had left his father, Dudley had only known abuse. Lawrence had responded to Dudley’s stubbornness by slapping him, which was particularly abusive punishment for a toddler less than three.
Maybe she was doing the wrong thing. But she knew she’d been fooling herself if she thought that Dudley wouldn’t sneak out again and she couldn’t risk that. She strapped him in the backseat of her car, got in and drove up Route 28. At the general store she bought locks and a length of heavy chain to secure the wire fence.
“Buy some hot dogs, Mommie, and let’s have a picnic.”
She didn’t have time for a picnic, but Dudley needed a diversion, so she went next door to the supermarket and bought what she needed for an outdoor picnic. She’d told Brock that she’d be back home in an hour, but when he neither called nor came, her temper began to rise.
“He gave you his cell-phone number, Mommie,” Dudley said when she grumbled about it.
She hadn’t intended to use that number, but what choice did she have now if she didn’t want to risk Dudley sneaking out the next morning before she got up. She dialed his number.
“Mr. Lightner, this is Allison Sawyer,” she said when he answered. “I’m back home with the locks and the chain.”
“Good. I’ll be there in about twenty minutes.”
When his voice seemed to trail off, she realized that he didn’t know how to terminate the conversation, at least not to his satisfaction. This is terrible, she thought. I do not like where we seem to be headed and I am not going there.
“Mommie, I’m hungry. Can we have the picnic now?”
“Mr. Lightner is coming to change the locks, so we’ll have to wait.”
He agreed without protest and she thought nothing of it. However, when Brock arrived with Jack, Dudley ran to embrace the big German shepherd and said to the dog, “We’re going to have a picnic, Jack. Do you like hot dogs?” Jack wagged his tail.
Stunned by the child’s deviousness, she threw up her hands and looked at Brock. “He’s five years old. How am I going to manage when he’s fifteen?”
“It’ll probably be a lot easier then,” Brock said. She gave him the locks and chain and walked toward the kitchen, intent upon leaving Brock alone with the job.
“This’ll go much faster and smoother if you hold this lock in place while I get this screw started,” he said. “These Segal dead-bolt locks are almost tamper-proof. I’m glad you got one for the front door as well. Here, hold this for me.”
She stood inches from him, watching his biceps flex as he forced the screws into the door’s hard wood. She looked at his fingers, long, lean and tapered, capable of giving a woman pleasure after pleasure, and her attention strayed from the task at hand as her gaze traveled over his long, lean frame. She sucked in her breath and his head whipped around. With one hand on the screwdriver and the other on the screw, he stood motionless, gazing into her eyes. She swallowed hard and tried without success to shift her gaze, for he held her spellbound.
“Are you going to invite me to your picnic?” he asked in words so soft that she barely heard him. “Are you?”
She managed to break contact with his eyes, but her gaze caught the chest hairs exposed by the open placket of his T-shirt and traveled to his bare arms, so muscular and strong.
“Well?” he said.
“Uh. Yes, of course,” she replied, shaking herself out of the trance. “As soon as…Can you fix the back gate today, too?”
“I’ll do that and anything else you need done,” he said in a tone that told her to take it any way she wanted to.
Chapter 2
Brock tested the locks. Satisfied that to enter the house, an intruder either had to use a key or take the door off its hinges, he headed out to the seven-foot-high fence that protected the back deck. If Allison Sawyer was living in a state of denial, he definitely was not. It took him only a couple of minutes to loop the chain through the welded-wire fence and hook it with a heavy-duty padlock. He brushed something from his shorts and went back into the house without knocking.
Allison looked up at him. “Mind if I clean my hands somewhere?” he asked, barely able to control his urge to laugh. “Oh, yeah, and if we’re going to have a picnic, please fix a couple of extra hot dogs. I’m starving,” he said over his shoulder, aware that he’d unsettled her.
“Thanks for replacing the locks and fixing that fence,” she said, when he came out of the bathroom. “I feel a lot safer.”
“My pleasure. If I were you, I wouldn’t leave food scraps in that trash can back there. It’s a good idea to put it on the road around nine in the morning. The garbage collector passes here at ten. You’ll attract fewer wild animals, although that’s hardly avoidable in the cold months.”
“How long have you been coming up here?” she asked Brock.
“This will be my sixth summer, but it’s the first time I planned to spend the winter here as well.”
Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why?”
Brock explained that he was trying to finish a book, but didn’t tell Allison what it was about.
“If you need peace and quiet while you write, this is definitely the place for it,” she said.
He hated small talk and he could see that she was comfortable with it. “Want me to help you prepare the food? I’m handy in the kitchen.”
“It’s about ready. I suspect you’re handy with a lot of things,” she said and winced, apparently realizing the embarrassing double entendre.
He rewarded her with a grin and a wicked wink. “Like I said. I’m real handy around the house.” He would stop meddling with her if she’d come down off her high horse, but he had a feeling she didn’t plan to do that, so he said, “Are you going to make me call you Mrs. Sawyer forever? I’d be a lot more comfortable eating your hot dogs if you’d call me Brock.” He looked around. “Where’s Dudley?”
“Out back on the deck with Jack. I’d better check. I don’t want Dudley near that fire.”
“If he went too close to it, Jack would bark. My dog knows the danger of fire.” And he could feel a different kind of fire circling around them, hemming them behind an emotional barrier from which they might never escape.
“Are you married?” he blurted out, even though he knew it wasn’t the time for that question.
“Not any longer.” She looked up at him, open and vulnerable. “Are you?”
“I’ve never been married.”
“But you must be—”
He interrupted her. “I’m thirty-four, and we’d better get to that picnic before things change here.”
“Yeah.” She handed him a plastic tablecloth and napkins. “There’s a table on the deck,” she said, and headed for the kitchen. At least
