That he was, a truly nice guy. Wordlessly, Sean zipped up and went out. He didn’t even like cats. Dogs were more his thing. One day, he’d get a dog, when he could be home more. He didn’t feel it was fair to coop up an animal all day, not with the hours Sean worked. Head bent against the wind and blowing snow, he made his way toward the incline.
From the couch, Laura twisted about, gazing out the window across the room. The snowflakes were so thick she could scarcely make out anything. She couldn’t blame Sean for being annoyed at going back out in that. But they couldn’t let Max die, which he surely would if he wasn’t found soon.
With no small effort, she shifted painfully until she was lying down on the couch, then pulled the afghan over herself. She ached so much she couldn’t even define where it hurt most. To distract herself, Laura gazed around the room.
It was big with large, comfortable furniture, the couch she was on and two deep chairs facing the bricked hearth and the crackling fire. For the first time, she noticed a framed drawing hanging above the fieldstone fireplace. Laura’s studio in Scottsdale was next to an art gallery, and she recognized that this drawing had been done in pastel chalks.
A young boy no more than three years old was standing alongside a gnarled tree. His hair was blond and his smile mischievous. From one small hand dangled a bedraggled brown bunny with one ear missing. An old-fashioned red wagon sat off to the side. She was no expert, but the picture was well done, seemingly drawn by someone who loved the boy. Laura wondered if the subject was Sean as a child.
Her gaze swept to the far left where a serviceable kitchen was set off by a counter with two high-backed stools and, off to the side, a maple table with four captain’s chairs. There were three closed doors off the kitchen, the middle one the bathroom she’d used, the other two probably leading to bedrooms. A nice compact cabin, the walnut-paneled walls lending a cozy warmth. It lacked a woman’s touch, though, with no curtains on the windows, no photos on the end tables, no cloth on the sturdy oak table. The half dozen pillows on the couch were the only hint of softness.
Definitely a man’s retreat, Laura decided, struggling with a yawn. Leaning back, she spotted an easel facing away from her in front of an overstuffed bookcase off to the right. Was Sean the artist or perhaps someone who visited him? None of her business, she decided, closing her eyes.
What was keeping Sean?
Darkness had settled in, but the whiteness of the snow allowed Sean to see. The drifts were thigh high, however, which made the going very slow. And treacherous, he thought as he slid down the embankment and stopped just short of the almost buried Bronco.
Cursing under his breath, he scrambled to his feet, feeling cold, impatient and annoyed. He didn’t even want to think about what he’d do if Max wasn’t in the vehicle. If the animal had gotten out, his paw prints would have been covered over by now. The thought of tramping about in this storm looking for some old cat that could be anywhere didn’t thrill him.
With gloved hands, he scraped accumulated snow from the passenger door and managed to wedge it open again. Ducking inside, he knelt on the front seat and looked around. He picked up the large leather shoulder bag thinking Laura might need it. No luggage anywhere, but then she’d said she’d left in a hurry. On the floor he noticed a box of assorted tiles. On the back seat were material remnants and three large books of wallpaper samples. Sean remembered what she’d said about the blanket and gingerly picked up one end, whipping it to the side.
He heard a hissing sound, then a paw lashed out at him, the claws digging into his leather gloves. Yellow eyes peered up at him, looking unfriendly and combative. Max was shorthaired, yellow and beige, kind of skinny and obviously frightened. “Okay, shhh. You’re okay,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. The cat hissed again, louder.
“Look, Max, I’m a friend, honest.” Feeling foolish trying to pacify a stubborn cat in a tangled wreck of a vehicle in a raging snowstorm, Sean leaned forward and grabbed Max under his front legs, maneuvering him into a body hug, sharp claws pointed away from him. Pushing back, he ignored the cat’s protests as he backed out of the Bronco and shoved the door shut with his hip. The strap of Laura’s shoulder bag dangled from one arm.
Max struggled as cold snow enveloped them both, but Sean held on. He’d have put him inside his jacket, but he knew the cat would start clawing him. So he trudged back up the incline, realizing that he now had two guests he hadn’t been prepared for. “Listen, if you stop fighting me, I’ll give you a dish of tuna for dinner. How’s that?” Max told him what he could do with his offer in no uncertain hissy terms.
“Okay, chum,” Sean said, high-stepping through the snow. “Your loss.”
By the time he stomped some of the snow from his boots and propelled his way into the cabin, Sean was soaking wet from the waist down, and the silly cat was still hissing at him. He wished he could say that seeing Laura’s relieved face was worth his effort, but Sean didn’t think so.
“Here you go,” he said, thrusting Max into her lap and laying her bag on the floor.
“Oh, thank you, thank you.” Mindful of her sore shoulder, she hugged the frightened animal and cooed to him. “Max, Max, I’m so sorry. You’ll be fine, baby.” The cat allowed her to soothe him, but he shot Sean a look that seemed to say this was all his fault.
Grumbling under his breath about the inequities of life where a mangy cat gets hugged and he, the rescuer, gets wet pants, Sean brushed snow from his hair and went to his room to change for the second time in a matter of hours. He took his time drying off, then pulled on a pair of gray sweatpants and thick socks. Towel-drying his hair and face, he heard his stomach growl. The invasion of Laura and Max had caused him to miss dinner. Maybe she wasn’t hungry, but he was.
Sean came out and saw that Laura had her eyes closed, the cat cuddled up against her, purring away. In the kitchen, he paused, considering dinner. “How about that soup now?” he suggested.
“I honestly couldn’t, but thanks.”
All right, he’d let her have it her way. He filled a glass with cold water before bending to his medical bag and pulling out a vial of pills. “I think you’ll feel better if you take one of these,” he told her.
Laura opened her eyes. “I don’t like taking pills.” Especially when she didn’t know what they were.
“Look, isn’t it time you started trusting me? I’m a doctor, remember? There’s a time to be brave and a time when it’s plain silly to insist you’re not hurting when I know you are.” He held out the water and medication. “This will help you rest.”
Laura swallowed the pill, then burrowed back into the nest of pillows, closing her eyes and hoping the medicine would put her to sleep until the pain passed. “Thanks. Please, go back to whatever you were doing. I don’t want to inconvenience you any further. I’ll just lie here for a bit, if you don’t mind, and then I’ll call someone.” But who? she wondered, frowning. Her father was never around, it seemed. She couldn’t ask her friend Molly to drive up all this way when the roads were undoubtedly worse than before. She’d sure picked a rotten night to have an accident.
Sean sat down on the stool, noticing the cat’s yellow eyes watching his every move. “I’m afraid the phone’s out. Has been since before I found you. It could come back on any minute, or not for a couple days. Hard to tell.”
“Oh. Well, maybe I can make it over to our cabin on Ridgeway. The snow’s bound to stop soon and…”
“Not likely. It’s coming down heavier than before. Have you ever been up this way in the winter?”
“Not since I was a child.”
He’d thought as much. “The snow probably won’t let up until tomorrow sometime, the wind blowing drifts as high as the roofline.” He tucked the afghan around her legs. “And you’re in