In The Arms of a Stranger

by Kristen Robinette

  “Do you know how to use a gun?”

  Dana’s eyes widened in response to his question. “I—I did a segment once on personal protection. The instructor at the range showed me how to shoot the targets.” She shook her head and Luke noticed she was making an effort to breathe slowly. “It was just for the camera.”

  Luke grinned. “How’d you do?”

  The corners of her mouth twitched slightly. “Pretty good for a city girl.”

  My God, she almost smiled. Luke had a feeling that didn’t happen often, even under better circumstances. “Good.” Luke noticed that Dana held the baby in the crook of her left arm, propping the bottle with the same hand, which left her right hand free. He laid the gun on the floor and gently slid it toward her. “I’m going to leave this with you while I—”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Please don’t. Don’t leave me.”

  “Shh…” Luke placed his hand on her knee, absently caressing her leg beneath his discarded jacket while he spoke. “The temperature is dropping, and we’re stuck here for the night. We’re going to need a way to stay warm. The good news is, the porch light was on, so I know there’s an electrical feed.” He gestured behind her at a dusty space heater. “I just need to find the fuse box and switch the circuit breaker. If that doesn’t work, I’ve got to see if there’s any firewood.”

  “No—you can’t build a fire. He’ll see the smoke. He’ll know where we are.”

  “He already knows where we are, Dana.”

  She went perfectly still, but her eyes registered fear so deep that Luke regretted the words. “Look, whoever is out there can’t stay out there in this storm for long. He’ll freeze to death before he gets another chance at us. We’re safe here.”

  Dana looked around her, as if considering where she was for the first time. “What is this place?”

  “An old forest ranger’s station. They gave me a key a couple of years back when they built a new observation tower. It’s no longer used.” He smiled, for some reason determined to see the worry lines disappear from her face. “At least not normally.”

  “How far are we from town?”

  Luke shook his head. “Too far to walk, which is the only option right now.”

  “Your car…”

  “Is in a ditch up the road.” He experimented with another smile. “Lucky for you.”

  She returned the smile, then her face went serious. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Right place at the right time. What are you doing on the mountain, anyway?”

  She looked uncertain. “Vacationing.”

  Luke nodded, though suspicion hit him like a fist. “Take the gun and level it at the doorway.”

  Dana pulled the baby more tightly against her chest. “I can’t.”

  Luke looked down at the infant’s face. He’d fallen asleep, oblivious to the danger around him, the bottle nipple now slack against his lips.

  “Yes, you can.” Luke nodded toward the baby. “Besides, I left my four-legged partner out in the cold. I need to check on him, at least.”

  Dana crooned softly as she eased the bottle from the baby’s mouth. Her expression was hopeful when she looked up. “A police dog?”

  “No, an ornery old Lab. But he’s as big as a pony and barks like he means business. Besides, he likes kids and beautiful women.”

  Where had that comment come from? He’d intended to lighten the mood, to see her relax, but he’d caught himself off guard instead. The wary expression on Dana’s face told him he wasn’t the only one who wished he’d kept the comment to himself.

  Luke retrieved the coiled hose from the supply room floor and molded it into an oval shape. “Here. Use my jacket and lay him inside.”

  Dana pulled the supple leather jacket from her knees and folded the baby inside. He barely stirred when she laid him inside the makeshift cradle, only nuzzled contentedly against the lining of Luke’s jacket.

  Dana lifted the gun but looked at it as if it were a snake. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “You have to.” He took her by the upper arm and turned her toward the baby. “Unless you want to freeze to death and leave this little guy alone.”

  Anger and determination flashed on her face as she pulled her arm free. “Okay.”

  Just the reaction he’d been hoping for. “I’ll leave the flashlight with you. I have a lighter.” Luke stood when she nodded. “Keep the gun focused on the door. I’ll try and alert you when I—”

  “Just say my name.” She interrupted. “I’ll know your voice.”

  Luke nodded and disappeared through the doorway, leaving Dana alone. What she’d said was true. She could pick that deep, captivating voice out of a crowded room. Maybe it was the tense circumstances, but that voice had the power to soothe her, to irritate her and, if she were honest with herself, make her want to crawl into the shelter of his arms.

  Power. The word stuck in her brain as she rested her wrist on her knee and, with a trembling hand, pointed the gun toward the empty door frame. Hadn’t she learned a thing or two in the last year and a half about giving up her power? But this was hardly the same as her marriage to Robert. Luke had just given her the power of his weapon and, with barely a word of instruction, trusted her not to blast him to kingdom come with it.

  Time passed. Five minutes. Ten?

  “Dana…”

  The sound of Luke’s voice made her jump. She hadn’t heard him enter the cabin. “Yes,” she responded, lowering the gun.

  “It’s us.”

  Us? This time she heard a shuffle, heard the gentle sound of the cabin’s door closing and the unmistakable click-click of canine paws against the wooden floor. Big brown eyes suddenly peered around the doorway, framed by a golden muzzle and inquisitive eyebrows. Dana laid the gun on the floor and fought the overwhelming urge to cry. There was something so entirely welcoming about the presence of the dog. Something so normal that she wanted to fling her arms around his big neck and squeal with delight like a child.

