But most likely it was Harley’s wounded soul that drew her. When she looked at him, when she peered beyond the rugged exterior, she knew that he’d had some ugly things in his past, hurts that hadn’t gone away, memories that would haunt him forever.
He was the most capable man she’d ever met, and though he tried to hide it, also the most vulnerable. On many levels, she both liked and admired him. He was strong and self-sufficient, handsome and very fit. Relaxed and friendly.
Likable.
Okay, so he was an obvious womanizer—in a charming, quiet, understated way. The analytical part of Anastasia insisted that was a defense mechanism. Given enough time and an opportunity to delve into his personality—which would require knowing him better—she’d learn why he felt so defensive.
As a life coach, she could probably even help him.
But Harley kept his thoughts on most things to himself. He was a big, bold, gorgeous enigma.
What she knew of his sexual exploits, she’d heard from women, not him. She also heard that he never treated women poorly, didn’t address them as objects, and he never deceived his way into their bedrooms.
He was a gentleman. Controlled, but kind.
And considerate.
Hadn’t he stopped on her birthday and spent more than an hour chopping wood? Okay, so he hadn’t known it was her birthday; that just made the gesture more generous.
Maybe she could blame her birthday for the bizarre way she’d teased him. She had been melancholy, waking midway through the night to ruminate on mistakes that a twenty-seven-year-old woman shouldn’t make.
With Harley no longer in sight, Stasia went to her couch and flopped down. She put her head back and closed her eyes. Her favorite music played from her stereo, but she barely heard it.
Had she given Harley the wrong impression? Had she led him on? Memories wrestled in her mind, making her uneasy.
Her last male client had called her awful names, the least of which was “tease.”
He blamed her for a ruined marriage, a crumbling life.
His wife, whom Stasia had never met face-to-face, blamed her, too. The poor woman had even threatened suicide.
Stasia squeezed her eyes tighter, deliberately blocking that awful remembrance.
What did Harley think of her now?
Or did he think of her at all?
Determined to stop torturing herself, Stasia got up and went through the routine of making dinner, even though she wasn’t hungry. Cooking for one never took long. By the time she finished preparing and eating a chop and vegetables, the temperature had dropped even more and another storm blasted the area. Giant, wet snowflakes covered the ice, making the road invisible.
She looked at her meager pile of wood in a brass holder by the wood-burning fireplace, and resigned herself to going out. Better now, she told herself, than after her shower, when she’d only be wearing her pajamas.
Bundling up head to toe, Stasia braved the weather for the woodpile. With her arms laden, snow clinging to her nose and eyelashes, she was on her way back in when headlights cut through the dark, stormy night.
Since no one else lived on the road above her, she knew who it would be. She looked up, and seconds later, Harley’s Jeep came into view.
She paused in the middle of her barren yard.
The Jeep slowed, and then stopped in front of her. Harley rolled down his window.
Stasia took one look at his frown, and issued a warning. “Don’t even think about getting out of that Jeep, Harley. I mean it.” She adjusted her load. “I’m managing just fine on my own.”
“You look like a walking igloo.”
“Actually, it’s refreshing,” she lied—and fought back an icy shiver.
He smiled, and Stasia marveled that such a handsome man could be an ultimate fighter. Sure, he had a few small scars and a definite kink in his nose. But somehow, that only added to his charm.
His blond hair, always disheveled, curled up over the rolled edges of his dark knit hat. Even in the slight illumination of her porch light, Harley’s electric blue eyes shone brightly, framed by long, dark brown eyelashes. Many women would kill for eyes like that, but on Harley, they didn’t look feminine so much as imposing.
“I’m leaving tonight,” he suddenly announced. “Right after a few hands of cards with the guys.”
Her heart sank to the pit of her stomach, which made no sense at all. They had nothing but a business arrangement. What he did and when he did it shouldn’t matter to her at all.
But damn it, some small kernel of secret desire remained.
