Conception Cover-Up

Chapter Two

A flash of lightning illuminated Shannon Garrett’s shadowy kitchen, followed quickly by the boom of thunder. Turning from the stove where she stirred the soup that was to be her dinner, she glanced through the window over the sink. Rain battered the diamond-shaped panes, blotting out her view. The wind outside howled like a wounded animal.

A strange prickly feeling came over her. This was going to be one hell of a storm, she thought. Thank heavens for propane tanks and oil lamps. It might be days before her electricity came back on.

She swung back to the stove and turned off the burner. The delicious smell of her homemade chicken soup wafted through the cabin, but she’d lost interest in eating. Suddenly, being alone, miles from civilization, didn’t seem like such a good idea. The storm and the dark were eerie. Shadows lurked in the corners of her small log cabin, making it feel claustrophobic, no longer the refuge it had been the past three years.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Shannon.”

The sound of her voice made her feel a little better. She was being silly. More for something to do than out of hunger, she took an oversize mug from the cupboard next to the sink and began to ladle soup into it.

A loud thump outside startled her. She paused to listen. A tree branch falling? When no other sound penetrated the howl of the storm, she went back to her soup.

Another loud bump made her heart rise to her throat. She stood absolutely still, head cocked, listening to the too-human sound of the wind groaning in the trees. Lightning illuminated the room like a strobe while thunder drowned out all other sounds. The silence that followed was broken by another skin-tingling groan. The door rattled as if something heavy had fallen against it.

Shannon put down the ladle, then opened a drawer and took out two large flashlights. Listening intently, she walked slowly to the front door. She wished it had a peephole. But then, without a porch light, she wouldn’t be able to see who it was anyway.

A flashlight in each hand, Shannon forced herself to be logical. It wasn’t likely that anyone was out there. The cabin was miles from her closest neighbor, even more miles from the main road. The few people who knew where she lived didn’t casually drop in on her. The noises that had spooked her were probably just those of a raccoon seeking shelter from the storm.

Still, she had to be smart here. This part of the Santa Cruz Mountains was remote enough to hide all kinds of criminal activity. It would be naive to ignore the facts. She turned on one of the flashlights.

Another crash against the door made her jump.

“Who is it?” Her voice sounded pathetically shaky.

“Open the door…need to…”

It was a man’s voice, and Shannon moved closer to the door. “Who’s out there? What do you want?”

Silence.

She held her breath. It was stupid to assume the man who’d answered her call had just gone away. The voice had been barely audible, but the plea had been clear. She’d have to be made of stone to ignore it.

Holding one flashlight over her head like a club, Shannon eased the door open slowly. She shone the other light on what looked like a large pile of wet rags on her front porch. The clump of fabric moved, the weak beam of the flashlight revealing a dark-haired man who lay on his side. His face was pale, his brows drawn together. His jaw was tight, as if he was gritting his teeth.

Keeping the light on him, Shannon moved onto the porch. “Are you all right? What happened to you?”

From the looks of him the man was far from all right. It was perhaps a silly question under the circumstances, but then, Shannon had never been in this situation before.

Using his left hand, he pushed himself to a sitting position. “Landslide,” he said, his voice as deep and dark as the night. He looked up at her with eyes the color of blue ice. Under several days’ growth of beard, his face was hard and drawn with pain. “Won’t hurt you…promise.”

Making what she suspected was a very foolish decision, Shannon set both flashlights on a table just inside the door, then reached down to help him up. He flinched when she touched his upper right arm.

Wondering if the flinch was involuntary or just a means of stalling, Shannon looked around cautiously. Was someone else out there? When lightning lit up the area around the cabin, all she saw were trees and her Jeep. No other vehicles.

“Are you alone?” Would he tell her if he wasn’t? Shannon thought dryly.

“Yeah.”

“How did you get here?”

He rose to one knee, bracing his hand on the wall for support. “Walked.”

“That must have been some walk.”

A gust of wind blew rain onto the porch, dampening her sweater and jeans. She really had no choice—she couldn’t leave the man out in the rain. Crouching on his left, she used both hands to help him stand. “Let’s get you inside before we both drown. We can discuss the hows and whys later.”

Her visitor leaned heavily on her as she guided him into the cabin. He was big, his body hard and muscular. His clothes were soaked through, and he was shivering. She led him to the couch. “Here, sit down in front of the fire.”

