In The Arms of a Stranger

by Kristen Robinette

  Dana turned her back and walked away from him, whispering soothing words against the baby’s cheek and bouncing him against her shoulder. When the infant calmed, she looked over her shoulder at Luke. Anger flashed in her eyes.

  “Would you rather I’d left you there to die? You were delirious, Luke. You didn’t know who you were or where you were. You would have frozen to death. Which, by the way, wouldn’t have done me any good, either.”

  Though he ignored the question, he acknowledged that she was probably right. Gratitude threatened his sense of logic, and he pushed the dangerous emotion aside. Dana’s Good Samaritan act was beginning to look like just that. An act. The woman either had a death wish or a seriously overblown sense of responsibility. He paced back and forth beside the bed, feeling trapped and frustrated and manipulated.

  But why? Why did waking up next to Dana Langston and the baby unnerve him so? Why did he feel as if he was a player in some larger game, a game he didn’t know the rules of?

  Luke cleared his thoughts, forcing himself to think outside of his own involvement. He was trapped by circumstances and frustrated by his growing attraction to Dana. But manipulated? He glanced at her, looking objectively at the scene before him. Dana crooned, her cheek resting protectively against the baby’s, soothing him with the rocking motions of her body as if she’d done it a thousand times. She had some maternal connection with this baby that he couldn’t explain. It was as if he filled some void for Dana instead of the other way around.

  A look of intense protectiveness entered her eyes, and he knew: there was something she wasn’t telling him.

  “You’re good at that.” He nodded toward the baby. “I never thought to ask you…do you have children of your own?”

  Dana’s expression hardened. “No.”

  “Nieces, nephews? Cousins?” He met her glare with one of his own. “You seem awfully practiced with infants.”

  “I’m an only child, Chief Sutherlin.” The implication that she felt interrogated was clear. “Anything else you’d like to know?”

  My, my, he seemed to have touched a nerve. Luke grasped the suspicion with an odd sense of relief. His role here was one of a lawman. He didn’t do paternal and he didn’t do relationships. But he did have an instinct about situations, an instinct that made him good at his job.

  And it was past time he started doing it.

  Luke analyzed Dana’s behavior with cool detachment. She seemed unnaturally prepared to assume the maternal role. Could she somehow be involved in the mother’s death? He recalled her anger when she explained that alcohol had been involved in the accident, her tirade about irresponsible behavior. Was it possible that Dana knew the mother before the accident, had judged her unworthy of the child? It was crazy, he knew. Luke had heard the gunshots with his own ears, knew that Gonzalez was on the run. Still, he couldn’t shake the thought that something was wrong with Dana’s story and her actions.

  She’d made herself an obvious target in a snow-covered landscape to rescue him. Was she that naive—that willing to risk her life for someone she hardly knew? Or maybe she knew something he didn’t—that the danger wasn’t real. She’d slept in his arms—slept—knowing that their lives were supposedly in danger. Though he’d be the first to admit the experience was pleasant, it would seem suicidal on her part.

  The situation didn’t add up. The realization weighted his shoulders with tension. Dana Langston didn’t add up.

  “I found something.” Dana’s words cut the silence. She lifted her chin in the air and crossed the room, retrieving the diaper bag. She pulled out an audiocassette and a scrap of paper. “These were tucked in a zippered compartment inside the bag.”

  Luke accepted the items, turning the cassette over in his hands. One side was clearly marked, “Lullabies” spelled out in fat, black marker. He tossed the tape on the bed. The scrap of paper was a preprinted emergency card with a telephone number scribbled on it. Luke felt his pulse quicken. This might actually be useful.

  He weighed using the waning cell phone battery against the discovery. Odds were that somewhere out there the mother and child had someone who was frantically searching for them. He didn’t look forward to relaying the news of the mother’s death, didn’t like being the one to cause a husband or father grief. But that was part of his job. The other part was protecting the living.

