“Are you hungry?”
She was. In fact, she was starving, which surprised her. Her appetite had been a casualty of the roller-coaster ride that was her life as of late. “Actually, yes.”
“I found some canned goods in the kitchen.” Luke took a few steps toward the other room, then stopped, looking over his shoulder. “If your tastes aren’t too elaborate.”
She wanted to laugh. She’d eaten at every upscale Atlanta restaurant by the time she was eight. And had been thoroughly sick of it by the time she was eighteen. Her aunt, who had never planned on raising a child and certainly never planned on cooking a well-balanced meal based on the food pyramid, had nonetheless taught her the finer points of dining out. Not the most maternal of lessons, but her aunt had never tried to be anyone other than who she was. Dana may have craved more, but she appreciated her aunt’s honesty.
Still, the first thing she’d bought after moving into her own apartment was a cookbook and a set of cookware. Ten years had passed and she could now make corn bread and pot roast with the best of them.
“Thanks.” Dana ran her hand through her hair, and her fingertips stilled on the side of her face, stopping at the trail of dried blood.
Luke frowned. “There’s a bathroom next to the supply closet.”
Dana nodded, then watched him leave the room. His ability to read her thoughts was unnerving and comforting at the same time. She secured a pillow on either side of the baby and watched him for a moment as he slept. With a chubby cheek pressed against the mattress and his lips puckered into a sweet cherub’s smile, he looked like an angel. She stroked his cheek with her index finger. He was completely at peace, completely oblivious to the fact that he was alone.
Alone. God, she hated that word. The baby might not have her for long, but he had her for now. He wouldn’t be alone. She would see to that.
Dana walked quickly to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She pulled the overhead chain that lit a bare bulb and stared at the stranger in the mirror. Old-fashioned vanity assaulted her. It was wrong to be embarrassed by her appearance, given the fact that another woman had lost her life, but she couldn’t help but be mortified. It hadn’t occurred to her that she looked like hell. After all, Luke had looked like a model in some outdoorsman’s catalog, right down to the armload of firewood and his perfectly disheveled hair.
She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. It was hopelessly tangled, twigs and briars sticking out from it like a pincushion. A swollen gash was visible at her hairline, a trail of dried blood pointing to the source. She was pale as a ghost, and dark circles rimmed her eyes.
A roll of yellowed paper towels sat next to the sink, and Dana pulled one away and dampened it, gently dabbing at the dried blood until it was gone. She tugged all the visible twigs from her hair and finger combed it into submission. She stared at her unkempt image for a moment then closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that she’d lived through the incident. That the baby had lived.
And that Luke Sutherlin had found them.
Dana opened her eyes and searched her reflection. She’d grown accustomed to seeing her own image over the years, from nightly broadcasts to countless ad campaigns. The consummate professional. But she didn’t know the frightened, shaken woman who now peered back at her. Which image had Luke seen when he looked at her?
Dana shivered, recalling the heat in Luke’s gaze as he’d watched her change clothes. He’d seen neither image, she realized. He’d seen something she hadn’t felt in a long time, resurrected it with one heated glance. He’d seen her simply as a woman.
She switched off the light without another glance in the mirror and stepped into the hall. It was strange, unnerving to walk through the cabin in the light of day. When she made her way to the kitchen, she had to resist the urge to crouch, to shrink from the daylight that poured through the window above the kitchen sink. Only a few feet of wall separated the den and kitchen, and she could hear Luke stacking the firewood in the next room. But she couldn’t force herself to join him. The few steps that separated them meant walking toward the front of the cabin, toward the windows. The direction the gunshots had last come from.
Dana decided she preferred the kitchen. Its solitary window was high and small. Safe. She mentally admonished herself. For her sanity’s sake, she had to stop viewing every structure as a means of protection, every door a means of escape. Luke said they were safe and she believed him. Dana took a steadying breath and glanced around the room. An old table crowded the tiny kitchen, its laminate top warped with age. On it were several dusty cans of food. Dana lifted one, turning it to read the label. Green beans. She checked another. Pears.
“Definitely a better breakfast choice.”
The sound of Luke’s voice was startling yet comforting with its deep timbre. Despite herself, she smiled as she turned toward him. “I’m almost hungry enough to gnaw through this can.”
He grinned. “As entertaining as that would be, it’s not necessary.” He walked to a kitchen drawer and withdrew a metal can opener and fork, then came to stand beside her. “Pears, is it?”
“Yes, thanks.” Dana handed him the can, and he went to work on it, his large hands dwarfing the can. She glanced up at him.
“Six-four. Since I was fifteen.”
“Oh, I wasn’t…” Dana took the can when he offered it to her. “Okay, I was wondering.”
“I know.” He passed her the fork. “I would offer you a dish to put those in, but there aren’t any.”
“You keep doing that.”
“Offering you a fork?” Luke watched Dana’s expression go from confused to charmingly irritated.
“You seem to know what I’m about to say, about to do.”
He intentionally hesitated, waiting until her gaze slid upward to his. He wanted another look at her eyes in the daylight. They were an unusual shade of gray blue, but their color wasn’t what fascinated him. It was the way they expressed her thoughts. It wasn’t any wonder he knew what she was thinking. Hell, those eyes made her an open book.
The thought surprised him. After all, he’d had more suspicions than he’d known what to do with last night.
Luke watched her fork a dainty bite of pear and wondered how she managed to look sophisticated eating out of the can, with its jagged lid and faded sides. But she did. And, despite her ladylike demeanor, she didn’t make any bones about being hungry. She immediately slid another bite of the juicy pear into her mouth, catching a syrupy drip on her index finger and sucking it off. Luke felt his body harden with such intensity that he physically winced.
The fantasy that slid, uninvited, through his mind was totally out of place. He had no business thinking of Dana Langston as anything other than a potential victim, someone who needed his protection. But the effect the simple gesture had on him couldn’t have been stronger if she’d planned it. His thoughts stilled, traced their way back to his earlier suspicions before he dismissed them. There was a fine line between fact and instinct, a line Luke normally walked with ease. Normally.
A piercing cry cut the silence, and both Luke and Dana jumped. The baby was awake. Dana plopped the half-eaten can on the table and headed for the hallway, just as Luke made his way around the table and did
