Ingrid Weaver - Fugitive Hearts

“That’s what health clubs are for.” Adelle huffed. “And doesn’t that skinflint Derek have a snowblower?”

“Yes, he does, but it broke down last week. I really don’t mind, Adelle. It helps take my mind off…things.”

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Positive. I’m sorry you were so alarmed. Is everything okay with you?”

“Sure, everything’s fine.”

“Did you get much snow down there?”

“I’ll say! We got so much the mayor declared a state of emergency and called in the army.”

“You’re kidding!”

“Haven’t you seen the news?”

“I don’t have a TV in the cabin, remember? And the radios there decided to break down yesterday.”

“Then you’ll have to catch a newscast, now that you’re at the lodge. The blizzard shattered all the snowfall records from here to Montreal.”

Dana toed off her boots and hitched herself up to sit on the desk. “Wow. If it was that bad in the city, no wonder you were so worried about me.”

“You’re not the only one in the family with an imagination. Remember those stories grandpa used to tell us about trappers in the old days?”

“Vividly.”

“When you didn’t answer your phone today, I was picturing you lost out in the snow somewhere and slowly freezing into a lump of ice.”

“Mmm.”

“Don’t say I’m overreacting. It could happen.”

“Oh, I know. It almost did.”

“Dana! You said—”

“Not to me, Adelle. Two nights ago I found a man on my doorstep. He was practically frozen.”

“What!”

Briefly Dana told her sister about John Becker.

“Oh…my…God,” Adelle said.

“He’s okay now. He left first thing this morning.”

“Oh…my…God! I can’t believe you took a complete stranger into your home. Haven’t you heard the news?”

“No. I told you, the radios—”

“Two days ago there was a prison break at the Kingston Penitentiary,” Adelle said, her voice rising again. “Three of the convicts are still at large.”

“Kingston’s a long way from here. And those guys would head for the city or the border. They’d be crazy to head for the bush, especially in the winter.”

“So? They might be crazy. What if this John Becker was one of those escaped prisoners?”

It was hard for Dana to believe that her thoughts had once gone along those same lines. Was it only yesterday that her visitor had made her nervous, with his height and his desperado aura?

But that was before she had seen the naked love in his eyes as he’d talked about his child. “That’s impossible,” she said. “John’s no criminal. Morty adored him.”

“As if a cat can judge someone’s character.”

“Morty hated Hank,” she pointed out.

“Hank was an idiot. But, Dana, this isn’t funny. That man could have been anyone.”

“Well, he wasn’t. He’s a salesman whose car went off the road in the storm when he was trying to get home to his daughter. And he’s one of the sweetest, gentlest men I’ve ever met,” she said firmly.

Dana wasn’t sure whether she had placated her sister by the time Adelle got off the phone. One thing was for certain. If she’d shoveled her way to the lodge in order to get her mind off John, it hadn’t worked.

She went to the floor-to-ceiling window that dominated the south wall of the lounge. From this vantage point, she could see the entire resort complex, from the caretaker’s cabin to the boathouse that was nestled by the shore. It all looked so peaceful now. The frozen lake glittered like powdered diamonds in an unbroken expanse of white. Melting snow winked golden from the tips of the pine boughs. It was hard to believe a vicious storm had raged through here less than twenty-four hours ago.

As a matter of fact, it was hard to believe anything that had happened. Fresh drifts had obliterated any tracks John may have made on his way to the cabin, and the snowplow had cleared away the tracks he had made when he had left. Had she really saved a man from freezing to death? Had he been as drop-dead gorgeous as she remembered, or had the whole incident been twisted by her lonely imagination?

“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself. Of course it had happened. Even her imagination couldn’t have conjured up someone like John Becker. Instead of wondering about him, why didn’t she just give him a call and check to make sure he had reached home safely? That would be the decent thing to do, wouldn’t it? And it would prove her sister’s ridiculous suspicions were wrong. Maybe then she would be able to get her mind back on her work.

She returned to the front desk and retrieved the Toronto telephone directory from one of the shelves. There were half a dozen John Beckers, but she couldn’t remember the exact address she had read in John’s day planner. She chose a street that seemed familiar, then, before she could give herself time to reconsider, she picked up the receiver and dialed.

The voice that answered was that of a stranger. Assuming she must have been mistaken about John’s address, Dana tried the next John Becker. She went through all six, then started on the listings for J. Becker, but still no success. Maybe her John had an unlisted number.

Her John? She closed the phone book and sighed. No, he wasn’t hers. This was pathetic. Why was she doing this? If he had wanted to extend their relationship, he could have called her, couldn’t he?

But he didn’t know her number at the cabin, did he? Unless he had already tried to contact her through the lodge…

Quickly Dana pressed the button on the answering machine to play the messages. One was from Derek, giving her his schedule for the week, one was from the local marina to say that the new snowmobile Derek had ordered was in, and the rest were from Adelle. Nothing from John.

Could he have been delayed getting home? If the storm had been as bad as Adelle had said, the highways north of Toronto would be terrible. They might even be closed. She glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that it was four sharp. The headline news channel would be starting its report.

Dana returned to the lounge and clicked on the television there. The storm and its aftermath was the number-one story. She gasped at the footage of the ravaged city—entire streets were still blocked as the public works department tried to cope with the mountains of snow. Emergency services were overloaded, and a plea was going out to the public to check on their neighbors.

Slumping down on the couch, Dana muted the sound. Perhaps it was lucky that John had ended up at her cabin. If he hadn’t gone off the road when he had, he might not have made it back to the city, anyway. At least here he’d been safe.

A face flashed on the screen, and Dana’s heart thumped. The picture was stark black-and-white, but she recognized it instantly. Long dark hair, outlaw mustache, harsh features… It was John! Oh, God. Had he been in an accident? Fumbling for the remote, she turned the sound back on.

“…still at large.”

She frowned, certain she must have heard wrong.

“The other two prisoners were apprehended without incident this morning in Montreal,” the announcer continued. “Police are asking for the public’s help in locating Remy Leverette. He is thirty-three years old, stands six feet three inches, weighs two hundred pounds and has dark-brown hair and a mustache. If you have any knowledge of his whereabouts, please contact the authorities immediately.”

It was a mistake, Dana thought, staring at John’s face. Somehow the TV station had gotten the pictures mixed up. Or maybe it was a bad photograph. The photo on her book covers didn’t look anything like her. Maybe the camera had made this Leverette person look like John.