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her melancholy was from having a cold and not from having shared a bed with a gorgeous man who, like most sober men, didn’t see her as a woman.
    And with that quiet capitulation, Jane lost complete control of her rescue operation. As soon as she dug out the aspirin, Mark procured her backpack and its contents, cooked soup and hot chocolate, then dismantled their camp right before her disbelieving eyes. He let out the straps on her pack to fit his wide shoulders, hefted her shotgun in one hand and held out his other hand for her to take—their roles of yesterday unquestionably reversed.
    â€œWhich way?” he asked once she was standing, albeit bewildered and stuffy-headed.
    â€œAh . . . north,” she whispered, fighting back another sneeze. Jane thought she should tell him everything now, since she didn’t know what condition she might be in later. Heck, she was liable to lead them in circles. “Follow this ridge until you see a good-sized stream on the left. Then follow it downstream to the lake. The canoe should be where the stream enters the lake.”
    With a smug grin that said he was fully in charge, Mark started along the ridge, his hand securely holding hers. Now that the man could see well enough, he had no trouble covering the rough terrain with his long, powerful legs, but he matched his pace to hers, and even helped her over steep places by simply grabbing her around the waist and lifting her up.
    And every time she sneezed he turned and frowned at her, and every time she stopped to blow her nose, his eyes silently scolded.
    When they reached the lake and found the canoe, Mark tossed her in the front and took over the stern. “If you don’t feel well enough to paddle, just rest,” he offered with obvious concern and another frown. “Tell me which way to the outlet, and I’ll take it from here.”
    Beginning to really simmer now, whether from fever or building anger, Jane pointed to the other end of the lake, then closed her eyes and decided to let him do all the work, if that’s what the bossy man wanted. She was sick, he was arrogant, and maybe paddling a canoe for seventeen miles would take some of that cockiness out of him.
    Within minutes she was fast asleep.
    *   *   *
    M ark watched the flushed, sick, angry woman sleeping in the bow. She hadn’t liked relinquishing control this morning, and he guessed that if she hadn’t been feeling poorly they’d still be back at camp slugging it out over their respective roles in this odyssey.
    Jane Abbot was a capable, independent creature who appeared too stubborn for her own good. He wondered where her family was. He also wondered why some intelligent man hadn’t put a ring on her finger and bound her to a home.
    But then, for all he knew some man had. Maybe she hadn’t liked the situation and had left. Then again, maybe she was simply too independent for marriage. Mark certainly couldn’t picture Jane as a complaisant wife to some domineering husband.
    But she’d been totally flustered this morning to find his hand on her breast. And a nice, plump breast it was, he remembered warmly. He’d given her an excuse for her red face by blaming it on her illness, and she’d jumped at the offer. Jane had been disconcerted by his touch, which led him to believe she’d never been anyone’s wife.
    After many hours of paddling in the surprisingly warm late October sun, and hoping he hadn’t passed the settlement, Mark shored the canoe and gently shook Jane awake. “Jane. Come on, honey. Wake up and tell me if we’re close.”
    She groggily sat up and promptly sneezed again. Her nose was bright red and had been running most of the morning, her sleep had been restless and her breathing labored. She was working her way into a terrible cold,and he wanted to get her comfortable and some medicine down her throat as soon as possible.
    â€œIt’s