Covering her reaction, Stasia glanced up at the sky in doubt. “Good luck with that. I have a feeling if you hang around for long, you won’t make it out of here.”
“The roads are probably clearer in town and the Jeep is good in bad weather. But it doesn’t matter. I promised to give a few of the guys a chance to win back the money I’ve been taking from them since I got here.” He flashed a rascal’s grin. “I usually go home with the pot every night.”
“So you’re a card shark, huh?” His grin was enough to warm her a few degrees. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”
“Yeah.” The humor faded from his expression. “A lot of things, actually.”
Stasia caught the sincerity in his lowered voice, the look in his eyes. “Like what?”
He shook his head. “We’ll save that for another time.”
“I guess I’ll have to take your word on it then.” With nothing left to do, Stasia nodded. “Well…until next year, Harley.”
He hesitated, staring at her, holding her captive in that awesome gaze of his until she felt the load of logs slipping. Then he straightened in his seat. “Next year, Anastasia.”
Why did that sound like a promise?
Grinning again, he said, “Now get inside before your feet freeze to the spot.” He put his window back up and pulled away.
Resisting the urge to watch his taillights fade away, Stasia headed for her porch. With Harley now gone, the entire area seemed too quiet and still—a frozen, somehow eerie wasteland.
Unsettled, she looked around, noting the moon shadows, the few hushed animal sounds. And something else.
The snap of a twig.
The crunch of steps on ice.
Her eyes widened, trying to see beyond the glow of her porch light. Tall evergreens swayed from a bitter wind, and the cold settled into her bones, making her shiver.
Probably a deer, she decided. Or a fox. Dismissing any thoughts of danger, Stasia rushed inside, dropped the wood in the bin near the stove, and secured her door.
At least her cabin was nice and toasty, and well lit.
To fight off her strange mood, she turned up her rock music and delved into researching possible clients for her next job. These days, she always did extensive research on anyone asking to hire her. No way did she ever again want to find herself in an explosive situation like her last.
A few hours later Stasia had just finished a long shower and was about to put on her pajamas when the phone rang.
Jarred from introspective thoughts, she jumped, then stuck her head out of the bathroom to grab a quick glance at the clock. She couldn’t imagine who might be calling her so late. With a towel wrapped tightly around herself, she darted out and grabbed up the portable phone off her dining table.
“Hello?”
“Anastasia Bradley?”
The brisk but scratchy voice wasn’t familiar to her, and her unease resurfaced. She perched on the edge of a chair. After the warmth of the steamy bathroom, a chill chased over her, and she curled her toes. “Who’s calling, please?”
“Satch Handleman,” the voice said with impatience. “I’m Harley’s uncle.”
Harley’s uncle! Why would he be calling her? “Oh, hello, Mr. Handleman.”
“I’ve been trying to reach Harley with no luck. I know he rented a cabin from Anastasia Bradley, so if that’s you, I could use your help.”
“I’m sor
ry. Yes.” Sitting up a little straighter, she said, “This is Anastasia, and yes, Harley rented his cabin from me.”
“He’s not answering the phone there.”
“He’s not there, that’s why.”
“Yeah, I figured that one out on my own.” More impatience. “I tried his cell too, but he’s not answering that either.”
“Here in the hills, the cell phones rarely work. Add to that a snow and ice storm, and reception is iffy.”
“Damn.”
Cautious now, Stasia said, “I hope nothing is wrong.”
“No one’s dead, if that’s what you mean.”
Relieved, Stasia rested back in her seat. “I wish I could help you, Mr. Handleman, but I’m afraid Harley already left.”
“Left where?”
The demand stiffened her back. “It’s not for me to say, sir, but a few days ago he got a call from a friend and rearranged his schedule.”
“To come home?”
Unwilling to intrude on Harley’s privacy, Stasia said, “I’m not really sure. I overheard the phone call, but not the particulars.”
“When did he leave the cabin?”
