On A Cold Winter's Night

by Leanne Burroughs

  "Nothing.” A forlorn look crossed her face.

  "Probably the starter. Do you have a car service?"

  "Yeah. I'll give them a call.” She opened the door and pulled out her purse. With cell phone in hand, she punched in a series of numbers. From the gist of her conversation, it could take hours before they'd be able to get her car. “Okay. I understand. Tomorrow morning will be fine. Hopefully we won't be hip deep in snow. Okay, thanks.” She replaced the phone and stood. Thinking?

  He cleared his throat. “Would you like me to give you a lift somewhere?"

  * * * *

  This wouldn't do. Wouldn't do at all. One episode in her life and she distrusted every stranger. Especially this one, alleged to have committed a crime. Against a woman and a child. Two big no-no's in her book.

  "It's really cold out here.” Not only were her teeth chattering, but he was obviously freezing, too.

  I'm sorry, but I can't accept a ride from you. How lame would that sound? I don't trust men. Not any better. Oh, how she hated this. She pulled her phone out again.

  "Hi, Ch . . . Noah. It's me. My car won't start. Any—” She stopped and scanned the parking lot. “Oh. No. I already called and they can't get here until morning. Yeah, well, that's okay, have a nice evening, if you can get home."

  She turned to explain. “Noah dropped his car off earlier to a friend and she's not picking him up until later.” She sighed. Time to bite the bullet. “Thank you, Mr. Webster. I'll accept that ride. My house isn't far."

  Taking her elbow, he led the way to his car. “Come on, let's get out of this nasty weather."

  Even through his gloves and her cashmere coat, his touch sent warmth into her. Lord, I hope I'm not blushing. What is it about this man that I find sooooo . . . mesmerizing?

  He opened the passenger door, she scooted up onto the leather seat of his SUV, and then he closed the door. In on his side, he looked at her as he started the car. His turned over smooth as silk. So much for the reliability of her Toyota Avalon.

  "Here.” He pushed a button on the dash. “This'll warm your seat up fast. Now, where to?"

  She pointed. “Head out of the lot and make a right. I'll guide you from there."

  Following her directions, they'd driven several blocks when he glanced over at her. “Would you like to stop for an early dinner, Miss Barton?"

  She gulped. Hungry after missing lunch, it was a difficult offer to turn down. “That would be delightful, Mr. Webster."

  "Could we do away with the formalities? You call me Arch and I'll call you Chris. Will that work for you?"

  The smile he sent her way was ice melting. She relaxed her shoulders, releasing the tension she held, and sank into the seat. Slowly, he continued on a few more blocks and pulled into the almost deserted parking lot of Magginano's, the best Italian restaurant in the city. Interesting that he hadn't asked where she'd like to eat, but she had no problems at all with this place.

  Inside was upscale Italian decor. No red and white checkered tablecloths here. All tables were covered with two cloths—the under one black, pristine white on top. Small hurricane lamps starred each table, candles lit. A small crystal vase with orchid-like violet blossoms sat beside each light. The maitre d’ sat them at a corner table, near the fire that blazed in a large stone fireplace. Only three other tables were occupied. She searched the faces to see if she knew anyone.

  "If you get too warm, I'll move you wherever you'd like to sit,” the Italian accented older man said.

  "This is great.” Noah shrugged out of her coat, pleasantly surprised to find Arch's hand at her shoulder assisting her.

  The maitre d’ took their damp coats. “Alonzo will be over in a minute."

  Noah rubbed her hands together, relieving them of the numbness from the cold. The waiter appeared and took orders, and then quickly disappeared.

  He returned with a bottle of wine Archer had ordered and he instructed the waiter not to hurry with their meals. As they talked and sipped on the marvelous Merlot, a voice sounded. “Hey, Arch. Good to see you again."

  She turned to see an attractive man and Calli Winson, a girl she'd gone to high school with, but hadn't seen since then. A very pregnant Calli. Noah remembered she'd left town shortly after graduation to attend university somewhere south of Pennsylvania, but she couldn't remember where. Allenvale wasn't as small a town as it used to be.

  Arch stood, hugging Calli, so he evidently knew her, too. Noah wondered how. His focus returned to her. “Chris, this is my cousin Jacob Isaacs, and his lovely wife, Calli. Jacob . . . Calli . . . this is Chris Barton."

