The Pretender (17 page)

Having evidently satisfied himself that
the cabin was indeed—except for themselves—unoccupied, Sage let out a gusty breath and carried the lantern over to the sink. Holding the lantern in one hand, he squatted on his heels and seemed to study the floor for a moment. Then he picked up something from the floor and rose with it in his hand.

Abby gave a sharp gasp. Sage glanced at her as he dropped the large hunting knife into the
sink. And she saw then that the sink and the floor in front of it were stained with something dark, something that still glinted red when the lantern light moved across it. “Is that…
blood?
” she asked in a horrified whisper.

Sage nodded. “Yeah,” he said absently, drawing the word out as he continued to move the lantern around, obviously looking for something. He let out a breath that wasn’t
quite steady and threw her a troubled look as he set the lantern back on the table.

“Is it—” she whispered, and stopped for lack of breath. Her chest felt tight, and there was a cold knot in her stomach.

“Don’t,” he said quietly, holding up a hand. “I know what you’re thinking, and for a minute I…” He took another deep breath. “Let’s just think this through. First, there’s quite a
bit of blood, but not a
huge
amount. Okay? And it’s just here—no blood trail leading outside, no arterial spray—”

She laughed a little. “You sound like a cop.”

His smile was brief and crooked. “Watched too many television police procedurals, I guess. So anyway, what I’m thinking is, Sam must have cut himself pretty badly, not badly enough to bleed out, but badly enough that he called
for his chopper to pick him up and take him to get medical treatment.”

“How could he do that?”

“Sam has a satellite phone. Which I don’t see around here anywhere. Which means he must have taken it with him. And that’s too bad, because it means we can’t call out to find out where he is and how badly he’s injured. Or, to let anybody know where you are, either.”

Abby clamped a hand
over her mouth and closed her eyes.
Oh, God.
“I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. What must your mother be thinking?”

“She’ll be thinking you’re with me. Although,” Sage added dryly, remembering the worried look Josie had given him at breakfast that morning, “I’m not sure she’d find that thought reassuring.” He dredged up a smile to give her and touched a lock of wet hair away from her cheek.
“There’s nothing we can do but wait for morning, so we might as well get comfortable. Okay?”

He hoped for a smile back, but had to settle for a nod. She looked cold and miserable and scared.

He was pleased to discover the wood box full, and a bucket of kindling set close by the hearth along with a cast-iron pot filled with wooden matches. He got a fire going, then went to rummage through
Sam’s chest of drawers to find some dry clothes. The best he could come up with was a couple of sets of thermal-knit long johns—men’s, naturally—and a couple of flannel shirts and some heavy work socks.

When he laid the pile of folded clothes on the table beside Sunny, she lifted her drooping head and gazed at him with tear-shimmered eyes.

“They’re not pretty, but they’re warm,” he
said gently, knowing the tears were just general exhaustion and misery.

She sniffed, and nodded, and if possible, looked even more miserable.

“What—” he began, but she closed her eyes, drew a shuddering breath and whispered, “Is there…um…someplace I can go to the bathroom?”

Oh, Lord.
He scrubbed a hand over his hair and swore under his breath. “Uh…yeah. There’s an outhouse. It’s,
uh…outside.”

The last thing she needed was to go back into that cold wind, but he didn’t see how it could be avoided. She didn’t, either, evidently, because she set her lips in a determined line and pushed herself to her feet.

“Point me in the right direction,” she said staunchly, swaying a little.

“Uh-uh,” he said, and reached for Sam’s big old overcoat, the one he’d saved from
his days in the Western movie business. “I’ll take you.”

She looked like she might argue with him but thought better of it. He walked her through the howling wind to the outhouse and waited while she took care of business, then sent her on back to the cabin while he made use of the facilities, such as they were. When he got back to the cabin he found her shivering in front of the fireplace,
rubbing her hands and muttering to herself.

He went to her and put his hands on her shoulders and said, “What?” softly in her ear.

