In The Arms of a Stranger (8 page)

“Oh, the dog.” Dana substituted the word he'd been searching for.

Guilt washed over her. With all she'd faced, Sam hadn't entered her thoughts. She wasn't sure what she'd find in the cabinet to feed him but she'd definitely find something. If not for the overzealous Labrador, Luke might have frozen to death within sight of the cabin. The realization caused a fresh wave of fear. She stole a sideways glance at Luke, who looked perturbed by the blank spaces in his vocabulary. He was obviously still shaken by the blow.

The baby hungrily consumed the bottle, his eyelids drooping by the time the last of the formula was gone. Dana was surprised that he would drift back to sleep so soon. She frowned, adding that to her growing list of worries. It wasn't supposed to be that easy, was it? Was he getting enough nutrition? The only experience she had was from reading baby-care books. An old sadness settled in her chest as she remembered how excited she'd been at first when trying to conceive. She'd bought volume after volume of how-to
books and read most of them before hope faded into disappointment.

The baby gave a healthy burp when she shifted him to her shoulder, and Dana couldn't help but grin. Despite her concern, he was lively and alert when awake and his cheeks literally glowed with color. She sighed. Hopefully he was merely coping with the stress he'd endured during the accident by getting additional sleep.

Yawning herself, Dana settled the contented baby back into the dresser drawer. She glanced at Luke, who was again watching her every move. Being the focus of his gaze was unnerving, especially since the kiss, so she adjusted the space heater, which didn't need adjusting, locked the bedroom door and focused on the baby, the floor, her feet. Anything but Luke. She doubted her actions were that fascinating, there was simply nothing else for him to do. Finally, when she'd endured all she could stand, she hightailed it down the hall to the kitchen in search of something for Sam.

The hungry dog greeted her with enthusiasm. She rinsed and filled an old mop bucket with water, then perused the dwindling canned goods in the cabinet, finally choosing a can of salmon. Though she and Luke desperately needed the nutrition themselves, Dana decided the unappetizing fish, coupled with an impending expiration date, made it her best choice for the dog.

It took about twenty seconds for Sam to consume the food and a healthy portion of the water, but apparently the gesture of goodwill made them friends for life. Dana seized the opportunity to examine the dog's wound, finding a shallow cut behind one ear. Satisfied that the cut wasn't serious and unwilling to push Sam's patience too far, she let him outdoors for a romp and a nature call. The snow was an obvious deterrent to lingering, and Sam returned immediately, scratching at the door.

Dana greeted him with a scowl. “I'm trying to kill time here,” she scolded with mock anger. “Are you sure you're done?” Sam only wagged and returned to his spot on the sofa.

Dana decided it was time to face the fire. There was no sense letting what happened unnerve her. The kiss was just a reaction to the close quarters, the life-and-death circumstances. She took a deep breath and headed back to the bedroom. Though Luke's eyes were closed when she first entered, he opened them immediately and straightened.

She forced herself to smile casually. “You weren't thinking about sleeping, were you?”

“Now why would I do a thing like that?”

Dana paced the bedroom floor, suddenly uncertain what to do with herself. The baby was pacified, and Luke's wound was bandaged, solving her two most pressing problems. But how was she going to keep Luke awake?

“Let's take a walk,” she suggested.

Luke cocked one eyebrow, the bandage tie lifting comically. “Yes, let's take a stroll by the beach.”

Dana bit back a caustic comment of her own. If arguing or trading sarcastic remarks would keep him awake, she was game. Instead, she offered him her hand.

With a heavy sigh he stood, slipping his hand into hers. Dana did her best to mentally block the warmth of his callused palm against hers, then grasped his arm. “Are you okay?”

He grimaced, frozen in place. “If the sensation of being beaten over the head makes me okay, then, yeah, I'm all right.”

Together they walked the length of the cabin, then Dana guided Luke to sit on the den sofa. When Dana felt Luke begin to relax, she urged him up and through the interior again. The pattern was traced again and again until her own
thighs began to ache from the effort. Finally Luke collapsed against the mattress and refused to go another step.

Now what? “We need to talk,” she blurted out, voicing the next idea that came to mind.

