by Ruth Langan
He was afraid the doctors were wrong. The man he’d once been was gone. In his place was a loose cannon that threatened to go off at any moment.
Alex sipped another cup of coffee and sat brooding in front of the fire. She wasn’t mistaken about the way Grant had behaved when she’d entered his room. It had been the same in the kitchen. In both instances there had been so much controlled violence in him, it frightened her.
Why was he here? She wished her grandfather had told her more. She thought back over his phone call. “I have a friend who has need of some solitude. I immediately thought about the lodge, and about the talent you have for handling wounded critters. I know it’s your off-season, darlin’. But I need to beg this favor.”
How could she refuse her grandfather anything? Her response had been immediate and unconditional. “What’s his name, Grandpa Sully? And when should I expect him?”
“That’s my girl. I knew I could count on you, darlin’. That’s why I love you so.”
The feeling was mutual. She adored her grandfather. If it weren’t for him, she wouldn’t be here now, doing what she most loved in this life. Without this lodge, she might be running one of the slick European hotels or spas that the Sullivan family owned and operated. And though she knew she could do a good job, nothing would ever make her as happy as this small corner of the world. It truly was her snug harbor. She couldn’t imagine finding such joy anywhere else.
She sat a while longer, allowing her nerves to settle and her mood to lift. Whatever had happened to Grant Malone, it had left its mark on him. She would do what she did when treating one of the “critters” as her grandfather called the animals she nursed back to health. She’d give him time. Time to adjust to his surroundings. Time to learn to trust again. And in the meantime, she’d feed him, and give him plenty of privacy.
With a smile she banked the fire and headed down the hall.
As she passed Grant’s room, she heard a soft moan. She paused, wishing she could comfort him. But she had no desire to risk his violent reaction again tonight. Instead she walked by and firmly closed the door to her room to block out any sound. She didn’t want to peek inside Grant Malone’s dreams. She had a sense that if she did, she would glimpse a nightmare.
As she undressed and crawled between the covers, she shivered, recalling the look in those eyes when he’d heard the sound of the garbage cans being overturned. There had been no fear in him. Nor was there the look of a wild-eyed fanatic. What she had seen was an icy, bloodless determination to face up to whatever was threatening his safety and hers, even at the cost of his life.
It was that calm, deadly acceptance of danger that frightened her the most. It was as though he had already anticipated its appearance, and was prepared to deal with it when it came.
What had happened to Grant Malone to make him this way? She shivered again and rolled to her side, determined to blot out all thought of the strange, angry man who had taken up residence in her lodge.
Alex moved the paintbrush in smooth, even strokes across the underside of the canoe. She wore stained sweats and a baseball cap to shade the bright autumn sunlight from her eyes.
Across from her, Lem was pouring paint from a larger bucket into a smaller one. The two had been working in companionable silence for more than three hours. It was what Alex loved most about the old man. When there was work to be done, he got to it, without any unnecessary small talk. There were days when they’d worked together from sunup to sundown without exchanging more than a dozen words.
He glanced up as the door of the lodge banged, and Grant stepped out onto the porch. “He just getting up?”
Alex shrugged. “Looks like it. I didn’t see him when I was fixing breakfast, so I figured he was still sleeping.”
She’d awakened through the night and heard footsteps along the hall. She assumed her guest couldn’t sleep, and was prowling the kitchen or great room. And though she’d been curious, she’d forced herself to roll over and go back to sleep. What Grant Malone did in the long hours of the night was his own business. She was running a lodge, not a sleep-disturbance clinic.
“You get that sandwich in bed last night?”
She laughed. “Yeah. By the time I got around to eating it, I was so hungry, I could have eaten a steak. Still on the hoof.”
He joined in her laughter. “You grill one for your guest?”
She shook her head. “He claimed he wasn’t hungry.” She didn’t bother to mention the incident in Grant’s bedroom. It still gave her an uneasy feeling to think about the strength in those hands, or the way she’d felt when she found herself pinned under him on the bed.
She wanted to tell herself it was purely fear. But a nagging little thought kept worrying the edge of her mind. Fear hadn’t been the only thing she’d experienced in that moment. She’d been badly shaken by the feelings his touch had awakened in her. She experienced a keen excitement, as though she were standing on the very edge of a high, sheer precipice. One step and she’d either fall straight down or soar as high as an eagle.
“Maybe you’ll get your wish and he won’t get his appetite back until he’s headed home.”
“Sure.” She dragged herself back from her thoughts, wondering what in the world was happening to her usually clear, sensible mind. “And maybe by the end of the week I can have him helping with the chores and doing the laundry.”
That had them both chuckling.
They saw Grant step off the porch, before suddenly veering toward the woods.
“Looks like he’s avoiding us.” Lem picked up a brush and started painting a second canoe.
“Maybe he just needs to be alone.” She forced herself to concentrate on the job.
“Was he still wearing that frown last night?”
“At first. But he finally seemed to be lightening up.” She paused, her paintbrush in midstroke. “I’d just poured him a second cup of coffee when we had our nightly visit from Larry, Moe and Curly.”
