Читать книгу The Wedding Arbor - Valerie Hansen - Страница 10

“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.

“You don’t have to apologize.” He pulled extra blankets out of the chest at the foot of the bed. “And you don’t have to explain. I already know you weren’t inviting me to bunk with you.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Does it surprise you?”

“A little.” Remaining near the warm stove she folded her arms across her chest and hugged herself for extra emotional support.

“Well, it shouldn’t. I’m usually a pretty good judge of people.”

“Usually?” Sara wished she could say the same for herself.

“Yeah. Sometimes I goof big time.” Like when I relaxed my guard and got Gene killed, he thought sadly.

Sara noticed Adam’s gaze dart for an instant to the box of clothing peeking out from under the bed. The place where he’d gotten the jeans she was wearing. Evidently, his reference to making a mistake had to do with whoever had once belonged to the expensive things. Which was a conundrum in itself. Anyone who could afford such luxuries would be seriously out of place in Adam Callahan’s austere life.

With a sigh, Sara crossed to the bed and perched, exhausted, on its edge, hands folded, shoulders slumped. “Okay, you win.”

“Good.” Adam regarded her quiet capitulation with puzzlement. “Are you all right?”

“Sure.” She yawned. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?” He busied himself making a pallet on the opposite side of the stove.

“About misjudging people. Apparently, you and I have that in common, too.”

“Too? What else is there?” He peered around the side of the portly black stove.

“Well, for one thing, Samson likes us both. Which naturally means he must be a really intelligent animal.”

“Come to think of it, you’re right. I probably should have paid more attention to his opinion in the past.” He paused, thoughtful. “Good night, Sara.”

Fully dressed she crawled under the covers and pulled them up around her chin. “Good night, Adam.” A silly bit of nostalgia popped into her mind and she added, “Good night, Grandpa, good night, John-Boy.”

Adam muttered softly as he padded across the floor to turn out the lights. Sara managed to stay awake barely long enough to thank God for her rescue and the kindness of the stranger who had taken her in. Before she was through praying she had fallen soundly asleep.

It was a nudge from Samson’s wet nose that roused her the following morning. Opening her eyes, Sara found him staring at her from barely six inches away. The effect was startling. So was his doggy breath!

Wide-eyed, she sucked in air to fuel a scream before she fully realized where she was. Or what kind of creature she was facing.

From across the room she heard a facetious, “Good morning. You going to sleep till noon?”

“I’m on vacation,” Sara countered. “Cut me some slack.”

Adam snorted. Apparently, his guest was not a morning person. “Yes, ma’am. Do you always wake up with such a sunny disposition?”

“No. Sometimes I’m much worse. What time is it, anyway?”

“Pretty late. Almost seven.”

With a theatrical moan, Sara ducked down and pulled the comforter up over her face. Samson, however, was not about to let his new playmate hide from him. He immediately began to root under the edge of the blankets with his broad nose, coming up inside the bedclothes next to Sara’s face.

“Aagh!” She bolted out of bed. Landing on the floor in her bare feet she glared at Adam. “You stinker! You put him up to that!”

“Not me. You’re the one who petted and fussed over him yesterday. If he’s spoiled, it’s your fault.”

Sara stood there in a half stupor and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. She never had been able to deal amiably with morning. This day was no different. Only the debt of gratitude which she owed her rescuer was keeping her from being a certified, card-carrying sourpuss.

She padded softly across the room. Adam was up to his midforearms in suds from the dishes they hadn’t taken the time to wash the night before. The man was too good to be real. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare cup of coffee?”

“Not till we stoke the wood stove, again. I’m running low on diesel and I’m not sure when I’ll be. able to get into town. I shut down the generator.”

“Oh, dear. What about the refrigerator?”

“It’ll stay cold if we don’t open it too often.” He shot her a condescending look. “You want coffee, go out to the woodshed, get an armload of dry kindling, and I’ll build you a fire.”

“Me?”

“You’re the one who wants hot coffee, remember?” He snatched his recently used mug off the sink and dunked it in the dishwater before she could take notice. He’d brewed instant coffee in the microwave just before cutting the power. It was a wonder she hadn’t smelled the tantalizing aroma.

