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Hugging her pack to her chest, Sara scanned the narrow, rectangular room. The place looked more like a hunting or fishing lodge than it did a house. There was a half-full dog dish the size of grandma’s Dutch oven tucked beside a long-legged, antique gas stove in the kitchen area. Next to the food sat a water bowl nearly as big.
The remainder of the room seemed to be centered around a coal-black, wood-burning behemoth. It sat on abbreviated legs, silently radiating heat and looking just like a pudgy oil drum with cast-ron decorations.
Sara hesitated. The place smelled very masculine. Oh, not like old socks or anything. Just different. As if a man, this man, had made it his private den. Clearly, the cabin was his special sanctuary. And she was an intruder.
“Really, I…” Embarrassed, Sara hung back close to the door. She didn’t want to impose any more than she already had. Yet what choice was there? All her camping gear and clothing, except what she carried in the one small pack, was back at the car, inaccessible. If she were in her companion’s shoes she would gladly offer shelter and assistance, so why did it bother her so much to accept the same from him?
Adam had removed his boots and was stoking the wood stove, oblivious to her uneasiness. “Slip off your shoes and leave them on the rug there by the door.” He flipped open the cast iron door with a noisy clank and poked the dying embers with a stick. “I’ll take care of them later.”
Sara suddenly felt his gaze settle on her, warming her far more than the stove. She tensed. “What? What is it? Did I do something wrong?”
Grumbling, Adam looked away. “No. Just hurry up, will you? I’d like to get out of my wet clothes.”
Her eyes widened. “Excuse me?”
“There’s only one bathroom. I don’t intend for us to share it, okay?” He gestured with a tilt of his head. “Over there. Through that door. And don’t use up all the hot water.”
Sara giggled softly. “The bathroom is inside, isn’t it? I mean, you’re not going to tell me I have to walk across the yard and back?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it’s inside.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided smile, then quickly resumed its usual moody position. “I have a generator for the electricity to pump the water, too, so you won’t have to go fetch it from the well in a bucket.”
“Oh, good.”
“I thought you’d appreciate that.” The wry smile threatened to reappear. “There are towels in the cabinet under the sink, I think. If not, that means I didn’t remember to do the laundry and we’re both up the creek.”
“Please,” Sara said, “don’t mention creeks or rivers or anything else pertaining to water. I don’t think I’ve ever been this wet.”
“Stick around these hills long enough and you’ll get used to it,” he told her. “Locals say, if you don’t like the weather, just wait a few minutes and it’ll change. It’s kind of a standing joke.”
“I can believe that.” She was eyeing the bathroom door. “Um, I do have one other request, if you don’t mind.”
“What is that?”
“Well, there’s a sweatshirt and some personal things in my pack but I don’t have any other dry clothes with me at the moment. Do you suppose you could loan me something to wear? Just till my skirt dries.”
“Yeah, sure. I think I can find something that will fit you.”
To Sara’s surprise he went to the bed instead of the dresser and dragged a low, flat, storage box from beneath it. Straightening, he tossed a pair of jeans her way as if they were of no consequence, but she could tell by the expression on his face that he cared very much about whoever the clothing belonged to. Or had belonged to.
Was he was hiding out up here in the wilderness to lick his wounds? Recovering from a disappointing love affair? Well, why not? She was.
“Thanks,” Sara called back, as she headed for the bathroom and ducked inside. The room was spartan but definitely adequate. Turning on the shower she quickly shed her ruined clothes and stepped into the spray. Oh, it felt good to be clean!
Reveling in the warmth she let her mind wander where it wanted. Life was so confusing. Sometimes, it seemed as if she were stumbling along without purpose or guidance. At other times, like now, it was as if God had taken an interest in her future, after all.
She sighed. If that were so, there would be no real accidents in her life, would there? Not even slippery roads and unbelievable thunder storms.
Not even meeting Adam Callahan.
Adam sat on an upended log beside the wood stove and stared at the bathroom door. How long had it been since anyone else had been in his house? It seemed like forever.
He vividly recalled Gene’s last visit. They’d had a great time getting reacquainted. Older by ten years, Adam had always felt responsible for his brother’s welfare, even after they’d both grown up and gone separate ways.
