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