A fully formed image blasted into her mind—a small but comfortable cabin near Lavender Mountain’s peak. Her dad’s former hunting cabin was so isolated that she doubted anyone else even knew of its existence.
If she couldn’t hide out there in the wilds, then no place was safe.
Chapter Eight
“I don’t like it,” Sammy said as he finally spotted the tiny lodge almost hidden from sight. Although the oak trees and shrubs were bare, the wooden structure melded seamlessly behind a copse of evergreen pines, and snow covered its roof.
“You haven’t even been inside yet. Give it a chance,” Beth said.
His Jeep jostled as he hit a pothole. The dirt road had become so overgrown from a long period of no travelers that tree branches arching from each side of the embankment met in the middle to form a gnarled, brown tunnel. Limbs scratched the sides of his vehicle; the metal frame rubbing dead wood sounded like a knife scraping against a plate. His forearms momentarily goose-bumped at the high-octave screech.
“Jeep’s going to need a paint job before this is over,” he grumbled.
She grinned back at him. “Jeeps are made for off-road use. The scratches will give it character.”
He couldn’t help returning the grin. With every mile they’d put between them and Atlanta, Beth had visibly relaxed. He didn’t share her confidence that the danger was past, but he took heart that she seemed to have forgiven him for daring to question her father’s integrity. Unless absolutely necessary, he wouldn’t tread again in that emotional quagmire.
He pulled the vehicle as close as possible to the cabin, but they still had to trudge a good twenty yards with all the supplies they’d picked up in town after he’d swapped out the cruiser for his own vehicle. Quickly, they hauled their stash inside, hoping to get everything unloaded and a fire started before the sun set. Already the shadows lengthened, birds flocked noisily to find their night’s resting place, and the air grew chillier. Night fell quickly in the mountains, and with the darkness came an almost unsettling quiet.
Sammy paused in his work, a pile of firewood in his arms, and surveyed the land. How many years had it been since he and Harlan and James had spent a weekend hunting? Too many. His friends were busy with their own families now, and the realization briefly pinched his heart. It’s understandable. They’ve moved on. Once their children were older, they’d probably be able to get away for an occasional all-guy trip. As for himself, the whole marriage-and-kiddos thing held no appeal. He’d seen how much a bad marriage could devastate a man. His dad had been proof of that.
A loud clatter erupted from the cabin, and his heart hammered. He dropped the pile of wood and raced inside. Had the cabin been booby-trapped? A string tied to a shotgun trigger or trip wires set to an explosive? The Lambert men were rugged mountain folks with little regard for the law and notorious for holding grudges. If they knew of the cabin and had gotten there first...
Beth stood in the kitchen, arms akimbo, staring at the dozens of food cans rolling around the rough pine floor. She held up a brown sack with a torn bottom by way of explanation.
He huffed out a breath of relief, almost laughing at his imagination.
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” she said.
“Are you sure no one outside of your family knows about this place?”
“How many times do I have to assure you? I’m positive no one else has seen this place, not even hikers or hunters. It’s isolated, yes, but that’s an advantage. No one knows about it. It’s private property. I doubt Cynthia and Aiden even come here. Aiden only bothered with it when he wanted to throw parties far away from parental eyes.”
Sammy bent down and helped her pick up the strewn cans. “Still can’t believe Judge Wynngate liked to hunt. Didn’t picture him as an outdoors kind of guy.”
“Dad grew up in the North Carolina mountains. That’s why he bought the house at Falling Rock and then built this cabin as his own private retreat. His job dictated he live in a big city, but he enjoyed time in nature.”
He caught the wistful note in her voice. “I also had the impression that you and your father weren’t all that close.”
“Not since I was a little girl,” she admitted. “When Mom died of cancer, a part of my dad seemed to wither away, even after he married Cynthia a few years later. And once I became a teenager...well, things changed between us.”
Sammy was well aware of the wedge her arrest had driven between Beth and her family—an arrest he was partially responsible for making. “I remember your mom. Nice lady.”
Beth’s gray eyes brightened. “You do?”
“Yep. I do.”
A charged silence fell between them, and he was intensely aware of the closeness of her body, the soft floral scent that was always a part of Beth. With just the two of them alone inside the cozy cabin, it seemed they were isolated from the rest of the world.
He stepped backward, breaking the spell. Protecting Beth was his job, and he’d better remember that fact. “I’ll get the rest of the stuff in before it gets too dark.”
“Right,” she quickly agreed, her cheeks flushed pink. “Lots to do before I get settled in.”
“Before we get settled in,” he corrected.
“I already told you, I’m fine out here. Perfectly safe. No need—”
“I’m staying,” he insisted. “At least for tonight.”
Actually, he planned to stay with her until he got word that the Atlanta PD had Lambert in custody. But he’d fight that battle with Beth later. One day at a time. And who knew? By tomorrow, Dorsey Lambert indeed might be locked away.
