In The Arms Of A Stranger

Maybe it was the purging of the details, but Dana was suddenly so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. She propped her cheek against the pillow and watched the baby as he slept.

“Lie down next to him.” Luke’s voice vibrated with some emotion that Dana didn’t recognize. “He could use your body heat until the room warms.”

Dana eased her shoulders to the mattress and curled her body around the baby’s. She felt drugged by his nearness, by the sweet, sound sleep that possessed him. In the back of her mind she recognized that the adrenaline that had saved their lives was now depleted.

As she closed her eyes, the last image she saw was of Luke standing at the window. Standing guard.

Luke heard the gentle sound of Dana’s breathing and knew she’d drifted off to sleep. He walked to the bed. It was an invasion of her privacy, violated some damned code of honor to watch her as she slept, but he didn’t care. He was drawn to her. Maybe it was that he admired her fierce maternal instincts, or maybe it was as simple as the arousal he’d fought since the moment he’d laid eyes on her long, bare legs.

Or maybe it was that her story didn’t entirely ring true.

He looked down at her. Her face was pale in the moonlight, her features near perfect as she slept. Yet he recognized a pattern to her behavior that didn’t fit the angelic features. She’d repeated her story over and over again, literally cramming the details down his throat as if she were desperate for him to believe how the events took place.

As if she were convincing herself in the process.

Why would a woman alone want to vacation in a mountain cabin in the middle of nowhere? Especially a woman like Dana Langston. His eyes flowed over her. Even with the trickle of blood staining her cheek and little makeup on, she looked more like cruise ship material. Glitz and glamour. And wouldn’t a woman in her position be brighter than to drive headlong into a storm?

He had to admit he’d been caught off guard by the storm, as well. But he’d at least known the storm had changed course, just decided in a fit of male bravado that he could outrun it. But no matter how well intended, his actions were just as stupid as hers. Maybe his sense of suspicion had become overblown through the years. A job hazard, he mused.

Still, he had had all sorts of questions about Dana Langston. And all sorts of ideas. His mind flashed to the scrap of panties she wore, pulled tight as she stepped out of her jeans. Hell, not half of his ideas were honorable. But the other half clung to a sense of duty.

Between the two, one thing was clear: she was hiding something.

The question was, What?

Chapter 4

It was like waking to another world. Dana peered through the small expanse of glass next to the mirror. The snow had coated everything, transforming the shadowy forest into a stark white landscape dotted with ghostly shapes. Only the occasional stubborn branch poked through the shapes, hinting that the mounds of snow were really saplings, their tops bent double with the weight of ice and snow. Other larger trees had succumbed to the storm and now lay across one another on the ground like fallen soldiers.

“Looks like we’re trapped here for a few days.”

Dana jumped, pressing her hand against her heart. She’d been so lost in thought that she hadn’t heard Luke enter the room behind her. She turned to face him.

Some part of her subconscious noticed that Luke carried an armload of firewood, but the thought never made it to the forefront of her brain. Instead she focused on Luke’s face. It was the first time she’d seen him fully in the light. He was handsome. Not the pretty-boy handsome of her male co-workers at the news station but an honest, rugged handsome that matched his imposing size. His face was reddened from the cold, and his dark hair was sprinkled with snow.

Dana blinked, realizing she’d been staring. “It’s incredible.” She turned back toward the window, embarrassed at her abstract reaction to his announcement.

“Are you okay?” Luke asked.

She glanced at the baby, still sleeping soundly on the mattress. She’d awoken this morning to the chirping of birds, an odd, cheerful sound against the backdrop of all they’d experienced last night. She’d gently risen from the bed and followed the sound to the window. There she realized that the birds weren’t cheerful at all, but squawking and flittering over the frozen ground in frustration.

Even they knew the situation was dire. So why wasn’t she panicking? Why didn’t she have sense enough to be afraid instead of noticing that Luke’s eyes were an incredible shade of blue in the morning light?

It had to be a reaction to the overdose of stress she’d received in the past twenty-four hours. A sort of final surrender to a situation that was out of control. An image of Gonzalez flashed in her head. The situation had been out of control for some time.

She’d just faced it alone until now.

Dana forced a smile. “I’m okay.” Her gaze went to the baby, and Luke’s eyes followed.

As if on cue, the baby turned his head against the mattress and sighed, his tiny fingers caressing the sheet. There was an almost tangible relief in the room, and Dana realized that both she and Luke had been watching the baby in anticipation, looking for some reassurance that he was okay.

“I’m going to stack this next to the fireplace.” Luke shifted the firewood against his chest.

Dana looked at the firewood, then at the space heater that faithfully hummed a steady stream of warmth into the room.