“That's never good,” Luke muttered, blinking lazily. “But I wouldn't be too eager to dump me. Your options are limited.”

Dana tried to determine if he was confused or joking. It was impossible to tell. She leaned her palms against the mattress and leveled a serious stare at him. “Look, I'm going to be honest with you because I need your help. You've obviously taken a serious blow to your head, and if I allow you to sleep right now you might not ever wake up. That means I have to keep you awake. I have a baby to care for, and there's quite possibly a madman stalking us. To top off this delightful scenario, I'm fresh out of entertaining material. So let's talk.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Luke grinned. “Hey, if you ever decide to get out of the news business, I've got a job waiting for you. You can take my place as police chief.” His sleepy gaze slid over her. “The guys would be grateful.”

Something in the way he said it made Dana wonder if the comment was more than a chauvinistic compliment. “Why?” she asked, leaping at the opportunity to extend the conversation. “Why would the guys be happy?”

“You know how it is.” He closed his eyes. “I'm a Sutherlin.”

“No,” she countered. “I don't know how it is. I'm not from here, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah, right. I forgot.” He cradled his forehead. “Damn, my head hurts.”

Dana instinctively moved to sit beside him. “I have pain medication in my purse but I left it behind.” She could have kicked herself for not bringing her purse, but it was nor
mally nothing more than an oversize burden. Right now she'd give anything to access its contents. “So why is being a Sutherlin such a bad thing?” she prodded, hoping the conversation would distract him from the pain.

“In a nutshell—” he looked at her and laughed without humor “—my father.”

“I take it he isn't Father of the Year this year?”

“No, he let that one get away. I think they'll pass him over for Boss of the Year, too. Padlocking your employees inside a burning building tends to be frowned upon.”

“What?” Dana searched his steely blue gaze for some trace of humor. He wasn't joking, nor was he delirious. She softened her next words. “Tell me what happened.”

Luke never looked up, just continued to rub his forehead as if he could make the pain go away. “Ancient history.”

“But—”

“End of story,” he stated flatly.

The dismissal stung, and Dana covered her reaction by checking the baby. She lingered longer than necessary, watching the even rise and fall of his chest.

“I'm sorry.” Luke's voice cut the silence. “Maybe I'll explain it some other time.”

Dana nodded, keeping her back turned.

“Come here.” His words were soft but commanding. “Dana, please.”

She moved to sit cross-legged on the bed, her gaze never meeting his.

Luke cleared his throat. “What about you? Was your father ever Father of the Year?”

Dana shook her head, her fingers toying absently with the worn fleece of the jogging pants she wore. “He didn't get a chance. My parents were both killed in a car accident when I was a toddler.”

Silence encased them for a moment before Luke spoke. “So we're both orphans of sorts, you and me?”

She looked up. “What about your mother?”

“She died of cancer when I was ten.”

Dana flinched at the old pain in his eyes. “Then I suppose you're right. We are orphans.” Her eyes drifted to the baby. The gesture didn't go unnoticed by Luke.

“All three of us,” he amended.

Unwelcome tears filled her eyes, and the vulnerability she'd felt most of her life threatened to swallow her whole. Dana stood and crossed the room, drawing the sleeping infant from his bed and cradling him against her shoulder. At that moment she wanted nothing more than to make his life whole again. If only she could. The world with all its cruelties would make itself known to him soon, and the realization that he'd navigate it without a mother would forever haunt him. She knew this without a doubt. She'd lived it.

Luke reached for her, his fingers trailing down her arm until they reached her hand. She understood the unspoken invitation to lie next to him, and just as silently accepted, sinking against the soft mattress and settling the baby near her chest. She was beyond weary, stripped of the emotional armor that normally protected her from broken dreams. Dana rested her head on one folded arm, encircling the infant with the other.

Her gaze fell on the locked door. Sam was guarding the other side of that door, and the gun lay on the bedside table next to her. She'd use if she had to. She was totally responsible for their safety tonight, yet there was a certain resignation in knowing that she was doing everything humanly possible to protect them.

In that moment Dana understood that vulnerability was a human condition everyone suffered. Not just her. A certain amount of living was simply left to fate.