Adam had even offered to quit the force so they could go into business together. Gene had insisted he had his own plans. Plans that didn’t include settling down to a regular nine-to-five job. He wanted to have fun. Explore the wild side of life. If he hadn’t had a cop for a brother, he might have succeeded.
Blinking away the final scene in his brother’s short life, Adam got to his feet. It should have been him who died, not Gene. Adam was the unlucky one. The jinx. It wasn’t safe to be around him. Which was one of the reasons he always gave for his life of isolation.
His thoughts returned to his guest. Sara Stone was spunky. Most women in her shoes would have collapsed in tears. She was definitely not his type, though. Which was for the best. The last thing he needed or wanted was to become involved in someone else’s personal life.
As if on cue, Sara called out from behind the bathroom door. “Excuse me?”
“Yes?” he replied.
“I hate to bother you, but I just unwrapped my sweatshirt and it’s damp. Got one I can borrow till it dries?”
“Sure. Hang on.” He found a gray fleece that would do. “Here.”
The slim, smooth arm she held out from behind the almost closed bathroom door gave him a start. She had long, tapering, expressive fingers, and delicate, unblemished skin that looked softer than satin.
Adam slapped the rumpled sweatshirt into her hand and turned away. What was the matter with him? Had he been alone so long that any woman, even Sara Stone, looked good to him?
What’s wrong with the way she looks? he admonished himself, analyzing his curious thoughts. What difference did it make? He didn’t intend to relinquish his hard-won tranquility for any reason. All he wanted was to be left alone. Period. End of story.
Reaffirmed, he hunkered down by the fire to wait his turn in the bathroom. He was fine. Content. He had his dog and the wilderness, enough to eat, and a roof over his head. Plus, he could always check on the status of his investments or draw more cash by merely driving to the mom-and-pop grocery store a few miles away and making some phone calls. It was a perfect system. A perfect life.
The bathroom door slowly creaked open. Steam bearing pleasant, feminine fragrances accompanied Sara into the room. Adam found it suddenly difficult to breathe. She’d wrapped one of his towels around her wet hair and twisted it on top of her head. Her long, graceful neck arched above the loose neckline of his sweatshirt. Wisps of light, golden hair had escaped the confines of the towel to curl gently downward and caress her pale skin. Her feet were bare. And she was still lugging that ridiculous pack.
His gaze traveled Sara’s full length and back to her face where she greeted him with the warmest smile and the most appealing hazel eyes he’d ever seen. This beauty was under all that mud? Heaven help him when her hair dried!
“The waist is kind of big but the jeans fit pretty well,” Sara said. “Thanks.” She shook out the fleecy red shirt she’d had wrapped around her laptop computer. “This isn’t nearly as wet as the rest of my clothes. It should dry by the fire in no time.”
“Good.” Adam swallowed hard. Having her staying there, even for one night, was going to be a lot harder on him than he’d imagined. “Are you through in the bathroom?”
“For now.” Sara padded across the floor to stand beside the warm stove. “I left my other clothes on the floor in the corner. As soon as you’ve had your shower I’ll clean up everything. Okay?”
“Sure.” He hoped his consternation didn’t show.
“I kept my shower short so you’d have plenty of hot water.”
“Thanks.” Adam disappeared into the bathroom. What in the world was the matter with him? Why was he so uptight? Anybody would think he’d never been alone with a pretty young woman before.
Stripping off his shirt and jeans he threw them forcefully to the floor. Pretty was an understatement. How could he have been so wrong about Sara’s looks? And how in the world could she have managed to smell so good when all he had on hand was his usual generic shampoo?
A quick glance at the shelf in the shower answered his question. She’d packed for any emergency, the way women did, and brought along all sorts of potions. The bottles were lined up on the lip of his shower stall like little tin soldiers.
Adam closed his eyes and stepped under the stinging spray. He placed both hands on the wall of the shower and bowed his head, letting the water cascade over him. This was the feeling he’d dreaded; the moment he’d tried with all his might to postpone. For the first time in nearly two years he was forced to admit that maybe he didn’t really want to spend the rest of his life alone, after all.
Sara heard her host turn off the shower. She had hung the red sweatshirt next to the stove to finish drying and was carefully checking the condition of her portable computer. It seemed to be functioning well.