  "Hi,” Noah responded, nodding to each of them. She noticed a slight look of recognition in Calli's eyes, and much to Noah's relief the woman didn't say anything. Enjoying every minute she'd spent with Archer Webster, she had to tell him what was going on and why she'd switched identities with Chris. Each moment she delayed jeopardized any further relationship with him. What further relationship? What was she thinking? Whoa, down girl. This was ridiculous musing on her part.

  "If you're not intent on being alone,"—she heard Arch saying, drawing her back—"why don't you join us? You don't mind do you, Chris?"

  Tell him now, her mind screamed. But her traitorous mouth didn't get the memo. “No, not at all. Please. You'll warm up quickly by this wonderful fire.” She looked at Calli and touched the chair next to her.

  The couple sat. “So, you're cousins.” Noah planned to steer clear of striking up a one-on-one conversation with Calli, lest she recall and blow it before Noah had time to confess. Or maybe now she should just get everything out in the open.

  "Chris works for the firm that's handling my case,” Arch said to his cousin. “Her car wouldn't start and I offered to take her home. We ended up here and are getting to know each other.” He offered her a heart-warming smile.

  Small talk continued and Jacob and Calli ordered. Before the food arrived, Calli excused herself to go to the ladies’ room.

  "Seems like I'm constantly running to a restroom somewhere. Would you like to come with me?” she asked Noah.

  "Sure. Excuse us, please,” Noah said to the gentlemen, who'd half risen from their seats when she and Calli stood. Each of the men nodded.

  Distanced from the table, Calli took her arm. “Okay, spill the beans, Noah. What's going on?"

  So she did recognize me. “It's really a long story. But I'm not proud of lying to him. It was certainly innocent enough . . . to start with. Talking to him over the last hour and getting to know him, I really like him. Now I don't know how to extricate myself."

  They stepped into the restroom that had a nice seating arrangement before you entered the actual toilet area. Calli pulled her over to the chairs and plopped into one.

  "You didn't really have to use the facilities, did you?” Noah asked.

  "Not really, but I will before we leave."

  "Okay, then . . .” Noah proceeded to explain the circumstances. Finished with her tale, she sighed heavily.

  "Well, I've learned a lot from Jacob,” Calli offered. “Do you know he's a preacher?"

  "No. He's a pastor?” She buried her face in her hands. “Now I feel even worse."

  "Don't. He's a wonderfully understanding guy. And he doesn't appear to know you."

  She jerked her head up. “Oh no, I think he knows my dad."

  "Oh, your dad is Abel Adams? I should have put two and two together. Yes, he's been to our church before."

  "I know.” Noah pulled a tissue from the box on the table between the chairs and dabbed at her eyes. “This is silly."

  Calli reached over and took her hands. “No, Noah, it isn't. Anytime we cry about doing something wrong, that's a good thing. Listen. I'm going to have the waiter box our food and get Jacob out of here. You take the time to explain it to Arch. And your instincts are correct about him. He is a really good guy.” She grinned. “Now I do have to use the bathroom."

  Noah followed her in and splashed cold water on her face, pattin
g it dry with a hand towel. The ladies rejoined the men and Calli whispered something to her husband, who nodded and stood.

  "I'll go find the waiter and tell him. Oh, good timing, here he comes now,” Jacob said as the waiter and a server carrying a second tray strode toward the table.

  "What's up?” Archer stood.

  "Calli says we need to go, and I've come to understand the necessity of complying with what she asks. Sorry. We'll take a rain check on joining you for dinner another time."

  The waiter took their food to the back to box it and everyone hugged, bidding farewell. “Drive safely,” Arch said.

  "Will do. You do the same,” Jacob replied. “Now you two sit and eat before your food gets cold. I'll go pay for ours.” He slipped his arm around Calli's voluminous waist and turned her toward the front of the restaurant.

  "No need. I've got it.” Arch patted Jacob on the back. “You get yourselves safely home and protect that little one.” Once they'd walked away, he pulled Noah's chair out. “Now to our meal. I'm absolutely starving."

  Impressed with his caring attitude, Noah sat, put her napkin in her lap, and started to pick up her fork when she noticed Arch looking at her.