  His gaze fell to the baby. Was it his imagination or did the infant seem more discontent? Luke tamped down a growing feeling of helplessness where the baby was concerned. If there was something he needed that he wasn’t getting, it was beyond Luke’s control. Hopefully the weather would soon break and the little guy would be back where he belonged.

  But where was that? He belonged in his mother’s arms. And that was no longer an option.

  Luke cleared his throat. “I’ll call the number in,” he growled, his gaze lingering on the baby.

  He had to admit that the infant seemed right at home in Dana’s arms, a fact that was beginning to bother him. But why? He turned away, the odd suspicion lingering, and headed for the door. The frigid blast of air was almost welcome as Luke stepped out of the cabin, clearing his aching head. He walked a few yards into the snow and pressed the power button on the phone. He watched the illuminated face, hoping for a signal icon. It took several attempts, with Luke repositioning himself in the clearing, before it finally registered a weak signal.

  He dialed the station’s number and waited. “Sweetwater Police De—”

  “Allen!” Luke interrupted.

  “Chief—”

  “I’m on a cell and losing battery. I need you to run a number.”

  “Sure thing,” Ben Allen responded.

  “It’s 555-5309. You got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “How are things at the station?” he asked.

  There was a slight hesitation before Allen responded. “Chaos, sir. But we’re handling it. We’re doing out best to get you out of there, but we’ve already lost a dozer over a cliff and we can’t risk sending another outside of the downtown area.”

  “Was anyone hurt?” Luke had to know, though he felt the battery power slipping away as he waited for the answer.

  “Milton Crump was driving. He bailed over the side when he realized what was happening. Broke his wrist but he’s okay.”

  “Damn,” Luke muttered. Milton Crump was in his seventies and had been driving heavy construction equipment since he was a teenager. If he couldn’t manage the road-clearing equipment in this mess, no one could. At least he hadn’t been killed in the attempt. “Don’t risk it again until the weather breaks,” he ordered. “Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.” Allen sounded slightly relieved.

  The cell phone beeped, warning that the battery had reached a crucial stage. Luke ground his teeth. As if he didn’t know. “I’m losing battery, Allen. Any word on Gonzalez?”

  “He hasn’t been accounted for but with the lines down and half the power out in Atlanta—”

  “Okay. Keep checking.”

  “Sir?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Your father and Miss Camille have phoned several times looking for you. I promised I would relay the message if I heard from you.”

  Good boy, Luke thought. Ben Allen had been raised in Sweetwater and understood the subtleties of Luke’s rocky relationship with his father and stepmother. His job, his life, was none of their business. They’d lost the privilege of knowing anything beyond the basics a long time ago.

  “Just tell them I’m safe. Nothing more. I’m shutting off now. Check that number, and I’ll call within twenty-four if the battery holds.”

  Luke pressed the off button and wondered if there would be enough juice to power up next time. He walked back to the cabin’s porch and stomped the snow from his boots. He found himself lingering outside the door, his thoughts still on his conversation with Ben Allen.

  What were his father and stepmother up to? Camille Sutherlin only concerned herself with her
stepson when it fit into some plan to manipulate her husband. And Lucas Sutherlin, Sr., only moved when his puppet strings were pulled. Luke rolled his aching shoulder. Or if there was profit to be gained, he thought.

  Luke opened the door to the cabin and stopped short, puzzled by the scene in front of him. Dana was sitting cross-legged in the den, digging at some electronic equipment with a butter knife. Sam lay nearby, watching hopefully as though Dana might be opening a can of dog food. She looked up, then went back to whatever she was doing without acknowledging his presence. He didn’t doubt that she was angry.

  It was entirely possible—probable, actually—that she was an innocent bystander, a victim in this mess. But he had the right to reserve judgment and to question her story. It was his job.

  “What are you doing?” Luke asked.

  She continued to work without meeting his eyes. “I found an old radio in the storage closet. It has a tape player but half the buttons are gone and the cassette door is jammed.”

  Luke recalled the lullaby tape. “Is the baby still crying?”

