“Hello?” She forced her voice out, pushing the door farther open and hating how small she sounded.
“Anyone here? Mister…”
She stopped. Mister Grape Man, she’d been about to say, but that would be strange, wouldn’t it? “Hello?” she called louder, urging herself to move farther in. One step, two, through a dark vestibule hung with metal equipment. Tall boots lined one wall, and across from her stood a locked door.
This roadblock gave the turmoil in her belly nothing to do, nowhere to go. Weighted by a new sense of hopelessness, she turned and walked back outside.
From this height, everything splayed out beneath her looked like toys. The cabin was like something she’d played with as a child, but the man, when she eventually spotted him, looked nothing like the squat, happy farmer from that same foldaway barnyard. Her stomach twisted, half excited, half terrified as she tripped her way down the rocky slope.
She was close when the man finally noticed her. Close enough to feel tiny in comparison to his towering, long-limbed frame. Close enough to see how graceful his movements were, despite his imposing size. Close enough to see his eyes widen in surprise and his high forehead crease into a scowl. From the top of his unruly hair and unshaven face over the faded work clothes, which strained immodestly over shoulders and arms, to the tip of his muddy boots, everything about this man loomed as darkly foreboding as the mountain above.
She took him in for a beat or two, waiting for some sign of kindness from this man whose size did nothing to allay the fears she’d plowed through to get here. To offer the hope she’d depended on to counter the many, many risks.
He offered no welcome at all—no neighborly hello or hand raised in greeting. Abby almost stepped back, intimidated. But there was no choice. There’d be no leaving here without a job. Judging from the entrenched look of his frown, she’d have bet those immobile lips hadn’t twisted into anything resembling a smile in years. As she forced herself to step forward into his shadow, the lines around his eyes deepened. Make that decades.
“Good morning, sir,” she forced herself to say in her friendliest voice. Surely he’d hear the cracks beneath the surface, that edge of desperation.
He opened his mouth, but before he had a chance to say a word, she soldiered right through. “My apologies for disturbing you on this…” She glanced at the lowering clouds, as broody and gray as his frigid eyes, and blubbered on. “I’m Abigail Merkley. Abby, I mean. Abby Merkley. I’m looking for work, sir.”
He squinted at her outstretched hand in a way that was decidedly unfriendly, and for a good few seconds, it appeared he might not accept. Her first handshake ever, rebuffed.
He relented after a bit, carefully setting down the tool he used to prune the vines and sliding his palm against hers. She hadn’t expected this when she’d held out her hand. She’d remembered the fish man at the market, the way he shook hands with his best customers. He’d told her it meant something. A connection, a promise. A covenant. Setting out this morning on the half-hour walk to the fence line, she’d planned this shake. Firm, businesslike. Secure. Confident.
The reality was nothing of the sort. It was… Well, goodness, the handshake wasn’t a meeting of equals, the way she’d pictured it. It was consumption, one hand swallowed by the other. And it did things to her. Made her feel the difference in stature quite keenly. There was also the matter of how alone she was out here on this mountain. No one knew where she was—not a solitary soul—and here she’d gone and put her hand into an ogre’s. Walked right up to him and offered it up.
He didn’t scare her nearly as much as what lay on the other side of the fence, though. He should have, but…what was it about his face? Not the unexpected translucence of those eyes nor their chilly distance. He didn’t trust this, she could tell. He was angry, maybe, at her intrusion, but there was something else. Something sad or hopeless about the man, apparent in the purposeful squaring of those wide shoulders—an effort, she thought.
“Work?” He uttered his first word as his other hand rose to hers, chafing it in a way she’d have bet was subconscious. The word sounded off, chewed away at the R. His voice, deep and growling, was not what she expected. It made her want to clear her throat for him. “What work?”
She was ready for this question. She’d watched him, after all. Cutting and moving, cutting and moving. “I could help out here,” she said brightly.
“Here?” He dropped her hand like a burning coal and shifted away.
“I’ve seen you pruning. Last year, you hired people. I figured—”
“I do it myself,” he cut in. This time, she heard it: an accent. Not that thick, but different from any she knew. The words stayed close to the front of his mouth. As he spoke, she understood those deep-cut parentheses framing his lips.
“Oh.” Disappointment tightened her chest, a sense of urgency making it hard to breathe. “I can learn,” she said. When his expression didn’t budge, she begged. “I’ll do it for less than you paid the others.”
His eyes lowered before meeting hers. “Where’s your coat?”
Why on earth did he sound so accusatory?
“I don’t…” She glanced back up the mountain, to where she’d left it in a pile by the fence, too afraid to rip it on the jagged metal edges she’d crawled through to get here.
He wasn’t going to do it, was he? He wasn’t going to give her the job that might save Sammy’s life. This wasn’t the man. This wasn’t the day. This wasn’t the mountain. Quite possibly not the lifetime. Was there any point?
She ignored him and turned back, taking in the view—different from the church land, with its westward-facing view. It was rockier here, steeper and more interesting. The sky in this direction pulled out all the stops, its high-contrast clouds cut off right over the seam of the mountains, saving their drama for these richer folks.
This side had begun to represent a way out, a better life for Sammy. Today, it had lost its glow, soured by anguish and despair and the almost audible ticking of the clock. Get him out, get him out, get him out, it chanted in time with the panicked beating of her heart.
Sucking in a big, icy breath, Abby looked right into that unforgiving face and said, “I would do most anything, sir.”
She meant it too.
Order Adriana Anders’s next book
in the Blank Canvas series
In His Hands
On sale August 2017
Acknowledgments
There are many people to thank for their help on this book. To Stephanie Snell, of Charlottesville Skin and Laser; Gordon Emery, of Cville Jiu-Jitsu; to my favorite lawyer, Joe P.; and to the Charlottesville Police Department’s Brian O’Donnell—thank you for sharing your knowledge. All errors are my own. To Callie Russell, Radha Metro, Madeline Iva, Kasey Lane, Corey Jo Lloyd, Mollie Cox Bryan, and Joanna Bourne—thank you for reading me and advising me and providing me with much-needed perspective. I adore you all. Thank you to my parents and my husband, whose unflagging support made writing this book possible. I couldn’t have done it without you. And finally, thanks to my agent, Laura Bradford; to Mary Altman, whose edits are always spot-on (she just gets me, you know?); and to the incredible team at Sourcebooks. You are all amazing.
About the Author
Adriana Anders has acted and sung, slung cocktails, and corrected copy. She’s worked for start-ups, multinationals, and small nonprofits, but it wasn’t until she returned to her first love—writing romance—that she finally felt like she’d come home. Today, she resides with her tall French husband and two small children in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where she writes the dark, emotional love stories of her heart.
Adriana loves hearing from her readers! Visit and sign up to get news at www.adrianaanders.com or follow her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/adrianaandersauthor, Twitter at www.twitter.com/adrianasboudoir, and Instagram at www.instagram.com/adrian
a.anders.
Thank you for reading!
At Sourcebooks we are always working on something new and exciting, and we don’t want you to miss out.
So sign up now to receive exclusive offers, bonus content, and always be the first to get the scoop on what’s new!
SIGN UP NOW!
By Her Touch Page 34
