“This better not be a trick,” he warned the empty room.
Grumbling under his breath, he tugged on his boots and conductor’s coat, then wrapped one of Imogen’s knitted scarves around his head in lieu of a hat. He stepped outside and braced himself against the biting cold.
He crunched his way across the path to the outhouse—neatly shoveled, as ordered—but she wasn’t there. A quick scan revealed the crisp imprints of Imogen’s boots leading away from the cabin and into the trees.
“Where the hell is she going?”
He followed her trail, his mystification growing as her route wandered in an indiscernible pattern. Occasionally, the solitary trail would widen into a section of stomped ground, as if she was investigating something before moving on. But what?
He circled a cluster of firs and drew to a halt. This was the clearing he’d passed through on his way from town. The one with the snow pit that had nearly swallowed him whole. He inspected the ground, but everything appeared intact.
A twig snapped nearby, and he looked up in time to catch the flash of Imogen’s pink knit hat. Her arms were full of sticks as she hurried into the clearing. In her path lay a mound of disturbed snow, and Tommy’s instincts roared to life.
“Stop!”
Imogen’s step faltered, but she shook her head slightly, as if she thought she was hearing things, and continued forward. The pit was only a few steps away. She was going to fall directly into it. Heart thudding, he sprinted forward with outstretched arms.
“Look out!”
Imogen spun around at his harsh bellow. With a terrified shriek, she hurled the armful of sticks at him. He ducked and cursed. A second later, Imogen’s boot slipped on the powdery surface, and she teetered on the edge of the pit. Gathering his strength, Tommy dove across the short expanse, wrapped both arms around her, and tackled her to the ground.
“Let me go!” Imogen shouted, and he sucked in a breath when her knee hit precariously close to his balls. “My husband knows I’m out here. He’ll be looking for me.”
“Stop, it’s m—” He reared back as her fist glanced off his throat. “Genie!”
She stilled, then tilted her head back to glare at him. “Tommy?”
“Who else?”
“I thought you were a bandit!” She shoved away from him and rose to a seated position. “What other reason would you have to cover your face and chase me down?”
“You were in danger,” he said lamely.
“Yes, from you.”
“No, from this.” He sat up and indicated the yawning pit beside them, which was larger than he’d remembered. Even worse, now he could see sharpened sticks poking out of the earth at the bottom.
“From my booby trap?”
“Your…” He shook his head. Surely, he hadn’t heard her correctly. “This is a booby trap?”
“One of many,” she replied. “Aunt Judith and I set them up for my safety. I thought I’d check them while the weather holds. Looks like I caught something here, but it escaped.”
“It was me. I escaped.”
Her lips parted in surprise. “Oh my.”
“Oh my, indeed,” he said dryly. Booby traps, she’d said. Plural. The cascade of snow and rocks that fell from the roof and narrowly missed him sprang to mind. “Did you set any traps by the cabin windows?”
“Both windows have a tripwire, yes.” She bared her teeth in a grimace. “Was that you, too?”
He began to laugh, great gales of relieved, incredulous laughter. It made no sense—and yet all the sense in the world—that booby traps had led him back to Imogen. Any other man might think he was cursed, but Tommy knew a benediction when he saw it. He wiped his eyes and smiled at Imogen.
“Dare I ask where you learned how to set booby traps?”
“Aunt Judith, of course.”
“And the punching?”
