Beholden (31 page)

“I should have carried you,” Luke commented as he held open the door. “I would have if you’d have waited for me to help you
down.”

He couldn’t seem to understand that she didn’t like sitting like a good girl and waiting until he came to fetch her. “My shoes
will dry,” she said, moving inside.

The interior was comfortably rustic. The large living room had paneled walls, carpeted floor, and a huge stone fireplace.
The kitchen was big, too, like a country kitchen, with Mexican tile on the floor and another fireplace, smaller and made of
red brick. Both bedrooms were good-sized and they also had fireplaces.

“Doesn’t this place have a furnace, or do they rely strictly on fireplaces for heat?” she asked as Luke brought in their bags.

“I’ve never been here before, so I’m not sure.” He put both suitcases in the largest bedroom. “I’ll check it out in a minute.”
He went back outside for their supplies.

“I hope there’s a good supply of wood,” Terry commented as Luke carried bags into the kitchen.

“There’s a big pile out back. One more trip and we’re moved in.” He left her opening cupboard doors and checking out their
contents.

By the time they explored the place, put everything away,
and unpacked their clothes, it was nearly midnight. Luke had found the furnace and although it was a vintage model, it did
work. Still, he built a fire in the bedroom because he liked the coziness of it.

Pomeroy’s Country Store offered more than merely groceries for sale since it was one of the last markets before the turnoff
to mountain roads. Clothing, hardware, some automotive supplies, and drugstore items were in a separate section.

Terry had picked up an old-fashioned, long-sleeved flannel nightgown that she put on after her shower and found that it fell
to her ankles. Luke had picked up a black knit cap and matching fur-lined slippers for both of them. Looking at herself in
the floor-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door with her short curly hair, the pale blue granny gown and the fuzzy
moccasins, she laughed out loud. A real glamour girl, she thought, wondering what Luke would think.

She felt the flush of guilt when she thought of Luke and the conversation they’d had a short time ago. When they’d finished
in the kitchen, he’d walked with her to the bedroom doorway and paused. He wanted them to sleep together in this room, he’d
told her, but he didn’t know how she felt, despite last night. He would put her things in the other bedroom if that’s what
she wanted.

There’d been very little interplay between them during the long day’s drive, especially since leaving Pomeroy’s. No soft words,
no lingering touches. Terry had been thinking about her father, wondering if she’d done the right thing by phoning. And she
felt guilty about deceiving Luke. But she knew she wanted him in her bed. “I want to be with you,” she’d said, looking up
at him.

She’d been surprised by the quick flash of pleasure on his face before he’d pulled her into an openmouthed kiss that told
her more than any words could have. Now, leaving the bathroom, Terry again struggled with the guilty knowledge
of having gone behind Luke’s back. How could she make love with a man she’d lied to?

Entering the bedroom and seeing him standing by the blazing fire wearing only his briefs and holding two brandy glasses, she
swallowed hard. She prayed he couldn’t read the truth in her eyes. She’d never been a very good actress, even as a child trying
to keep small infractions from her parents.

Luke stared at her, more than a little surprised that she could look sexy in a gown that covered her from neck to ankles.
Even from where he stood, he could smell bath powder and the scent of the moisturizing lotion she used. He held out the snifter
of amber liquid. “This will warm you.”

She took it, bringing it up to her nose and inhaling the intoxicating bouquet. As if she needed further warming after seeing
him standing nearly naked with the firelight dancing on his bronze skin. “Thank you.” She took a small sip and felt the heat
trail downward.

Luke tasted his. “I called Bob and told him we made it.”

“Did he have anything new to say?”

“No, just that he’d keep us informed. I asked him to check on your father’s condition.”

“Thanks.” She turned away, unable to meet his eyes. She searched for a less disturbing subject. “Did this place once belong
to another drug lord or whatever?”

“Bob never told me and I didn’t ask.” He drained the brandy and set the glass on the mantel. Terry seemed jittery and nervous,
and he wondered why. He wondered what he could say to put her at ease. “Your hair’s really looking good.” Three months had
brought about a marked improvement. It was still short, of course, but so much better than the wig. “I didn’t know you had
curly hair. In the file pictures I saw, it hung straight down to your shoulders.”

