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  I would like to think that if I hadn’t been woozy I would have thought twice before leaving the car without a flashlight or my cellular phone. I didn’t even remember to check the mileage on the odometer. If I had, maybe I would have known better than to try and walk the last five miles to Bert’s cabin.

  Danny had told me that Bert had a big black mailbox with his name, “B. Atkins,” on it. That was all I could think about as I walked and walked. I suppose I would have walked forever before I realized that the snowdrifts at the side of the road had buried any and all mailboxes. Fortunately, I still had enough sense to follow tire tracks leading off the main road and down a narrow track.

  Cold and exhausted, I had been walking a little over two hours when I began to lose it. The sky darkened as the afternoon sun passed behind big clouds that heralded more snow, and I began imagining scenes of warm fireplaces and bowls of steaming hot soup. My fantasy was so strong that I could smell wood smoke.

  I had lost the feeling in my feet and legs. The only thing that kept me going was my desire to be with Mother and Cassie, and even Aggie, again. They were there in front of me, but with every step I took, they moved farther away. I started crying in frustration. Didn’t they know how badly I wanted to reach them? I sank to my numb, unfeeling knees and sobbed in frustration.

  Aggie relented and came bouncing up to me. She covered my face with big, wet, warm doggie kisses and licked away my tears. I struggled to regain my feet, but my legs wouldn’t cooperate. Cassie joined us. I tried to tell her she looked really silly with a beard, but my mouth wouldn’t work either. Cass reached out and grabbed me roughly by the scruff of my neck and hauled me up. She threw me easily over one shoulder and walked down the trail while I bounced against her wide back and made ridiculous cooing noises at Aggie, who trotted along behind.

  As the smell of wood smoke and cooking food got stronger and penetrated my mental haze, Aggie began to look a little strange to me. I wondered vaguely why she had grown so large. Her face was almost as big as her whole body had been yesterday. And when did she get to be a redhead like me?

  Chapter Four

  A delicious warmth moved slowly up my body and into my mind. I was as cozy and comfortable as I had ever been. I stretched and opened my eyes, expecting to see my beloved bedroom on Meadowdale Farm. What I saw instead were the four walls of a rustic log cabin haphazardly decorated with disembodied antlers and stuffed big-mouth bass. A large red dog lay sleeping on a handmade rag rug in front of the big stone fireplace. I could hear his soft doggie snores over the crackling of the fire.

  I tried to raise up on my elbows to see more of the room, but a heavy hand on my head pushed me back down.

  “Stay still!” barked Bert Atkins. “I’ll bring you some soup.”

  I opened my mouth to make a sharp and witty retort to the effect that I was a modern independent woman and didn’t take orders from men, but all I could manage was a hoarse croak.

  “Quiet!” he barked again.

  I retaliated by childishly sticking out my tongue in his general direction, but even that didn’t work. My mouth and throat were so dry I couldn’t even work up a spit.

  Atkins came back and pulled a footstool up to the big old sofa I was lying on. He tucked a rough towel under my chin and then ever so gently spooned a warm mouthful of broth between my lips. The soup trickled down my throat and warmed the cockles of my heart. I eagerly opened my mouth for more.

  Bert laughed. His laugh was big and hearty and infectious. I grinned broadly back and immediately split my dry lips. The pain was intense and brought swift tears to my eyes. Bert got up and fumbled around in a first aid kit until he found what he was looking for, then sat back down and pulled my chin toward him. He dabbed the soothing ointment generously over my mouth. As an afterthought, he put some in the outer corners of my eyes and then grunted with satisfaction

  “Should have done that first,” he acknowledged gruffly. “Sorry.”

  He resumed my meal, and in no time at all I had emptied the bowl. My lips felt much better, but I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I tried to concentrate on the bright flickering flames of the wood fire, but the warmth from within and without put me to sleep like a lullaby.

  I woke up later because I was cold again. I had dreamed I was back in the snow—lost and alone. Bert was putting more logs on the fire. When he finished, he hunkered down awkwardly on his game hip and rearranged the coals with a poker.

