The Wedding Arbor

“Well, it shouldn’t. I’m usually a pretty good judge of people.”

“Usually?” Sara wished she could say the same for herself.

“Yeah. Sometimes I goof big time.” Like when I relaxed my guard and got Gene killed, he thought sadly.

Sara noticed Adam’s gaze dart for an instant to the box of clothing peeking out from under the bed. The place where he’d gotten the jeans she was wearing. Evidently, his reference to making a mistake had to do with whoever had once belonged to the expensive things. Which was a conundrum in itself. Anyone who could afford such luxuries would be seriously out of place in Adam Callahan’s austere life.

With a sigh, Sara crossed to the bed and perched, exhausted, on its edge, hands folded, shoulders slumped. “Okay, you win.”

“Good.” Adam regarded her quiet capitulation with puzzlement. “Are you all right?”

“Sure.” She yawned. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?” He busied himself making a pallet on the opposite side of the stove.

“About misjudging people. Apparently, you and I have that in common, too.”

“Too? What else is there?” He peered around the side of the portly black stove.

“Well, for one thing, Samson likes us both. Which naturally means he must be a really intelligent animal.”

“Come to think of it, you’re right. I probably should have paid more attention to his opinion in the past.” He paused, thoughtful. “Good night, Sara.”

Fully dressed she crawled under the covers and pulled them up around her chin. “Good night, Adam.” A silly bit of nostalgia popped into her mind and she added, “Good night, Grandpa, good night, John-Boy.”

Adam muttered softly as he padded across the floor to turn out the lights. Sara managed to stay awake barely long enough to thank God for her rescue and the kindness of the stranger who had taken her in. Before she was through praying she had fallen soundly asleep.

It was a nudge from Samson’s wet nose that roused her the following morning. Opening her eyes, Sara found him staring at her from barely six inches away. The effect was startling. So was his doggy breath!

Wide-eyed, she sucked in air to fuel a scream before she fully realized where she was. Or what kind of creature she was facing.

From across the room she heard a facetious, “Good morning. You going to sleep till noon?”

“I’m on vacation,” Sara countered. “Cut me some slack.”

Adam snorted. Apparently, his guest was not a morning person. “Yes, ma’am. Do you always wake up with such a sunny disposition?”

“No. Sometimes I’m much worse. What time is it, anyway?”

“Pretty late. Almost seven.”

With a theatrical moan, Sara ducked down and pulled the comforter up over her face. Samson, however, was not about to let his new playmate hide from him. He immediately began to root under the edge of the blankets with his broad nose, coming up inside the bedclothes next to Sara’s face.

“Aagh!” She bolted out of bed. Landing on the floor in her bare feet she glared at Adam. “You stinker! You put him up to that!”

“Not me. You’re the one who petted and fussed over him yesterday. If he’s spoiled, it’s your fault.”

Sara stood there in a half stupor and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. She never had been able to deal amiably with morning. This day was no different. Only the debt of gratitude which she owed her rescuer was keeping her from being a certified, card-carrying sourpuss.

She padded softly across the room. Adam was up to his midforearms in suds from the dishes they hadn’t taken the time to wash the night before. The man was too good to be real. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare cup of coffee?”

“Not till we stoke the wood stove, again. I’m running low on diesel and I’m not sure when I’ll be. able to get into town. I shut down the generator.”

“Oh, dear. What about the refrigerator?”

“It’ll stay cold if we don’t open it too often.” He shot her a condescending look. “You want coffee, go out to the woodshed, get an armload of dry kindling, and I’ll build you a fire.”

“Me?”

“You’re the one who wants hot coffee, remember?” He snatched his recently used mug off the sink and dunked it in the dishwater before she could take notice. He’d brewed instant coffee in the microwave just before cutting the power. It was a wonder she hadn’t smelled the tantalizing aroma.

Sara was a bright woman. Adam figured she’d realize he was teasing long before she made the trek to the shed. After all, he was washing the dishes in hot water. And the antique cookstove was propane powered with a manual ignition, so it required no electricity at all. He stifled a smile. Until she woke up all the way, figured out he was kidding, and told him off, it was fun to watch the disgruntled look she was trying to hide. To see the sparks of indignation in her hazel eyes.

“I don’t believe this.” She gave up trying to remain cordial, stomped off to the bathroom, and slammed the door behind her.

It took Sara only a few minutes of private prayer and serious contemplation to convince herself she was being unfair to her host. He had taken her in when she was in dire circumstances and had been as nice as can be since then, give or take the odd wisecrack. If it was dry firewood he needed, she’d get it. Without complaint.