  "Do you mind if I pray before we eat?"

  "N-no. Not at all.” She replaced her fork and bowed her head. Oh my, this is indeed a different kind of man. He said Amen and started eating as though nothing monumental had just transpired. So this is normal for him.

  She followed suit, but the food, although flavorful, was difficult to swallow. How to tell him and set things right? What is he going to think of me playing this charade? I'll wait until we're finished or, better yet, let it go until tomorrow. Yes, that's it. Forget it for tonight and enjoy the evening. I hope he doesn't think I've tried to make a fool of him by . . . yes, by lying to him. Oh my, I never should have started this. Sir Walter Scott hit the nail on the head when he coined: “Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive."

  "Is there something wrong with your dinner? Hello! Earth to Chris."

  "Huh? Oh, no. I'm so sorry, Arch. My mind was someplace else."

  A smile cracked his features and he belly laughed—a wonderful, bass sound emanating from deep within his chest. “Apparently. Do you want to share your ruminations?” The smile never left his face, nor did his eyes leave hers. He lifted his goblet and drank some of his wine, gazing at her over the rim.

  "Share?” Her cheeks burned. “Oh, nothing as profound as ruminations.” She laughed. “I was thinking about all I have to do before Christmas."

  "Yes, that can tend to set people on edge. I try not to get too caught up in the trappings and stick to what the season means."

  Interesting. She picked up her goblet, her eyes remaining on his face as she sipped from the glass, and then she held the bowl of the crystal in both of her hands. “And how do you see that?"

  His features relaxed and his eyes gleamed. The reflection of the fire danced across his pupils, giving him an ethereal appearance. “It's about God loving us so much that He sent us the gift of His Son to redeem the entirety of mankind from the sin the world had fallen into."

  "Yeah, well, I've heard that before.” She shrugged and set her water back on the table. “I'm not a very religious person."

  He pushed his now empty plate a few inches away. “Neither am I."

  That got her attention. “Really?” Had that come across as sarcastic? It wasn't how she meant to sound. “What I mean is, whenever someone talks about God, it is religion isn't it?"

  "I suppose some people characterize it as such.” Elbows on the table, he steepled his fingers against his chin. “I accept salvation as the gift it's meant to be. When I mentioned the trappings of Christmas, there are also dangers in religion. I don't get involved with those either."

  "Does that mean you don't go to church?"

  "Noooo . . . I do. But where a lot of denominations, and consequently people, have a list of dos and don'ts concerning their particular religion, that's what I'm talking about. I believe what the Bible states about God. If what's coming forth from the pulpit doesn't jive with that, then it's so much hogwash."

  Leaning back into her seat, she examined the man across from her—someone who believed in God, but not necessarily religion. This was something new. Could the two be separated? Had the evening just come to a close and she should set the record straight and forget she'd ever met this guy?

  "Archer . . ."

  "Noah!"

  Shocked, she turned and looked into the face of her father. Oh no! “Dad! What are you doing here?” That sounded stupid. Why shouldn't he be here?

  "Chris told me your car broke down, so I drove by the office and saw it still there. Couldn't get you on your cell."

  She grabbed her purse and dug out her phone. Off. No wonder. Then she looked over at Arch, who'd pushed his chair back to stand. The puzzlement on his face might as well have been written in large script on a balloon over his head. But this was no comic strip.

  * * * *

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Three

  * * * *

  "Noah? Not Chris? I don't understand. What's going on here?"

  "I'm truly sorry, Archer. I can explain. Please, let me introduce my father, Abel Adams. Dad this is Archer Webster. He's a new client of ours."

  So now I'm a client, when Noah Adams—or was it Chris—hadn't been sure if he could help me. Arch shook the older gentleman's outstretched hand, looking from man to daughter. Daughter? Confusion reigned. Should he cut his losses and walk away from this bizarre situation? But how? He'd been drawn to this beautiful woman named Chris, who'd suddenly become Noah. Noah? Why would anyone pin their daughter with a guy's name? At this point, that wasn't high on his list of Need-To-Know. Later. If there were a later!

  "Please sit and I'll try to explain,” Chris—or for now he'd just think of her as ‘the woman'—said.

