A Home for Adam

by Gina Ferris Wilkins

  He took her arm. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “Let’s get you inside.”

  It wasn’t easy to get her to her feet. She was obviously exhausted, and out of shape. They’d made it only halfway to the door when she bent over with a low moan, both arms wrapped around her middle.

  “What’s wrong? Have you hurt yourself?” Adam demanded, impatient to get her inside where he could check her over.

  “Cramp,” she whispered, trying to straighten.

  He nodded and half dragged, half carried her the rest of the way inside.

  He slammed the door behind them, still supporting her sagging weight. He ripped the wet knit cap off her head, exposing a short, tumbled mass of dark curls. He tugged her purse from around her neck and tossed it aside, then unwound the muffler from her throat, hampered more than helped by her groping hands.

  “Be still,” he ordered her, already reaching for the top button of her coat. “We have to get you out of these wet things so you can get warm in front of the fire.”

  His words must have sounded appealing to her. She let out a long, shuddering sigh and went still, allowing him to fumble with her sleet-stiffened coat. He slid the heavy garment off her shoulders and released it to fall to the floor. And then he focused suddenly on the body he’d revealed. The very pregnant body.

  “Oh, hell,” he muttered, even as she pressed her hand to her side and gave another broken groan.

  He helped her into the chair closest to the fire. “Are you in labor?” he demanded, fervently hoping she would say no.

  As if she’d read his thoughts, she shook her head. “Just cramps,” she whispered huskily, her body racked with shivers. “I walked...a long way.”

  Her feet were soaked, the thin leather sneakers no protection against the conditions she’d walked through. He whipped them off, and her thick red knee socks along with them, exposing small, blue-veined feet. He chafed them for a moment between his hands. Her jeans were wet to the knees, but her sweater, which had been protected by her heavy coat, was dry. He reached beneath it.

  The woman automatically stiffened and pulled away from his groping hands.

  “I’m only helping you out of these wet jeans,” Adam told her impatiently. “Your sweater is still dry, you can leave that on, but these jeans have to go. Here,” he added, snatching a colorful afghan off the couch. “You can wrap up in this.”

  It was quite apparent that she hated being in this situation, but she didn’t bother to resist him any further. Maybe she’d realized that protests wouldn’t have accomplished anything. Adam was determined to take care of her, whether she liked it or not. It was for her own good, after all.

  As soon as she was wrapped snugly in the afghan, he hurried into the kitchen and put a kettle of water on to boil, then snatched up a tea towel and carried it back into the living room. He draped it over her head and rubbed energetically at her wet hair. She mumbled a complaint from beneath the towel, but he ignored her.

  Her curls were even more wildly disarrayed when he’d finished, but at least they were reasonably dry, he noted in satisfaction. And there was some color coming back into her face, a flush of pink in her cheeks, a heightened brightness in her amber eyes. He didn’t care if temper was responsible for those encouraging signs, as long as he could be sure she was all right.

  He leaned close to her face and stared intently into her eyes, studying first one, then the other. “Did you hit your head?”

  “No, I—”

  “Did you fall while you were walking?” he asked, turning his attention to her abdomen. He placed both hands searchingly on her stomach, relieved to feel a strong kick beneath his right palm. It felt as though Junior was healthy—and angry. Adam didn’t blame the kid.

  He prodded the woman’s ankles, which were swollen, but not alarmingly so. “Any sharp pains, or numbness?”

  “I’m tired, I’m cold and I feel as though I’ve been run over by a snowplow, but other than that, I’m fine,” the woman replied, sounding a bit peevish. “You can stop pawing me now.”

  Adam lifted an eyebrow and gave her a look that had made bigger men than he quail.

  The woman met his eyes without flinching, her slightly indented chin lifted in a stubborn manner that rather amusingly reminded him of his grandmother.

  A shrill whistle sounded from the kitchen. “Water’s boiling,” Adam said, shoving himself to his feet. “Decaffeinated instant coffee or herbal tea?”