She eased open the door and peeked out. Adam still stood at the sink, his back to her. Samson was nowhere to be seen.

She cast a sad glance at her soggy, ruined sandals. There was no use bothering with shoes. Judging by what she had seen through the bathroom window, the sun was out and the well-worn path to the shed was clear. The trip was a short one. Bare feet would be considerably easier to clean than shoes—if she’d had any others to sacrifice. She’d do this for Adam. Because she owed him that much, and more. And because she needed to make it up to him for grumbling without cause.

The cabin door creaked as she opened it and ducked out. Behind her, she heard Adam shout, “Wait!”

“I’ll just be a minute. Ooh. Ah. Eesh!” Off the porch, Sara danced through the cold, slippery mud.

“Sara! Come here.”

“I will, I will.” Pausing at the woodshed she turned to look back. “How much of this stuff do we need?”

He was sorely tempted to say, “None,” but held his peace. If his guest hadn’t overcome her dour morning mood he didn’t think she’d appreciate his little joke. Might not, anyway. He figured it was best to simply use whatever firewood she brought, rather than confess.

“I’ll bring all I can carry, okay?”

“Okay. Just get in here before you catch pneumonia.”

“Right.” Loading her arms with the smallest diameter logs she could find, Sara started back to Adam. She was three steps from the safety of the dry porch when a bolt of white shot past. It knocked into her left leg. She teetered. Whirled. Spun like a leaf in a whirlwind.

“Aaah!” Unable to regain her balance, Sara felt herself start to fall. All she could think of was keeping the wood dry. She tried to pass it to Adam.

He lunged toward her, hoping to avert the impending calamity. It was far too late. For both of them. He slipped on the bottom step and went sailing through the air, shouting. “Look out!”

Any assistance Adam might have been able to render was thwarted by the jumble of limbs and sticks Sara literally threw his way. One particularly heavy piece nicked his temple, leaving him dazed. When he shook the sense back into his head he was kneeling at the foot of the porch steps in a tangle of bark, raw lumber, and slippery red clay.

Seated opposite, Sara was up to her back pockets in the same mud. “What happened?”

“I think Samson wanted in.”

She shook her hands at arm’s length like a kitten with its paw dipped in the milk bowl. “Ugh. Remind me to give him the right-of-way the next time.”

“No kidding.” Adam tried to subdue his wide grin. He failed. “You should see yourself.”

“You’re no prize, either, mister,” Sara retorted, giggling in spite of herself. She sobered. “What happened to your head?”

“My head?” He gingerly lifted one muddy hand, then decided it would be wiser to not touch the injury until he’d washed.

“It’s bleeding.”

“I’m sure I’ll live.” Adam got cautiously to his feet and held out his hand. “Come on. I owe you a cup of coffee.”

“But, what about building a fire, first?” Clearly, her efforts at gathering wood to stoke the stove had failed.

“We’ll make do.”

Taking his strong hand she let him help her to her feet. She’d expected him to let go as soon as she was upright. He didn’t The sense of safety in his warm, dynamic touch was far more soothing than she’d anticipated.

“You take a shower first,” he said, penitent. “I’ll have coffee waiting when you’re done.”

“You’re probably going to have to lend me more clothes. I’m really sorry about the jeans. I’m afraid they’ll never be the same.”

“Neither will I,” Adam muttered.

Sara gave no indication she’d heard what he said. He was still holding her hand. She loved the sympathetic gesture. It made her feel as secure as if she were enfolded in a tender embrace.

Her cheeks warmed. She averted her gaze. Her fingers slipped between his and she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Never be the same? Boy, no kidding!

And he wasn’t the only one affected that way. No matter what else happened, she’d never be the same, either. Not now that she’d met Adam Callahan.

Chapter Four

The aroma of coffee greeted Sara the moment she left the bathroom. Adam handed her a steaming mug, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and backed off discretely.

“Umm. That’s better,” she said, cradling the mug in both hands. She took a sip, smiled. “How did you manage?”

“It’s an old-fashioned, homesteader secret.”

Sara envisioned his blue-and-white enameled coffee pot buried in the smoldering ashes of the woodstove or hanging from a hook over an open fire. Curious, she pressed him for details. “Tell me. I’d love to have some genuine pioneer lore to share with my students this coming school year.”

Clearing his throat, Adam decided to confess. “I made it on the stove. It’s propane fired.”

She was certain her gas stove at home required an electrical connection, too. “But, how…?”

