaking up as much warmth as he could stand after the terrific cold of the woods and the lake. But even as he stared through the stove’s window at the dancing flames, Scott felt the cold and the darkness pressing in on his heart.
    So, Abby had a diamond engagement ring in her pocket. He was curious about that, but it wasn’t any of his business. They’d been schoolmates years and years before, and he hadn’t seen her since until that morning. He had no claim on her life. But obviously someone else did, or recently had.
    He needed to back away, to keep himself from becoming any more attached to her than he already felt. That kiss in the woods was a mistake, a desperate move in a