“That’s because I used to blow it dry using a brush to straighten the natural curl. I really don’t like the curly look, but
I don’t have much choice right now.”

“I like it.” He watched her turn aside and give in to a yawn as he eased back. “Tired?”

“Kind of.” Terry carried her brandy over to the bedside table and set it down. She noticed that he’d removed the spread and
turned down the covers. “Oh, look. A feather bed. My grandmother used to have one of these.” Smiling, she stepped out of her
moccasins, slipped under the warm coverlet and stretched out. “Ah, this is heaven.”

Luke joined her, staying on his own side but turning to look at her. “Since you’re tired, I should probably let you get some
rest.”

Enormously relieved that somehow he understood, she let out a relieved breath. “I know I’ll feel better after a good night’s
rest.”

Something was wrong. She had her back to him, as if she didn’t want to look at him. Luke’s mind quickly scrolled back over
the brief conversations they’d had during the long drive, but he couldn’t come up with anything that might have upset her.
Maybe he was making a mountain out of a molehill. Perhaps she really was just tired. He stretched to kiss the back of her
head. “Sleep tight.”

Curled away from him, Terry felt remorse flood her. He wouldn’t understand if she confessed her call. He wouldn’t accept the
fact that she’d simply
had
to make sure her father was all right. She’d just have to live with her deception. Closing her eyes, she willed sleep to
come.

She’d never been snowed in before, but Terry found she rather liked it. The cabin had everything they needed. It was warm
and cozy inside while the snow continued to fall outside fdr two days. Standing at the window watching the wind rearrange
the drifts, she smiled. Yes, she could easily go on like this for days, weeks. Marooned high up a mountain and all but buried
in snow, inaccessible to outsiders, safe for the time being, at least.

She turned to watch Luke sitting on the stone hearth
whittling and carving still another small animal from the wood he’d brought along. He was quite good really. She’d lined them
up on the mantel—a deer, a rabbit, a horse, an elk. He was currently working on an owl.

She listened to the fire crackling and felt a contentment she was sure she’d never known before. She’d painstakingly pushed
her guilt to the back of her mind, convincing herself that no harm had been done and nothing would be accomplished if she
confessed. They were getting along well. Why rock the boat?

Why couldn’t life always be like this? she asked the Fates. With a sigh, she moved back to the plaid couch and picked up her
sketch pad. She was doing a pencil drawing of Luke in profile, and this was a good time to catch him unawares as he concentrated
on the owl taking shape.

Since the night she’d shown him the drawing of her father, she’d done dozens of others, mostly political cartoons based on
news she’d read in papers she’d picked up along the way. Some she felt were good enough to be published and wished she could
send them to the
Gazette
. But, of course, she knew she couldn’t. So she’d concentrated on other subjects as the mood struck her.

She’d done several of Luke, but this one was by far her best. It had taken some time to capture the steely strength, yet allow
the tenderness to show through. Finishing the final few strokes, she held up the pad, trying to view it critically.

“Can I see?” Luke asked, sitting down beside her on the couch.

Lost in her art, she hadn’t heard him cross the room. She could refuse, Terry supposed. But she was more than a little curious
how he’d view himself seen through her eyes. She handed him the sketch.

He hadn’t known the drawing was of him and he hadn’t known what a talented hand could do to transform what he considered an
ordinary face into one of far greater interest.
“You flatter me,” he said, studying the sketch from several angles.

“That’s how I see you,” she said softly.

She’d put more than her skill into the drawing, Luke decided. She’d drawn a portrait seen through the eyes of a woman in love.
Struggling with the realization, he tried to keep his expression even as he stood. He’d let things get too far, get out of
hand. And he had only himself to blame.

He handed the pad back to her. “Can I have it?”

Something was wrong. There was a sudden tension about him. “Sure.”

“Sign it, would you please?”

She hesitated as he walked away. “You don’t seem as if you like it.” She was at a loss for words.

“But I do. I want to hang it from the mantel. Maybe there are some thumbtacks in the kitchen.” He left the room.