He reached into a kitchen drawer and took out a red-handled tool that looked like a wand with a trigger. “You light the burners with this. A match would do the job, too, but this igniter is easier. It works like a cigarette lighter, only the flame comes out the end of a long snout so you don’t get burned.”

Sara was still hoping she hadn’t been as dimwitted as she was beginning to think. She scowled. “But, last night you heated dinner in the wood stove. I thought…”

“The chicken and potatoes were already cooked and the coals in the stove were perfect for warming everything when we got back. I just thought you’d get a kick out of eating a meal that had been roasted on the coals in a Dutch oven. I never meant to imply that I couldn’t have done the same thing on the stove.”

Sara’s mouth gaped, then snapped shut in indignation. What a fool she’d been. “And you thought it would be fun to send me out into the mud for firewood? What did I ever do to you?”

“Outside of half drown me and totally disrupt my peace and quiet? Nothing,” he countered, trying a wry smile to see if she’d respond.

“You’re forgetting alienation of affections,” she snapped. “I’ve thoroughly ruined your dog.”

Adam cocked an eyebrow at Samson, who had made straight for his favorite spot by the stove and laid down to lick his wet paws. He always did the same thing, whether there was a fire burning or not. “To tell you the truth, that mutt was already pretty spoiled. I’ve been trying to teach him not to barge through doors ever since he was a pup.”

“Your dog training techniques could use some serious improvement.”

“I guess my houseguest etiquette could, too.”

“You said it. I didn’t.”

“No, but you were thinking it.”

That, and a lot more, Sara admitted, blushing and looking away. She didn’t want to dwell on how much she liked Adam, nor did she intend to let him know it. There were a few logistical problems, however, which she felt were safe topics for discussion.

Sipping her coffee, she enjoyed its familiar warmth while she formulated her latest idea, then spoke. “What I do think is that I’ve worn out my welcome. You’ve been more than generous, sharing your cabin and your food and all, but I ought to be on my way.”

“Is someone expecting you?”

She decided it wouldn’t hurt to tell him that much. “No. Nobody’s lived on the old place since my great-grandmother died. I just meant it’s time for me to go.”

“Okay. I agree. Now, how do you propose to accomplish that?” Adam leaned against the sink, his arms folded across his chest.

“Well, the rain’s stopped. We’ll just hike back to the car and…”

“We?”

Sara set her cup on the table and faced him, hands on her hips. “Yes, we. It’s either that or I camp here for the rest of the summer.”

“Heaven forbid.”

“Probably. At least I hope so.”

He was a little surprised that she’d taken his clichéd comment seriously. Then he recalled what she’d said about being a Christian and vowed to watch his references to that kind of thing in the future.

Sara went on, “The trouble is, I have absolutely no idea how to get back to my car. You dragged me through the woods in the dead of night in the middle of a hurricane. There’s no way I’m going to be able to backtrack by myself.” She threw her hands up in frustration. “I don’t even know which direction to go to start looking.”

“It’s too soon.”

“Too soon for what?” She frowned at him.

Adam scowled back at her. “It’s going to be at least two or three days before anybody can negotiate the roads up here, even with a four-wheel-drive truck like mine.”

“Meaning?” Sara mirrored his stance, her arms folded, her back stiff.

“Meaning, we’re stuck here. Just you, me and the dog. A real happy family.”

“That’s impossible. Surely, you can call me a tow truck or something.”

Acting far more nonchalant than he felt, Adam shrugged. “Look. Tell you what we’ll do. I don’t have a phone. As soon as I’m sure the weather will hold, we’ll hike down to the mom-and-pop grocery store at Flatrock and see if we can get somebody to come up and pull you out.”

“Somebody professional? I’d hate to damage my rental car, even though it isn’t new.”

“You should have thought of that before you drove it off the road,” he countered.

“Actually, I was trying to see if it would float,” she quipped dryly. “But it got stuck on the berm before I could make it all the way to the river, below.” Sara saw her rescuer’s countenance darken.

“Don’t make jokes like that,” he warned. “Life-threatening situations aren’t funny.”

“I never said they were. I was just…” The look in his eyes kept her from continuing. Something or someone in Adam’s past must have contributed greatly to his negative response. That wasn’t her fault. However, she could tell he was clearly beyond accepting any innocent attempts at humor so she backed off and faced him soberly.

“Look, I’m sorry if I offended you. All my life, I’ve tended to make jokes out of all kinds of situations, even the most desperate ones. I guess it’s my way of coping. I don’t mean anything bad by it.”

