Game of Hearts

by Sara Logan

  "Chris, how much farther do you think that little inn is? We can't continue to drive in this. While I doubt that we'd meet someone, I can't see anything, and it's hardly worth going off the road."

  "I don't think it's very far. We should be almost to it, Alex. But you can't see!"

  "No, that's true, but we have to do something. I'm going to try it anyway."

  He lifted his foot from the brake pedal and they inched down the road, both straining intently to keep an eye on that wavering white line. They would reach thinner patches, where they could see the reassuring line glinting through the mist, and then immediately run into heavy areas where they were once again surrounded by a cocoon of gray. Then Alex gave a grunt of satisfaction and Christina peered ahead. She caught a brief glimmer of light, ahead on the right. The inn? Gripping her hands tightly together, she willed it to be the inn. It was! They crawled at a snail's pace into the little parking area, and Alex switched off the engine with a heartfelt sigh of relief.

  "Thank heavens! I wasn't at all sure we could make it. Chris, are you all right? You look very pale."

  "I was scared stiff! Yes, really, I'm O.K."

  "Let's go in and have a drink. I'm sure we could use one."

  Throwing off her fright, Christina gave him a trembling smile. "You can't get any liquor here, Alex; they don't sell it. And they would frown on our bringing our own."

  He groaned. "A country inn that doesn't sell whiskey! Only in America could it happen. In Scotland, they wouldn't stay in business a month. Oh, well, coffee sounds pretty good right now, doesn't it?"

  It did indeed, and the coffee was hot and strong and put the color back into Christina's cheeks. The dining room was deserted. Christina noticed that the only people who seemed to be about were the woman who served them their coffee and the owner of the male voice she heard coming from the direction of the kitchen. Otherwise, the place appeared to be empty of guests.

  "More coffee, sir?"

  Alex accepted the refill and commented on the lack of people.

  The woman, middle-aged, gray-haired, and cheerful-looking, laughed. "Yes, sir, they all left in a hurry. Two carloads of people it was. There's a ranger station below, and when the fog starts coming up, they call us. We warn anyone here so they can get down. I guess you two didn't make it, eh?" she asked unnecessarily.

  "Afraid not. We were up at the summit when a ranger told us. How long does it usually last?"

  The woman shrugged. "Hard to tell. It could go away in a couple of hours or stay for two days. M'husband says it'll burn off in the mornin'. Guess you folks'll want some rooms and some supper, if this lasts."

  "I guess we will. Thank you. The coffee's delicious."

  She beamed at him. "The pot's right over there, sir, so you just help yourself. The lady, too," she added belatedly.

  Christina grinned as the woman went away, to disappear into her kitchen. Another conquest for Alex!

  He was not sharing her smile. In fact, he looked worried. "Chris, I'm sorry about this. You do realize that we might not get down for hours, maybe not until morning?"

  This wasn't the first time Christina and her family had been marooned at this inn, and she leaned back in her chair and laughed at him. "I do know it, better than you do. Dad, Mom, and I once spent two days here. But don't worry about it! We were going to stay over anyway, and we'll get down when the fog lifts and not before. I think, though, that I should apologize to you. I should have thought of this, but the thing is, when you're up on the summit, you can't always tell in time that fog is coming in. It's a chance you take when you come up here."

  He looked somewhat mollified by her lighthearted acceptance of the situation and said, "At least we don't have to sleep in the car."

  She smothered a giggle. "Well, my friend, don't be too optimistic. You might prefer the dubious comforts of the car before morning."

  "What do you mean by that?" he asked with a frown. "You seem to know something that I don't."

  "Oh, I do, but I'm not at all sure if I should warn you or let you find out for yourself."

  "Warn me," he ordered. "I don't want any more surprises today."

  "That's too bad. You're in for quite a few. All right, all right!" she gave in, playfully ducking the fist he shook at her. "I'll tell you. There are rooms, certainly, but no heat. Do you have any idea how cold it gets at night at this altitude? Be glad we have our suitcases in the car. We'll need every warm thing in them before morning. Then, there's the bathroom. It has to be seen to be believed. It's a sort of community bathroom with open shower stalls."