Luke gently pulled her against his body, and Dana felt a tremor of response. Not just to the nearness of his body but the nearness of
him.
She felt a connection with Luke Sutherlin that defied logic. Maybe it was the circumstances that they were living through, the danger.

Or maybe it was simply Luke.

For now she accepted it without question. The scent of Luke surrounded her, and Dana inhaled deeply, committing the moment to memory. He smelled of aftershave, of leather and warmth. Security. The baby stirred, and the soft unmistakable scent of baby shampoo wafted around them. Tears fell against her arm. Tonight she would lie in the arms of a stranger, cradle an infant who didn't belong to her and live the dream.

And then tomorrow she would wake.

S
omeone was trying to kill him. From
inside
his head. Luke closed his eyes against the sunlight that streamed through the bedroom window, willing the pain away.

Sleep tempted and he grasped the thread of slumber like a lifeline, desperate to escape the pain. Soon the pounding waned and he drifted into the welcome reprieve of sleep. In the next instant he was dreaming.

She stood over him, golden hair cascading around her bare shoulders. Luke reached up and she slid her hand into his. He pulled her down, down against the mattress and against his waiting body….

Something warm stirred next to him, and Luke snuggled against it. When his fingers tangled in strands of long silky hair, he smiled. The woman. He breathed in the womanly scent of her, the smell of floral shampoo mixed with a lingering hint of perfume. He pressed the length of his body against hers and when his hips brushed her backside he hardened in a painfully sweet morning arousal.

“Luke…” He heard his voice whispered from far away.

He shook his head, moaning softly in protest. He didn't want to be interrupted. Not now. The feel of the woman's soft round bottom against him was too sweet.

“Luke…” Again he heard the sound of his name, more insistent this time.

His arms tightened around her, and his hips moved against Dana's as if of their own accord.

Dana…

Luke bolted upright, grasping his pounding head to keep it from rocketing off his shoulders. He stared down at the mattress, his fears confirmed. Dana looked up at him, the humiliation of the moment etched in her beautiful face. She was so beautiful. Her golden hair was fanned recklessly over the pillow, her lips full from sleep. Her eyes were round with surprise, but the expression she wore was one he couldn't quite define. Curiosity perhaps?

Or desire?

The thought made him want to sink back against the mattress, to tangle her in the sheets and bury himself deep within her.

Dana glanced nervously beside her, and Luke followed her gaze. The baby lay nestled in the crook of her arm, sleeping peacefully. Luke rubbed his head, trying to recall what happened, what had brought the three of them here.

He remembered hiking to the accident scene. Stupid, reckless move. Sam had bolted toward him, slipping on the ice and knocking them off the ledge. Luke vaguely recalled waking, searching for the cabin, praying he'd make it back to Dana and the baby. He didn't remember the specifics of how he got back, but he did recall seeing Dana again, the elation he'd felt at finding his way back to her. And he remembered her concern, her tender touch.

Luke touched his bandaged head and confirmed that she'd
tended to his injury. He recalled being forced to walk through the interior of the cabin, to talk when all he really wanted to do was sleep. And there was something else. His gaze fell on Dana's mouth, remembering. Realization slowly dawned, seeping into his consciousness and bringing him, little by little, to the present.

Any doubts he might have had about the fleeting memory of a kiss were wiped out by the embarrassment in her eyes.

The gaps in his memory were huge, but the pieces of the puzzle were beginning to come together. And the picture it created disturbed him.

Luke scowled at Dana. The truth of the matter was that he'd wanted to do more than kiss Dana Langston since the moment he'd first met her. What man wouldn't? The fact that he'd given in to the temptation after bashing his common sense against a rock ledge wasn't surprising. But holding her through the night when he should have been standing guard was a failure that could have cost them their lives.

And she'd let him. No, she'd done more than that. She'd obviously arranged it. He looked at the picturesque scene with disdain. To an outsider the scene would be easy to interpret—father, mother and child. But that would be a lie. This was real life. He didn't have time for her adolescent fantasies and his own pseudo-paternal emotions. If living in a pretend world made her feel more secure, then fine.

But he damned sure wasn't going to participate.

