The Wedding Arbor

“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 (#ulink_5269f990-5996-515d-9af2-e375dd8ea39c)

“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.”