Valerie Hansen - The Wedding Arbor

Someday? Adam’s mind echoed the idea. Sara was talking as if they had a future together. That was pure fallacy. Yet he could see why she’d fallen into the trap of thinking their unique relationship would continue. There was already a kind of natural camaraderie between them. It sprang from the amiable rivalry of two corresponding intellects.

Talking with Sara was an adventure for his mind; one which he was thoroughly enjoying in spite of himself. He’d be willing to bet she was, too.

Which meant nothing. Adam strummed an opening chord and began to sing a plaintive ballad. By the third song, Sara’s eyes had closed and she’d dozed off, slouched in a chair she’d pulled close to the fire. He would have covered her with a blanket and left her there if he hadn’t been worried she might accidently get burned. Laying the guitar aside, he approached.

“Sara?” The shadows of her long, pale lashes fluttered. Her eyes opened slowly, their depths misty and unfocused. She began to smile. Adam was pleased to see that she’d recognized him immediately.

“Oops.” Her groggy expression grew apologetic. “I didn’t mean to nod off. Your singing was wonderful. It’s just that this has been a long, trying day.” Not to mention the weeks and months preceding it, she added silently.

“No problem.” He glanced toward the narrow bed. “I suppose you’d like to turn in.”

Sara’s strong sense of fairness surfaced. “I’m not taking your bed, if that’s what you mean. I’ll just make myself a pallet here on the floor, next to the fire where it’s warm.”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind.”

She was wholly awake, now, her stubbornness in full flower. Getting to her feet she faced him, hands on her hips. “Who says?”

“I do. Not only is this my house, I’m a lot bigger than you are.”

“But I have Samson on my side.” Sara reached down to lay her hand atop the dog’s broad head and ruffle his silky ears. “Don’t I, boy?” The dog snuggled against her legs, his thick fur fluffier than usual due to the vigorous towel drying he’d received.

“I wouldn’t count on him to stay loyal,” Adam warned. “All I have to do is open the door to the refrigerator and he’ll be all mine again, heart and soul.”

“Just like a male. Always thinking about his stomach, right?”

Adam huffed. “Well, he didn’t get that big without considerable help from me.”

“I suppose not.” She gave the dog another affectionate pat. “I can see he’d have turned out to be a Chihuahua if you hadn’t taken such good care of him when he was a puppy.”

“You’re not going to distract me by making a joke out of it.” Adam had to stifle the smile brought on by the image of Samson as a lap dog. “You get the bed. End of discussion.”

“But where will you sleep?”

The moment she uttered the innocent question Sara felt her cheeks begin to burn. This was the awkward moment she had anticipated. Yes, she trusted her host—sort of—yet she felt compelled to remind him of her strong moral code. The problem was finding a way to express herself clearly without sounding as if she were preaching.

Adam remained firm. “I plan to sleep on the floor.”

“I didn’t mean to imply…” She broke off, unsure of how to proceed.

“You don’t have to apologize.” He pulled extra blankets out of the chest at the foot of the bed. “And you don’t have to explain. I already know you weren’t inviting me to bunk with you.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Does it surprise you?”

“A little.” Remaining near the warm stove she folded her arms across her chest and hugged herself for extra emotional support.

“Well, it shouldn’t. I’m usually a pretty good judge of people.”

“Usually?” Sara wished she could say the same for herself.

“Yeah. Sometimes I goof big time.” Like when I relaxed my guard and got Gene killed, he thought sadly.

Sara noticed Adam’s gaze dart for an instant to the box of clothing peeking out from under the bed. The place where he’d gotten the jeans she was wearing. Evidently, his reference to making a mistake had to do with whoever had once belonged to the expensive things. Which was a conundrum in itself. Anyone who could afford such luxuries would be seriously out of place in Adam Callahan’s austere life.

With a sigh, Sara crossed to the bed and perched, exhausted, on its edge, hands folded, shoulders slumped. “Okay, you win.”

“Good.” Adam regarded her quiet capitulation with puzzlement. “Are you all right?”

“Sure.” She yawned. “I was just thinking.”

“About what?” He busied himself making a pallet on the opposite side of the stove.

“About misjudging people. Apparently, you and I have that in common, too.”

“Too? What else is there?” He peered around the side of the portly black stove.

“Well, for one thing, Samson likes us both. Which naturally means he must be a really intelligent animal.”

“Come to think of it, you’re right. I probably should have paid more attention to his opinion in the past.” He paused, thoughtful. “Good night, Sara.”

Fully dressed she crawled under the covers and pulled them up around her chin. “Good night, Adam.” A silly bit of nostalgia popped into her mind and she added, “Good night, Grandpa, good night, John-Boy.”

Adam muttered softly as he padded across the floor to turn out the lights. Sara managed to stay awake barely long enough to thank God for her rescue and the kindness of the stranger who had taken her in. Before she was through praying she had fallen soundly asleep.

It was a nudge from Samson’s wet nose that roused her the following morning. Opening her eyes, Sara found him staring at her from barely six inches away. The effect was startling. So was his doggy breath!

Wide-eyed, she sucked in air to fuel a scream before she fully realized where she was. Or what kind of creature she was facing.

From across the room she heard a facetious, “Good morning. You going to sleep till noon?”

“I’m on vacation,” Sara countered. “Cut me some slack.”

Adam snorted. Apparently, his guest was not a morning person. “Yes, ma’am. Do you always wake up with such a sunny disposition?”

“No. Sometimes I’m much worse. What time is it, anyway?”

“Pretty late. Almost seven.”

With a theatrical moan, Sara ducked down and pulled the comforter up over her face. Samson, however, was not about to let his new playmate hide from him. He immediately began to root under the edge of the blankets with his broad nose, coming up inside the bedclothes next to Sara’s face.

“Aagh!” She bolted out of bed. Landing on the floor in her bare feet she glared at Adam. “You stinker! You put him up to that!”

“Not me. You’re the one who petted and fussed over him yesterday. If he’s spoiled, it’s your fault.”

Sara stood there in a half stupor and ran her fingers through her tangled hair. She never had been able to deal amiably with morning. This day was no different. Only the debt of gratitude which she owed her rescuer was keeping her from being a certified, card-carrying sourpuss.

She padded softly across the room. Adam was up to his midforearms in suds from the dishes they hadn’t taken the time to wash the night before. The man was too good to be real. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a spare cup of coffee?”

“Not till we stoke the wood stove, again. I’m running low on diesel and I’m not sure when I’ll be. able to get into town. I shut down the generator.”

“Oh, dear. What about the refrigerator?”

“It’ll stay cold if we don’t open it too often.” He shot her a condescending look. “You want coffee, go out to the woodshed, get an armload of dry kindling, and I’ll build you a fire.”