“I said, I can’t believe he lives like this. Sam Malone. He’s a billionaire, right?”

“Hmm…
eccentric
billionaire—don’t forget that part. He doesn’t always live like this—just when he wants to escape from the world.”

“From us. Me. His family.”

He didn’t answer, but reached his arms around her and unbuttoned his jacket and slipped it off her shoulders. He tossed it onto Sam’s homemade easy chair, then opened up both sides of the big old overcoat and drew her inside, snug up against him. She gave a happy little chuckle when he wrapped the overcoat and his arms around her.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever be warm again,” she whispered
unevenly.

“You will be,” he said with gravel in his voice, then cleared his throat and growled, “I’ll personally guarantee it.”

She turned her head against his shoulder, and he kissed her temple. Her skin was damp and chilled, but he could feel her pulse beating, steady and strong, and inside the overcoat, her body’s heat blended with his. He imagined the flesh beneath the damp clothing
growing warm and pink with desire....

“You need something warm in your stomach,” he said, murmuring the words against the racing pulse in her neck. “I’m going to fix us something. And while I’m doing that…you’re going to go over there and change into those dry clothes. Okay?” He waited for her nod, then released her. With great reluctance. His body felt cold and raw wherever she’d touched
him.

“I’m going to keep my back turned,” he said as he returned Sam’s overcoat to its nail, striving for a light touch. “And I promise not to look.”

I wouldn’t mind if you did,
Abby thought, but didn’t say. And the realization, the truth of it, surprised her. Like most show business people, she wasn’t terribly modest—costume changes in close and crowded quarters cured that in a hurry—but
she wasn’t an exhibitionist, either, especially in intimate circumstances. And yet she somehow knew she would have no hesitation or reservation about showing herself to Sage. How she knew was a mystery to her, but she had absolutely no doubt that she would always be safe with him.

Safe.
It was that thought rather than the act of stripping naked in the cold cabin that made her feel joyously
shivery all through her body, even deep, deep inside.

Sage smiled to himself as he got the cookstove fired up and searched Sam’s cupboards to find a can of hearty beef stew to warm for their supper. He smiled, thinking of the woman dressing in the room behind him, close enough he could hear her breathing. It was a revelation to him that he could think of her, even imagine her body naked
and vulnerable, and not be tempted to violate her privacy, not with the smallest, quickest of glances.

He smiled, because it was tenderness, not lust, that filled his heart when he imagined her peeling off her wet shirt and bra, imagined her breasts rising and falling with her breathing…her breasts round and hard, nipples budded with cold. Oh, he wanted her, too, and his body ached with
that wanting. And that she was his for the taking he knew in the depths of his being. That knowledge made him smile, too, with pride because he was capable of restraint, of tenderness, of waiting. And because he was learning that this was the difference between getting hot and sweaty with someone in the darkness in the backseat of a car, and something that would stir his very soul, even in the quiet
light of morning, and through all the years of babies crying and illnesses and heartaches and growing old.

He smiled because this was love, and because he was proud and humbled that he knew the difference.

“Your turn,” she said, coming silently behind him in her stocking feet. He turned to smile at her. She was rolling the sleeves of Sam’s flannel shirt to her elbows, and her unbraided
hair hung past her shoulders and down her back in a wavy tangle. She looked impossibly young and incredibly alluring, and for an instant he thought he saw her through a haze of memories…memories of things that hadn’t happened yet. Memories of countless moments just like this one, in which the passing years had somehow left both her allure and his feelings for her forever untouched…forever unchanged.

“It’s okay,” he said, “I’ll change later. I didn’t get as wet as you did. And…I think this is hot…”

She’d wanted to come quietly behind him and slip her arms around his waist…lay her cheek on his shoulder. It had seemed a natural and easy thing to do. Now, though, facing him and his incredible beauty, his quiet dignity and supreme self-assurance, she felt just a little intimidated—enough,
anyway, that she couldn’t bring herself to simply walk uninvited into his arms. Plus, his hands were full. He held a large tin cup in each hand, and the cups were filled with something that gave off steam and a delicious aroma.

