In The Arms of a Stranger (4 page)

The sound of the zipper lowering was only slightly less embarrassing than the rustle of fabric as she forced the jeans over her hips. As Dana wriggled free of the wet, clinging denim, the cold seemed to wrap itself around her bare legs, seeping instantly through the silky fabric of her panties.

She felt totally vulnerable and glanced up, only to find that Luke had taken a step back from the window and had caught her reflection in the dresser's mirror. Dana could see
her own reflection, illuminated by the moonlight and the seductive red glow of the space heater.

The instant their eyes locked, he looked away.

Even so, Dana could feel the lingering brand of his stare, feel his gaze touching her bare skin as she stepped into the waiting clothing. Luke said nothing, just resumed his watch at the window. An apology or acknowledgment, she realized, would only make things worse. Better to pretend the incident hadn't happened, which is what she intended to do.

The clothes she wore smelled like cedar, no doubt having been stored, but she couldn't have cared less. The socks and fleece pants were heavenly against her skin, warming her instantly. She walked to the side of the bed and arranged a pillow against the headboard, then slid carefully beside the baby. Despite herself, she relaxed. It was a strange, surreal state. One part relief and two parts exhaustion. Mentally she was still pumped with adrenaline, though, and her mind relentlessly returned to the scene of the accident, then back to the events that had brought her to this darkened room with the man who now stood watch.

Her gaze followed Luke as he paced from the window to the hall. When he glanced in her direction, she looked down, embarrassed that she'd been staring.

He'd done the same, she reminded herself. And more.

Her eyes now accustomed to the dark, she could see that the baby was peacefully sleeping at her hip, his lips pursed and his fist balled next to his chubby cheek. She lightly stroked his cheek with her fingertips. His skin was like velvet, so new and unmarred. It was a miracle that he hadn't been injured in the accident.

“How could someone be so careless with this precious life?” she whispered, as much to herself as to Luke.

Luke turned to face her. “What do you mean, careless?”

Dana realized that she hadn't explained the cause of the
accident. Her mind flashed back to the whiskey bottle as it tumbled from the car and shattered at her feet, to the sound of metal screaming against rock as the car slid down the mountain face. The memory was so vivid that she jumped, waking the baby. He struggled to find the thread of sleep again, his little fist punching the air at the unseen enemy that had awakened him. Dana traced the outline of his ear, cooing and whispering until the soothing motion worked its magic.

When she looked up, she found Luke staring at her, waiting for an answer.

“The mother had been drinking.” She heard the anger in her words and realized that it matched the anger she felt. A delayed reaction, she supposed, but fierce.

Her comment was met with silence, as if Luke were considering the validity of her words. “Are you sure?” he finally asked.

Was she sure? She stifled an edgy laugh. “Yes, I'm sure. There were several bottles of alcohol in the car. Only one of them was full. It fell out and broke at my feet.”

“Can you tell me about the accident now?”

Now…
The single word said a lot.

It said that he'd known how close she'd been to breaking down and that he'd intentionally gone easy on the questions because of it. She was grateful. It was only natural that someone in his position would be anxious—obligated even—to sort out the details of the accident. And again he'd used that soft, hypnotic voice. She realized that, intentional or not, he used it when he wanted to soothe her or needed her cooperation.

Like now.

At first she was reluctant, but talking about the events surrounding the accident proved easier than she'd imagined, likely because she'd relived it in her head countless times
already. And each time she relived it, certain details grew clearer, jumped out at her. Her years as a reporter were probably to blame. She'd reported on and written about catastrophic events for so many years that certain dramatic details tended to jump out at her, stick in her memory, even when she would rather they didn't.

This was similar, she realized, as she recited the events to Luke for at least the third time. The one detail that kept emerging, each time with more intensity, was that the mother had been drinking. She was surprised to hear the anger in her voice. She hadn't realized how angry she was at the infant's mother until now. But she was. Because of one reckless decision, a little boy would grow up without a mother.

Just as she had.

Finally weary of her own voice, she stilled, waiting for Luke's response. It was slow in coming, and when it did it was that same, controlled voice that made her feel as if she was his entire focus.

“I'm glad you and the baby are okay.” The words were a near whisper in the darkness. No questions. No commentary.

Maybe it was the purging of the details, but Dana was suddenly so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. She propped her cheek against the pillow and watched the baby as he slept.

“Lie down next to him.” Luke's voice vibrated with some emotion that Dana didn't recognize. “He could use your body heat until the room warms.”