Numb with foreboding, Terry signed the drawing and felt like weeping.

Moments of happiness and feelings of well-being lasted only briefly, it would seem.

You can’t have everything, not ever, Terry reminded herself. She was in a safe place with a man she’d fallen in love with.
But there the fairy tale ended. Luke didn’t love her and probably never would.

Two days after she’d given him the sketch she’d drawn, she again stood looking out the window at the blanket of snow. It had
stopped coming down, but there was plenty piled up and some very high drifts. Earlier, Luke had gone out and cleared the porch
and a short path with a shovel he’d found in the storage room. It was a serene, peaceful scene. Yet she didn’t feel serene
or peaceful.

Nothing had changed, outwardly that was. Luke was quiet and polite during the day, talking whenever she began a conversation,
friendly even. And nights, he was the lover
she’d always dreamed of having, insatiable, considerate, thrilling. Yet nothing was as it should be.

She should have known better, Terry chided herself. Hadn’t she warned herself not to fall in love with a man who always moved
on? Perhaps he did care, in his own guarded way, but not enough to make their arrangement permanent. Whenever he felt that
she was getting too close, he’d back away. She’d be better off not to let herself think about the future. He was married to
his work, despite his occasional discontent with some aspects of it. And he wasn’t about to change his lifestyle for her,
nor anyone else most probably.

Luke Tanner depended only on himself, trusted only himself. He was incapable of sharing the deepest part of himself with anyone.
She would have to accept that, to be content with loving him while she had him, then letting him go without making him feel
guilty. He hadn’t lied to her, had never promised her anything. It was she who had taken things a step farther. And that had
to stop right now.

What she needed was some physical exercise. This sitting around with too much time to think was making her crazy. Walking
to the hall closet, she ducked inside and began to rummage around. In minutes, she found some things she could use. While
not exactly ideal, the oversize boots and gloves would do. Eager for some fresh air, she sat down to pull on the boots.

Strolling in from the kitchen, Luke saw her hunched over. “What are you doing?”

“Going outside.”

She looked pleased and he was glad to see that. It was far easier to keep his distance when Terry wasn’t looking so lost and
alone as she sometimes did. “What for?”

“To play in the snow. I’ve never had the chance before. I’m tired of being inside.”

“Play? You want to play?” He hadn’t played in years, if ever, feeling as he did that he’d been born old.

She stood to put on her coat. “There are more boots in the
closet. Why don’t you join me? Or are you too old to play, Grandpa Tanner? I thought you government types were supposed to
keep in shape. Think you can help me build a snowman? That’s pretty mild work.” She pulled a blue knit cap over her short
hair.

A snowman. He remembered one winter he’d spent at the boys’ ranch. They’d built two forts a dozen feet apart, pummeling each
other with snowballs. The roughhousing had worked off a lot of excess energy. “Maybe I will.” He poked around in the closet,
taking out several boots and holding them up to gauge the sizes.

Hiding her grin, Terry stepped outside, then realized the sun on the white snow was too bright for her. She went back for
her sunglasses and saw that he’d finished dressing. “Come on. Last one to roll a mound big enough for the snowman’s body gets
his face washed with snow.” She dashed out ahead of him.

They worked at their masterpiece for the better part of an hour, fashioning snow arms and fat feet, using a dry twig for the
slash of mouth, digging down and finding stones for his eyes and nose and buttons. Luke couldn’t help but notice how happy
Terry looked, her cheeks red from the cold, her blue eyes bright. It was hard for him to believe this was her first exposure
to snow.

Finished, he stood back to inspect their creation, which was nearly as tall as he. “Not bad.”

Terry reached up and grabbed his black cap and stuck it onto the snowman’s head at a jaunty angle. “Hey!” he protested. “Why
didn’t you use
your
hat?” Turning, he saw that she’d moved out of reach. Intent on pulling off her cap, he went after her.

Laughing, she evaded him, dashing around the side of the snowman, nearly slipping but regaining her feet, stopping to scoop
up handfuls of snow. Slightly ahead of him, she stopped long enough to toss off a snowball that caught him
on the left shoulder. She scooted to the side of the house, knowing he’d follow.