Jill Elizabeth - Frame-Up

The girl seemed oblivious, gazing around the rustic luxury of the cabin with hardly a second glance for her reluctant host. In fact, her gaze seemed riveted on the baby grand piano. Was he in for an afternoon of “Chopsticks” on the ivories?

Why today of all days for drop-ins, Lord?

The repeated mental question held more than a hint of a whine. Not a worthy or wise approach toward the Almighty.

David took a deep breath. Better start over, both with God and with his guests. He could hardly send the shivering pair back into the storm, however much he wanted to be alone today—the anniversary of Alicia’s death.

“Hi—uh—I’m David Greene.” As if the woman didn’t know. “Leave your wet shoes on the mat by the door. May I take your coats? There’s a fire.” He motioned toward the cozy blaze snapping in the fireplace. Now he was babbling like an imbecile. Why could he never get used to the waves of suspicion wafting from people? He cleared his throat. “You can warm your feet.”

A big grin bloomed on the girl’s delicate features, an immature copy of her companion’s more defined face. The girl’s mother or her older sister?

“Great! I’m Caroline,” the teenager said as she scraped her snow-laden shoes off her feet. She tipped her hood down, revealing a thick blond ponytail, and then shrugged out of the jacket. Underneath she wore the standard teenage garb of jeans and layered shirts.

The woman responded more slowly, shedding her soggy shoes and long coat, reluctance etched in drawn brows. She wore a green print blouse and a pair of tan slacks. The outfit complimented her fair complexion and slender figure. In her stocking feet, the top of her tawny head barely reached David’s chin. She clutched her coat tight to her chest, even as the girl relinquished hers to his care.

“I’m Laurel Adams, and this is my daughter, Caroline,” the woman said.

A soft flush of color crept across high cheekbones as she no doubt realized that the girl had already introduced herself. At least now the relationship between the pair was clarified.

Rubbing her hands together, Caroline took off for a spot near the hearth. The girl sank into an easy chair and extended her toes toward the fire.

“Way cool that you’re out here in the middle of nowhere,” she said. “I pictured Mom and me as popsicles in a ditch or pancakes over the edge of a cliff.” She darted David a half smile.

He grinned back, and the tension under his breastbone eased. He could like this kid. Of course, she might not be so friendly with him when her mother informed her who he was.

A stiff smile tipped the corners of Laurel’s lips. “Thank you for taking us in, Mr. Greene.”

Like he had an option? But then, since she assumed him a killer, she probably thought he was fully capable of slamming the door in their faces.

Suppressing an inner sigh, David took hold of Laurel’s jacket, his direct stare challenging her to release the garment. She let it go and backed away, gaze darting between her daughter and him. He headed for the coat closet next to the entrance to the kitchen. Receding footfalls said that his lovely, frightened guest had scurried for the hearth.

He hung their coats, then swiveled to find Laurel seated in a chair beside her daughter. Her focus was on him. Questions shouted from her expression. He could imagine what they might be. “Did you kill your girlfriend?” probably topped the list. Most folks couldn’t bring themselves to be so blunt as to ask the question directly, but then, most people weren’t snowed in with him.

“Our cell phones don’t have service here,” she said. “Would you have a landline so we can let people know where we are?”

An innocuous question, if a person ignored the sub-text of fear.

He shook his head. “No landline. When I come to the mountains, I’m not big on communicating with the outside world.”

Her lips flattened, then she attempted another smile that only succeeded in becoming an anxious grimace. “How about internet service? We could instant message or email or—”

He shook his head. “I have a CB radio. I can give a holler to the authorities in Estes Park as to your whereabouts, and they can communicate with your husband or anyone you’d like.”

“It’s just Mom and me.” Caroline waved a breezy hand. “Has been for a long ti—”

The pointed clearing of her mother’s throat cut the girl’s words short, but David got the picture. Or at least a hint. The specific reason for the absent dad/husband remained a mystery.

“You won’t be going anywhere soon anyway,” he said. “This storm is anticipated to last through the night, and it’ll be longer than that before the roads are cleared. Why don’t we take the chill off over a cup of coffee? Or cocoa or tea, if you prefer.”

“Tea would be awesome.” Caroline threw a grin over her shoulder. “Do you have anything fruity and spicy? Sniffing the steam jazzes my sinuses.”

A chuckle spurted from David even as the girl’s mother darted her daughter one of those Mom looks.

“Caroline, we can’t expect our host to wait on us.”

The girl’s expression flattened. “But—”

“I offered, Ms. Adams,” David said.

“Yeah, he offered.” Caroline’s infectious grin sparkled forth.

David tendered a slight smile in return. “Tea it is, then. If you’re looking for something to do, help yourself to a book or a board game.” He waved toward the floor-to-ceiling set of shelves built into the opposite wall.

“Thanks, Mr. Greene.” The girl bounced to her feet. “I know my mom’s bummed about missing her speaking gig, but we might as well make the best of being snowed in. Right?”

“You’re a public speaker, Ms. Adams?”

His question jerked Laurel’s focus away from her daughter, and her gaze met his. A spark lit the brown depths. “I travel quite a bit, speaking to groups about grief, loss and single parenthood.”

“Yeah, and she’s even got a reputation for being funny. Can you figure that?” Caroline giggled as she drifted toward the laden bookshelf.

“Really?” David raised his eyebrows.

Color rose in Laurel’s face.

He swallowed a smile. Whether or not her speeches were funny, the subject matter was still serious. Raising a kid alone was no laughing matter. Not that he’d know about it firsthand, but the mere thought gave him the willies.

Laurel’s chin lifted, and she rose in a fluid motion that dripped elegant dignity. David caught his breath. His mother was the only other woman he’d known to command a room so completely with a simple action. An ache throbbed deep in his chest. After all these years, he still missed Mom. Always would. This woman had his mother’s air of confident grace, though an unfortunate pinch of pride stiffened her spine.

Laurel wandered toward the bookshelf in Caroline’s wake. “Several years back, a few partners and I started a nonprofit organization called Single Parents Coalition. Have you heard of it?”

“Can’t say that I have, but it sounds like a needed service.”

“Oh, it is!” Her whole face softened and lit, and David’s heart went kabump for reasons he couldn’t entirely explain. Perhaps he was just responding to her passion for her vocation.

“I’ll get the tea.” He faded into the small but complete kitchen, and got busy at the single-cup brewer.

He shouldn’t let himself be too interested in his uninvited guests. There was no point in getting friendly with these people. The cloud of suspicion over his head nullified any prospect of warmth or ease between them.

Too bad even he didn’t know for sure what happened three years ago. He had no recollection beyond a night of partying that ended with him passing out—normal in those days.