Luke read her thoughts. “I’m afraid the power won’t last much longer.” He nodded toward the window. “The trees are coming down like crazy. But there’s at least a cord of dry wood outside.”

“You left the cabin?” Her words conveyed the wave of panic she felt.

“The wood is stored under the porch. I didn’t go far.” He watched her intently for a moment. “The snow has blanketed everything, and there’s no shelter other than this cabin for miles. If anyone were out there, it would be obvious. I want you to stay inside, keep away from the windows. But that’s just a precaution. We’re safe here.”

Dana nodded. “I guess I’m still a little shaken.”

“Are you hungry?”

She was. In fact, she was starving, which surprised her. Her appetite had been a casualty of the roller-coaster ride that was her life as of late. “Actually, yes.”

“I found some canned goods in the kitchen.” Luke took a few steps toward the other room, then stopped, looking over his shoulder. “If your tastes aren’t too elaborate.”

She wanted to laugh. She’d eaten at every upscale Atlanta restaurant by the time she was eight. And had been thoroughly sick of it by the time she was eighteen. Her aunt, who had never planned on raising a child and certainly never planned on cooking a well-balanced meal based on the food pyramid, had nonetheless taught her the finer points of dining out. Not the most maternal of lessons, but her aunt had never tried to be anyone other than who she was. Dana may have craved more, but she appreciated her aunt’s honesty.

Still, the first thing she’d bought after moving into her own apartment was a cookbook and a set of cookware. Ten years had passed and she could now make corn bread and pot roast with the best of them.

“Thanks.” Dana ran her hand through her hair, and her fingertips stilled on the side of her face, stopping at the trail of dried blood.

Luke frowned. “There’s a bathroom next to the supply closet.”

Dana nodded, then watched him leave the room. His ability to read her thoughts was unnerving and comforting at the same time. She secured a pillow on either side of the baby and watched him for a moment as he slept. With a chubby cheek pressed against the mattress and his lips puckered into a sweet cherub’s smile, he looked like an angel. She stroked his cheek with her index finger. He was completely at peace, completely oblivious to the fact that he was alone.

Alone. God, she hated that word. The baby might not have her for long, but he had her for now. He wouldn’t be alone. She would see to that.

Dana walked quickly to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She pulled the overhead chain that lit a bare bulb and stared at the stranger in the mirror. Old-fashioned vanity assaulted her. It was wrong to be embarrassed by her appearance, given the fact that another woman had lost her life, but she couldn’t help but be mortified. It hadn’t occurred to her that she looked like hell. After all, Luke had looked like a model in some outdoorsman’s catalog, right down to the armload of firewood and his perfectly disheveled hair.

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. It was hopelessly tangled, twigs and briars sticking out from it like a pincushion. A swollen gash was visible at her hairline, a trail of dried blood pointing to the source. She was pale as a ghost, and dark circles rimmed her eyes.

A roll of yellowed paper towels sat next to the sink, and Dana pulled one away and dampened it, gently dabbing at the dried blood until it was gone. She tugged all the visible twigs from her hair and finger combed it into submission. She stared at her unkempt image for a moment then closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that she’d lived through the incident. That the baby had lived.

And that Luke Sutherlin had found them.

Dana opened her eyes and searched her reflection. She’d grown accustomed to seeing her own image over the years, from nightly broadcasts to countless ad campaigns. The consummate professional. But she didn’t know the frightened, shaken woman who now peered back at her. Which image had Luke seen when he looked at her?

Dana shivered, recalling the heat in Luke’s gaze as he’d watched her change clothes. He’d seen neither image, she realized. He’d seen something she hadn’t felt in a long time, resurrected it with one heated glance. He’d seen her simply as a woman.

She switched off the light without another glance in the mirror and stepped into the hall. It was strange, unnerving to walk through the cabin in the light of day. When she made her way to the kitchen, she had to resist the urge to crouch, to shrink from the daylight that poured through the window above the kitchen sink. Only a few feet of wall separated the den and kitchen, and she could hear Luke stacking the firewood in the next room. But she couldn’t force herself to join him. The few steps that separated them meant walking toward the front of the cabin, toward the windows. The direction the gunshots had last come from.

Dana decided she preferred the kitchen. Its solitary window was high and small. Safe. She mentally admonished herself. For her sanity’s sake, she had to stop viewing every structure as a means of protection, every door a means of escape. Luke said they were safe and she believed him. Dana took a steadying breath and glanced around the room. An old table crowded the tiny kitchen, its laminate top warped with age. On it were several dusty cans of food. Dana lifted one, turning it to read the label. Green beans. She checked another. Pears.

“Definitely a better breakfast choice.”