Dana eased her shoulders to the mattress and curled her body around the baby's. She felt drugged by his nearness, by the sweet, sound sleep that possessed him. In the back of her mind she recognized that the adrenaline that had saved their lives was now depleted.

As she closed her eyes, the last image she saw was of Luke standing at the window. Standing guard.

 

Luke heard the gentle sound of Dana's breathing and knew she'd drifted off to sleep. He walked to the bed. It was an invasion of her privacy, violated some damned code of honor to watch her as she slept, but he didn't care. He was drawn to her. Maybe it was that he admired her fierce maternal instincts, or maybe it was as simple as the arousal he'd fought since the moment he'd laid eyes on her long, bare legs.

Or maybe it was that her story didn't entirely ring true.

He looked down at her. Her face was pale in the moonlight, her features near perfect as she slept. Yet he recognized a pattern to her behavior that didn't fit the angelic features. She'd repeated her story over and over again, literally cramming the details down his throat as if she were desperate for him to believe how the events took place.

As if she were convincing herself in the process.

Why would a woman alone want to vacation in a mountain cabin in the middle of nowhere? Especially a woman like Dana Langston. His eyes flowed over her. Even with the trickle of blood staining her cheek and little makeup on, she looked more like cruise ship material. Glitz and glamour. And wouldn't a woman in her position be brighter than to drive headlong into a storm?

He had to admit he'd been caught off guard by the storm, as well. But he'd at least known the storm had changed course, just decided in a fit of male bravado that he could outrun it. But no matter how well intended, his actions were just as stupid as hers. Maybe his sense of suspicion had become overblown through the years. A job hazard, he mused.

Still, he had had all sorts of questions about Dana Lang
ston. And all sorts of ideas. His mind flashed to the scrap of panties she wore, pulled tight as she stepped out of her jeans. Hell, not half of his ideas were honorable. But the other half clung to a sense of duty.

Between the two, one thing was clear: she was hiding something.

The question was, What?

I
t was like waking to another world. Dana peered through the small expanse of glass next to the mirror. The snow had coated everything, transforming the shadowy forest into a stark white landscape dotted with ghostly shapes. Only the occasional stubborn branch poked through the shapes, hinting that the mounds of snow were really saplings, their tops bent double with the weight of ice and snow. Other larger trees had succumbed to the storm and now lay across one another on the ground like fallen soldiers.

“Looks like we're trapped here for a few days.”

Dana jumped, pressing her hand against her heart. She'd been so lost in thought that she hadn't heard Luke enter the room behind her. She turned to face him.

Some part of her subconscious noticed that Luke carried an armload of firewood, but the thought never made it to the forefront of her brain. Instead she focused on Luke's face. It was the first time she'd seen him fully in the light. He was handsome. Not the pretty-boy handsome of her male
co-workers at the news station but an honest, rugged handsome that matched his imposing size. His face was reddened from the cold, and his dark hair was sprinkled with snow.

Dana blinked, realizing she'd been staring. “It's incredible.” She turned back toward the window, embarrassed at her abstract reaction to his announcement.

“Are you okay?” Luke asked.

She glanced at the baby, still sleeping soundly on the mattress. She'd awoken this morning to the chirping of birds, an odd, cheerful sound against the backdrop of all they'd experienced last night. She'd gently risen from the bed and followed the sound to the window. There she realized that the birds weren't cheerful at all, but squawking and flittering over the frozen ground in frustration.

Even they knew the situation was dire. So why wasn't she panicking? Why didn't she have sense enough to be afraid instead of noticing that Luke's eyes were an incredible shade of blue in the morning light?

It had to be a reaction to the overdose of stress she'd received in the past twenty-four hours. A sort of final surrender to a situation that was out of control. An image of Gonzalez flashed in her head. The situation had been out of control for some time.

She'd just faced it alone until now.

Dana forced a smile. “I'm okay.” Her gaze went to the baby, and Luke's eyes followed.

As if on cue, the baby turned his head against the mattress and sighed, his tiny fingers caressing the sheet. There was an almost tangible relief in the room, and Dana realized that both she and Luke had been watching the baby in anticipation, looking for some reassurance that he was okay.

“I'm going to stack this next to the fireplace.” Luke shifted the firewood against his chest.

Dana looked at the firewood, then at the space heater that faithfully hummed a steady stream of warmth into the room.

Luke read her thoughts. “I'm afraid the power won't last much longer.” He nodded toward the window. “The trees are coming down like crazy. But there's at least a cord of dry wood outside.”

“You left the cabin?” Her words conveyed the wave of panic she felt.