He slumped onto the couch. His eyes met hers for a second, then rolled back in his head as he passed out.

Shannon stared at her unconscious guest. Big and dark, he had a compelling face. Not exactly handsome, yet the kind of face that drew a woman’s attention, making her wonder if he was a saint or a sinner.

A cut at his hairline oozed blood, but a huge lump on his forehead drew her attention. Not wanting to hurt him, she touched it gingerly. No wonder he’d passed out. He probably had a concussion. Standing back, she saw that the rest of his body wasn’t in much better shape than his head.

His face and hands had several bruises and scratches. His black denim jeans were muddy and torn at the knees, as if he’d fallen. His jacket had a tear on the right arm. In short, he looked as if he’d gone through quite an ordeal.

Working as quickly and quietly as possible in the dim light, Shannon gathered the items she figured she’d need. With the help of one of the flashlights, she found the first-aid kit in the cupboard under the bathroom sink. She brought the kit, towels and a washcloth back to the living room and set them on the coffee table. In the kitchen she filled the teapot with bottled water, placed it on the burner and turned on the flame. It heated quickly. Deciding she’d need more light, she took the kitchen lantern and set it next to the one on the coffee table.

She returned to the kitchen and poured the warmed water in a mixing bowl. When she picked up the bowl, the water sloshed over the side. With shaking hands, she set it down and took a deep breath.

Relax, Shannon, she ordered herself. He’s just a human being who needs your help. Nothing more, nothing less. He can’t hurt you in his condition.

The pep talk didn’t work. Not when she knew better. Some people had no qualms about hurting others. Even people who claimed to love you hurt you. It would be unwise to assume this man meant no harm just because he’d been injured. His incapacity was only temporary.

Hugging herself in an effort to steady her nerves, Shannon walked over to the couch and looked down at him. She tried to read who he was by his appearance, for it was all she had to go on right now. His dark hair, still glossy from the rain, fell over his broad forehead, reminding her of a little boy who refused to comb his hair. But one glance at his hard face told her he was no boy. He was a man, a stranger.

Who knew where he’d come from? Could he be one of the drug dealers who were rumored to live in the hills?

She had to laugh at herself. The man could just as easily be one of the many computer programmers who commuted over the hill to Silicon Valley every day. Or he could be one of the retro hippies who thought Santa Cruz was the land of peace and love. Yet she’d automatically assumed he was a criminal on the run. She’d been buried in the hills so long her imagination was having a field day.

Of course, that still didn’t explain what this man had been doing wandering around in a storm so far from civilization.

He moved, emitting a low moan as some ache made itself known. Shannon responded to his pain. What did it matter who he was? He was hurt. He needed care. Until the power and phones were restored, she was his only chance of survival. So until then, she would just have to do what had to be done.

Her resolve set, she went back to the kitchen to retrieve the bowl of warm water. His wounds would need to be cleaned. She checked to make sure she had everything, then knelt in front of the couch.

She saw him shiver and knew his clothes would have to come off. Because of the way he’d reacted when she’d touched his arm, she decided to start from the bottom and work up. If he had a concussion, she knew she’d have to wake him soon, but she preferred he stay unconscious for the better part of her ministrations.

With hands held steady by determination, Shannon untied his shoes. She tugged off his muddy boots and set them aside. The dirty wet socks stuck stubbornly to his icy skin, but eventually gave in. She dunked a washcloth in the warm water and washed the dirt off his feet. His toes were long, the nails neatly trimmed. The sight of them eased some of her fears. She couldn’t imagine a drug dealer or murderer taking such care with his personal hygiene.

She gazed at the man dripping rainwater and mud on her sofa and wondered what act of recklessness had sent him out in a storm. An anger that felt way too familiar rose inside her. Sometimes she wondered if there was a man in the world who had the common sense to use the brains God gave him. They all thought they were invincible.

“And it’s left to us women to pick up the pieces.”

No response came from the unconscious stranger.

She leaned over to undo his belt. The jeans had to come off. Shannon pulled and tugged at them, but the muddy material clung to the man’s muscular thighs. She fought with the stubborn denim, struggling inch by inch to push it down his legs. “Come on, big guy, help me out here.”