Outside, Sammy inhaled the bracing winter air. This is business only, he reminded himself. Get a grip. He brought in the rest of the boxes from the Jeep. Amazing how much stuff you needed to bring along, even for a short visit. Once all was unloaded, he set to work building a fire. It didn’t take long for the small interior to be filled with its warmth and the pleasant scent of burning oak.
“Your gourmet meal awaits,” Beth said, carrying their take-out food on a tray into the living area. She’d placed the Mexican fast-food dishes on plates and filled two glasses with soda. They sat across from one another as they ate, Beth on a chair she’d pulled over to the coffee table, while he sprawled on the leather sofa. He dipped a tortilla chip into the salsa bowl and pointed at the canvas frame she’d set in the corner of the room. A sheet draped the front. “What are you working on?”
“A snowscape of Blood Mountain.”
“May I see?”
Color rose on her cheeks. “It’s not finished yet. Since there’s no television up here, I figured I’d pass the time painting. Maybe start a few new ones.”
She didn’t feel comfortable sharing her work with him. “I suppose most artists don’t like showing their works in progress. I can respect that. As someone who has zippo artistic talent, I have to say that I admire seeing it in others,” he said.
The blue specks in her dove-gray eyes shimmered as she silently regarded him. “You have an interest in the arts?”
“Who doesn’t?” he countered with a shrug. “I may not have access to local museums like you do in Boston, but I can still appreciate beauty. I just get mine from a different source. Like walking through the woods or driving around mountain roads with panoramic views of Appalachia.”
“Touché,” she said, lifting her glass of soda in a mock toast and taking a swallow. “I wish my family had half as much appreciation for art as you do. They see my painting as dabbling. A hobby. And the art classes I teach middle graders? It’s not a distinguished enough career for their respect. They act embarrassed when their friends ask what I do in Boston.”
Sammy wasn’t surprised. Cynthia Wynngate appeared the sort to only care about social prestige, and Aiden had adopted his mother’s attitude over the years. He and Aiden had drifted apart soon after Aiden started college. S
ammy heard his former friend spent summers hanging out in the city with new buddies, tossing around money without limits. On the few occasions Sammy had run into Aiden, there had been a subtle change in the way Aiden treated him. Without sports, they’d discovered they had no common interests, and even short conversations became awkward.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I hope their attitude doesn’t upset you. It’s their problem, not yours.”
A genuine smile lit her face. “It doesn’t bother me. Not much, anyway. Besides, I only see them once or twice a year. No big deal.”
He hoped that was true.
She gestured at the canvas frame. “You can look, if you’d like.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes. Just don’t expect Van Gogh or something.”
He stood and crossed the room, but she remained seated. Carefully, he lifted the sheet and stared at the painting. A plumage of white, yellow, pink and coral clouds drifted over the mountains dotted green with pine and espresso-colored oak trees, their branches glinting with ice. Old Man Brooks’s abandoned red barn adorned the right corner of the canvas. The wide swath of snow blanketing the ground reflected the sky’s multicolored palette.
Sammy stared at it for long moments before speaking. He felt like he could step into that scene of crisp pastoral elegance. “It’s beautiful,” he said simply, then turned to look her in the eyes.
“You mean it?” She rose and sauntered toward him. “It still needs a few finishing touches.”
“I mean it.”
“Thanks, Sammy.” Her breathy voice was close by his side, and he swallowed hard. He scanned a couple more paintings, all in various stages of completion, all alive with pastel washes of color. He knew little of art, but he recognized talent when he saw it. Beth had it. Looking at her work was unexpectedly intimate, as though by viewing her art, he glimpsed something of her soul and how she perceived the beauty in the world. Slowly, he faced her.
Firelight flickered golden on her face, neck and arms. Thin strands of cinnamon highlights streaked her sleek sable hair, and Beth’s understated beauty made his breath hitch. As it had been earlier in the kitchen, everything seemed to still. There was only the two of them, alone, with the fireplace crackling in the background. His gaze drifted to her lips. Just one taste. What was the harm? Her mouth parted, and she almost imperceptibly leaned into him. This was it. This was the moment. Sammy bowed his head and pressed his lips to hers. They were as warm and intoxicating as he’d imagined.
He lost himself in the softness of her lips. This was where he was always meant to be. As though the kiss had been inevitable from the moment he saw her again, looking shaken by the threatening letter but determined to get to the bottom of the matter.
Aiden’s little sister all grown up.
A barred owl screeched nearby, invading his senses, which had grown thick and heavy with passion. He clasped his hands under her forearms and pulled away. He was supposed to be there to protect Beth, not make love to her. “This isn’t a good idea.”
Beth stared at him wide-eyed, one hand drifting up to touch her lips. Confusion, then hurt, and at last, resignation flashed across her face. “You’re probably right.”