“A few hours ago. Maybe seven or eight o’clock. But he was going to play cards in town for a while before he headed out.”
“And just how do you know all that?”
Harley’s uncle sounded very suspicious. “He stopped by my cabin to say good-bye and told me so.” A heavy silence made Stasia uncomfortable. “Mr. Handleman? Are you still there?”
“Interesting,” he finally muttered.
“That Harley would play cards?”
“No, that he’d bother to tell you good-bye.”
“Oh.” Now why was that of interest? Should she mention that she was already outside, or Harley probably wouldn’t have bothered?
“You two involved?”
“No!” She hadn’t meant to sound so appalled by the absurd question. Good grief, she’d almost shouted her denial. After a quick deep breath, Stasia said in a calmer tone, “Of course not. That is, Harley just rents property from me. I was out gathering wood when he passed by, so he stopped—only briefly—and said good-bye. There wasn’t anything more to it.”
“Hmmm.”
Stasia found Harley’s uncle to be as enigmatic as Harley himself. “Not to be nosy, sir, but…”
“Call me Uncle Satch.”
She blinked. He wasn’t her uncle. “I, uh…Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I suppose if it’s really important, I could try going to town to see if Harley is still at the club playing cards.”
Uncle Satch hesitated only a moment, and then asked with concern, “You mentioned a storm. Is it safe for you to be out in the weather?”
Just like Harley. “Yes. I have a four-wheel drive, and I’ll go slowly.”
“If you’re sure, then yes, it’s important. Thanks. When you find him, have him call me ASAP.”
“Yes…Uncle Satch.” Stasia felt like an idiot. She went back to the couch where she’d left a pen and her scattered papers. “I’ll leave here in under five minutes, and it takes me about fifteen minutes to get to town. If Harley isn’t there, is there a number where you’d like me to call you so that you know he hasn’t gotten your message?”
“You can call my cell.”
Anastasia wrote down the phone number and tucked the slip of paper into her purse. The second she hung up, she ran into the bathroom and, feeling even more ridiculous, brushed her hair and cleaned her teeth before changing into warm clothes.
She was a nice person, she assured herself, even as she pulled on her boots and a thick, hooded sweatshirt.
Making a run into town in the middle of the night during a near blizzard wasn’t a big deal. She’d have offered to do the same for anyone. It had nothing to do with a desire to see Harley one last time.
Definitely not.
Okay, maybe just a little.
But she was nice, and would have done the same for anyone.
In no time at all, Stasia was bundled toes to nose. The second she stepped outside, she felt that edgy uneasiness again. It had to be the awful weather, she told herself. A heavy layer of snow blanketed the area, causing tree limbs to bend, ice to crackle.
As she neared her truck beneath the carport, Stasia noticed that the newly accumulated snowfall almost disguised recent tracks around her property. She bent to study the markings, but the light from the cabin wasn’t adequate to see much other than indentations. And with so many animals in the area, it could have been anything—most likely the deer she’d heard earlier. They seemed larger than deer prints, but the harsh winds could distort anything.
As proof of that, the carport hadn’t adequately protected her truck from blown snow and ice. Almost frozen over, she had to use her gloved hands to brush over her door until she found the handle. Careful to keep the snow from falling into her seat, she climbed in and started the engine, turned on the defroster and heat full blast, and then used precious minutes to clear the outsides of all the windows.
By the time she finished, her nose was bright red and despite her thick socks and gloves, her fingers and toes felt frozen.
Was any man worth this much hassle?
She doubted it.
If she hadn’t already promised Uncle Satch…
But she had, so she might as well get it over with. She got in the truck and carefully steered away from her cabin. Her tires crunched through icy snow and after some guessing, she found the nearly hidden road.
CHAPTER 3
T HE darkness of the night and the frigid temperatures forced Stasia to use extra caution on the winding, hilly roads. To her surprise, she wasn’t that far from her cabin when headlights showed up behind her. The trailing vehicle closed in, and then rode her bumper, crowding her. The reflection in her rearview mirror nearly blinded her. She couldn’t see the vehicle clearly, but given the height of the headlights, she assumed it to be a large truck.