The tie of the makeshift bandage slipped over his eye, and Luke pulled it away, casting it into a corner of the room. He stalked toward the bathroom, doing his best to ignore the nauseating pounding at the base of his skull. He stared into the hazy mirror. What monster had eaten him and now stood glaring back at him? The look of rage surprised even him. He gingerly touched the gash on the back of his head, his fingers meeting a thin layer of dried blood.

Luke remembered Dana's hand steadying his head as she'd rinsed the wound, her fingers laced through his hair. He remembered the way her forehead had puckered in concern and that she'd apologized for hurting him. He felt a little guilty. He owed Dana a debt of gratitude for bandaging the wound. But instead he'd groped her and scared the hell out of her.

Probably in more ways than one.

He moaned when he recalled the sweet fit of their bodies as he'd cradled her hips against his. Luke leaned against the sink and took a deep breath. He didn't normally lose control like this. Just the opposite, in fact. His life was about control. About being the good guy and coming to the rescue. For more years than he cared to admit he'd been hell-bent on proving that even a Sutherlin could have redeeming qualities.

His mind flashed back to the last run-in he'd had with his father, or at least his father's dirty work. It paled in comparison to the tragedy of the fire but it had been more personal. Seeing his father's mistress up close had somehow been worse.

And then, of course, Luke had managed to make it even more personal.

Yes, Shelly had been well aware of what she was doing. It had been Luke, not her, that had killed the better part of his judgment with Jack Daniels. She'd seduced
him,
but the playing field had been far from level. Shelly had been looking for a place to hide and found it in Luke's bed.

His father had hit an all-time low, and damned if Luke hadn't followed suit.

At least he could blame his moral failures on bad genes, on lack of paternal—or maternal for that matter—nurturing. Luke thought of Dana, of the maternal ease she used to care for the baby. Unlike him, she was a natural. He was about
as far from father material as a man could get. Hell, you couldn't practice what you didn't know.

An old ache tightened his chest. Sometimes he allowed himself to recall his mother's touch, her love, but he'd been just a kid when she died. The memories faded a little more each day. Luke turned on the faucet and took a long sip of the freezing cold water to clear his mind of the pathetic fantasy. He was a grown man, for heaven's sake.

He knew one thing for certain. He wasn't confusing the memories of his mother with any remotely related to Camille. If he'd harbored any hopes of maternal love from his stepmother, they'd died a quick death. Sometimes he thought the woman didn't have the capacity to love.

Or maybe, like half the people in this godforsaken town, she'd simply lost too much.

Lawrence Williams, his stepmother's first husband, had been his father's business partner and had died in the factory fire. From what Luke remembered about the man, he'd been gregarious and always laughing—just the opposite of Lucas Sutherlin. Luke's father had made no secret that his marriage to Camille was one of business and personal convenience, but Luke often thought they both endured it like a penance for some past sin.

He cupped the freezing cold water in his palms and splashed his face again. There was no love lost between him and Camille, but he had to admit that the sins all belonged to his father, including the more recent ones. At the very least his stepmother deserved credit for cleaning up his father's messes. Maybe, in that respect, they had something in common.

Suddenly the walls of the cramped bathroom seemed to close in on him. A wave of dizziness hit him, and he grasped the edge of the sink until his fingers ached.

“Are you okay?” Dana's voice sounded outside the door.

Luke realized that he'd left the faucet on. How long had he been standing there, staring into the swirling water? He closed the tap, cleared his throat and straightened. “Yeah, I'm okay.”

Dana stepped back when he pushed the door open, but she inspected his face. He noticed that she held the baby against her shoulder, patting his back to try to soothe his fretting. “You don't look good. Maybe you should sit down.”

Luke didn't argue with her logic, since he felt as weak as a kitten at that moment. He walked back to the bedroom and sat down hard on the mattress. “Where's my gun?” he growled.

Dana straightened. “There.” She nodded toward the bedside table.

Luke grunted and slid the gun from the table, holstering it. He wasn't sure who was the bigger fool, Dana for treating the gun like a damned paperweight or him for relinquishing it in the first place. He rubbed the swollen knot on the back of his head. Now wasn't the time to go soft, but damned if his head didn't hurt as if he'd been hit by a bulldozer.

Speaking of which… “Where's Sam?” he asked.