  "Now that," he drawled, his eyes glinting wickedly at her, "sounds much more promising."

  "Believe me, it isn't. It has a concrete floor and no hot water. Oh, yes, that's the truth. I've shivered miserably in there more than once."

  "What other horrors can I expect?" It was suddenly obvious to her that he was enjoying this little inquisition.

  "Let me think. The last time I stayed here, it got so cold during the night that Mom, Dad, and I joined forces in one bed and huddled together miserably until morning. The food is good, though. Plain and simple, but hot and plenty of it. The rest of the conveniences, if you want to call them that, are pretty primitive."

  "Sounds like Scotland. Why don't they put heat in here?"

  "Why should they? Not many people stop here at all these days, even for a meal. Most go on up to the summit. This inn was originally built to provide shelter for unwary tourists caught up here in fog or snow. Now they only open the road in summer, closing it in November because snow and ice make the road impassable. Even the parkway closes in November. So they don't spend much money on the place. If you're caught up here, you have food and shelter, which is something, I guess…"

  "And the inevitable souvenir shop," he added dryly.

  "But of course! How could they possibly leave that out? You'll see some of the most peculiar things in there, too. Plastic back scratchers with pictures of Mount Mitchell on them. Stuffed black toy bears, which I personally adore, I'll admit that, and every item you can think of with something scenic from North Carolina on it. You can buy a T-shirt with 'I'm a Tarheel' written on it—someone from North Carolina is called a Tarheel—and some cute Indian things."

  "Indian? American Indian?"

  "Oh, yes, Cherokee. They originated around this part of the woods, you know, and only moved to Oklahoma later. There's still an Indian reservation near here. You'll find beaded moccasins, tomahawks, headdresses; you name it, they've got it."

  Alex slid a tip under the coffee cup and smiled. "Lead me to it! Fiona, my sister, collects dolls from around the world, and I bet she'd just love that stuff. She also seems to collect T-shirts. I can't think when I've seen her in anything else."

  "I guess Mr. Levi has captured the world with his jeans, and T-shirts do seem to go perfectly with jeans. I know; I wear them myself."

  "I think you look more fetching in a dress," said Alex, following her into the tiny souvenir shop. He stopped and stared, fascinated by the number of articles for sale, all crammed into one small room. Shelves and tables overflowed with things, most of them making him shudder as he examined them. They prowled happily for some time, looking at everything, giggling over a plastic toilet with Regards from Mount Mitchell written on the lid. Alex found an Indian doll carrying her papoose on her back and he studied the beaded moccasins for a long time. Christina bought a heavy fleece-lined sweat shirt with a picture of Mount Mitchell on it. Thinking of the chilly night ahead, she nearly bought two of them but restrained herself. As they paid for their purchases, Christina noticed Alex add two items to the pile that she hadn't seen him select: a large, fuzzy toy black bear and a deck of cards with an assortment of pictures of the Blue Ridge Mountains printed on the back.

  They returned to the dining room, and Alex dumped his purchases on a table and drew out a chair for her. She looked at the bear.

  "Company for a long, cold night, Alex?" she teased.

  "Yes, but no
t for me. You said you adored toy black bears, so here's one for you to snuggle up to. He's a lucky devil, at that," he added, watching with amusement as a quick flush rose to her cheeks. "And here's the best thing," he continued in triumph, "a deck of cards. I bet I can beat you at gin rummy two games out of three. Want some more coffee to revive you first?"

  For the rest of that darkening afternoon, they played a spirited game of gin rummy and drank many cups of coffee. Christina was a good player, but she quickly learned that she was not quite in Alex's league. Still, the final score was not too humiliating for her, and she helped him carry their luggage up to two of the little bedrooms upstairs in a lighthearted mood. He threw open the door and flicked on the light.