Uncertainty curdled in her stomach. Beyond her cabin and Harley’s, there wasn’t much on the road. It led off for a few miles, then finally hooked up with the main drag. Anyone going anywhere—other than to her cabin or the rental cabin—would be better served to use the main roads. Why anyone would be on this road now, especially in a snowstorm, she couldn’t fathom.
But maybe those tracks around her car hadn’t been caused by an animal after all.
Telling herself to keep her imagination in check, Stasia tried to encourage the other driver to back off by slowing even more, barely rolling along the frozen roadway. She’d just passed a closed service station, nearly invisible with the outside lights off, when the vehicle behind her revved its engine.
Seconds later a large muscle truck sped past her.
It cut so close that Stasia swerved to avoid contact and almost slid off the road. Hands clamped tight on the steering wheel, she reminded herself not to slam on the brakes. If she did, she’d definitely go into a spin and probably wreck.
She fishtailed, gliding over the icy road, all but stealing the breath in her lungs. Finally, with her careful maneuvering, her wheels again caught the road and the truck righted.
If she hadn’t been going so slow, if she wasn’t familiar with the awful road conditions, if her truck wasn’t heavy and her tires weren’t good…
So many ifs. And the other vehicle hadn’t even bothered to slow down.
With relief, Stasia watched its lights disappear far ahead. It took a few minutes more before her heart stopped thumping and she began to relax. She even laughed at her fanciful imagination. Most likely, the people in the truck were no more than drunken vacationers who’d lost their way.
That made a lot more sense than assuming any evil intent against her.
Maintaining her snail’s pace, Stasia headed down the steepest road and finally the center of town came into view. Relief stole over her. She’d deliver her message, say good-bye to Harley—assuming he hadn’t left town yet—and return to her warm cabin in no time at all.<
br />
To keep from picking up speed on the steep incline, she touched her brakes.
Nothing happened.
The truck slipped, tires spinning, and she pressed down harder on the brake.
If anything, the truck went faster.
“Oh, shit. This can’t be happening.” Hunched over the steering wheel, her every muscle clenched for control, she tried to think. Her wheels hit a hidden pothole in the road, and the truck bounced hard.
Horrified, Stasia tried again, pumping the brake pedal, but it felt spongy and didn’t catch. Panicked anew, she stiffened her leg, pressing the pedal all the way to the floorboard.
Nothing.
“No, no, no.” Her heart lodged in her throat. Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening.
The town, or what most in the area called a town, consisted of no more than a cluster of establishments: grocery, bank, post office, small department store, restaurant, movie theater, and a bar with illusions of being a club.
Farther out, folks could find a lumberyard, furniture stores, and other assorted necessaries, but that involved travel that only the locals indulged in.
Without brakes, her truck roared and bounced at a dangerous rate. Stasia saw cars parked along the cross street at the base of the hill, and a few late-night partiers just heading home.
She had to do something, and she had to do it quickly.
Teeth gritted, she steered the truck to the right, easing it toward the side of the road, hoping to hit the rough gully where friction would help slow her.
Instead, the truck hit a patch of ice and began skidding. Her passenger door ground against the snow-covered hill, careened the truck back out into the street, and, to her horror, sent her into a mind-numbing spin.
She screamed, and seconds later landed against a solid obstacle.
The truck slammed to a stop with jarring impact.
Her seat belt grabbed her with brute force, forcing a grunt of pain. Her head snapped forward, and then back again.
Seconds ticked by before she gathered her wits enough to open her eyes. Disoriented, it took her a minute to realize that she now faced the opposite direction, and was on the wrong side of the road. A mountain of snow piled high by the street crew when clearing the roadway earlier in the day smashed against the driver’s side of the truck.
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