Her stomach rumbled, and he heard it. He was smiling as he set the cups on the table and pulled out one of the chairs and held it for her.

“Oh, my God, that
smells amazing,” she said, sliding into the chair and leaning forward to inhale the rich, fragrant steam. She picked up the spoon lying on the table and peered into the cup. “What is it?” In the dim light of the single lantern and the flickering fire it was impossible to identify the cup’s contents.

“Stew,” said Sage. He had taken the chair across from her and was blowing on a large spoonful
to cool it before popping it into his mouth.

Abby sighed, closed her eyes and took a bite. She made happy little humming noises, then laughed.

“What’s funny?” Sage asked.

“Sun—uh, my roommate used to say…” Tears sprang into her eyes, but she smiled through them and took another bite. “You know the food’s good when you have to sing to it.”

“That’s true.” His eyes gazed into
hers, and—it might have been the reflection of the lantern, or the firelight—she thought it was the first time she’d seen them smile.

She ate every bite of the stew. Although his own hunger had been well satisfied, Sage’s mouth watered as he watched her run her finger around the inside of the tin cup then pop it in her mouth and lick off the gravy. Then she sat back and gazed sorrowfully
at the empty cup and sighed.

“I’ve just eaten meat, haven’t I?”

He quelled an impulse to laugh and said gently, “Yup. But you needed it.”

She heaved another sigh. “I keep seeing those beautiful baby calves…”

Her sadness made his own heart ache. He pushed aside the empty cups and reached across the table to take her hands. “I can’t speak for them all, but I know many of
my people—the Native American tribes—have a special prayer they say when they have to kill an animal for food. We say thank you to our brother for giving his life so that we can live. It is the natural way of things, you know. We can’t live on grass, so we honor our brothers, the deer and the cattle and sheep and so on, for turning the grass into meat for our sake. Does that help you to not feel so
bad?”

She nodded…then yawned. Her eyes popped open and she belatedly put her hand over her mouth and murmured, “Oh, my goodness—I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Perfectly natural, under the circumstances.” He shoved back his chair and gathered up the cups and spoons and put them in the sink. “Survival instincts, Sunshine. You’re warm, you’re dry, and your belly’s full. Next comes rest. You take
the bed. The chair cushions will do for me.”

Trying not to wince, Abby rose stiffly to her feet. Bracing herself with one hand on the table top—she hadn’t realized how exhausted she was, so exhausted everything felt weak and shaky—she faced Sage and said, “I think there’s only one comforter.”

“I’ll keep the fire going.”

“That’s just ridiculous.” They were speaking softly across
a narrow chasm of golden light and dancing shadows. Tiredness sang in her head like the whine of hungry insects. “It’s ridiculous,” she repeated. “We share the bed, or I’m not taking it, either.”

“Now who’s being ridiculous?” He looked mildly amused. She planted one hand on her hip, raised her eyebrows and waited. The moment stretched…the air between them grew dense and viscous. Sage laughed
softly. “Okay, you’re right. We can share the bed.” He reached for her, held her gently by the arms and leaned to brush her temple with his lips. It felt so incredibly sweet her breath caught and held; she went utterly still, in awe of him. “You go get in…I’m going to change my clothes. Okay?”

She shook herself, breathing again, and said grudgingly, “Okay…” She took a few hobbling steps
before turning back to add, “You’d better come to bed, too, because if you don’t, I’m coming to get you. Don’t think I won’t.”

His laughter followed her as she limped to the iron bedstead, and warmed her long after she’d moved beyond reach of the fire’s heat.

Shivering now not with cold but a strange low-voltage excitement, Abby lifted the comforter and laid her aching body on the
bed. The deep feather mattress instantly enveloped her in softness and warmth, but she was incapable of relaxing. Stiff and shaky, she propped herself on her elbows and watched through half-closed eyes as Sage undressed before the fire.