  "I see what you mean," he murmured, putting her suitcase down. "Not quite what I would call home, sweet home." She looked around. The small room was dim, cold, and uninviting. The bed was covered by a thin, light spread that had seen better days and, peeking from beneath it, a worn blanket. Christina had reason to know that she would be extremely grateful for that blanket before dawn, so she just nodded and tried not to giggle at Alex's reaction. Besides the bed, there was a chipped lavatory sink in one corner, cold water only, a straight chair, and a row of hooks on the wall to hang clothes on. She followed him next door and showed him that his room was no worse than hers, and he reluctantly agreed with her.

  Then, unable to resist the pleasure of doing it, she proudly threw open the door down the corridor that housed the bathroom and went into a fit of giggles at the expression on his face. His astounded gaze went around the freezing room, with its unadorned concrete floor, row of lidless toilets, and, on the opposite side of the room, row of open shower stalls.

  "I—I'm sorry, I know it's not funny but… Alex, really, it's just as awful as it looks. I knew you wouldn't be thrilled with it."

  "I've never seen anything like it! And I don't, I assure you, stay only at four-star hotels. I've roughed it in my time, but never, ever, have I encountered such a depressing room! They could at least paint the walls or something."

  "It would be a waste of good paint. Nothing would help but starting over. Isn't it cold?"

  Christina went back to her room, changed out of the light pants suit she wore into heavy denim jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a warm cardigan. Experience had taught her never to come to the mountains for any occasion without those items, and now she was very glad she hadn't left them out. She arrived back downstairs to find Alex waiting for her, talking to the woman who obviously ran the whole place, the owner of the voice they'd heard earlier having disappeared. He, too, had changed into thicker slacks and a sweater.

  "Mrs. Brown wants to know what we'd like for supper, Chris. Here's the menu."

  Christina took the chair he pulled out for her and studied the menu. "What's your special tonight, Mrs. Brown?"

  "Country-style steak, mashed potatoes, corn, biscuits, and apple pie—homemade apple pie."

  Christina handed back the menu and smiled. "That sounds great. I'll have tea if you have any and coffee if you don't."

  "Make that two," Alex said, waving away the menu. "I'll have coffee."

  The country-style steak was tender and delicious and the apple pie was so good that they each had seconds, Mrs. Brown, taking pity on them perhaps, went to the far end of the dining room where there was a fireplace and sofa and a couple of armchairs and hastily built and lit the fire. By the time they had finished eating, the fire was crackling merrily, and they hastened to sink down, groaning, on the sofa.

  "If there's nothing else," Mrs. Brown said, putting two fresh coffee cups on the nearest table, "I'll just go feed Bert, my husband. He's the ranger you met today up on the mountain, and he's starving, he tells me. There's coffee over there on the shelf, and I've made a fresh pot of tea."

  "Fine. We're comfortable and much too stuffed to move," Alex admitted, giving her that smile that seemed to light up his whole face. She flushed a little and trotted off to tend to the hungry Bert, and Christina settled back on the sofa and relaxed. Alex drew up an old wooden stool and they both propped their feet up on it and basked, too content to speak for a time. In the warmth of the fire, Christina was drowsily aware that there was a warm arm around her shoulders and that occasionally he would bend his head and kiss the top of hers. With a little sigh she relaxed against him and felt that it would be heaven never to move from this spot again. All suspicions and images of him with Lorna had faded from her mind. Whatever schemes Lorna had in mind, Alex couldn't be the type of man to play her game. Christina was sure he wasn't using her as a shield against Lorna. He liked her for herself, was holding her against him now because he wanted to and not because of Lorna or James…

  After a while they roused themselves and talked a bit, mostly about the mountains and places he should see on his next visit. Christina, drugged with food and warmth, felt that she had never known a man she felt so comfortable with. She could scarcely believe that she had known Alex for only four days; it seemed like a lifetime. At the very least, he was like a comfortable old friend. They could talk or be quiet and still be relaxed and companionable. She didn't feel the need to entertain him or charm him. She could relax and be herself. It surprised her to think about it, because she couldn't remember ever feeling that way in a man's presence before.