  “Tea, please,” she said, her head lowering a bit at the subtle reminder that he was doing his best to make her comfortable.

  Her hands were still trembling so badly that Adam had to help her get the cup to her blue-tinged lips. He cautioned her to sip slowly; she gave him a faintly resentful look, but complied.

  Adam was relieved to see the color slowly returning to her lips, though the occasional shiver still rippled through her. She must have been cold right through to the bone, he thought with a shake of his head.

  “What were you doing out on a night like this?” he couldn’t resist asking. “The main highway is three miles away. This road runs right into the lake. There are only three other cabins down here, and they’re boarded up for the winter. Where’d you think you were going?”

  “I got lost,” she admitted, staring down into the steaming teacup. “I was looking for the Bide-a-Bye Inn. A guy at a convenience store in Hot Springs gave me directions, but I guess I made a couple of wrong turns. I couldn’t find anything in this direction...and then the weather turned so bad and I didn’t know whether to turn back or go on. And then I lost control of the car and hit a tree.”

  “How far from here?” Adam asked, wondering how far she’d walked in that storm.

  “I don’t know. I could see the lights to your cabin through the trees and I just kept walking toward them. It seemed to take a very long time,” she added, her stark tone telling more than her words.

  Must have been several hundred yards, at least, Adam thought, amazed that she’d even made it this far. For such a petite woman, she must be a lot tougher than she looked. “What’s your name?”

  “Jenny Newcomb.”

  “I’m Adam Stone.” He helped her take another sip of the tea, his hands cupped securely around hers on the mug.

  Leaning so close to her, he could see that her lashes were thick and dark, her cheekbones high, her nose straight and nicely proportioned. There were shallow indentions at the corners of her soft mouth and that intriguing dimple in her chin. Her complexion was nearly flawless, though still too pale for his comfort.

  She seemed embarrassed by his close scrutiny. She squirmed in the chair and pushed the nearly empty cup away. “I don’t want any more,” she said. “But thank you,” she added, the words sounding a bit rusty.

  Adam didn’t argue with her. He set the cup on a nearby table, then stood looking at her, his hands on his hips. “Okay, Jenny Newcomb,” he said, thinking aloud. “What am I going to do with you now?”

  Chapter Two

  Jenny didn’t particularly like Adam Stone’s question—nor the other questions it provoked. Who was this man? What was he doing out here alone in a deserted vacation cabin? And what was he going to do with her?

  She studied him as closely as he’d studied her earlier. He looked rather scruffy, his lean, tanned face unshaven for at least several days. His dark hair was tousled, silvered at the temples, making her estimate his age at somewhere close to forty, give or take a couple of years.

  His eyes were dark and intense, bracketed with shallow creases that matched the ones around his unsmiling mouth. There was a small bump on the ridge of his nose; she suspected it had been broken. He was tall and on the thin side, though his shoulders were broad and she had reason to know that he was certainly strong.

  She felt a faint flicker of unease at the sudden realization that she was alone in the middle of nowhere with a scraggly stranger. But then she remembered how gentle he had been even when he’d been stripping off her clothes despite her resistance.
How he’d steadied her as she’d sipped the tea he’d made her. The slight satisfaction she’d seen in his face when her baby had kicked beneath his cautiously searching hand.

  She’d never been a particularly good judge of character—as was evident by her present circumstances—but she decided impulsively that Adam Stone, whoever he was, meant her no harm.

  She allowed herself to relax into the comfortable armchair. “I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice husky from cold and weariness. “What are we going to do now?”

  “You need some rest,” he said. “You’re trembling with exhaustion, and no wonder. I have a phone. Is there someone you need to call, someone who’ll be frantic with worry about you? Your husband? Family?”

  She shook her head. “No husband. And no one is expecting to hear from me,” she murmured, then belatedly realized that she’d just made herself even more vulnerable to him, should he be the homicidal type.

  Great, Jenny. Why don’t you just offer him your money and your life?

