The kettle whistled beside her. Dana jumped, then shook her hair back from her face and forced herself to laugh. She was letting her imagination get the better of her, that’s all. So what if both the telephone and the radio were out? Being cut off from civilization had never bothered her before. That’s why she had come here, wasn’t it?
Of course, she hadn’t planned on having company. Especially someone who looked like John Becker.
On the other hand he didn’t really look like a John Becker. He looked more like a Tex or a Rocko or maybe even a dark-haired, brown-eyed Sundance Kid….
“Idiot,” she muttered to herself. She measured out the tea and poured the boiling water into the pot. So far today John had been a quiet and unobtrusive guest. He hadn’t made one move that could be interpreted as remotely threatening. She should stop obsessing over his appearance. He hadn’t been able to shave, so he couldn’t help it that the black beard stubble only made him look harder, almost…dangerous. He was frustrated over being stuck here by the storm, so it was only natural that there would be a troubled—at times desperate—gleam in his gaze.
And there was nothing suspicious about the way he was spending so much time dozing on the couch. He had been through a terrible ordeal—it was a miracle he hadn’t lost any fingers or toes to frostbite. He needed rest to allow his body to recover. It was unkind of her to suspect that he was faking the extent of his weakness to avoid conversation. Just because he looked powerful didn’t mean that he was. Not at the moment, anyway.
She was simply too accustomed to being alone. Maybe that’s why she was feeling this constant awareness of his presence.
Or maybe the awareness was due to the fact that she had seen him without his clothes.
Dana pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and stifled a groan. There was no denying he was a good-looking man. All that luscious dark hair, that bad-boy mustache, those chiseled features and that magnificent, powerful body….
Talk about a distraction. She hadn’t gotten more than twenty minutes work done all day.
How could she be leery of him one minute and fascinated by him the next? This wasn’t like her. It must be due to the isolation or the low barometric pressure in the weather system or maybe the phase of the moon. Right. She simply had to get ahold of herself. This would all be over in a few hours, or another day at the most.
Then everything would get back to normal. She would send the latest stray she had acquired on his way and she would be alone again, just the way she wanted.
He was awake when she returned to the main room. Firelight danced over the harsh planes of his face as he stared at the flames on the hearth. As usual, Morty was ensconced on his lap, purring like a train as John’s long fingers moved lightly over the cat’s fur.
“He seems to have adopted you,” she said, carrying her mug of tea to her drafting table. “Do you have a cat?”
John turned his head to look at her. “No.”
She noticed that the troubled gleam was back in his eyes. Well, why shouldn’t he be troubled? Anyone in his situation would be. “You must like animals, though. Morty doesn’t normally take to strangers.”
John stroked behind Morty’s ears. The cat closed his eyes and drew his head back into his neck in bliss. “Yeah, I like animals,” John murmured.
“Then you probably have some kind of pet at home, right?”
His fingers stilled. A closed look came over his face. “The place I’ve been staying doesn’t allow pets.”
“That’s a shame. I’m lucky my landlord doesn’t mind Morty. He’s such terrific company.”
“With all the wildlife in the area, I wouldn’t have thought the resort owner would kick up a fuss over one cat.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean here at Half Moon. I meant my apartment in the city.”
“I see.”
“You live in Toronto, too, right? In the Beaches?”
“Yes,” he answered.
“Your address was written under your name in your day planner,” she explained, even though he hadn’t asked.
“Uh-huh.”
As conversations went, it wasn’t exactly sparkling, but it was better than silence for keeping her imagination under control. She plunged ahead. “The Beaches is a lovely neighborhood. Have you been there long?”
“No.” He frowned. “If you have an apartment in Toronto, what are you doing up here? The place looks closed for the winter.”
“It is. I needed somewhere quiet to work, so I convinced Derek to let me stay here at the resort as the caretaker. With no TV or newspaper delivery or Internet hookup to distract me, this cabin is perfect.”
“Derek?”
“My cousin, Derek Johansen. He took over Half Moon Bay when my uncle passed away two years ago, and he hasn’t had any time off until now. Considering the weather, he sure picked the right month to visit his mother in Florida.”
“This storm might extend his vacation. Pearson Airport would be closed.”
She hesitated. Should she tell John that Derek had left only a week ago? Would it be wise to let this stranger know that she wasn’t expecting her cousin to return until next month?
Oh, come on, she thought. John was simply trying to make conversation, something she should be pleased about. “Derek wouldn’t let a little detail like a raging blizzard interfere with his plans. He loves this place.”
He nodded, and the stubborn lock of hair that she had noticed before flopped endearingly over his forehead.
“I do, too,” she continued, as if to make up for her evasive reply. “In exchange for free rent, all I have to do is make sure the pipes don’t freeze in the main lodge and keep the snow from collapsing the roof, which isn’t much trouble since the roof was designed to be steep enough for the snow to slide off.”
“Yeah, I know—” there was a split-second pause “—I noticed that.” His gaze moved over the room, then settled on her desk. “What kind of work do you do, Dana?”
“I’m an author.”
His eyebrows rose.
She picked up the page she had been working on—or trying to work on—and held it for him to see. “I write children’s books. I illustrate them, too. This is for my current project.”
His gaze sharpened as he focused on her unfinished drawing. He leaned forward, his expression lighting up with interest. It was the first sign of animation he had shown all day. “That looks like…”
“Morty,” she finished for him. “He earns his keep by serving as my model. I’m trying to deduct the cost of his cat food from my income tax, but so far I haven’t had any luck.”
He transferred the cat from his lap to the couch beside him and rose to his feet. Moving
