She dashed to the kitchen and got her paring knife. Running back to Price, she knelt and sawed through the fabric binding his wrists, then turned her attention to his ankles while he rubbed feeling back into his hands. "You need a cordless phone," he said. "Or one with a longer cord."
"I'll take care of that the next time I go shopping," she said as she freed his ankles. The kitchen phone was closer, though that cord wasn't long enough to reach either. He hobbled over to it, his muscles stiff from sitting so long in a strained position.
"This is Tanner. Yeah, everything's under control. I'll give a complete briefing when you get here. Are the roads passable yet? Okay." He hung up and hobbled toward her. "The road is still blocked, but they're going to grab a snowplow. They should be here in a couple of hours."
He hobbled past. Hope blinked. "Price?"
"Can't stop to talk," he said, speeding up his hobbling, heading straight toward the bathroom.
Hope couldn't smother her laugh. Clinton glared at her as she walked past him to hang up the phone in the great room. She still had the paring knife in her hand. She paused and looked at him consideringly, and something must have shown in her face because he blanched.
"Don't," he said as she started toward him, and then he began to yell.
"You cut him," Price said, his tone disbelieving. "You really cut him."
"He had to know I meant business," Hope said. "It was just a teeny cut, nothing to make such a fuss about. Actually, it was an accident; I didn't intend to get that close, but he jumped."
That wasn't all Clinton had done; he had also lost control of his bladder. And then he had begun talking, babbling as fast as he could, yelling for Price, saying anything to keep her from cutting him again. Price had called the sheriff's department and relayed the information, which they hoped was accurate. It was after midnight. They lay in bed, their arms around each other. She held an ice pack to his cheek; he held another one on her back.
"I meant it, you know," Price said, kissing her forehead, "about loving you. I know everything happened too fast, but... I know what I feel. From the minute I opened my eyes and saw your face, I wanted you." He paused. "So... r
"So?" she repeated.
"So, you 'probably' love me too, huh?"
"Probably." She nestled more comfortably against him. "Definitely."
"Say it!" he ordered under his breath, his arms tightening around her.
"I love you. But we really should take our time, get to know each other--"
He gave a low laugh. "Take our time? It's a little late for that, isn't it?"
She had no answer, because too much had happened in too short a time. She felt as if the past day had been weeks long. Thrown together as they had been under extreme circumstances, she had seen him in a multitude of situations, and she knew her first dazed, deliriously joyous impression of him had been accurate. She felt as if she had known him immediately, primitive instinct recognizing him as her mate.
"Marry me, Hope. As soon as possible. The chances we've taken, we've probably hit the baby jackpot." His voice was lazy, seductive.
She lifted her head from his shoulder, staring at him through the darkness. She saw the gleam of his teeth as he smiled, and once again she felt that jolt of awareness, of recognition. "All right," she whispered. "You don't mind?"
"Mind?" He took her hand and carried it to his crotch. He was hard as a rock. "I'm raring to go, honey," he whispered, and his voice was trembling a little, as it had earlier when they discussed the possibility. "All you have to do is say the word, and I'll devote myself to the project."
"Word," she said, joyfully giving herself up to the inevitable.