“The wood is stored under the porch. I didn't go far.” He watched her intently for a moment. “The snow has blanketed everything, and there's no shelter other than this cabin for miles. If anyone were out there, it would be obvious. I want you to stay inside, keep away from the windows. But that's just a precaution. We're safe here.”

Dana nodded. “I guess I'm still a little shaken.”

“Are you hungry?”

She was. In fact, she was starving, which surprised her. Her appetite had been a casualty of the roller-coaster ride that was her life as of late. “Actually, yes.”

“I found some canned goods in the kitchen.” Luke took a few steps toward the other room, then stopped, looking over his shoulder. “If your tastes aren't too elaborate.”

She wanted to laugh. She'd eaten at every upscale Atlanta restaurant by the time she was eight. And had been thoroughly sick of it by the time she was eighteen. Her aunt, who had never planned on raising a child and certainly never planned on cooking a well-balanced meal based on the food pyramid, had nonetheless taught her the finer points of dining out. Not the most maternal of lessons, but her aunt had never tried to be anyone other than who she was. Dana may have craved more, but she appreciated her aunt's honesty.

Still, the first thing she'd bought after moving into her own apartment was a cookbook and a set of cookware. Ten
years had passed and she could now make corn bread and pot roast with the best of them.

“Thanks.” Dana ran her hand through her hair, and her fingertips stilled on the side of her face, stopping at the trail of dried blood.

Luke frowned. “There's a bathroom next to the supply closet.”

Dana nodded, then watched him leave the room. His ability to read her thoughts was unnerving and comforting at the same time. She secured a pillow on either side of the baby and watched him for a moment as he slept. With a chubby cheek pressed against the mattress and his lips puckered into a sweet cherub's smile, he looked like an angel. She stroked his cheek with her index finger. He was completely at peace, completely oblivious to the fact that he was alone.

Alone.
God, she hated that word. The baby might not have her for long, but he had her for now. He wouldn't be
alone.
She would see to that.

Dana walked quickly to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She pulled the overhead chain that lit a bare bulb and stared at the stranger in the mirror. Old-fashioned vanity assaulted her. It was wrong to be embarrassed by her appearance, given the fact that another woman had lost her life, but she couldn't help but be mortified. It hadn't occurred to her that she looked like hell. After all, Luke had looked like a model in some outdoorsman's catalog, right down to the armload of firewood and his perfectly disheveled hair.

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. It was hopelessly tangled, twigs and briars sticking out from it like a pincushion. A swollen gash was visible at her hairline, a trail of dried blood pointing to the source. She was pale as a ghost, and dark circles rimmed her eyes.

A roll of yellowed paper towels sat next to the sink, and Dana pulled one away and dampened it, gently dabbing at the dried blood until it was gone. She tugged all the visible twigs from her hair and finger combed it into submission. She stared at her unkempt image for a moment then closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that she'd lived through the incident. That the baby had lived.

And that Luke Sutherlin had found them.

Dana opened her eyes and searched her reflection. She'd grown accustomed to seeing her own image over the years, from nightly broadcasts to countless ad campaigns. The consummate professional. But she didn't know the frightened, shaken woman who now peered back at her. Which image had Luke seen when he looked at her?

Dana shivered, recalling the heat in Luke's gaze as he'd watched her change clothes. He'd seen neither image, she realized. He'd seen something she hadn't felt in a long time, resurrected it with one heated glance. He'd seen her simply as a woman.

She switched off the light without another glance in the mirror and stepped into the hall. It was strange, unnerving to walk through the cabin in the light of day. When she made her way to the kitchen, she had to resist the urge to crouch, to shrink from the daylight that poured through the window above the kitchen sink. Only a few feet of wall separated the den and kitchen, and she could hear Luke stacking the firewood in the next room. But she couldn't force herself to join him. The few steps that separated them meant walking toward the front of the cabin, toward the windows. The direction the gunshots had last come from.

Dana decided she preferred the kitchen. Its solitary window was high and small. Safe. She mentally admonished herself. For her sanity's sake, she had to stop viewing every structure as a means of protection, every door a means of
escape. Luke said they were safe and she believed him. Dana took a steadying breath and glanced around the room. An old table crowded the tiny kitchen, its laminate top warped with age. On it were several dusty cans of food. Dana lifted one, turning it to read the label. Green beans. She checked another. Pears.

“Definitely a better breakfast choice.”

The sound of Luke's voice was startling yet comforting with its deep timbre. Despite herself, she smiled as she turned toward him. “I'm almost hungry enough to gnaw through this can.”

