swung his legs over the side of the bed, moved his ankle gently to loosen it up and stood. He’d slept in his clothes because...well, just because he’d wanted to be prepared for anything. It was the same reason his gun had been under his pillow. Now he slipped said gun into the waistband of his jeans and made sure his shirt was covering it.
She seemed normal enough, but there were a bunch of crazies in the world and he wasn’t going to be stupid about sharing his cabin with a stranger. She’d been vocal about her intent to shoot first and ask questions later. He’d been more reticent, but that didn’t mean he was a trusting fool.
He grabbed the crutches that he’d left leaning against the headboard. He was really curious to see what her story was this morning. Would she suddenly remember that she had a commitment somewhere else and hustle to get on the road? Would she continue to pretend that she had every right to be in the cabin, that he was the one who’d made the mistake?
And who had been in the bedroom? He suspected a child, given the car seat in the back of the Mustang.
A rifle-toting woman traveling alone with a child. Interesting. Staying someplace she had no right to be. Even more interesting.
He opened his door at almost exactly the same time the second bedroom door opened. Out walked a beautiful child, her short brown hair tucked behind her ears, wearing lion pajamas. She looked up at him, smiled and said, “Hello.”
“Hello, Lion,” he said.
She patted her belly, where the lion’s face was prominent. “I’m not really a lion.”
“That’s good. I think I might be afraid of lions.”
“Hey, sweetie,” the woman said, coming fast behind the child. She scooped her up and held her close to her body.
“Pancakes, today?” the child asked.
The woman shook her head. “Soon.” She looked at Rico over the child’s shoulder. “Morning,” she mumbled.
“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “Cute kid.” He barely got that out before Lucky came skidding around the corner. Barking. So damn excited that there was company.
The kid squealed and the woman lifted her higher.
“Stay down,” he said to Lucky. “He won’t bite,” he said to the woman.
“A dog,” the child said, voice full of awe. “We have a dog?”
“He’s not our dog,” the woman said.
“What’s his name?” the child asked.
“Lucky,” Rico said. “Because he was lucky I kept him after he chewed up two pairs of really nice shoes.”
“Shoes,” the kid echoed, all big-eyed.
And part of a couch, he added silently, but didn’t see a need to mention that. Lucky was a longhaired, midsized mutt who had been left to die near Rico’s condo building. He’d taken him in about two years ago, regretted it every day for the first three months and now couldn’t imagine life without him.
The woman and child walked down the short hallway and into the living area. She put the little girl on the couch and handed her a laptop computer. “You can watch a little of your movie while I get breakfast ready.”
Rico opened the door for Lucky. When he turned back around, he saw that she was pouring a cup of coffee that she’d either started earlier or had left on a timer the night before. She took a sip, then set it down. She opened the refrigerator and pulled out an orange. Efficiently peeled it, separated it into pieces and put it on a paper towel. Then she put a piece of toast into the toaster and, when it popped, spread peanut butter on it. Added it to the paper towel, which she carried over to the child, along with a glass of water in a plastic cup with a lid and a straw.
She was basically acting as if he wasn’t there.
Well, two could play that game. He found his teakettle in the cupboard, filled it with water and set it on the stove to heat. Then he circled the interior of the cabin, pulling up the shades on all the windows. Immediately, the cabin was flooded with natural light. “Looks like a nice day,” he said conversationally.
“Yes,” she said. She topped off her cup of coffee and he saw that her hand was shaking slightly. It made him think that she wasn’t nearly as calm as she was pretending to be. She wore the same clothes that she’d had on last night and he wondered if she, too, had slept in her clothes. Prepared. And by the way she’d sprang after the child this morning, he figured it was for anything that was necessary to protect the little girl.
There was only a double bed in the smaller bedroom, which meant that she’d either snuggled close to the child or slept on the floor. He had a crazy suspicion it had been the latter, with her body squarely in front of the door to prevent it from being opened and surprising her.
Mother bears always fascinated him.
“I...uh...didn’t mention...” she waved in the direction of the couch “...last night.”
He shrugged. “The bed in the room you gave up is a king. The two of you should have slept there.”
“We were fine,” she said, dismissing his comment.
“Crazy situation we got here, but I know I’ve got the rental company information in my contacts so that we can get this straightened out.” He looked at his watch. “They probably open at nine.”
She looked around. “It’s a really nice place.”
She didn’t sound that happy about it. Ten years ago, Rico had looked for months for just the right property. And when he’d seen this place, he’d fallen for it. The exterior logs had been solid and didn’t require much. He’d gutted the insides, replacing everything, and adding a laundry room off the kitchen and a second bath off the master bedroom. Now, it fit his needs almost perfectly. It was a good size for him and enough room that when his parents or his sister’s family visited, it was big enough.
He picked up his phone. “Cell service seems to suck. Guess it’s good that the place comes with a landline,” he added, looking at the phone on the wall.
“I think we’re going to run to the grocery store this morning.”
So that was how it was going to go. “Jennie’s is about fifteen minutes east. You can get the basics there. Otherwise, you’re looking at forty-five minutes down the mountain the other direction.”
“Jennie’s will be fine,” she said. “Maybe we’ll do a little sightseeing at the same time.”
Which was code for the trip might take a while. Plenty of time to get far away before he knew for sure that they weren’t coming back.
“How old is your little girl?”
She looked over her shoulder, as if to confirm that the child was engrossed in whatever was on the computer. “Boy,” she correctly softly.
“Sorry,” he said. He evidently had some things to learn about kids. He had a nephew and a niece and he’d always been able to tell the difference. “He’s cute,” he said.
“Thanks.”
His sister had never stopped talking about her kids when they were young. He’d known what they were doing, new words they were learning and sometimes even their bowel habits. This woman evidently wasn’t chatty.
She put her coffee cup in the sink. “Finish up,” she said to the child. “We need to go to the store.”
“I want to stay here,” the kid said, not looking up from the screen. “Please, Laura.”
Laura. Last night she’d asked him his name. He’d offered up his first. She hadn’t drilled for more, likely because she hadn’t been willing to reciprocate. He hadn’t pushed for the information, had sensed that she might guard her name the same way she was willing to guard