Woodrow had thought Elizabeth would sleep during the drive to Tanner’s Crossing. At least that was the impression she’d given him, when she’d tipped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes as he’d pulled away from her house. But she hadn’t slept. He knew, because her facial muscles had remained tense throughout the drive and she’d kept her hands knotted together on her lap so tightly her knuckles gleamed a pearly white in the darkness. He’d considered asking her to take over the wheel, so he could sleep. After twenty-four hours without any, he could use a little shut-eye. But after sizing her up, he’d opted to remain in the driver’s seat. The woman was skinnier than a rail and looked as weak as a newborn calf, which made him question her ability to handle a truck the size of his.
When he stopped in front of his log house, she finally gave up the possum act and sat up.
“Are we here?” she asked.
Her voice sounded a bit rusty after three hours without use.
“Yeah,” he replied, then clarified, “at my place.”
She whipped her head around, her eyes wide in alarm. “But I thought we were going to your brother’s home.”
He gestured at the windshield and the darkness beyond. “It’s not daylight yet. Everyone will still be in bed. I figured we’d catch a couple hours sleep, then head over to the Bar T.” Without waiting for a reply, he pushed open his door and hopped to the ground. He stretched his arms above his head to smooth out the kinks the drive had left in his back, then dropped his arms with a weary sigh and rounded the hood.
As he opened her door, he saw that her eyes were riveted on the dark house behind him. “Problem?” he asked.
Her gaze snapped to his. She gulped, then forced a polite smile. “I appreciate your consideration. Really I do. But I’m not the least bit tired. Couldn’t we just go to your brother’s?”
“And chance waking Ace up before he’s gotten a full night’s rest?” Shaking his head, he offered her a hand. “Trust me. That’s not something you want to do.”
She gave the dark house another uneasy look, before accepting his hand. “Why not?” she asked as she climbed down.
The moment her feet touched the ground, he released her and reached into the back to lift out her suitcase. “Because he’s meaner than a grizzly if he’s awakened before he’s ready to rise.” He tipped his head toward the house, indicating for her to precede him up the rock walk that led to the front porch. “One time when we were out camping during a roundup, Rory and me woke him up from a dead sleep and ’fore we knew what was happening, he had us between the sights of his shotgun.”
She jerked to a stop on the porch, her eyes wide in dismay. “He was going to shoot you?”
He gave her a nudge with the suitcase, urging her on to the door. “Didn’t hang around long enough to find out. Me and Rory hightailed it out of there so fast, Ace was spittin’ dust for a week.”
He pushed the door open, then waited for her to enter before him. “Light switch is on the left,” he instructed.
As she fumbled a hand on the rough-hewn wall in search of the switch, Elizabeth wondered what had possessed her to agree to making this trip. At the very least, she should have insisted upon driving her own car. If she had, she could be on her way to a hotel right now, rather than searching for a light switch in a strange man’s house and worrying about her safety.
Berating herself for the uncustomary impulsiveness, she found the switch and flipped it on. Light flooded the space, exposing a large room. A stone fireplace stood opposite her, wood stacked ready in a copper tub on its hearth. Before it, a round, braided rag rug was spread, covering a large portion of the heart-of-pine flooring. A small kitchen opened to the left of the fireplace, and a closed door stood at its right. To her surprise, she found his home warm and inviting, which helped ease her fears a bit.
“You can bunk down in here,” he said as he crossed to open the closed door. He flipped on the overhead light, then tossed her suitcase onto the massive bed that dominated the small room.
Elizabeth stopped in the doorway and stared, knowing by the personal items scattered about that this was his room. “Where will you sleep?” she asked uneasily.
“On the sofa.” He leaned to turn on a lamp beside the bed. “If you’re worried about hygiene, the sheets are clean. Changed ’em myself before I left for Dallas yesterday morning.”
The intimacy suggested in sleeping in a strange man’s bed had her taking a nervous step back. “There’s no need for you to give up your bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“And have my stepmother rolling in her grave?” He shook his head. “No, ma’am. ‘Guests take priority over comfort.’ That’s what Momma Lee always said.”
He whipped back the crazy quilt that covered the bed, then turned for the door. “The bath’s through there,” he said, flapping a hand over his shoulder to indicate a partially open door behind him. “Fresh towels and wash cloths are in the linen chest beside the shower stall. If you wake up first, the coffee makings are in the kitchen cupboard above the percolator. ’Night,” he said and closed the door behind him.
Elizabeth stared at the door for a good thirty seconds, before finding her voice. “G-good night.”
Woodrow lay sprawled on the sofa, one arm draped over his eyes and a hand splayed over his belly, the tips of three fingers pushed beneath the waistband of his boxer shorts. Though he usually slept in the raw, since he had a guest in the house, he’d thought it best to leave on his shorts. He wasn’t modest, but he figured if the doc woke up first and came in to make coffee and caught him sacked out on the sofa in his birthday suit, she’d probably drop dead from a heart attack.
He heard a scratch on the door and swore under his breath, having forgotten about his dog. With a weary sigh, he rolled to his feet, opened the door a crack, just wide enough for Blue to slip through, then shut it and stretched back out on the sofa. A wet nose bumped his arm, followed by a pitiful whimper.
“Sorry, mutt,” he grumbled. “There’s not room for both of us up here.” He lifted a hand and pointed to the rug in front of the fireplace. “You get the rug.”
Blue slunk over to the fireplace and flopped down on the rug. The dog let out a low woof to let Woodrow know she didn’t like the arrangement, then dropped her head between her paws. Within minutes, both Woodrow and Blue were snoring.
In the next room, Elizabeth lay beneath the covers, wide-eyed, forcing herself to take long, even breaths. It wasn’t fear of the man in the other room that kept her awake.
It was regret.
Renee.
Though tears burned behind her eyes and clogged her throat, she couldn’t cry. But, oh God, how she wanted to. She wanted to throw open the floodgates and let loose all the emotions she’d suppressed for so many years. Cry until there were no more tears left to be shed, empty herself of every last drop of grief, unwind every thread of restraint, every layer of composure she’d bound herself with for years in order to survive.
Renee.
Even now she could see her younger sister. The white-blond ringlets
