The Wedding Arbor

“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.