  My thirst had returned with a vengeance. I called out to him for something to drink, but he didn’t respond. At first I thought I had unwittingly done something to anger him. But when I called again and he didn’t even flinch, I knew why a proud man like Bert Atkins had sought this isolated refuge in the woods—why he had refused all of our invitations. He was deaf as a post.

  I slept deeply and without further dreams until a full bladder woke me up. I lay there for a moment wondering how to tell a deaf man I needed to pee without embarrassing us both. I needn’t have worried. As soon as he saw that I was awake he came over to the sofa and picked me up, blankets and all. Before I could protest, he opened the back door and carried me down a path through the snow to an outhouse.

  My blood went cold at the thought that I would have to share the freezing toilet with spiders and heaven only knew what else. When we had moved out to the farm, we had an outhouse. Of course, my father and grandfather had already seen to it that we had functioning facilities as well, but the outhouse held a fascination for my sister, Velvet, and me. Fascination, that is, until one day when the door got stuck and I was faced, in my child’s mind, with the possibility of being trapped in the stinking latrine forever. That ended my thrill of peeing outside for good. A few days, later Vel and I risked the wrath of my parents and grandparents by setting fire to the offending outbuilding. Our punishment was swift and severe, and something I never forgot. Forever after, I hated outhouses.

  Bert opened the door and deposited me inside. I looked around in amazement. It was much larger than the boxlike structure that had imprisoned me when I was six, and thanks to a small stove, it was toasty and warm.

  “I’ll be back in twenty minutes,” Bert announced abruptly, and closed the door.

  A small chair in the corner seemed a likely place to unload my cocoon of quilts and blankets. I shuffled over and started unwrapping myself layer by layer. When I got to the innermost core, I found I was minus about two layers of my own clothing. Bert had shucked me out of my jeans, sweater, flannel shirt, and long underwear. At least he had the decency to leave me with a long-sleeved camisole and panties. My face went hot with shame. No one but Rafe had ever seen me this undressed. Mr. Bert Atkins had some explaining to do.

  The little camp stove that warmed the bathroom also provided a basin full of hot water for a quick bird bath. The towels Bert had left for me were scratchy and rough, but they smelled clean and fresh. He obviously dried them outside on a line because the fold over could still be seen in the bath towel. I shook them out to make sure no little bugs were hiding anywhere. Once assured, I had quite a pleasant toilette.

  The mirror above the dry sink basin was much too high for me to see myself. All that was visible was a mop of totally out-of-control auburn curls, two green eyes, and a couple of freckles. I scrubbed hard with the soap and hot water in the hope that cleanliness would substitute for loveliness, and rewrapped myself in two of the quilts. I felt much better. I was only a little dizzy, and I was starving.

  Bert returned right on time. When he tapped lightly on the door, I opened up and was about to say I could walk back when he swung me up in his arms and carried me to the cabin.

  He had set a small table for two in front of the fire. He plopped me down on the sofa and pulled the table over in front of me. A steaming platter of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon beckoned. Without a word, he poured my coffee and his, and we set to work. When nothing was left of our breakfast but an “Ummm,” he cleared the plates and brought the coffeepot back for refills.

&
nbsp; Bert sat back and looked me up and down until I blushed. I was wondering how to communicate with him when he spoke.

  “I can hear some, you know. And I’m fairly good at reading lips.”

  “Oh, I didn’t…”

  “Yes, you did. I saw you last night when I put fresh logs on the fire. You don’t play possum very well.”

  I laughed. “So I’ve been told.”

  I sat bolt upright, almost losing my envelope of blankets. My head swam as I remembered.

  “Cassie! She’ll be worried sick. And Mother! I have to let them know I’m all right.”

  Bert pointed to a big oak desk back in the corner. There was some sort of equipment on it. It looked like a stereo with lots of fancy dials and lights.