“Asleep on the sofa.” She gestured toward the den. “He has a cut on his ear, but I don't think it's serious. Luke, what happened out there?”

That was one of the few questions he could answer with certainty. “Sam lost his footing and slammed into me at the top of a bluff. We fell.”

She calmly nodded but the expression in her eyes registered fear. “I thought that might have been what you meant.”

Luke looked up. “What I meant…?”

“I found you at the edge of the clearing, sitting at the base of a tree. You said something about falling down.”

“You left the cabin?” Luke stood.

“I was worried.” Her voice was small but her expression was defensive. “You'd been gone so long.”

“I specifically told you not to do that.” His voice boomed in the quiet cabin, and the baby began to cry. He did his best to ignore the growing wails.

Dana turned her back and walked away from him, whispering soothing words against the baby's cheek and bouncing him against her shoulder. When the infant calmed, she looked over her shoulder at Luke. Anger flashed in her eyes.

“Would you rather I'd left you there to die? You were delirious, Luke. You didn't know who you were or where you were. You would have frozen to death. Which, by the way, wouldn't have done me any good, either.”

Though he ignored the question, he acknowledged that she was probably right. Gratitude threatened his sense of logic, and he pushed the dangerous emotion aside. Dana's Good Samaritan act was beginning to look like just that. An act. The woman either had a death wish or a seriously overblown sense of responsibility. He paced back and forth beside the bed, feeling trapped and frustrated and manipulated.

But why? Why did waking up next to Dana Langston and the baby unnerve him so? Why did he feel as if he was a player in some larger game, a game he didn't know the rules of?

Luke cleared his thoughts, forcing himself to think outside of his own involvement. He was trapped by circumstances and frustrated by his growing attraction to Dana. But manipulated? He glanced at her, looking objectively at the scene before him. Dana crooned, her cheek resting protectively against the baby's, soothing him with the rocking motions of her body as if she'd done it a thousand times. She had some maternal connection with this baby that he
couldn't explain. It was as if he filled some void for Dana instead of the other way around.

A look of intense protectiveness entered her eyes, and he knew: there was something she wasn't telling him.

“You're good at that.” He nodded toward the baby. “I never thought to ask you…do you have children of your own?”

Dana's expression hardened. “No.”

“Nieces, nephews? Cousins?” He met her glare with one of his own. “You seem awfully practiced with infants.”

“I'm an only child,
Chief
Sutherlin.” The implication that she felt interrogated was clear. “Anything else you'd like to know?”

My, my, he seemed to have touched a nerve. Luke grasped the suspicion with an odd sense of relief. His role here was one of a lawman. He didn't do paternal and he didn't do relationships. But he did have an instinct about situations, an instinct that made him good at his job.

And it was past time he started doing it.

Luke analyzed Dana's behavior with cool detachment. She seemed unnaturally prepared to assume the maternal role. Could she somehow be involved in the mother's death? He recalled her anger when she explained that alcohol had been involved in the accident, her tirade about irresponsible behavior. Was it possible that Dana knew the mother before the accident, had judged her unworthy of the child? It was crazy, he knew. Luke had heard the gunshots with his own ears, knew that Gonzalez was on the run. Still, he couldn't shake the thought that something was wrong with Dana's story and her actions.

She'd made herself an obvious target in a snow-covered landscape to rescue him. Was she that naive—that willing to risk her life for someone she hardly knew? Or maybe she knew something he didn't—that the danger wasn't real.
She'd slept in his arms—slept—knowing that their lives were supposedly in danger. Though he'd be the first to admit the experience was pleasant, it would seem suicidal on her part.

The situation didn't add up. The realization weighted his shoulders with tension. Dana Langston didn't add up.

“I found something.” Dana's words cut the silence. She lifted her chin in the air and crossed the room, retrieving the diaper bag. She pulled out an audiocassette and a scrap of paper. “These were tucked in a zippered compartment inside the bag.”

Luke accepted the items, turning the cassette over in his hands. One side was clearly marked, “Lullabies” spelled out in fat, black marker. He tossed the tape on the bed. The scrap of paper was a preprinted emergency card with a telephone number scribbled on it. Luke felt his pulse quicken. This might actually be useful.