She paused, studying his closed expression and trying to guess what made him tick. “Before you came up here and shut yourself away like this, were you a doctor or an ambulance driver or something?”

He shook his head slowly, his blue gaze capturing hers and holding it as securely as if he’d taken her hands and was forcing her to look at him. “No,” he said, voice low and rumbling. “I was a cop.”

The rain resumed by lunchtime. Sara had insisted they start the generator long enough for her to run a load of laundry through the washing machine perched on the narrow back porch. Her rationale was flawless. One more slide in the red clay of the yard and she’d be out of wearable clothing, not counting the unmentionables she had stuffed in her pack.

Using the dryer, however, was impossible in the wind-driven downpour, so they’d carted the damp, clean clothes inside and rigged up ropes as clotheslines to dry the wettest articles. By the time the laundry was hung, the tiny cabin reminded Sara of a soggy, ramshackle maze.

“I feel like a mouse,” she called, ducking a stiffening pair of jeans located close to the stove’s radiating heat and making her way toward Adam.

He threw a last bath towel over the rope and looked in the direction of her voice. “A what? Where’s a mouse?”

Sara laughed lightly. “No. Not a real mouse. I mean, this arrangement feels like we’re stuck in some kind of a bizarre maze.”

“It’s not normally this crowded in here when I have to resort to this method,” he explained. “A pair of jeans and maybe a few towels by the stove is usually all I hang. It’s a good thing the weather’s stayed cold or we wouldn’t have the heat from the stove to help dry this stuff.”

She lifted the lower corner of another towel and peeked past it to smile up at him. “I really am sorry I inconvenienced you and disturbed your solitude.”

“I’ll live.”

She swept aside the towel and stepped into the confining space between the row of laundry and the edge of the sink where Adam stood. “Don’t you get lonely way out here? This is beautiful country and all, but I just think, I’d miss people.”

Adam stared at her. The already humid air seemed suddenly rarified. The hanging laundry had enclosed the two of them in such a small space he couldn’t help noticing everything about Sara. His oversize sweatshirt had never looked so good. She was attractive. Appealing. Almost endearing. He would have turned away and fled if there had been anywhere else to go. He finally found his voice. “I don’t miss people at all.”

“But you did, once, didn’t you?” Sara’s words were soft, gently spoken. Without realizing it, she’d drawn on her internal resources to express the spiritual love Adam needed. The love that he’d banished from his wounded soul.

He stiffened. Mentally withdrew. “I don’t know how we got on this subject but let’s drop it, okay? My life is none of your concern, so don’t try fixing it.”

That statement acted like a bucket of ice water in Sara’s face, negating the compassion blossoming in her heart and refocusing her mind. If anybody’s life needed fixing, it was hers. For the first time in hours she thought of Eric, remembered her earlier fear, wondered where he was and if she had truly escaped his uncalled-for interest.

She huffed. “You have absolutely nothing to worry about. If I could fix any life, I’d start with my own, thank you.”

“Yours?” Adam was surprised. “From the things you’ve said and the way you’ve been kidding around, I’d have thought for sure you were happy.”

“That’s a subjective term,” Sara countered. “If you’d asked me the same question six months ago, I’d have told you everything was perfect.”

“And now?”

Her glance darted past Adam to the window above the sink. Eric could be out there in the woods. Watching her. Hidden by the rain. Just waiting for his chance to get her alone, again. To scare her to death with his cool assurances that they were meant for each other no matter how many times she told him no.

Why God had allowed that charlatan to fool her—to fool everyone—so completely, was a mystery Sara still hadn’t figured out. Maybe she never would. At this point, all she wanted was to be free of Eric Rydell. To be able to go to bed at night and not worry that he was stalking her.

She shivered, wrapped her arms around herself. “Now,” she said quietly, answering Adam’s query, “I just want to get to Grandma Stone’s homestead. I need time to think.”

“Alone?” Adam asked perceptively.

“Yes,” Sara said. “Alone.”

It was later in the day before Adam decided to broach the subject of his guest’s uneasiness again. The laundry had dried, thanks to the added heat from the wood stove, and the cabin was no longer so crowded it felt claustrophobic. He’d noted that Sara had relaxed appreciably, though she probably wouldn’t stay that way for long. Not once he started asking questions. He fully intended to cross-examine her until he found out who or what she was afraid of.

She’d found a paperback mystery to read and was curled up comfortably by the fire, apparently ignoring him. If Adam hadn’t been trained to notice nuances of body language and details of his surroundings he might have actually believed she wasn’t paying attention to anything but her reading.

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