  Luke appeared, resting his hand against the dog’s head in an easy gesture. “Sam, this is Dana. Dana, this is Sam.”

  “Hi, Sam,” she whispered, her voice betraying the emotion.

  When she looked up, she found Luke watching her again. Assessing her. The expression on his face was neutral, but his eyes said something else. He looked at her as if she were a puzzle with half its pieces missing. She thought of the broken mess her once-orderly life had become, and shivered. Maybe he was right.

  “Good news.” He stepped inside the supply room and pulled the chain on an overhead fixture. The single lightbulb came to life, its glow barely brighter than the flashlight.

  With the light, Dana could see that snow dusted his shoulders, darkening his black shirt as it melted. He’d sacrificed his jacket for the baby’s sake.

  He reached around Dana and retrieved the space heater. “I’ll be right back. Sam—” he looked behind him at the dog, then gestured toward Dana “—stay here.”

  Sam walked over to Dana and plopped down next to her feet. She eased her fingers into his thick fur and was rewarded with a friendly lick. This time she didn’t ask where Luke was going but trusted that he wouldn’t go far. Trust. The emotion surprised her.

  She heard Luke move to a nearby part of the cabin, could make out the sound of something heavy being moved, the soft shuffle of his feet. In a moment he returned, filling the doorway with his silhouette. Dana noticed that he’d changed shirts. He’d put on a white thermal shirt, the sleeves of which were drawn tightly around his arms. He walked into the supply room and knelt down beside her. For a moment she thought he was going to lift her in his arms, but he reached for the flashlight instead.

  “Come with me. Bring the baby.” He stood, gently slapping the side of his leg. “Sam.”

  She lifted the baby and drew him into her arms. His warm, trusting little body fitted perfectly against her shoulder. How many times had she dreamed of holding a child of her own like this? Dana cl
osed her eyes against the threat of tears.

  “Ready?”

  The expression on Luke’s face told her that he hadn’t missed the moment of weakness. Dana stood, her legs shakier than she’d expected. It was then she noticed Luke held out his hand. She stared at it. His hand was so large that hers would disappear inside it. Her gaze slid to Luke’s. Why was she afraid to make the simple contact?

  A frown marred his forehead. “Dana?”

  She stepped forward and slid her hand into his. The contact should have been simple, but it wasn’t. Luke took her hand inside his, his thumb caressing her knuckles for a moment before he abruptly stopped. It was too late. The gesture had already caused her breath to catch in her chest.

  “Ready.” She forced the word out, trying to deny the awkwardness that had filled the room.

  He turned away, still clutching her hand in his, and slowly drew her from the supply room. Dana followed, steadying the baby against her shoulder with her free hand. Luke kept the beam of light trained on the floor and led her down the short hallway to an adjoining room. The hum of the space heater filled the room, though its heat had yet to make progress against the cold.

  As her eyes adjusted to the near darkness, Dana realized the room was a small bedroom. Though she could see the faint outline of a window against the far wall, Luke had apparently pulled a dresser in front of it, its attached mirror blocking the expanse of glass.

  “This will conceal us well enough, but I don’t want to risk the lights.”

  He drew her forward a few steps and Dana realized he was leading her to the bed. Despite the circumstances, the intimacy of the bed made her pause. Luke must have felt her tense, because he dropped her hand.

  “Settle the baby in the bed.”

  He didn’t whisper, but his voice was lower, softer than it had been in the supply room. The realization that he was more alert to danger here caused a fresh chill of fear.

  “You need to get out of those wet jeans and boots. I found a pair of sweatpants and some socks.”

  The words hung in the air for a moment. Changing out of her clothes somehow meant the situation was real. They wouldn’t be rescued in a few minutes. No wailing sirens outside. Only the howl of the blizzard as it finished the job it had started. And it meant something else. They were in this together. Things were going to get pretty personal pretty fast. Starting with the fact that she was about to undress in the same room with a stranger.

  He gestured toward the bed, where the clothing lay. “It’s not much but at least the clothes are dry.”

  She nodded, then gently laid the baby in the center of the double bed. He was still wrapped snugly in Luke’s jacket, and the selfless gesture again triggered something inside her. She’d learned from Robert the hard way that some men lacked paternal instinct. Or at least, in her ex-husband’s case, paternal feelings for a child that wasn’t his biological child.

  Dana eased the jacket from around the baby, then substituted the bed’s thick blanket. She extended the jacket to Luke. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  She felt him tense beside her in the darkness. Had she said something wrong? Perhaps it was because she’d thanked him, because that right belonged exclusively to the child’s mother. And the child’s mother was dead. Whatever the reason, he silently accepted the jacket and slid it on.

  Luke commanded Sam to lie down at the foot of the bed, then walked to the window, peering through a small crack between the dresser’s mirror and the window frame. There was moonlight despite the storm, and the ghostly white light was bright enough to cast dancing shadows in the room. As her eyes adjusted, Dana could see that Luke held the gun in position as he scanned the outside perimeter of the cabin.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” His voice was soothing, deep and hypnotic against the steady hum of the space heater. “Everything’s fine.” He kept his back to her. “You need to change.”