  By ten o'clock, Mrs. Brown was hovering hopefully at the far end of the dining room, making quite a production of clearing away the coffee and cups and locking up the souvenir shop.

  "We'd better go up," Alex murmured, noticing this activity. "She obviously wants to go to bed."

  He stood up and pulled Christina to her feet. She cast a last, wistful glance at the dying fire, then caught Alex's eye and grinned. "We might be back down here before morning."

  "She'd love that, wouldn't she?" he said, turning to bid Mrs. Brown a respectful good night.

  Their hostess immediately bustled forward to break up the glowing embers, move the fire screen closer to the fire, and then unplug the jukebox which had been mercifully silent all evening.

  "I hope you don't mind," she added quickly, smiling at them. "My husband gets up so early that we don't keep late hours here. Breakfast is from seven until nine. See you both in the morning."

  They went up the wooden staircase to their rooms, and Alex waited while Christina opened her door and turned on the light. "I'll see you in the morning," he said. "Mrs. Brown says that her husband feels sure that the fog will burn off then. It's still thick as soup out there now, though."

  "I know. And chilly, too. Well, good night, Alex."

  He kissed her lightly. "Good night."

  Christina, alone in her cold room, turned back the bed and went, determinedly if reluctantly, to the little sink in the corner. As she had known and expected, the water was icy cold, piped as it was fresh from a mountain stream. She shuddered but made herself work up a little lather from the hard soap and washed her face and hands. Shivering all over, she pulled the new sweat shirt on and put the cardigan on over it, then unearthed from her suitcase a warm pair of socks that she carried as part of her "mountain gear." Then, realizing it was useless to delay any longer, she crawled into the cold, clammy bed. The pillowcase felt as if it had been frozen solid before being put on the bed. The damp sheets clung to her, entangling her legs as she tried to turn over. Finally, she gave up trying to bring any order to the bed, rolled herself into a tight little ball, and willed herself to get sleepy. She breathed deeply a few times and closed her eyes. Still slightly drowsy from the food and the fire, she drifted into a light, uneasy sleep, to dream first of Alex and then of James.

  Chapter Nine

  It was a disturbing dream. In it, she was being pursued by someone, and she dimly realized that it was either James or Alex. She couldn't tell which one, so she kept screaming out both names and imploring them to stop, to go away. As she ran, her bare feet sank deeper and deeper into the snow. Something dark leapt out of the blackness at her and she turned wildly and ran in another dire
ction, back the way she had come. And, as sometimes happens in dreams, her pursuers vanished and she was running in the dark and cold, alone.

  At this point, Christina awakened, startled and uneasy. She had heard a scream! Or something like one. She listened intently. From nearby came the lonesome, mournful howl of an animal, an unearthly sound that rose and fell, echoing through the night and causing her to shiver. She relaxed a little, pushed the hair from her forehead, and recognized what she was hearing. More than half awake now, she directed several angry exclamations at the animals and pulled the inadequate covers up to her chin. It was much colder in the room now; she could feel a draft coming in around the edges of the window. The room was so very dark that she knew it was still a long way until morning. A light tap sounded on the door, and she turned and looked at it.

  "Chris? Are you awake?"

  "Alex?"

  The door opened and he stood in the doorway, outlined by the corridor light. His usually sleek dark hair was rumpled and clearly showed its tendency to curl.

  "Did you hear that confounded racket? What on earth is it?"

  She laughed and sat up in bed. "Of course I did; who wouldn't, except someone who's entirely deaf? They woke me up too. Wild dogs, or jingarings, as they call them around here. They've always had a pack of them around this area, I hear, and they usually come around the inn at night, looking for food, I guess. We often hear them when we're here."

  "I thought they were wolves, at the very least."

  He'd moved over to the side of her bed so they could keep their voices low.

  "We haven't had any wolves around here for a hundred years or more. If we're lucky the jingarings will stay outside."

  "Do you mean they can get in?"

  "I never was sure what happened, but once when we were up here, they got into the inn and ran up and down the halls, howling. Nobody got a wink of sleep that night!"