“You still there?” he called from behind the closed door.
Sara thought the question totally absurd. “Nope. I went out for pizza. Why?”
“Can’t you give a simple, straight answer?”
Approaching the door she laughed lightly. “Apparently not. Is that all you wanted to ask?” She heard unintelligible muttering.
“No. I wasn’t thinking. I came in here without clean clothes. Would you please hand me some?”
“Sure.” Sara stifled another laugh. “Boy, with a memory like yours it’s a good thing you weren’t going to the store or something, huh?”
“Very funny. Just hand me a pair of jeans and a shirt. There’s a stack of clothes piled on the chest at the foot of the bed.”
“Okay.” Complying, she noticed that nothing was folded. Not that it surprised her. She supposed a bachelor did well to just wash and dry the dirty stuff once in a while. Never mind put it neatly away.
“How shall I get them to you, shove them through the keyhole?” Sara waited for him to open the door.
Again, she overheard muttering. The poor man must really be used to his solitude. Still, even a certified grump needed a little humor in his life. And besides, she was so thankful to have been rescued she was feeling the need to share her elation.
A damp, hairy arm emerged from behind the door, fingers grasping impatiently. “Well?”
“Here.” She crammed the clothes into his hand in a wad. When he didn’t express any thanks she added, “You’re quite welcome, Mr. Callahan.”
Adam flung open the door seconds later, catching her by surprise. This was the first time she’d taken a really good look at her reluctant benefactor. He was tall and muscular. Adam Callahan was clearly a man who used his muscles. Oh, boy, was he!
Stop that! Sara lectured herself. Since when have you been nuts about grouchy Neanderthals?
“I’m not nuts.” She realized belatedly that she had spoken aloud.
“Glad to hear it. Now, if you’ll step out of the way I’ll go tend to Samson.”
“Oh, sorry.” In moments she had recovered her lucidity. “Can I help? I feel like I owe it to him. After all, he did rescue me.”
One of Adam’s dark eyebrows raised. His deep-blue eyes peered down at her. “Who rescued you?”
“Well, you did, in the end. But if Samson hadn’t heard my car and gone looking for me in the first place, none of this would have happened.”
“Don’t remind me,” Adam grumbled, “or I may leave him out on the porch for the rest of his miserable life.”
That stern warning sounded far too genuine. Sara placed both hands on her hips, her expression defiant. “Now look, mister. I don’t want to be the cause of any trouble for that poor, innocent animal, so knock off the threats. Samson didn’t do anything wrong and you know it.”
“Well, well, you do have a serious side, after all, don’t you? I was beginning to wonder.”
“I can’t help finding humor in lots of different things. It’s just my nature. I guess that’s one of the reasons I’m good at my job.”
“Which is?” Adam grabbed a couple of large bath towels from the laundry pile and started for the door.
“I teach kindergarten and first grade.”
He paused and glanced over his shoulder. “What?”
“Kids. You know, those cute, short people who like to play in the sand and eat cookies?” She chuckled at the droll expression on his face.
“I have heard of them, yes.”
“I love children.” She smiled sweetly, recalling the students she had just passed on to second grade. If it hadn’t been for Eric’s unnatural obsession with her, she’d probably have volunteered to teach summer school. The disappointing recollection wrinkled her brow.
“So, do you have kids of your own?” Adam asked.
She sighed. “No. I’m not married.”
“That doesn’t seem to stop a lot of women these days.”
“I’m a Christian. I have different rules of behavior. At least I’m supposed to.”
“Ah.” Adam nodded. “I used to be one, too.”
“Used to be?”
“Yeah.”
Sara could sense how uncomfortable he was so she changed the subject. “So, what do you do up here? Live off the land?”
“In a manner of speaking. Why? Do you disapprove?”
“Of course not I’m sure lots of people do it.”
“I get by.”
She smiled sincerely. “Good. Which reminds me. I have a whole box of freeze-dried meals in my car. If you’re short on food, I’ll be glad to share mine.”
“No need. There’s a fresh-stewed owl in the refrigerator. We’ll have plenty for supper.”
Speechless, Sara gasped.
Adam’s mouth began to twitch at the corners. “You should see the look on your face!”