  She realized that he was offering her a measure of privacy. To turn down either the dry clothing or the privacy would be foolish. Her toes were numb, and her jeans were heavy with moisture. The idea of a soft pair of fleece pants and dry socks sounded like heaven.

  She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off the department-store boots she’d once thought perfect for the trip. Instead of protecting her feet, the porous suede had soaked up moisture like a sponge, including the whiskey from the bottle that had burst at her feet. Dana stood, unzipping her jeans before she lost her resolve.

  The sound of the zipper lowering was only slightly less embarrassing than the rustle of fabric as she forced the jeans over her hips. As Dana wriggled free of the wet, clinging denim, the cold seemed to wrap itself around her bare legs, seeping instantly through the silky fabric of her panties.

  She felt totally vulnerable and glanced up, only to find that Luke had taken a step back from the window and had caught her reflection in the dresser’s mirror. Dana could see her own reflection, illuminated by the moonlight and the seductive red glow of the space heater.

  The instant their eyes locked, he looked away.

  Even so, Dana could feel the lingering brand of his stare, feel his gaze touching her bare skin as she stepped into the waiting clothing. Luke said nothing, just resumed his watch at the window. An apology or acknowledgment, she realized, would only make things worse. Better to pretend the incident hadn’t happened, which is what she intended to do.

  The clothes she wore smelled like cedar, no doubt having been stored, but she couldn’t have cared less. The socks and fleece pants were heavenly against her skin, warming her instantly. She walked to the side of the bed and arranged a pillow against the headboard, then slid carefully beside the baby. Despite herself, she relaxed. It was a strange, surreal state. One part relief and two parts exhaustion. Mentally she was still pumped with adrenaline, though, and her mind relentlessly returned to the scene of the accident, then back to the events that had brought her to this darkened room with the man who now stood watch.

  Her gaze followed Luke as he paced from the window to the hall. When he glanced in her direction, she looked down, embarrassed that she’d been staring.

  He’d done the same, she reminded herself. And more.

  Her eyes now accustomed to the dark, she could see that the baby was peacefully sleeping at her hip, his lips pursed and his fist balled next to his chubby cheek. She lightly stroked his cheek with her fingertips. His skin was like velvet, so new and unmarred. It was a miracle that he hadn’t been injured in the accident.

  “How could someone be so careless with this precious life?” she whispered, as much to herself as to Luke.

  Luke turned to face her. “What do you mean, careless?”

  Dana realized that she hadn’t explained the cause of the accident. Her mind flashed back to the whiskey bottle as it tumbled from the car and shattered at her feet, to the sound of metal screaming against rock as the car slid down the mountain face. The memory was so vivid that she jumped, waking the baby. He struggled to find the thread of sleep again, his little fist punching the air at the unseen enemy that had awakened him. Dana traced the outline of his ear, cooing and whispering until the soothing motion worked its magic.

  When she looked up, she found Luke staring at her, waiting for an answer.

  “The mother had been drinking.” She heard the anger in her words and realized that it matched the anger she felt. A delayed reaction, she supposed, but fierce.

  Her comment was met with silence, as if Luke were considering the validity of her words. “Are you sure?” he finally asked.

  Was she sure? She stifled an edgy laugh. “Yes, I’m sure. There were several bottles of alcohol in the car. Only one of them was full. It fell out and broke at my feet.”

  “Can you tell me about the accident now?”

  Now… The single word said a lot.

  It said that he’d known how close she’d been to breaking down and that he’d intentionally gone easy on the questions because of it. She
was grateful. It was only natural that someone in his position would be anxious—obligated even—to sort out the details of the accident. And again he’d used that soft, hypnotic voice. She realized that, intentional or not, he used it when he wanted to soothe her or needed her cooperation.

  Like now.

  At first she was reluctant, but talking about the events surrounding the accident proved easier than she’d imagined, likely because she’d relived it in her head countless times already. And each time she relived it, certain details grew clearer, jumped out at her. Her years as a reporter were probably to blame. She’d reported on and written about catastrophic events for so many years that certain dramatic details tended to jump out at her, stick in her memory, even when she would rather they didn’t.

  This was similar, she realized, as she recited the events to Luke for at least the third time. The one detail that kept emerging, each time with more intensity, was that the mother had been drinking. She was surprised to hear the anger in her voice. She hadn’t realized how angry she was at the infant’s mother until now. But she was. Because of one reckless decision, a little boy would grow up without a mother.

  Just as she had.

  Finally weary of her own voice, she stilled, waiting for Luke’s response. It was slow in coming, and when it did it was that same, controlled voice that made her feel as if she was his entire focus.

  “I’m glad you and the baby are okay.” The words were a near whisper in the darkness. No questions. No commentary.

  Maybe it was the purging of the details, but Dana was suddenly so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. She propped her cheek against the pillow and watched the baby as he slept.

  “Lie down next to him.” Luke’s voice vibrated with some emotion that Dana didn’t recognize. “He could use your body heat until the room warms.”