“Ornery little critters. Remind me to empty the garbage before I leave. No point in feeding guests who won’t pay.”
She nodded absently, before describing Grant’s reaction to the sounds outside the door.
Lem grew thoughtful for a moment before saying, “Sounds like a mighty troubled man.”
“Yeah.”
He paused in his work and gave her a hard, steady look. “You feeling unsafe around him, Alex?”
She turned to meet his assessing gaze. “I don’t have a sense that he’d do anything to me. Mainly because Grandpa Sully sent him up here. You know my grandfather would never do anything that would put me in harm’s way.” She shook her head slowly, choosing her words carefully. “But also because I just have this feeling about Grant Malone. He isn’t so much a dangerous man as he is a tormented one. I think he’s been through something…” She shrugged for emphasis. “…really painful. Something that has him seeing a threat at every shadow.”
“Good thing it’s not hunting season. No telling how he’d react if he found himself in these woods facing dozens of men with rifles.”
Alex nodded, then bent to her work, lost in thought. It wouldn’t surprise her to see Grant Malone face down a dozen men with rifles the same way he’d faced down Larry, Moe and Curly. With that same fierce expression and gung-ho attitude.
“Whatever emotions he’s dealing with, I’m convinced that fear isn’t one of them. But something’s eating at his mind, Lem. And possibly at his heart and soul, as well.”
He gave her another steady look. “You thinking he’s like one of those strays you’re always taking in?”
“Of course not.” She said it quickly, as much to convince herself as Lem. “He’s not my business. I have enough to do around this place, without taking on the troubles of every guest who walks through the door.”
“Uh-huh.”
She brought her head up sharply. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m just thinking about that fox pup you once found
half-drowned. Remember how he thanked you? As I recall, he bit clear to the bone.”
She glanced down at the hand holding the paintbrush. She still carried the scar. And the lesson had been a good one, despite the pain involved. But the truth was, faced with the same scenario, and knowing her bittersweet reward, she’d do it again.
Her tender heart wasn’t completely understood by her sisters, who referred to her as a sucker for any sad-eyed creature. Maybe that was so. But she simply couldn’t turn away from any sort of suffering. Even when she knew she’d be better off to remain uninvolved.
Though she’d prefer to be a hardheaded realist, it simply wasn’t possible. She wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if she didn’t at least make the effort to help a creature, any creature, in need.
As she returned to her painting, she couldn’t get Grant Malone out of her mind. She thought of the look in his eyes, and found herself thinking about all the wounded animals she’d seen up close. The look was the same. It was more than wounded. It was desperate. And though she wanted to remain uninvolved, she knew there was no way she could remain so for long.
She flexed her hand and felt the twinge of scar tissue along her thumb. When dealing with a man like Grant, the wound could be much more damaging than a mere bite. If she wasn’t very careful, she could find herself drawn into his private hell.
Chapter 3
Grant tramped through the woods, feeling the crunch of leaves beneath his hiking boots. At first he walked aimlessly, so deep in thought he never even took notice of the things around him.
He’d spent a miserable night. He’d tried reading in bed. Had watched half of an old movie before giving it up and prowling the lodge. He’d made a fresh pot of coffee and had piled several logs on the fire. When, just before dawn, he finally returned to his room, he’d slept less than an hour before hearing Alex moving around. But he’d deliberately stayed in bed, avoiding her. He wasn’t fit company. There were too many dark places in his mind. And he’d visited all of them in the past few hours, leaving him more on edge than ever. The last thing he needed was to inflict himself on others when he was in one of these moods.
When he came to a giant boulder, he paused, then stood back to study it, trying to figure out a way to climb it. It was, he decided, just his nature to have to solve every problem that presented itself.
It took half a dozen attempts, moving around it, hauling himself halfway up, then sliding back down, before he finally managed to scramble to the top. It didn’t matter that his hands had been scraped raw, that he was breathless and sweating. It gave him an odd sense of satisfaction to be able to sit on his perch and see in all directions.
To his left was a thick stand of evergreens that formed a solid wall of forest. To his right the woods seemed less dense, but infinitely more colorful. Behind him the land rose gently, a series of hills covered with fiery foliage. In front of him loomed the lake. Off to one side of it was the lodge, looking every bit the millionaire’s retreat it had once been, with its aged wood and clever use of stone, its windows gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Though it had to be more than fifty years old, it was as bright and tidy as a new penny. It was obvious that the Snug Harbor Lodge was lovingly cared for.
There on the shore was the line of canoes, and the old man and young woman looking just the way they had yesterday when he’d arrived. Painting, occasionally pausing to refill their buckets or to talk, then picking up their brushes to paint again. They looked as much a part of this place as the building and the land. He was, he realized, the only thing that didn’t fit.
