Loree Lough - His Healing Touch

Scurrying—much like what she’d heard in the underbrush on the way from the car to the cabin—sounded on the other side of the door. Then, footsteps. Big, heavy footsteps.

She held her breath as her fertile imagination went to work: Maybe the cabin was a hideaway for a gang of jewel thieves. Maybe a murderer had holed up in there. What if a serial killer had slaughtered all the people inside, so they’d never be able to testify against—

“Who’s there?”

The suddenness of the deep baritone startled her so badly, she let out something that sounded like “Eek!”

Sighing, Kasey rolled her eyes, because she’d always hated it when women did that in the movies. And yet, when the door jerked open, she said it again. On the heels of a silly giggle, she sputtered, “Uh, um, h-hi!” in a tiny voice.

Backlit by the interior light, he was little more than a shadow on the other side of the screen door. And it was definitely a “he.” A tall, very broad-shouldered man who said nothing, nothing at all.

“Um, my, uh, my car got stuck in the mud back there?” She used her thumb to point behind her. “I was gathering flowers?” She held up the basket, in case he needed proof. “My, um, assistant gave me the wrong directions, so I’m lost?”

He continued to stand there, one hand on the frame, the other holding the brass knob of the inside door. He didn’t nod, didn’t smile, didn’t speak.

What’s with you? she wanted to ask him. Cat got your tongue? “I, uh, well, then it started to rain.” She giggled again, and this giggle sounded even sillier to her own ears than the last one. “There was thunder and lightning and the whole nine yards, y’know? And I thought, ‘Uh-oh, what’re you gonna do now?’ And then I saw your light? And—”

Kasey clamped her teeth together, wondering what on earth was making her spew out information in the form of questions. She’d never done anything like it before.

Maybe she was dreaming. Sure. Why not? That made sense, because this whole situation was beginning to feel like a nightmare. The darkness, the weather, this house and its owner—if this huge, silent man hadn’t killed the owner—all had the makings of a Hitchcock flick. She’d always wondered why heroines seemed to deliberately put themselves in danger in those movies. Now, feeling enormous empathy for the poor, delicate things, Kasey believed they’d probably only been desperate to get in out of the cold rain.

And speaking of rain, how long did this guy intend to let her stand here, dripping and shaking? Didn’t he have any manners at all?

“Oh, sorry,” he said, opening the screen door. “Where are my manners?”

Had he read her mind? Or had she, in her high-strung state, been thinking out loud? She decided she could just as easily do the rest of her thinking inside.

She slipped past him, taking care not to touch him—no easy feat, big as he was—and made a beeline straight for the heat of the fire. She’d prayed for a cozy cabin and a nice hot fire, something to eat and drink. Two outta four ain’t bad, she thought, thanking Him. Now what were the chances her host was a normal, decent guy? She’d settle for anything less than a criminal at this point.

He closed the door just then—a little louder than necessary, Kasey thought. When he bolted it, she swallowed, hard.

“I don’t get much company way up here.” He laughed softly. “Especially not during a thunderstorm.”

Well, she told herself, at least he has a nice laugh. Then her smile faded as she remembered that lady reporter’s interview with Ted Bundy. He’d had a nice laugh, too.

Frowning darkly, the stranger said, “You’re soaked to the skin.”

Which should have been the least of his worries. Between the mud that had clumped in the treads of her boots and the rain that dripped from her pants cuffs, she’d tracked in quite a mess. And now it was puddling on what appeared to be a polar bear rug. “Oh, wow. I’m so sorry,” she said. “When I get back to town, I’ll—”

“Easy. I know how to use a scrub brush.”

With no explanation whatever, he disappeared through a nearby doorway, leaving her alone near the fire. Had he gone to fetch his hatchet? A handgun? Maybe a rope and a roll of duct tape, so he could tie her up and torture her before—

He clomped back into the room on brown suede boots. Who is this guy? she asked herself, staring at the big shoes. Paul Bunyan? Then she noticed that he carried something white, and something red, neatly folded and stacked on his hand. On his unbelievably large hand. Larry from Of Mice and Men popped into her mind.

They stood for a moment, blinking and clearing their throats, as if trying to come to grips with the fact that she was stuck here, at least for the time being.

“You can change,” he said, nodding toward the room he’d just vacated, “in there.”

She nodded, too, as he handed the clothes to her. “Wow. Neat. A sweatsuit. And a towel, too,” she said. “This is great. This is good.” What inane thing would pop out of her mouth next? she wondered. “Let us thank Him for our food”?

Smiling, both dark brows rose high on his forehead. “Lemme guess,” he began, “your name is Red.”

“No, it’s—” She followed his gaze to the basket of cuttings still clutched in her free hand. Getting his Red Riding Hood joke, she laughed. Way too long and way too loud, but what did he expect after the chilly greeting he’d given her?

“I—I own a… These are for…” She put the basket on the nearest end table. Maybe she’d explain later. And maybe you won’t. “I’ll just go and change now.” And backing through the door, she said, “Thanks. Really. I appreciate it.”

The instant she closed the door, Kasey checked for a lock. “Rats!” she whispered through clenched teeth. “Whoever heard of a door without a lock?”

You have, was her silent answer. Her own bedroom door didn’t have a lock on it. Neither did her mom’s, or Aleesha’s. And while her bathroom door had one, it had been broken for as long as she could remember. Besides, if the guy on the other side of this door aimed to harm her, a lock wouldn’t stop him. And if that was his aim, wouldn’t he have done it by now?

Possibly.

And he might just be one of those killers who got his jollies by watching his victims suffer….

Trembling, Kasey leaned her back against the door. Get hold of yourself, ’cause if he is a murderer, you’ll need your wits about you! Then, trading her wet clothes for his gigantic, fleecy sweatsuit, she vowed to get her overactive imagination under control.

Adam had just placed two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table, when she came out of the bedroom. He hadn’t known what to expect, considering the shape she’d been in when she arrived, but surely not this….

No way she could’ve been taller than five foot five. He knew, because when she’d slunk past him to get inside earlier, the top of her head had barely reached his shoulder. Somehow, she looked even tinier in his bulky sweatsuit.

Her hair had looked darker, straighter, when it had been all plastered to her head by the rain. Now, thick waves that fell almost to her waist gleamed like a new penny in the firelight.

“I suppose it’s too much to hope that you have a phone way out here….”

“Cell phone,” he said, “but the battery is dead.”

“Seems to be a lot of that going around lately.” Then she noticed the mugs. “Oh, wow,” she said, smiling. “Hot chocolate, my favorite.”

The smile put a deep dimple in her right cheek at exactly the same moment as a loud, gurgling growl erupted from her stomach. She placed a hand over it. A very tiny, dainty hand, he noticed.

“Hungry?”