Part of him wished she’d protested, but a saner inner voice assured him he’d done the right thing. They returned to dinner and went to bed early, Beth retiring to the one bedroom on the other side of the kitchen while he lay on the sofa under a woolen blanket. For hours he stared into the fireplace as the flames crackled, and then the logs dwindled to blazing orange embers. Had pulling away from Beth been a mistake? The longer he lay awake, the less confident he became of his decision. There were so many reasons not to get involved with her—it would be unprofessional; she lived hundreds of miles away; she resented him for arresting her years ago; and the Wynngates were in a different social league. The distance between them and the reasons to keep it that way seemed impenetrable.
Yet he couldn’t deny that their kiss had shaken him to his core.
* * *
DAWN FILTERED THROUGH the small window of the cabin. Beth huddled deeper beneath the quilt, reluctant to leave the lazy warmth of the featherbed. And getting up meant facing Sammy, who’d delivered a mind-blowing kiss only to reject her moments later.
But what a kiss.
Somehow she’d have to pretend it had never happened and just get on with the day. Surely he didn’t plan to hang around too long? She’d have to convince him there was no danger so far into the woods. She’d be careful to keep the doors locked, her shotgun loaded and at the ready. After all, this was her cabin, and she got to decide who had permission to come and go. Being alone was what she needed. Without the distraction of television and the internet, she’d absorb herself with painting, and when she tired of that, she’d curl up in bed with a good book. Plan made, she pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt and headed to the kitchen.
Sammy was already up. He sat on the edge of the sofa, drinking his usual morning drink of soda, and raised his head at her approach. His jaw had an unshaven shadow that looked sexy as hell.
“Good morning,” she called out airily. “I’m up. You should head on back to work now.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Doesn’t your partner need you?”
“Not as much as you do.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll lock the door behind you. Any sign of trouble, I’ll call 911.” She nodded at the shotgun above the fireplace. “And don’t forget I have a weapon.” Beth turned her back on him and rummaged through the cooler for an orange juice pack. “Did you ever call Cynthia about the break-in?”
“Yep. And got her permission to have a tech guy search your dad’s computer.” He took a seat at the kitchen table and eyed her curiously. “Your stepmother didn’t tell you?”
“She called early yesterday morning, but I was talking to Lilah at the time. The right moment to call her back just didn’t happen. Too much going on.”
Understatement of the year. Luckily, Sammy didn’t bother pointing out that now was as good a time as any. She’d call Cynthia back later today, once she was alone and not so frazzled. Beth sat across from Sammy at the table, then picked up a small metal cylinder that hadn’t been there last night. “What’s this?”
“Pepper spray. Keep it clipped on a belt or a loop on your jeans. It’s police-strength and has a range of ten feet.”
She eyed it warily. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt myself more than the criminal I’m aiming at. How’s it work?”
“It’s easy. I’ll show you.”
Sammy demonstrated how to rotate the trigger to the fire position.
“What if I accidently spray myself?”
“You won’t.”
“Okay. If it makes you feel better.” She looped the canister onto her jeans, privately resolving to take it off the moment he finally left.
“Have you ever shot a pistol?”
“No, but Dad taught me to use the shotgun.”
“I can teach you—”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
“Then I insist you at least let me teach you a few self-defense moves.”
She started to object, then closed her mouth, remembering the tall stranger from yesterday looming over her. “Not a bad idea.”
“How sore is your back?”
“Surprisingly good. No headache, either.”
“Great.” He slammed both hands on the table. “Grab your jacket, and let’s get to work.”
“Can’t we do it in the den?”
“Not enough space.”
“Fine,” she muttered, grabbing her designer jacket.
Sammy paused in the doorway and cocked his head toward the fireplace mantel, where the shotgun hung. “That thing loaded?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll test it and make sure it’s in running order. Bring it alo
ng with that box of extra shells on the sofa.”
Beth picked up the items and followed him out the door. How long could it take? Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes tops, and then she’d have the cabin to herself.
They trudged through the snow a good distance to get to a clearing wide enough to test the shotgun. “This’ll do,” he said at last.
She handed him the gun, and he checked the barrel. Satisfied, he lifted it to his shoulder and shot off a round. Even though she expected it, the blast in the forest silence made her jump. It’d been over a decade since she’d come out here with Dad and shot cans off a fallen tree log for target practice. Back before their falling-out over the party.
“Your turn.”
She took the shotgun, steeled her legs in anticipation of the kickback and fired off a round. It felt good. No one would find her out here in the boonies, but if worse came to worst, she wouldn’t hesitate to protect herself. She raised the gun in one hand. “Who needs self-defense moves when you’ve got this?”
“Can’t carry it with you everywhere, every moment.”
Beth carefully set the shotgun against a tree, resigned to another lesson. “Show me what I need to learn.”
Sammy shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the ground. “First demonstration. Say your attacker approaches you from the front and grabs your arm.” He clamped his hand down on her right forearm and regarded her sternly. “How would you try to escape this hold?”
“Kick you in the nuts?” she guessed.
“Wrong. He’d see it coming and block it.” Sammy placed her left fist on his hand that was clutching her arm. “Now point your left elbow up, and then slice down with every muscle in your core.”
She tried, but Sammy held fast.
“Give it all you’ve got,” he urged. “Muscle and weight.”
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