  She looked at him as though his IQ had bottomed out. “No, he’s asleep. But it took a lot of work to get him to relax. I can use all the help I can get.”

  The comment was pretty straightforward, and Luke understood that it included him. He knew the responsibility of caring for the infant had fallen to her. But what was he supposed to do? He knew zip about caring for a baby. He noticed that Dana’s eyes were rimmed in red and slightly swollen, as though she’d been crying. Had he done that?

  Luke sank to the floor beside Dana and took the radio from her lap before she finished murdering it with the butter knife. The piece of equipment belonged in a museum. It was ancient, covered in a layer of dust and, as Dana had said, was missing most of its buttons. It did have an electrical cord, though. Maybe if he could get it operational it would help on some level.

  “Have you eaten anything?” he asked. Dana shook her head. “Then go do that. Keep your strength up.”

  She rose and disappeared behind him into the kitchen. He could hear her rummaging around in the cabinet. Luke studied the radio, noticing that the plastic facing had warped, jamming the cassette door. He slid the butter knife beneath the facing and pried it off. It cracked and fell away, leaving the equipment uglier than ever. If that were possible. He plugged in the radio and hit the eject button, which was one of the few that remained. The cassette door slid open.

  Shrill cries split the silence and Luke jumped, his hand automatically going to his holster. Just as quickly he recognized the baby’s cries. He looked at Dana, who had just opened a can of yams and forked one out. She looked exhausted. Her fair complexion was waxy, her eyes devoid of spark.

  “I’ll take care of it. Of him,” Luke amended.

  Dana looked surprised, then nodded.

  So much for her denying him the pleasure, Luke thought. He found the baby intermittently punching invisible enemies and grasping the side of the bureau drawer. Luke grinned at his attempt to escape the makeshift crib.

  “Hey, you. Where do you think you’re going?”

  He slid his hands beneath the baby’s arms and lifted, surprised at how incredibly light he felt. Had he always been this tiny? Luke remembered holding him the day of the accident but couldn’t recall. He’d been so pumped full of adrenaline at the time that the memory was sketchy. Or maybe that was the result of whacking his head on a boulder.

  The baby momentarily stopped crying, then picked up where he’d left off. “Don’t do that,” Luke said, half in jest and half serious. “It makes me nuts.”

  He grabbed the diaper bag and carried the baby to the bed, laying him on his back. He eyed the diaper area with suspicion. It wasn’t brain surgery. If he could run a police force, surely he could change a diaper. Luke managed to undo the tiny snaps that lined the legs of the sleeper and peeled them back. He studied the adhesive tabs of the diaper so that he could reverse the process when the time came.

  Luke breathed a sigh of relief when he found that the diaper was only wet. Wet he could do. He wasn’t too sure about the other. He pulled the disposable diaper away and folded it into a triangle as he’d watched Dana do. After a ridiculous amount of fumbling, he replaced the diaper with a fresh one and looked for the adhesive tabs. They were missing. No, they were…on the front. The diaper was on backward. He corrected the mistake to the sound of fresh wailing and was annoyed to find he’d broken out in an honest-to-God sweat.

  Finally he pressed down the adhesive tabs—in the right place this time—and lifted the baby without bothering with the snaps. Who in their right mind would put twenty-five tiny snaps on a baby’s outfit? Snapping them would be like trying to put sandals on a centipede.

  Luke wasn’t ashamed to admit that he needed help. He scooped up the audiocassette of lullabies, shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans, and then hightailed it to the kitchen. There he found Dana wearily finishing the last bite of the yams.

  Her entire demeanor changed when she saw the baby. Despite the fact that the little guy was screaming his lungs out, Dana was obviously delighted to see him. Her face transformed from bleak to warm as she rose from the chair to greet them. She leaned over the baby, whispering words of comfort as she rubbed her knuckles against his cheek. The baby hesitated, hiccuped, then grew quiet, his eyes wide with curiosity as he looked up at Dana.

  Guilt crept up on Luke like a thief.

