listened attentively as he explained how he and his younger sister, Glenda, were orphaned at the ages of sixteen and twelve when their parents were killed in a train/car accident, and their grandfather, Nate Spencer, a widower, took them in to raise. Stacy gathered Josh had adjusted to life in the Rocky Mountains, but his sister had hated it from the first moment.
“Gramps and I built a half-dozen fishing and hunting cabins and facilities down by the river. We do a good business all year around.” He sighed. “When Glenda was sixteen, she ran away to Timberlane, got a waitress job and refused to come back home to live despite Gramps’s threats and bribes. She stole money from the cabin rentals, lied to us about everything and was responsible for vandalism to the property by some of her pothead friends. Until her death two years ago, her life had spun out of control, and there was nothing that Gramps and I could do about it.”
He stood up abruptly, and firmness around his mouth and a fierce glower discouraged any more questions. Obviously Josh Spencer wasn’t a man who could be led where he didn’t want to go. However his sister had met her death, it was clear that he carried a lingering hurt deep inside, and he wasn’t about to talk about it.
“Time to turn in. We left a bed in her old room. You can use it.”
“Haven’t you got a couch somewhere?” she protested. Wearing the dead woman’s clothes was one thing, but sleeping in her bed was another. “I’d be fine bedding down anywhere.”
Refusing to listen to any argument, he put a firm hand on her arm and led her up the narrow staircase to a small bedroom at the front of the house.
At one time it might have been pleasant enough, Stacy decided, but a stale, musty smell permeated the room. Heavy, ugly curtains hung at two long, high windows. A single light bulb hung on a chain from the ceiling and sent an orangish light across a small bed, an old vanity dresser and a hooked rug that was rough under her stocking feet.
Stacy would rather have bedded down on the floor in the kitchen than stay cooped up in this room, but one look at her host’s marble face warned her that a choice of accommodations wasn’t an option.
A quiver of fear crept up her spine as he stood there, barring her way to the open door. His domineering, muscular frame filled up the small floor space, and she wondered if the brief pleasantries in the kitchen had been intended to lull her into a false sense of security.
She had never felt so totally helpless and vulnerable in her whole life. Here she was, trapped in a dead woman’s room and wearing her clothes. No chance to flee. No one to hear her cries. Outside the raging storm mocked any attempt to reject the questionable hospitality offered her.
“Good night, Miss Ashford,” he said, politely. In the dim light, she thought a flicker of something like amusement eased the firm muscles in his cheeks as he added, “You’ll be sure and lock the door, won’t you? Sometimes my grandfather walks in his sleep.”
After that unsettling announcement, he disappeared into the hall, and she heard his firm steps as he went back downstairs. She quickly shut the door and turned the skeleton key in the lock. Like the old bathroom door, it didn’t look strong enough to keep anyone like Josh Spencer out if he decided to come in. She consoled herself with the thought that a feeble old man wouldn’t be able to break it down.
Fighting against a rising claustrophobia as the stifling closeness of the tiny room crowded in on her, she went to a window and pulled back a dusty heavy drape. Dirty streams of water ran down the glass pane, and the raging storm outside warned that it would be stupidity to try and open the window.
Leaving the dangling ceiling light on, she lay down on the small bed still wearing the purple robe. Her body remained rigid for a long time until slowly her mental and physical exhaustion claimed her. Finally, with the smell of cheap perfume invading her nostrils, she relaxed, and slept.
THE ROOM WAS STILL in shadows when she woke, but a thin line around the window draperies told her it was morning. Eight o’clock, to be exact, she realized as she checked her wristwatch. She lay there for a moment, unconsciously listening for the noisy fury of the storm that had been in her ears for so many hours.
Stillness. No lashing rain. No thunder. The storm was over. Breathing a prayer of thanksgiving, she went over to a window, drew aside the faded curtain, and peered outside.
The weather was gray and dank, and the scene that greeted her eyes instantly dissipated her sense of well-being. Heavily wooded mountains rose to jagged and barren peaks against the colorless sky.
She could see a line of rustic cabins stretched along the river. All apparently empty. No smoke wafted from any of the chimneys, no cars were parked in the adjoining carports and no hint of anyone moving about.
He had lied to her. The place was closed down. A cold chill prickled the back of her neck. No one was around except him and his crazed grandfather.
Turning away from the window, she crossed the room and cautiously opened the door. She blinked in disbelief as she looked down at the neat pile of her own clothes, lying there washed and dried. The swell of gratitude was like nothing she’d ever felt before. She even blinked back grateful tears as she picked them up and made her way to a central bathroom a short distance down the hall.
She hurriedly took off the purple robe and socks and threw them in the corner. Once she was dressed again in her yellow slacks and summer top, she almost felt in charge of herself and the situation.
Her sense of confidence was short-lived, however. When she came into the kitchen, the old man was sitting at the table, eating. The minute he saw Stacy, he began jabbing his fork in her direction, shrieking, “Out! Out of my house.”
“Stop it, Gramps!” Josh ordered as he swung around to face his grandfather. He’d been standing in front of the stove, tending to a sizzling skillet. “If you’d wear your blasted glasses, you’d see the lady doesn’t look anything like Glenda.”
“I ain’t eatin’ with the likes of her,” his grandfather retorted. With the belligerent stubbornness of a child, the old man shoved back his chair, lumbered to his feet, and stomped his way out of the kitchen with a loud thumping of his cane.
“Sorry about that,” Josh said with an apologetic smile. “Are you ready for breakfast? Come on, sit down. Would you like some scrambled eggs and bacon?”
“No, thank you. I…I’m not much of a breakfast eater.” If she’d had any appetite it had been squelched by his grandfather’s hostile greeting. More than anything, she wanted to get out of the house as quickly as possible.
“I’d like to use your telephone, make arrangements for recovering the car and getting a ride to Timberlane.”
“Sorry, the storm knocked out service. Probably won’t be back in use for a couple of days. The telephone company takes its time getting to us.”
“Don’t you have a cell phone?”
“Nope, I’ve tried using one, but it kept breaking up and wasn’t any good in these mountains.” He pulled out a chair for her. “Sit down and have a cup of coffee.”
As Stacy glanced at the back door, Josh suspected that she was considering walking out of the house right then and there. Not that he blamed her. His grandfather’s explosive tirades would put anyone on edge, and she’d handled herself better than he would have expected any woman caught in these circumstances.
“It