“We’re not having owl?” She swallowed hard.
“No. We’re having chicken. I take it you’re not opposed to eating dinner with Samson and me.”
“Not a bit. As a matter of fact, I was in such a hurry to get to the Leatherwoods I didn’t stop to eat. I’m starving.”
“Then let’s hurry up and dry the dog so we can let him in and get to the food.”
“It really will be a normal meal, won’t it?” she asked, hoping for further confirmation that he had been kidding.
“As normal as you’d find in any big city. I never serve ants or grubs when I have company.” He was working to stifle a chuckle. “And possum is way too greasy. Too much cholesterol.”
“Oh, good. Then I suppose skunk is out, too?”
“Uh-huh. Samson isn’t partial to it, although he does get a kick out of chasing the little black-and-white stinkers. Tries to herd them like sheep, sometimes.”
Adam opened the door to admit his soggy dog. He caught hold of the animal’s ruff as it tried to push past him and quickly draped a towel over its back.
Sara grabbed another towel and followed his lead. She was almost in time to ward off a shower as the dog gave a mighty shake. “Eesh! He’s a mess, isn’t he?”
“Not as big a mess as you were when we found you.”
“Which reminds me, thanks for the great rescue.” Her voice took on a lilting, childish quality. “You were wonderful.”
Adam was about to offer a modest response when he realized she was talking to his dog.
Chapter Three
“So, what brings you to the Ozarks?” Adam asked later, over dinner.
Sara didn’t intend to admit she was running away from anything. “Oh, just a whim.” Which was at least partially true.
“But why come up here? You mentioned the Leatherwoods, before. You do realize that forest has been gone for almost a century, don’t you?”
“So my granny told me. It’s a shame. I would have loved to see a tree with bark so strong a person could actually make shoes out of it.”
“That’s the way the story goes. It’s my guess the finished product wasn’t anything like what you and I would consider decent shoes.”
She glanced at her mud-stained sandals by the door. “Well, maybe. Right now I’d settle, though.”
“Don’t worry. They’ll dry.”
Sara rubbed her arms through the fleecy sleeves of the borrowed sweatshirt. “I know.” She shivered. “Do you mind if I go stand by the stove where it’s a little warmer? I’m still chilly.”
“Not at all. Are you done eating? There’s plenty of chicken left if you want more.”
“No, thanks. I’m stuffed.”
“Okay. Go get warm. I’ll clean up the dishes.”
Sara made a silly face at him. “What did you say?”
“Go get warm.”
“No, the rest of it,” she drawled. “I could have sworn you mentioned doing the dishes.”
“So?”
She giggled. “So, you’re going to have to bribe me not to tell anybody that I actually found a good-looking guy who can not only cook, but cleans up after himself.”
“I’d just as soon you didn’t mention meeting me at all.” His scowl confirmed how serious he was.
“Don’t worry,” Sara assured him. “Nobody would believe it, anyway. Far-fetched news like that falls into the same category as a sighting of Sasquatch.” She smiled. “Hey! Maybe I could sell your picture to the tabloids and retire for life on the proceeds.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it.” His voice was gruff, emotionally charged. “They didn’t pay me anything the last time.”
Hesitating, Sara tried to decide if he was kidding. Studying his closed expression didn’t help. She quit speculating and asked. “Are you serious?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me. I have a history of making rotten choices in men. I’d like to know if I’m stuck out here in the woods with a famous criminal or something.”
Adam had been noticing how she glanced at the door and tensed up every time there was a crack of thunder or the wind blew debris against the windows. For the first time since they’d met, it occurred to him she might be frightened of something other than the storm.
He held up his hands for assurance, palms facing her. “I’m as honest and normal as anybody. A regular guy. Real apple pie.”
Sara made a face.
“What do I have to do, stand at attention, salute and sing the national anthem to prove it to you?”
Her eyes followed the path of his gaze. A guitar was propped in a far corner. “Do you really play and sing?”
“Some.”
“Oh, would you? I love folk music!” Given the natural ambience of the cabin, a wood stove for warmth, the cadence of the rain against the roof, she couldn’t think of anything she’d like better than hearing a softly strummed guitar.
