steadying the baby against her shoulder with her free hand. Luke kept the beam of light trained on the floor and led her down the short hallway to an adjoining room. The hum of the space heater filled the room, though its heat had yet to make progress against the cold.
As her eyes adjusted to the near darkness, Dana realized the room was a small bedroom. Though she could see the faint outline of a window against the far wall, Luke had apparently pulled a dresser in front of it, its attached mirror blocking the expanse of glass.
“This will conceal us well enough, but I don’t want to risk the lights.”
He drew her forward a few steps and Dana realized he was leading her to the bed. Despite the circumstances, the intimacy of the bed made her pause. Luke must have felt her tense, because he dropped her hand.
“Settle the baby in the bed.”
He didn’t whisper, but his voice was lower, softer than it had been in the supply room. The realization that he was more alert to danger here caused a fresh chill of fear.
“You need to get out of those wet jeans and boots. I found a pair of sweatpants and some socks.”
The words hung in the air for a moment. Changing out of her clothes somehow meant the situation was real. They wouldn’t be rescued in a few minutes. No wailing sirens outside. Only the howl of the blizzard as it finished the job it had started. And it meant something else. They were in this together. Things were going to get pretty personal pretty fast. Starting with the fact that she was about to undress in the same room with a stranger.
He gestured toward the bed, where the clothing lay. “It’s not much but at least the clothes are dry.”
She nodded, then gently laid the baby in the center of the double bed. He was still wrapped snugly in Luke’s jacket, and the selfless gesture again triggered something inside her. She’d learned from Robert the hard way that some men lacked paternal instinct. Or at least, in her ex-husband’s case, paternal feelings for a child that wasn’t his biological child.
Dana eased the jacket from around the baby, then substituted the bed’s thick blanket. She extended the jacket to Luke. “Thank you,” she whispered.
She felt him tense beside her in the darkness. Had she said something wrong? Perhaps it was because she’d thanked him, because that right belonged exclusively to the child’s mother. And the child’s mother was dead. Whatever the reason, he silently accepted the jacket and slid it on.
Luke commanded Sam to lie down at the foot of the bed, then walked to the window, peering through a small crack between the dresser’s mirror and the window frame. There was moonlight despite the storm, and the ghostly white light was bright enough to cast dancing shadows in the room. As her eyes adjusted, Dana could see that Luke held the gun in position as he scanned the outside perimeter of the cabin.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing.” His voice was soothing, deep and hypnotic against the steady hum of the space heater. “Everything’s fine.” He kept his back to her. “You need to change.”
She realized that he was offering her a measure of privacy. To turn down either the dry clothing or the privacy would be foolish. Her toes were numb, and her jeans were heavy with moisture. The idea of a soft pair of fleece pants and dry socks sounded like heaven.
She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off the department-store boots she’d once thought perfect for the trip. Instead of protecting her feet, the porous suede had soaked up moisture like a sponge, including the whiskey from the bottle that had burst at her feet. Dana stood, unzipping her jeans before she lost her resolve.
The sound of the zipper lowering was only slightly less embarrassing than the rustle of fabric as she forced the jeans over her hips. As Dana wriggled free of the wet, clinging denim, the cold seemed to wrap itself around her bare legs, seeping instantly through the silky fabric of her panties.
She felt totally vulnerable and glanced up, only to find that Luke had taken a step back from the window and had caught her reflection in the dresser’s mirror. Dana could see her own reflection, illuminated by the moonlight and the seductive red glow of the space heater.
The instant their eyes locked, he looked away.
Even so, Dana could feel the lingering brand of his stare, feel his gaze touching her bare skin as she stepped into the waiting clothing. Luke said nothing, just resumed his watch at the window. An apology or acknowledgment, she realized, would only make things worse. Better to pretend the incident hadn’t happened, which is what she intended to do.
The clothes she wore smelled like cedar, no doubt having been stored, but she couldn’t have cared less. The socks and fleece pants were heavenly against her skin, warming her instantly. She walked to the side of the bed and arranged a pillow against the headboard, then slid carefully beside the baby. Despite herself, she relaxed. It was a strange, surreal state. One part relief and two parts exhaustion. Mentally she was still pumped with adrenaline, though, and her mind relentlessly returned to the scene of the accident, then back to the events that had brought her to this darkened room with the man who now stood watch.
Her gaze followed Luke as he paced from the window to the hall. When he glanced in her direction, she looked down, embarrassed that she’d been staring.
He’d done the same, she reminded herself. And more.
Her eyes now accustomed to the dark, she could see that the baby was peacefully sleeping at her hip, his lips pursed and his fist balled next to his chubby cheek. She lightly stroked his cheek with her fingertips. His skin was like velvet, so new and unmarred. It was a miracle that he hadn’t been injured in the accident.
“How could someone be so careless with this precious life?” she whispered, as much to herself as to Luke.
Luke turned to face her. “What do you mean, careless?”
Dana realized that she hadn’t explained the cause of the accident. Her mind flashed back to the whiskey bottle as it tumbled from the car and shattered at her feet, to the sound of metal screaming against rock as the car slid down the mountain face. The memory was so vivid that she jumped, waking the baby. He struggled to find the thread of sleep again, his little fist punching the air at the unseen enemy that had awakened him. Dana traced the outline of his ear, cooing and whispering until the soothing motion worked its magic.
When she looked up, she found Luke staring at her, waiting for an answer.
“The mother had been drinking.” She heard the anger in her words and realized that it matched the anger she felt. A delayed reaction, she supposed, but fierce.
Her comment was met with silence, as if Luke were considering the validity of her words. “Are you sure?” he finally asked.
Was she sure? She stifled an edgy laugh. “Yes, I’m sure. There were several bottles of alcohol in the car. Only one of them was full. It fell out and broke at my feet.”
“Can you tell me about the accident now?”
Now… The single word said a lot.
It said that he’d known how close she’d been to breaking down and that he’d intentionally gone easy on the questions because of it. She was grateful. It was only natural that someone in his position would be anxious—obligated even—to sort out the details of the accident. And again