  With Dana standing so close he could see the wound at her hairline, and ached to brush her hair back and examine it. The truth was, he wanted to comfort her. Despite the strength she’d shown, she looked fragile. The hollows beneath her cheekbones seemed deeper, and her fingers trembled slightly. Regardless of her motivation, she’d given a lot of herself.

  She deserved credit for that.

  “Thank you,” he said softly.

  Her gaze slid upward to his. “For what?”

  “For hauling my ass in out of the snow.” He risked a smile, and his heart clutched when she returned it.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “You’re right, you know,” Luke continued. “I would have frozen to death if you hadn’t helped.”

  “I know.” She wasn’t being superior, just agreeing with the fact. The baby interrupted the awkward moment with a piercing cry, and Dana jumped into action. “I have a bottle ready.”

  Luke watched as she pulled a ready-made bottle from the sink. He joined her there, amazed by what Dana had obviously done yesterday. She’d salvaged the disposable glass bottles they’d used and filled them with fresh formula. Clumps of snow floated in a thin layer of water in the bottom of the sink, keeping them fresh and cool.

  “He seems accustomed to taking a bottle cold,” she said, reaching for the baby. “Thank heavens he’s never objected.”

  Luke deposited the baby in her arms and watched as she juggled the slippery bottle and crying infant with ease. “Maybe you should feed him in the bedroom where it’s warmer,” he suggested.

  Dana nodded, looking a little less angry and a lot less frazzled as she headed down the hall. He wasn’t sure whether it was the truce they’d silently reached or that the food had worked its magic. At any rate he was glad.

  Luke watched Dana disappear through the bedroom door and fished the audiocassette out of his pocket. He turned it over in his hand, doubting that a thousand lullabies would do as much good as Dana had done with a simple touch. But it never hurt to have a backup plan.

  That was, if his handy work with the butter knife had done any good. Luke walked to the cassette player and popped the tape in the rickety door and pushed it closed, pleased that the cracked plastic didn’t disintegrate beneath his fingers. The button cover for the play mode was missing but Luke pressed the amputated lever anyway. What was the risk of a little electrical shock when you’d been shot at and fallen off a cliff?

  The cassette began to play without incident or bodily harm, and Luke raised the volume, filling the cabin with the sound of a lullaby.
The sound was strange after having grown accustomed to no sound other than their voices, but pleasant. The artist sang in a hauntingly soft voice, the lyrics urging the baby to sleep. Luke recognized the tune but not the words, lyrics promising that the child would wake to an array of pretty horses.

  He started to switch the music off but hesitated. They’d been a bit deprived of entertainment, and the sound was strangely comforting. Perhaps Dana and the baby would prefer that it stay on.

  He rose and walked softly down the hall to the bedroom, peering around the corner. He smiled at the scene before him, then froze. Dana was sitting on the bed, humming along to the music as she rocked the baby in her arms. Her eyes were closed, and though the expression on her face was serene, tears were streaming down her cheeks.

  Something was wrong.

  Yes, Dana had every right to be emotional. She was tired and hungry and probably scared. No doubt she wanted to be free of him and the confines of the cabin. But the emotion etched on her face went far deeper than any of that.

  In all honesty Luke had never seen such pain before. Part of him wanted to hold her, to wipe away her tears.

  Another part of him simply wanted to know what Dana Langston was hiding.

  Chapter 9

  Night was falling. Dana gripped the windowsill and peered out into the darkness. She could no longer see the ongoing destruction, but she could hear it. Branches were cracking like gunshots in the night, succumbing to the weight of the ice and snow as a new, harsh wind hit the mountain face. She hugged her arms over her chest. Like the winding of a watch, she felt strained with the pressure of time. But instead of passing, each minute felt as if it were winding backward, threatening to break her.

  The day had come and gone in a series of tasks, each one a judgment call. Every bottle that the baby consumed meant one less that was available. Even the necessity of simple things, such as changing his diaper, had to be weighed. She and Luke both knew their supplies were waning, though neither mentioned the fact.