question; too bad she had no answer to it. “I guess we wait.”
“For?”
She wished she knew. “For the storm to die down a little so we can leave?”
He gave her a humorless half smile. “Was that an answer—or just another question?”
Katie put up both hands, palms up. “Oh, really. I just don’t know.”
Justin studied her for a moment, wearing an expression she couldn’t read. Then, out of nowhere, he plunked himself down into one of the reception chairs and started pulling off his boots.
The sight struck her as funny, for some crazy reason. She laughed—and then felt stupid for doing it when he glanced up from under the dark shelf of his brow, his full-lipped mouth a grim line. “These damn boots are at least a size too small.”
Katie winced. “Sorry.”
With a grunt, he tugged off a boot. “For what?”
She sank to a chair herself. “Oh, you know. Caleb shouldn’t have roped you into this. And I should have spoken up and called the whole thing off.”
He dropped the boot to the floor, pulled off the other one and set it down, too. “Are you capable of that?”
“Excuse me?”
That dry smile had gone devilish. “Speaking up.”
She sat straighter and brushed a bit of lint off her skirt. “Now and then, absolutely.”
His smile got wider. “Like with the horse.”
She nodded. “That’s right.” Blowing out a weary breath, she let her shoulders slump again. “But back in the hall—oh, I just hate getting up in front of a lot of people. Especially a lot of people who’ve had too much beer.”
“I hear you on that one.” He looked down at his heavy wool socks—and wiggled his toes. “Now, that’s more like it.”
Her own feet were kind of pinched in the narrow lace-up shoes. What the heck? She hiked up her soggy skirts—which gave off the musty scent of wet wool—and set to work on the laces. When she had both shoes off, she set them neatly beside her chair, smoothed her skirt down and straightened to find him watching her. There was humor in his eyes and something else, something much too watchful. She found herself thinking, What’s he up to? And then instantly chided herself for being suspicious.
What could he be up to? Except wishing he hadn’t let Caleb talk him into this.
The watchful look had faded from his face as if it had never been. He asked softly, “Now, isn’t that better?”
“What?”
“Without your shoes…”
She felt a smile tug at her mouth. Oh, really, he was much too good-looking for her peace of mind. She answered briskly, “Yes, it is.” And she picked up a tray of sandwich triangles from the reception desk. “Help yourself. It’s probably the closest thing to dinner we’re going to get.”
He took one and bit into it. “Ham and American. With mayo. The best.”
“Oh, I’ll bet.” She took one for herself and gestured at the big stainless steel coffee urn, the hot water for tea and the glass pitcher of grape drink. “And coffee. Or a cold drink…”
He got up. “You?”
“Coffee sounds good. With a little cream.”
He poured them each a cup, splashed cream from a little stoneware pitcher into hers and handed it over with a courtly, “Mrs. Caldwell.”
She played along. “Mr. Caldwell.” Really, she was grateful he was taking this so calmly.
He sank into his chair again and sipped the hot brew. “Now we’re married, I think you’re going to have to call me Justin.”
She had that silly, nervous urge to laugh again. She quelled it. “By all means. And please. Call me Katie. I firmly believe married people should be on a firstname basis with each other.”
“I agree. Katie.” He finished off the rest of his sandwich. She held out the tray and he took another. She took one, too. He asked, “So how was that train ride?”
She rolled her eyes. “I should have taken a club car.”
About then, the false cheer they were both trying to keep up deserted them. They sat silent, like the strangers they really were, eating their sandwiches, listening to the wind whistling in the eaves outside.
Eventually, he turned to her, his expression grave. “Will anyone else show up?”
“In this?” She gestured at the six-over-six front windows. Beyond the golden glow of the porch light, there was only darkness and hard-blowing snow. “I don’t think so.”
He turned and looked at the round institutionalstyle clock on the wall above the desk. It was six thirty-five. “How long will we be stuck here?”
He would have to ask that. She cleared her throat. “Maybe, if we’re lucky, the snow will stop soon.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
Katie sighed. “Good question. We’ll just have to wait and see how bad it gets.”
“Should we call someone, let them know we arrived here and we’re safe?” He felt in his pockets. “Damn…”
“What?”
“I left my cell in my own clothes, back at the hall.” He produced a handsome calfskin wallet and waved at her. “The good news is I’ve got plenty of cash.”
Katie forced a grin. “Whew. I was worried. What if we wanted to do a little shopping?” He made a sound halfway between a grunt and a chuckle, and she added, on a more somber note, “And cell phones don’t work all that well around these parts, anyway. Lots of mountains. Not many cell towers.”
“I knew that,” he said, his mouth twisting wryly.
She set her coffee cup on the edge of the reception desk, reached for the phone and put it to her ear. “Dead.” Carefully, she set it back in its cradle.
“Terrific.”
“Count your blessings,” she advised, trying to keep things positive. “At least we still have heat and electricity. And plenty of water, as long as the pipes don’t freeze.”
He didn’t look too reassured, but he got the message. “Right. Might as well look on the bright side.”
“Exactly.”
Rising, he went to the trays of food and chose another sandwich.
The museum had propane heat throughout, but there was also the remains of a fire in the potbellied stove in the corner. Katie got up and put in another log. She jabbed it with the poker