  Adam sighed, and she couldn’t tell if he was equally exasperated with her dangerous candor or annoyed that he was temporarily responsible for her. As her eyelids grew heavier, she found that she really didn’t care.

  “If I could just lie down for a little while,” she said, the words hardly louder than a whisper. Surely a brief nap would clear her mind, grant her a semblance of her usual stubborn self-sufficiency.

  “I’ll help you into the bedroom,” Adam said, reaching for her hands. “You get some rest and then we’ll talk about what to do next.”

  Sounded like an excellent plan to her. Jenny allowed him to hoist her out of the chair, clinging weakly to the afghan in a vain attempt at covering her bare legs, which were exposed from the thigh down by her oversize sweater. She leaned against him as he led her into the bedroom, more from weakness than trust.

  The bed hadn’t been made since he’d last slept in it. He settled her onto the pillows and pulled a pile of fluffy blankets over her, leaving her cocooned in heavenly warmth. She was aware that he stood for a moment by the bed before he turned and walked toward the door without speaking.

  He’d almost left the room when she felt compelled to say something. “Mr. Stone?”

  “It’s Adam.” He corrected her in a soft growl. “Do you need anything?”

  “No. I just wanted to say...thank you.”

  He stood very still for a moment, a tall, solid silhouette in the backlighted doorway. And then he nodded. “You’re welcome. Call out if you need me. I’ll be in the next room.”

  She closed her eyes and let sleep claim her, aware even as she lost consciousness that there was something oddly reassuring in the knowledge that this stranger wasn’t far away.

  * * *

  So much for peaceful solitude. Adam stood at the window of the cabin, staring out into the night. The winter storm that had seemed to guarantee his peace and quiet earlier now posed more of a trap. There was no way he could drive on the two inches of ice that lay beneath the still-falling snow. It would be dangerous even if he had a four-wheel-drive vehicle; in his Jaguar, it would be downright deadly.

  He still found it hard to believe the woman had been out alone on a night like this, lost on rural back roads with no one knowing where she was. She talked like an intelligent woman, but it hadn’t been a very bright stunt to attempt. She was damn lucky that she’d ended up here, where he could watch out for her until road conditions improved. She could have ended up stranded alone—or worse, at the mercy of someone less honorable than he.

  He had to admit that he was intensely curious about her. Who was she? Was she really as alone as she’d implied when she’d told him that no one knew where she was, or would be concerned by her disappearance? Where had she been going? Where was the father of her baby?

  Why had his pulse tripped when he’d knelt in front of her and looked deeply into her amber eyes?

  That frivolous and unwelcome question made him scowl and shake his head. Where had such a stupid thought come from?

  He turned away from the window, from the frozen landscape outside it, and glanced around the snug cottage. Jenny’s coat was still lying on the floor where he’d dropped it, as were her shoes, socks, damp jeans, gloves, hat and muffler. He straightened the room, draping her wet things over chairs near the fireplace to allow them to dry.

  He stumbled over something when he bent to pick up her coat. Looking down, he saw her purse, its contents spilled across the hardwood floor.

  He hung her coat on the rack beside the door, next to his own heavy parka, then bent to scoop her belongings back into her purse. It would have taken a much more noble soul than he not to give in to his curiosity as he collected her things. Adam had never made any claims to nobility.

  A battered billfold revealed a Texas driver’s license that gave her name as Jennifer Anne Newcomb, placed her age at twenty-six—older than he’d first thought—and listed a Dallas address.

  He didn’t rifle through the wallet, though he noted that there were no credit cards or photographs in evidence. He closed it again and shoved it into the purse, along with two lipsticks, a powder compact, a pair of sunglasses, a bottle of prenatal vitamins and a roll of butter-rum Life Savers.

  A ragged white legal-size envelope caught his eye; he reached for it, intending to stuff it into the purse with the other things. His attention was grabbed and held by the stack of hundred dollar bills visible through a tear in the envelope. He couldn’t resist counting them.