He glanced beyond them. The surface of the lake was as smooth as glass. For the first time Grant noticed the way the trees were reflected in the water. It was a stunningly beautiful scene. He bent one leg and wrapped his arms around his knee. This was a view a man could drink in and never tire of. The sun, the fiery autumn foliage, the sounds of the woods around him were a soothing balm to his battered soul.
He sat for the longest time, unmoving, as a long line of geese drifted in a V across the sky and slowly circled the lake. When they finally landed, the water’s surface was churned and turbulent before it calmed, and they began moving in lazy circles.
In his entire life Grant had never taken the time to just sit and look and listen. It seemed at odds with his nature to stand back and do nothing. To have no plan. No schedule. No job to go to. No one needing him. Depending on him. He frowned. It ought to bother him. He was, after all, a man who had always had a purpose. He liked being needed. One of the shrinks had called him the perfect example of the alpha male. The man who needed no one but himself and his own wits to survive. And though he’d never given a thought to it, he liked the description and agreed with it.
He closed his eyes. It was so quiet here, he could hear the hum of an insect, the drone of a bee. The soft velvet peal of laughter carried on the breeze, followed by the deeper rumble of Lem’s voice, and Grant found himself straining to catch a word or a phrase. It was nice to see two people who enjoyed each other’s company so much.
Alex Sullivan had a wonderful voice and a relaxed, casual manner that made her easy to be around. What he liked best about her was that she didn’t push. When he said he wanted to be alone, she took him at his word and gave him all the space he needed. She didn’t feel she had to fill every silence with the sound of her own voice. In fact, she seemed as comfortable with silence as with sound.
No pretenses there, he thought. He’d bet everything he had that she was exactly what she appeared to be. A lovely young woman who seemed completely comfortable with herself and her choice of lifestyle.
He’d thought that about himself, not so very long ago. There had been a time when he’d loved his life, and held his career in the highest esteem. He hadn’t been able to see himself being or doing anything except who and what he was. Now he couldn’t imagine going on with it. Each day he found himself questioning everything he’d ever believed in. The thought of facing another day on the job left him with a sense of dread. But without that job, there seemed an emptiness stretching out before him that nothing else could fill.
Give it time, Dr. Brady had told him. Don’t push yourself. You’ve been through a trauma. Even after the body heals, more time is needed for the mind and heart and soul to heal as well.
Time. He stretched out on top of the flat rock and closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the sun against his lids. If all it took was time, he would have already mended. He lifted his hand and pressed it to his eyes. What he needed was something along the lines of a miracle.
Grant awoke feeling chilled. His eyes opened and he realized the sun had already made its arc across the sky and was setting behind a bank of low-hanging clouds.
How odd, he thought, that he could sleep here in the open, without feeling like a target. But then this boulder offered the perfect refuge. He was high enough to see in any direction. And too high to be seen by anyone passing by, unless they were specifically looking for him.
He slid down the side of the rock and began walking toward the lodge. As he drew closer he realized that Lem’s truck was gone. He glanced toward the shore. The canoes were all wearing a fresh coat of paint.
Inside the lodge Alex was just emerging from her bedroom. Grant could tell, by the way her damp hair curled around her face, that she’d just come from the shower. She was wearing clean denims and a ribbed turtleneck. There was the faintest fragrance of something light and airy drifting around her.
“That was some walk in the woods. You must have put in ten miles or more.”
He shook his head. “The truth is, I climbed up on a big flat boulder not far from here and fell asleep.”
“I know exactly which boulder. I call it Table-top. When I was little, I used to think it would make a perfect table for a giant.”
“Yeah, it would.” He tried not to stare at the way her sweater clung to those softly rounded curves. Up close he could see that her face was bare of makeup. Her skin was as flawless as porcelain
.
“I’m thinking of making grilled cheese sandwiches and a big bowl of tomato soup. Hungry?”
He was tempted. But he wasn’t ready for company yet. “No thanks. I’ll help myself to something later.”
“Okay.” She turned away, and wondered at the little tug of disappointment. After all, she’d put in a long day of hard, physical work. All she really wanted was a quick meal and a chance to finish the book she’d started, and then a good night’s sleep.
The last thing she needed, she told herself sternly, was another meal to fix. And maybe another scene like the one last night.
Later, when she carried her plate to her room, she saw no light on beneath Grant’s door and found herself wondering if he was already asleep.
What a strange guest. She nudged her door closed and settled into bed to eat and read. Later, as she was falling asleep, she thought she heard a door open and close.
Maybe it was hunger that drove him to prowl during the night. Or maybe it was a desire to simply be alone. Whatever his reason, he was welcome to it. She had no intention of intruding on his privacy.
Exhausted, she slept.
When the cabin door slammed, Lem looked up from the boat engine he and Alex were working on. He saw Grant step outside in the afternoon sun.
“You two ever talk?”
“Barely.” Which suited her just fine. She reached for the pliers and gave a twist before setting the fuel pump on the rag spread on the grass.
“He’s been here for more’n a week now. What do you know about him?”
“Nothing. Except that he never smiles.” She worked companionably beside Lem for the next several hours before setting the new pump in place.