“Maybe all I know is rock.” Adam watched her face to see what secrets her guileless features might betray. He usually played only for himself. The songs were more than company. They were catharsis. Did he really want to share that private part of his life with a stranger? He sighed. Maybe he should. If she was truly fearful, the distraction might help. The last thing he needed was to be trapped in a one-room cabin with a terrified woman.
“Anything will be fine.” Sara wanted to be agreeable, above all. “Afterward, I’ll help you clean the dishes.”
“That’s hardly scale wages for a musician.”
“Maybe not, but it is a big sacrifice for me,” she said. “I have an automatic dishwasher at home. All I have to do is load it. It does the whole job all by itself, even most of the pots and pans, providing I don’t burn them cooking.”
Adam was amused by a droll thought. He lifted the guitar carefully. “Actually, it’s Samson who usually does my dishes for me. I just set them on the floor and…” The distressed look on Sara’s face made him laugh. It was diverting to have such a gullible audience.
“You don’t!”
“No, I don’t. Except on possum night,” he jibed. “The extra grease in his diet is good for his coat. Makes it real shiny.”
“Oh, stop!” Laughing with him, Sara made a mock swipe with her hand as he passed.
“Has anyone ever told you you’re very naive?” Adam took a seat on the sofa and propped the guitar across his lap.
“I’m afraid so.” She cast a furtive glance toward the closed door. “Someday, I’ll have to tell you about Eric.”
Someday? Adam’s mind echoed the idea. Sara was talking as if they had a future together. That was pure fallacy. Yet he could see why she’d fallen into the trap of thinking their unique relationship would continue. There was already a kind of natural camaraderie between them. It sprang from the amiable rivalry of two corresponding intellects.
Talking with Sara was an adventure for his mind; one which he was thoroughly enjoying in spite of himself. He’d be willing to bet she was, too.
Which meant nothing. Adam strummed an opening chord and began to sing a plaintive ballad. By the third song, Sara’s eyes had closed and she’d dozed off, slouched in a chair she’d pulled close to the fire. He would have covered her with a blanket and left her there if he hadn’t been worried she might accidently get burned. Laying the guitar aside, he approached.
“Sara?” The shadows of her long, pale lashes fluttered. Her eyes opened slowly, their depths misty and unfocused. She began to smile. Adam was pleased to see that she’d recognized him immediately.
“Oops.” Her groggy expression grew apologetic. “I didn’t mean to nod off. Your singing was wonderful. It’s just that this has been a long, trying day.” Not to mention the weeks and months preceding it, she added silently.
“No problem.” He glanced toward the narrow bed. “I suppose you’d like to turn in.”
Sara’s strong sense of fairness surfaced. “I’m not taking your bed, if that’s what you mean. I’ll just make myself a pallet here on the floor, next to the fire where it’s warm.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind.”
She was wholly awake, now, her stubbornness in full flower. Getting to her feet she faced him, hands on her hips. “Who says?”
“I do. Not only is this my house, I’m a lot bigger than you are.”
“But I have Samson on my side.” Sara reached down to lay her hand atop the dog’s broad head and ruffle his silky ears. “Don’t I, boy?” The dog snuggled against her legs, his thick fur fluffier than usual due to the vigorous towel drying he’d received.
“I wouldn’t count on him to stay loyal,” Adam warned. “All I have to do is open the door to the refrigerator and he’ll be all mine again, heart and soul.”
“Just like a male. Always thinking about his stomach, right?”
Adam huffed. “Well, he didn’t get that big without considerable help from me.”
“I suppose not.” She gave the dog another affectionate pat. “I can see he’d have turned out to be a Chihuahua if you hadn’t taken such good care of him when he was a puppy.”
“You’re not going to distract me by making a joke out of it.” Adam had to stifle the smile brought on by the image of Samson as a lap dog. “You get the bed. End of discussion.”
“But where will you sleep?”
The moment she uttered the innocent question Sara felt her cheeks begin to burn. This was the awkward moment she had anticipated. Yes, she trusted her host—sort of—yet she felt compelled to remind him of her strong moral code. The problem was finding a way to express herself clearly without sounding as if she were preaching.
Adam remained firm. “I plan to sleep on the floor.”
“I didn’t mean to imply…” She broke off, unsure of how to proceed.