Roxanne Rustand - A Temporary Arrangement

Keifer crossed the room to the fireplace and prodded a well-stocked kindling box with his foot. “He’s got lots of logs, if we want a fire.”

“That’s a relief. You wouldn’t by any chance be a Boy Scout, would you?”

His head jerked up. “Why?”

Touchy. What was it with this kid? “I just wondered if you knew how to start a fire, that’s all.”

Behind her, an open staircase with a log railing led to a balcony, where three doorways presumably led to bedrooms. To the left of the fireplace, a door stood ajar. She rubbed her upper arms, shivering. “I can take care of making the fire. But first, I need some dry clothes.”

The boy put several logs in the fireplace. Studied them, then arranged them in the reverse order. From the stubborn tilt of his chin she suspected that it was just guesswork.

“Um, Keifer, could you tell me where I’d find your dad’s closet?”

The boy hitched a thumb toward the door near the fireplace.

“You don’t think he’d mind if I borrowed something?”

“Nah. He always wears the same old stuff anyway.”

Maybe this charming room was out of character, but Ethan’s choice of clothing apparently wasn’t. It really was surprising, she thought as she moved to the doorway and tentatively reached inside for a light switch. A recluse like Ethan, having such a lovely home.

Inheritance, maybe.

Or the lottery.

Perhaps even something illegal, which would account for his worry about a stranger taking care of his son. Kids tended to talk too much and if there was some sort of evidence…

She pushed the door open wider, expecting to see a sea of clothes scattered across the floor and a rumpled bed that hadn’t been made since 1970.

But again, Ethan surprised her.

The bedroom was huge—easily double the size of her own back in Detroit. There was definitely male clutter. Magazines piled next to the bed. A pair of jeans and a shirt slung over a chair. But the log-framed bed was made, and intriguing wildlife paintings hung on the walls.

Filling the wide outward curve of floor-to-ceiling windows stood a built-in desk topped with a computer, two printers and a phone/fax. Stacks of paper tilted precariously on the desk, on the floor next to it and on the chair. There were books open on every flat surface not filled with electronics and crumpled wads of paper lay like snowballs across the hardwood floor.

Whatever Ethan Matthews did, he certainly did with a vengeance.

She stopped to study a framed eight-by-ten on the bedside table. Ethan sat on a boulder with the boy—perhaps four or five—on his knee. Fall sunshine lit a backdrop of bright fall leaves and caught the golden highlights in his chestnut hair.

Abby’s breath caught at seeing the man in his element. She’d seen only his injury. His stubbornness. She’d been focused on his immediate need for appropriate care.

Here, his teeth flashed white against the tanned planes of his face. She couldn’t help but appreciate his broad, muscular shoulders, square jaw and strong cheekbones, yet she was even more impressed by the protective way he held his son.

Standing in his most personal space, she suddenly felt very much like an intruder. “Hey, Keifer,” she called over her shoulder. “Could you come here a second?”

He grudgingly showed up a few minutes later, a smudge of soot on his cheeks and his fingers blackened.

She hid a smile. “Could you help me find those clothes you mentioned? I hate to go hunting through your dad’s things.”

“The drawers,” he mumbled, pointing across the room. “Over there.”

She’d made it past the king-size bed when a loud crack! shook the house and the lights went out. The pungent, sharp tang of ozone filled the air.

She spun toward the door. Stumbling over something, she reeled into the edge of the desk. A towering stack of paper showered to the floor. “Keifer! Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer. “Keifer?”

Shuffling through the paper on the floor, she reached to steady herself against the desk and yet another stack of documents cascaded over the edge.

“Keifer!”

When she finally reached the door, the empty living room was dark and illuminated only by flashes of lightning, and she could hear the back door in the kitchen banging against the wall as gusts of damp air blasted through the house.

A door she’d locked just minutes ago.

“My God,” she whispered into the darkness. “Why would he leave?”

IGNORING THE SOUND of Abby calling his name, Keifer took a wary step off the porch stairs, clutching the edges of his rain slicker together with one hand. He aimed the flashlight around the yard, hoping Rufus would come running.

It was all the way dark now, with the rain falling in steady icy sheets. Such total blackness that the flashlight hardly mattered, and with the wind tearing at his raincoat, the beam wavered, creating spooky shapes and shadows.

Shaking as much from the cold rain as his lifelong fear of the dark, he took another step. And another. Then he gave up trying to hold the coat closed and gripped the flashlight with both hands. “R-Rufus? Roooo-fus!”

He heard whining from the direction of the toolshed. A faint yelp.

Lightning flashed. The surrounding trees lit up for a split second, their gnarled branches reaching for him, the whorls of bark on their trunks forming misshapen faces straight out of some slasher movie.

Stifling a sob, he ran to the shed and fumbled with the latch. From inside he heard the frantic scrabbling of toenails against the wood and a sharp bark. “Rufus?”

She burst through the door the second he got it open, twisting and wiggling around his legs, jumping up to lick his cheek. He fell flat on his butt, his hands palms down in the squishy mud. She licked his cheek again, but by the time he scrambled to his feet she’d disappeared into the shed again.

“Rufus!” He tried to fight back his panic as lightning struck again. “C’mon, girl. Please!”

She didn’t appear.

Warily, Keifer aimed the flashlight into the shed. Creepy stuff hung from hooks: ropes and saws and garden tools, the glittering blade of a scythe he’d seen Dad use to cut weeds. A few old rabbit cages were piled in a corner.

In the center, an old quilt covered a lumpy shape roughly the size of a grizzly.

“R-Rufus?” he whispered. “Where are you?”

Thunder rumbled through the sky, shaking dust from the rafters. He wavered, took a step back.

The black lab emerged from the shadows a second later with something small and limp hanging from her mouth. His stomach lurched. A rat?

Then something clamped onto his shoulder, and all he could do was scream.

KEIFER’S KNEES BUCKLED as he panicked. Escape—but where?

He was already too far into the shed.

The door was blocked—

“It’s just me, honey…I called your name. Over and over.” Abby released his shoulder and patted him on the back, talking loudly above the wind-driven rain lashing the shed. “You scared me to death, running off like that!”

His fear turned to embarrassment and anger. “You’re not my mom.”

“I’m responsible for keeping you safe,” she said in an even voice. “Let’s go into the h—”

She stared over his head. He turned and saw Rufus had returned with that rat-thing in her mouth. He suppressed a shudder.

“Did you know she was going to have puppies?” Abby crouched and crooned softly to the dog. “I wonder if your dad knew they were due?”

Rufus edged farther into the pool of light from his flashlight. Sure enough, she held a bedraggled pup in her mouth. “It looks dead,” Keifer whispered.

Abby studied the puppy. “No, but I bet the poor thing is cold. Does the dog have a bed in here? Anything your dad might’ve set up to help keep her family warm?”