The Wedding Arbor

He lunged toward her, hoping to avert the impending calamity. It was far too late. For both of them. He slipped on the bottom step and went sailing through the air, shouting. “Look out!”

Any assistance Adam might have been able to render was thwarted by the jumble of limbs and sticks Sara literally threw his way. One particularly heavy piece nicked his temple, leaving him dazed. When he shook the sense back into his head he was kneeling at the foot of the porch steps in a tangle of bark, raw lumber, and slippery red clay.

Seated opposite, Sara was up to her back pockets in the same mud. “What happened?”

“I think Samson wanted in.”

She shook her hands at arm’s length like a kitten with its paw dipped in the milk bowl. “Ugh. Remind me to give him the right-of-way the next time.”

“No kidding.” Adam tried to subdue his wide grin. He failed. “You should see yourself.”

“You’re no prize, either, mister,” Sara retorted, giggling in spite of herself. She sobered. “What happened to your head?”

“My head?” He gingerly lifted one muddy hand, then decided it would be wiser to not touch the injury until he’d washed.

“It’s bleeding.”

“I’m sure I’ll live.” Adam got cautiously to his feet and held out his hand. “Come on. I owe you a cup of coffee.”

“But, what about building a fire, first?” Clearly, her efforts at gathering wood to stoke the stove had failed.

“We’ll make do.”

Taking his strong hand she let him help her to her feet. She’d expected him to let go as soon as she was upright. He didn’t The sense of safety in his warm, dynamic touch was far more soothing than she’d anticipated.

“You take a shower first,” he said, penitent. “I’ll have coffee waiting when you’re done.”

“You’re probably going to have to lend me more clothes. I’m really sorry about the jeans. I’m afraid they’ll never be the same.”

“Neither will I,” Adam muttered.

Sara gave no indication she’d heard what he said. He was still holding her hand. She loved the sympathetic gesture. It made her feel as secure as if she were enfolded in a tender embrace.

Her cheeks warmed. She averted her gaze. Her fingers slipped between his and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Never be the same? Boy, no kidding!

And he wasn’t the only one affected that way. No matter what else happened, she’d never be the same, either. Not now that she’d met Adam Callahan.

Chapter Four (#ulink_2a2ce7f6-d01e-552a-8ee3-a5b3f729e2b1)

The aroma of coffee greeted Sara the moment she left the bathroom. Adam handed her a steaming mug, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and backed off discretely.

“Umm. That’s better,” she said, cradling the mug in both hands. She took a sip, smiled. “How did you manage?”

“It’s an old-fashioned, homesteader secret.”

Sara envisioned his blue-and-white enameled coffee pot buried in the smoldering ashes of the woodstove or hanging from a hook over an open fire. Curious, she pressed him for details. “Tell me. I’d love to have some genuine pioneer lore to share with my students this coming school year.”

Clearing his throat, Adam decided to confess. “I made it on the stove. It’s propane fired.”

She was certain her gas stove at home required an electrical connection, too. “But, how…?”

He reached into a kitchen drawer and took out a red-handled tool that looked like a wand with a trigger. “You light the burners with this. A match would do the job, too, but this igniter is easier. It works like a cigarette lighter, only the flame comes out the end of a long snout so you don’t get burned.”

Sara was still hoping she hadn’t been as dimwitted as she was beginning to think. She scowled. “But, last night you heated dinner in the wood stove. I thought…”

“The chicken and potatoes were already cooked and the coals in the stove were perfect for warming everything when we got back. I just thought you’d get a kick out of eating a meal that had been roasted on the coals in a Dutch oven. I never meant to imply that I couldn’t have done the same thing on the stove.”

Sara’s mouth gaped, then snapped shut in indignation. What a fool she’d been. “And you thought it would be fun to send me out into the mud for firewood? What did I ever do to you?”

“Outside of half drown me and totally disrupt my peace and quiet? Nothing,” he countered, trying a wry smile to see if she’d respond.

“You’re forgetting alienation of affections,” she snapped. “I’ve thoroughly ruined your dog.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow at Samson, who had made straight for his favorite spot by the stove and laid down to lick his wet paws. He always did the same thing, whether there was a fire burning or not. “To tell you the truth, that mutt was already pretty spoiled. I’ve been trying to teach him not to barge through doors ever since he was a pup.”

“Your dog training techniques could use some serious improvement.”

“I guess my houseguest etiquette could, too.”

“You said it. I didn’t.”

“No, but you were thinking it.”

That, and a lot more, Sara admitted, blushing and looking away. She didn’t want to dwell on how much she liked Adam, nor did she intend to let him know it. There were a few logistical problems, however, which she felt were safe topics for discussion.

Sipping her coffee, she enjoyed its familiar warmth while she formulated her latest idea, then spoke. “What I do think is that I’ve worn out my welcome. You’ve been more than generous, sharing your cabin and your food and all, but I ought to be on my way.”

“Is someone expecting you?”

She decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell him that much. “No. Nobody’s lived on the old place since my great-grandmother died. I just meant it’s time for me to go.”

“Okay. I agree. Now, how do you propose to accomplish that?” Adam leaned against the sink, his arms folded across his chest.

“Well, the rain’s stopped. We’ll just hike back to the car and…”

“We?”

Sara set her cup on the table and faced him, hands on her hips. “Yes, we. It’s either that or I camp here for the rest of the summer.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“Probably. At least I hope so.”

He was a little surprised that she’d taken his clichéd comment seriously. Then he recalled what she’d said about being a Christian and vowed to watch his references to that kind of thing in the future.

Sara went on, “The trouble is, I have absolutely no idea how to get back to my car. You dragged me through the woods in the dead of night in the middle of a hurricane. There’s no way I’m going to be able to backtrack by myself.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even know which direction to go to start looking.”

“It’s too soon.”