  “Radio. Runs on batteries. I called Danny last night and told him you were here. He radioed back while you were asleep. Mrs. Sterling and your daughter know where you are and that you’re just fine.”

  “Oh, thanks, Bert. Er, Chief Atkins.”

  “Bert’s fine. Remember,” he laughed. “I’ve seen your skivvies.”

  “About that! Was it absolutely necessary to undress me?” I tried not to, but I knew I was blushing.

  “Your clothes were soaking wet. You would have gotten pneumonia if I’d been fool enough to leave you to your modesty. They’re almost dry, except for the sweater. You can get dressed after you take a nap, if you want.”

  “Nap? Don’t you think I’ve already slept enough? A nap is the last thing…”

  The yawn caught me unawares. “Well, maybe just a short one.”

  Chapter Five

  The next time I woke up, the fuzzy feeling in my head was almost completely gone. The strength was back in my arms and legs, and I no longer felt shaky. I was ready to get dressed and go in search of Watson.

  “Sorry,” said Bert firmly when I informed him of my intentions.

  “What do you mean, sorry?” I asked as I gave him the benefit of my haughtiest look.

  His response was another deep and hearty laugh. I was getting pretty sick of being his stand-up comic, and I told him so, although something somewhere inside was pleased that he was laughing. I had always thought of him as a very angry and morose man. This Bert Atkins, the man with the steel-wool beard and the laughing blue eyes was not the taciturn cop who stormed the fortress of our home last year and wouldn’t take “no” for an answer. This was a man who was happy, or at least gave a good impression of it. And I was beginning to realize that he was very attractive.

  “I’ve got to go home. Mother’s expecting me for dinner,” I decided abruptly.

  “No she’s not. Danny told her you might not get back for two or maybe three days.”

  “Watson! I can’t abandon Watson.”

  “Your jeep is fine. I walked down this morning early to check on things. I locked the door and turned off the engine…”

  I was horrified at my stupidity.

  “I…I left the engine on?”

  I sank back on the old sofa wishing the soft cushions would swallow me up.

  “Paisley, you have a slight concussion. You did nothing to be ashamed of.”

  He came over and sat down beside me.

  “As a matter of fact, few men I know would have been tough enough to do what you did.”

  “I was stupid,” I answered in a voice that was smaller than I wished. “I left the warmth and safety of the car and started walking in the freezing cold like a dummy.”

  “And a good thing that you did. The exhaust pipe was embedded in the snow bank. If you hadn’t gotten out, you might have died of carbon monoxide poisoning.”

  My new-found strength vanished as I realized how close I had come to never seeing my beautiful Cassie again, and I started crying. Bert put his arms around me as the gentle tears turned into great hiccoughing sobs. When I was spent, he tucked the blankets back around me and urged me to sleep again. This time I didn’t fight it.

  I finally got dressed late that afternoon right before Bert fixed dinner. He let me sit on a stool by the dry sink and peel potatoes while he gave a hilarious account of his running battle with a family of thieving raccoons who lived in a hollow tree nearby.

  I cried again, but this time they were tears of laughter. After dinner we played gin rummy while listening to a soft jazz station out of New Orleans. It had been a long time since I had so much fun and I told him so.

  “Me, too, Paisley,” he said softly.

  “You’re very different from the way I imagined. You’re obviously not that uncomfortable with your hearing loss. Why did you come out here by yourself? Why leave Danny alone?”

  He smiled. “Wow, just like a woman. So many questions.”

  “Forget that ‘just like a woman’ crap. This is a question from me to you, as friends.”

  “Are we friends, Paisley?”

  “Well, sure, of course,” I answered brightly, avoiding the intent look in those deep blue eyes.

  “I have to confess I’ve thought a lot about you since we first met,” he said. “I’ve wanted to call you a half a dozen times.”

  “Well, for heaven’s sake,” I sputtered, trying to defuse the situation. “Why didn’t you come to dinner when Mother and I invited you? We thought you were angry about something. I know Danny and Cassie have an on-again off-again relationship, but that shouldn’t keep the rest of us from being friends.”