He grinned. “As entertaining as that would be, it's not necessary.” He walked to a kitchen drawer and withdrew a metal can opener and fork, then came to stand beside her. “Pears, is it?”

“Yes, thanks.” Dana handed him the can, and he went to work on it, his large hands dwarfing the can. She glanced up at him.

“Six-four. Since I was fifteen.”

“Oh, I wasn't…” Dana took the can when he offered it to her. “Okay, I was wondering.”

“I know.” He passed her the fork. “I would offer you a dish to put those in, but there aren't any.”

“You keep doing that.”

“Offering you a fork?” Luke watched Dana's expression go from confused to charmingly irritated.

“You seem to know what I'm about to say, about to do.”

He intentionally hesitated, waiting until her gaze slid upward to his. He wanted another look at her eyes in the daylight. They were an unusual shade of gray blue, but their color wasn't what fascinated him. It was the way they expressed her thoughts. It wasn't any wonder he knew what she was thinking. Hell, those eyes made her an open book.

The thought surprised him. After all, he'd had more suspicions than he'd known what to do with last night.

Luke watched her fork a dainty bite of pear and wondered how she managed to look sophisticated eating out of the can, with its jagged lid and faded sides. But she did. And, despite her ladylike demeanor, she didn't make any bones about being hungry. She immediately slid another bite of the juicy pear into her mouth, catching a syrupy drip on her index finger and sucking it off. Luke felt his body harden with such intensity that he physically winced.

The fantasy that slid, uninvited, through his mind was totally out of place. He had no business thinking of Dana Langston as anything other than a potential victim, someone who needed his protection. But the effect the simple gesture had on him couldn't have been stronger if she'd planned it. His thoughts stilled, traced their way back to his earlier suspicions before he dismissed them. There was a fine line between fact and instinct, a line Luke normally walked with ease. Normally.

A piercing cry cut the silence, and both Luke and Dana jumped. The baby was awake. Dana plopped the half-eaten can on the table and headed for the hallway, just as Luke made his way around the table and did the same. They collided, and the force of the collision knocked Dana against the wall. Luke instantly steadied her, catching her against his body in the shadowy hallway. He clenched his teeth against his body's instinctual reaction to her nearness, to the distinctly female scent that assaulted his senses as his hand snaked around her waist.

This wasn't going to do at all, he realized. Not at all. “Sorry,” he muttered through clenched jaw. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her gaze lifted to his for a moment before drift
ing to the holster that was slung across his chest. She pulled away from his grasp and continued down the hall.

Luke let her go, running his hand through his hair and willing his body to return to normal. Had it been so long since he'd been with a woman that he'd begun to react as out of control as a sixteen-year-old schoolboy?

He could hear Dana in the next room. She was whispering to the baby, comforting him. Luke took a deep breath and joined her. “How is he?” he asked as he rounded the corner and saw Dana gently lay the baby back against the mattress.

“To be honest, stinky,” she replied.

Her eyes were lit with amusement and something that Luke couldn't quite define. Something maternal that made him want to do nothing other than watch her. Maybe it was that the tender moment between Dana and the baby was so foreign to him. Or maybe it was because it triggered some long-buried memory of his own mother, a memory all but wiped out by the cold aloofness of his stepmother.

He shook off the thought. “So what do we do?”

“Uh…” Dana raised her voice to be heard over the baby's insistent cries. “Can you get me the diaper bag?”

Luke retrieved the diaper bag from the floor, passing it to Dana. A rustling noise in the hall surprised him and he spun toward the sound, his hand going immediately to his gun. Sam stood in the doorway, his brow drawn into an inquisitive expression and his tail wagging cautiously. Luke walked to Sam and gave him a scratch behind the ears. The dog looked as puzzled as Luke felt. He could usually feel his way through any situation, but a baby was another matter entirely.

“I need, uh…”

Luke looked up to find the expression on Dana's face had turned a little frantic. No wonder. Though she was busy
fastening on a fresh diaper, the baby was still crying. Louder even, Luke thought. If that were possible.

Dana held up the dirty diaper, its contents neatly folded inside. The sticky tabs that had once secured it on the baby were now holding it in a perfect triangle. At least it looked harmless. Luke took the diaper from Dana's hand.

“Can you throw that away for me?”

Her expression was slightly amused and slightly commanding. No doubt because he was standing frozen in place, smelly diaper in hand. Not much help in the scheme of things. He took the diaper to the porch and sat it outside. Freezing it to death seemed like a good enough plan.

When he returned to the bedroom, he found Dana sitting cross-legged on the mattress and the baby contentedly taking a bottle.