doing?”
“See that big trailer there? It’s supposed to be attached to this truck. That’s what we haul up the mountain.”
The trailer looked to be about as wide as the truck, maybe ten feet long and eight feet high. The painted sides didn’t bear a logo.
“What’s inside?”
“Food.” She adjusted the steering wheel slightly and eased up on the accelerator. “Damn. Why do they have to watch? It makes me crazy.”
He followed the direction of her gaze and saw a group of old men standing on the porch in front of the feed store. The building itself looked like it had been built during the forties. “What are they waiting for?”
“Me to mess up. They can’t believe that a mere woman can handle a truck, let alone a trailer. They do this every time I come in for supplies.”
“You ever mess up?”
A strand of her long hair fell over her shoulder. She flicked it back with a quick jerk of her hand and grinned. “Nope.”
He found himself smiling in return. She made a final adjustment of the steering wheel, eased up on the accelerator and waited for the truck to roll to a halt.
“Did it!” she said and faced front. After rotating her shoulders to release the tension, she bounded out of the cab. “I just have to hook us up and then we’re out of here. You want something more to eat?”
“No,” he said. Then added a belated “Thanks.”
As promised, she made quick work of the hitch. In less than ten minutes, the tiny town had been left behind and they began to drive up a steep mountain road.
Cort shifted in his seat, trying to ease the pain in his leg. Faith handled the truck easily, as if she were used to the winding roads. He studied her strong but small hands as they worked the gearshift. Who was she, and why wasn’t she frightened of him? He’d almost killed her. She didn’t look or act stupid, so what was her story?
He watched the road ahead. Tall trees, a few of them redwoods, came down to the edge of the highway. Recent spring rains left a carpet of lush new grass.
“I’m sorry,” he said, staring straight ahead. “For what happened before. I could have hurt you.”
“But you didn’t. Apology accepted.”
“That’s it?” He glanced at her. She seemed intent on her driving.
“What more do you want?”
Something. He could have done a whole lot more than hurt her. “I almost killed you.”
“I’m as much to blame. I shouldn’t have startled you. I know better.”
“How? Jeff said you were a civilian.”
She gave him a quick smile. “Don’t worry. I am. But I’m used to working with dangerous animals.”
“It won’t happen again,” he promised.
“I know.”
“How?”
“It won’t happen again, because I won’t startle you a second time. I’m a quick study.”
He shifted in the seat until he faced her. He propped his injured leg on the hump in the floor that divided the cab in half.
She rested both her hands on the steering wheel. Short nails, he thought. No polish. Sensible work clothes. He inhaled. But she wore French perfume.
“How do you know Jeff?” he asked.
“We met about six years ago. He was friends with the lady I worked for. When Jeff was hurt in Lebanon—” She glanced at him.
“I know about that,” he said.
She nodded. “He came to stay with us for a few months. I helped patch him up. Kept him company. That sort of thing. We became friends.”
“So you’re a nurse?”
“Not exactly.” She flashed him a smile, then sobered. “I guess when you go through what he did, you remember the people who got you through it.”
Cort thought about those days. Jeff’s injuries had been lifethreatening, but it was the loss of his wife and child that had almost killed him. Four years ago. Before Jeff had been promoted. They’d worked together several times. Been gone enough for Jeff’s marriage to falter and Jeff to start worrying about it. The worry distracted him and ultimately almost got him killed. He’d made the decision to do whatever it took to save his marriage, then boom. Jeanne and his son were dead.
Cort shook his head. It wasn’t worth it. Relationships weighed a man down. Caring about anyone got in the way of getting the job done.
“Tell me about the way station,” he said.
“We’re about fifteen miles from our nearest neighbors,” she said. “I have three college kids coming in part-time to help. We personally own about two hundred acres and have another thousand of leased forest land. There’s a fence around most of the compound and a main gate at the entrance. We’re pretty isolated.”
“What’s the way station for?”
She looked at him. Surprise widened her blue eyes. “I keep cats.”
“Cats?” He rubbed his pounding temple.
“Jeff didn’t explain?”
“No.” He cursed under his breath. Cats? What had his boss gotten him into? He glanced at Faith. In her jeans and shirt, with her sensible work boots and unmade-up face, she didn’t look like his idea of a person who kept bunches of cats, but then when had he ever met one? “So you keep, what, twenty of them in the house?”
She chuckled. Her smile could only be described as impish. “No cats in the house, I promise. And no more than forty or so at a time. I don’t have the room.”
“Forty?” He swallowed. Maybe he should have taken his chances with his D.C. apartment and the tourists.
“They aren’t a bother.”
“I bet.”
“Oh, but Sparky does sort of have the run of the place.”
“Sparky? Does he sleep in the house?”
“No, he sleeps in the office. He’s our mascot.”
“Great.” He pictured some flea-bitten alley cat cowering in the corner.
“He was Edwina’s favorite. Edwina is the lady who used to run the way station.”
“So there really are forty cats?”
“And Sparky.”
Oh, Christ. Cort leaned his head back