  Bert’s seemed suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation, yet determined to have his say.

  “I like your mother, Paisley. She’s a very admirable woman, but I’m not talking about a relationship with her. It’s you who’s been on my mind for the last few months. I know this must seem very sudden to you, but I’ve wanted to be close enough to say these things to you for a long time, and I can’t waste this opportunity.”

  Bert reached across the table and took the cards out of my hand. He covered my smaller palm with his big one. My backbone melted like sweet, warm beeswax. I had never felt so delicate in my life. And I was terrified. I wasn’t ready for this.

  “Is there a chance that we could be more than friends?” he asked with a crooked smile.

  I jumped up and practically ran to the window. The night outside was clear, with a bright, ice-cold moon shining on the snow. I could see his dog’s tracks around the cabin and his own big footprints leading out to the woodpile.

  I turned around and faced him.

  “This is not why I came out here. I…I don’t need this kind of complication in my life right now.”

  I was close to tears again. I hated crying. I hadn’t cried this much in the last twenty years. Damn concussion, I thought.

  I watched Bert’s face close off. His lips narrowed and the light left his eyes. His irises turned from sky blue to the color of steel as he turned in on himself. I wanted to crawl in a hole and hide.

  “Look, Bert, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. My mistake,” he said abruptly.

  He stood up and put on his jacket. He called the dog, and they went out into the winter night.

  I sat in front of the fire for what seemed like hours until the man and his dog came back home. I heard him stomping his feet to shake off the snow and ran to open the door. At that moment I think I would have done almost anything to return to our previous state of growing intimacy, but one look at Bert’s face told me that opportunity had gone for good. I sank back down on the sofa feeling like I had killed something young and innocent and infinitely promising.

  He hung his coat up and fed the dog before he joined me in front of the fire.

  “So,” he said, “why did you come all the way out here looking for me?”

  His voice was steady and very calm, almost without inflection or feeling, just tinged with a mild curiosity.

  “Leonard, I needed a Leonard,” I answered miserably. “But that was a stupid idea. Forget about it.”

  “Leonard. He’s the one who’s supposed to be writing your books, isn’t that so?”

  “Yeah, he’s t
he one, all right.”

  “Well, go on.”

  I was getting questioned now, by the police. My new best friend had gone outside and the ex-cop had come back in his place.

  “My agent called,” I sighed. “There’s a very important magazine in New York, and they want to do a feature story on Leonard Paisley. Pam wanted me to find him, and you came to mind.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not? You look just like him, or almost. And you’re familiar with murders and criminals, and…well, Leonard’s kind of thing,” I explained. “I thought you would be perfect. I didn’t know you had turned into jolly ole Paul Bunyan.”

  Bert laughed for the first time since dinner, but it had a different sound. There was an edge to his humor now. The softness was gone

  “So Raggedy Ann is calling me Paul Bunyan!”

  “Raggedy…why, that?”

  “That mop of funny looking hair, that’s why. That’s how I knew it was you in the snow. I held my gun sight on you for two hundred feet before you fell to your knees. I was getting ready to fire a warning shot when your hood slipped off and all that curly red hair spilled out. Lucky for you, too, otherwise I might have left you to cool off in the snow some more.”

  “You wouldn’t!” I protested. “I could have frozen to death.”

  “Maybe just a little frostbite,” he grinned.

  “But why?”

  He gazed into the crackling fire for a long time before he answered me.

  “Not everyone is a friend.”

  “Look, I said I was sorry…”

  He cut me off with a slash of his hand.

  “I have quite a few enemies, real enemies—the kind who would like to see me dead. You asked me why I left Danny and came out here by myself. Well, that’s the reason. I don’t want any innocent bystanders getting in the way if somebody with an old grudge comes looking for me.”

  I tried to see his face, but like a good cop he had arranged it so he was in the shadows and I was in the light of the fire.