  Not often did Archer find himself in a position of being duped, and he definitely didn't like it. In short order, this woman had him confused and bewildered. He listened to her explanation of asking Chris—he was her assistant, and not the other way around—to pose as her to feel him out. It didn't seem he was the only one hanging on her every word. Shock also registered on her father's face.

  "That's basically it,” she ended somewhat abruptly. Archer noticed she was shaking as she picked up her glass and sipped the water.

  "But why would you waste all that energy trying to fool someone? Why didn't you just turn me down to start with?” Arch still didn't get it.

  "I won't blame you if you seek legal advice somewhere else, even though I'm willing to take your case. Right now I can't go into any more detail. But I do apologize if I've caused you any angst over it.” She stood. “Dad, can you take me home, please?"

  "Nice to meet you, young man,” her father offered with a shake of his head. Arch didn't know if it was in disgust at what she'd done, or that he didn't want Arch to query her further on what had transpired.

  "Same here, sir."

  Walking away, she stopped and turned to look at Arch. “If I don't hear from you, I'll understand.” Then she hurried toward the door, slipping into her coat the maitre d’ held open.

  Stunned, he sat alone. As much as the woman's antics annoyed him, he couldn't deny the strong attraction he'd had to her from the moment he'd seen her atop the ladder. And what she'd done hadn't dampened those feelings.

  "Sir, can I get you anything?” the waiter said from beside him, jarring him from his reverie.

  "Yes, a cup of coffee, please. Strong!"

  "Coming right up."

  His gaze returned to the blazing fire. No matter how hard he tried, as a man he couldn't erase thoughts of her from bombarding his senses. As a psychologist he couldn't rationalize her behavior. What a quandary!

  The waiter returned with his coffee and Arch asked for the check. “The other gentleman took care of it, and anything else you want,” he advised.


  Had Jacob paid? “Which man?"

  "The older one who just left with your lady friend."

  "Oh, then I owe you for the couple who were here earlier."

  "No, sir. The elderly gentleman took care of that also.” The waiter eased away, leaving him to his coffee and rationalizing.

  * * * *

  Noah's father sat in front of her darkened fireplace. She handed him a snifter with a half inch of cognac, and then set the hand-carved Baccarat container of Martell Creation on the coffee table. Sitting across from her father, she marveled at his still trim physique and handsome face. He meant so much to her. She'd lost her mother, and he his life's partner, when she'd been thirteen. Since then he'd been both mother and father to her, and done it well. Although she'd known of a few women he'd dated, nothing had ever materialized.

  Retirement suited him, although she sure missed his presence at the office. One day she hoped to learn half as much about the law as he had stored in his head and be as altruistic and kind to her clientele as he'd been to his.

  "Oh my.” Swirling the amber fluid along the sides, he asked, “Where on earth did you get this?"

  "Remember the sexual harassment case a few months ago?” At his nod, she said, “Dakota Sanchez brought that to the office. She said to consider it an early Christmas gift. I was flabbergasted."

  He sipped the smooth liquid, and then smiled his appreciation. “Very nice. Only I'm sure the much cheaper stuff would settle my stomach just as well.” He chuckled. “So tell me, darlin', what's going on in that pretty head of yours to have Chris stand in for you?"

  "It's a long story, Dad. And I was just getting ready to come clean with Mr. Webster . . . Archer"—heat blazed into her face—"when you arrived. By the way, how did you know I'd be at that restaurant?” That had bugged her ever since he'd barged in, blowing her chance to tell Archer in a civilized way.

  "I tried your cell, and then your house with no success. So after leaving the parking lot, I just followed the trail. Actually, most other restaurants were closed. So I took a chance stopping at Magginano's."

  She narrowed her eyes.

  "Okay, I've had a tail on you ever since you moved out on your own.” At her dropped jaw, he laughed. “No, pumpkin,"—he stood and strode to her chair, and then chucked her on the chin—"I wouldn't do that. Really, it was just dumb luck.” He pulled her up into his arms. “You changed the subject rather quickly there, so I assume when you're ready you'll talk about it. For now I've got to shove off. Hopefully we won't get the foot of snow they're predicting for the night. It's looking like we'll have a white Christmas this year, that's for sure.” Shrugging into his coat, he kissed her cheek and headed for the door.