  A moment later, his pithy curse blistered the air. What in hell was the woman doing driving around by herself with five thousand dollars in cash in her purse? Didn’t she know there were plenty of scum who’d kill without hesitation or remorse for this kind of money?

  Jennifer Anne Newcomb was obviously in need of a keeper. Unfortunately Adam had always had a weakness for people who seemed to need his always-sensible guidance. He’d have a little talk with her as soon as she woke up, he decided with a sigh, sliding the money carefully into her purse. She was just darned lucky she’d ended up on the right doorstep, he thought again.

  He wasn’t entirely oblivious to the arrogance in the statement, but he was confident that he could be of great service to her if she’d be reasonable enough to accept his advice.

  Adam was in charge again, as he’d been on a regular basis since he was eight years old. By now, he was fully resigned to the responsibility of the role.

  * * *

  Jenny woke with a groan, aware even before she opened her eyes that every inch of her body seemed to be sore. She was accustomed to the various discomforts that accompanied late pregnancy—low back pain, painfully swollen breasts, battered ribs, aching thighs, throbbing ankles—but this was different. She hurt all over.

  She forced her eyes open, then blinked a few times trying to focus on dark, unfamiliar surroundings. Where was she? Why was it so dark?

  Memory returned instantly, and she struggled to sit upright. She’d wrecked her car. She’d made a nightmarish trek over treacherously icy ground, through woods and underbrush, and had landed on the doorstep of an unshaven man holed up alone in a summer cottage. She’d allowed him to strip her and grope her, pour tea down her throat and then tuck her into his bed.

  Had she completely lost her mind?

  She thought of the money in her purse—every last penny she owned. It would be just her luck to find out that the guy had cleaned her out and left her stranded here.

  She had no idea what time it was, how long she’d been asleep, and she couldn’t see her watch in the darkness. She tried to turn on the lamp on the nightstand, but nothing happened when she turned the switch.

  She frowned, suddenly aware that there was no light coming through the open bedroom door, and that the room was considerably cooler than it had been earlier. She’d been warm enough beneath the pile of blankets, but now that she had thrown them off, she shivered, her bare legs prickling with gooseflesh.

  What had happened to the electricity?
Had the storm taken it out...or had the scruffy stranger left her stranded here alone, to die of the cold?

  Stop it, Jenny. You’re letting your imagination get away from you again. Get up and go find out what’s going on, for crying out loud.

  “Nag, nag, nag,” she muttered to that insistent little voice in her head, but she pushed herself to her feet. Her toes curled when they made contact with the cold wood floor. She dragged a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around her shoulders, letting it dangle almost to her ankles. And then she took a step toward the open doorway.

  She stopped with a startled cry when a massive dark shape suddenly blocked her path.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” the man said quickly, reaching out to steady her when she stumbled backward. “You’re safe with me. Remember?”

  The voice was familiar, and so was the face when she finally brought his heavily shadowed features into focus. His name...Adam Stone, she recalled. He’d told her to call him Adam.

  “Yes, I remember. What happened to the lights? And the heat?”

  “Went out about twenty minutes ago. I’ve checked the breakers, but I think the problem is with the lines down the road somewhere. It happens often in an ice storm. The weight of the ice causes lines to snap, and it takes a while for the power crews to get them all repaired. I was just coming in to make sure you were warm enough.”

  “It is getting cold in here,” she admitted.

  “Come into the living room. I’ve got a good fire going in there, and it’s considerably warmer. Fortunately the kitchen stove is a gas range, so we can have hot water and food.”

  She moved toward the doorway, but stopped when he spoke again. “Your feet must be freezing on that bare floor. Your own socks are still damp, but I’ve got some you can wear. Hang on a second while I—ouch,” he said when he bumped heavily into a piece of furniture.

  She heard the scrape of a drawer opening, then his exclamation of satisfaction. “Here they are,” he said, and returned carefully to her side.

  “I’ll put them on in the living room,” she said, impatient to get close to that fire he’d mentioned.