Sara was a bright woman. Adam figured she’d realize he was teasing long before she made the trek to the shed. After all, he was washing the dishes in hot water. And the antique cookstove was propane powered with a manual ignition, so it required no electricity at all. He stifled a smile. Until she woke up all the way, figured out he was kidding, and told him off, it was fun to watch the disgruntled look she was trying to hide. To see the sparks of indignation in her hazel eyes.

“I don’t believe this.” She gave up trying to remain cordial, stomped off to the bathroom, and slammed the door behind her.

It took Sara only a few minutes of private prayer and serious contemplation to convince herself she was being unfair to her host. He had taken her in when she was in dire circumstances and had been as nice as can be since then, give or take the odd wisecrack. If it was dry firewood he needed, she’d get it. Without complaint.

She eased open the door and peeked out. Adam still stood at the sink, his back to her. Samson was nowhere to be seen.

She cast a sad glance at her soggy, ruined sandals. There was no use bothering with shoes. Judging by what she had seen through the bathroom window, the sun was out and the well-worn path to the shed was clear. The trip was a short one. Bare feet would be considerably easier to clean than shoes—if she’d had any others to sacrifice. She’d do this for Adam. Because she owed him that much, and more. And because she needed to make it up to him for grumbling without cause.

The cabin door creaked as she opened it and ducked out. Behind her, she heard Adam shout, “Wait!”

“I’ll just be a minute. Ooh. Ah. Eesh!” Off the porch, Sara danced through the cold, slippery mud.

“Sara! Come here.”

“I will, I will.” Pausing at the woodshed she turned to look back. “How much of this stuff do we need?”

He was sorely tempted to say, “None,” but held his peace. If his guest hadn’t overcome her dour morning mood he didn’t think she’d appreciate his little joke. Might not, anyway. He figured it was best to simply use whatever firewood she brought, rather than confess.

“I’ll bring all I can carry, okay?”

“Okay. Just get in here before you catch pneumonia.”

“Right.” Loading her arms with the smallest diameter logs she could find, Sara started back to Adam. She was three steps from the safety of the dry porch when a bolt of white shot past. It knocked into her left leg. She teetered. Whirled. Spun like a leaf in a whirlwind.

“Aaah!” Unable to regain her balance, Sara felt herself start to fall. All she could think of was keeping the wood dry. She tried to pass it to Adam.

He lunged toward her, hoping to avert the impending calamity. It was far too late. For both of them. He slipped on the bottom step and went sailing through the air, shouting. “Look out!”

Any assistance Adam might have been able to render was thwarted by the jumble of limbs and sticks Sara literally threw his way. One particularly heavy piece nicked his temple, leaving him dazed. When he shook the sense back into his head he was kneeling at the foot of the porch steps in a tangle of bark, raw lumber, and slippery red clay.

Seated opposite, Sara was up to her back pockets in the same mud. “What happened?”

“I think Samson wanted in.”

She shook her hands at arm’s length like a kitten with its paw dipped in the milk bowl. “Ugh. Remind me to give him the right-of-way the next time.”

“No kidding.” Adam tried to subdue his wide grin. He failed. “You should see yourself.”

“You’re no prize, either, mister,” Sara retorted, giggling in spite of herself. She sobered. “What happened to your head?”

“My head?” He gingerly lifted one muddy hand, then decided it would be wiser to not touch the injury until he’d washed.

“It’s bleeding.”

“I’m sure I’ll live.” Adam got cautiously to his feet and held out his hand. “Come on. I owe you a cup of coffee.”

“But, what about building a fire, first?” Clearly, her efforts at gathering wood to stoke the stove had failed.

“We’ll make do.”

Taking his strong hand she let him help her to her feet. She’d expected him to let go as soon as she was upright. He didn’t The sense of safety in his warm, dynamic touch was far more soothing than she’d anticipated.

“You take a shower first,” he said, penitent. “I’ll have coffee waiting when you’re done.”

“You’re probably going to have to lend me more clothes. I’m really sorry about the jeans. I’m afraid they’ll never be the same.”

“Neither will I,” Adam muttered.

Sara gave no indication she’d heard what he said. He was still holding her hand. She loved the sympathetic gesture. It made her feel as secure as if she were enfolded in a tender embrace.

Her cheeks warmed. She averted her gaze. Her fingers slipped between his and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Never be the same? Boy, no kidding!

And he wasn’t the only one affected that way. No matter what else happened, she’d never be the same, either. Not now that she’d met Adam Callahan.