Michelle studied the attractive features closely, detecting a great deal of character in the set of her jaw, the high cheekbones framed by thick, dark hair boasting random strands that feathered over Lana’s forehead. But the eyes were the real attention-grabber, a deep, soulful brown, displaying depths and indications of a whole lot more going on just beneath the surface. A swift glance at Lana’s left hand revealed no ring, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. She might have been divorced or never married. Or she could have simply taken off her jewelry after changing out of her damp clothes. She had initially been dressed in a blue silk shirt and designer jeans, beneath a navy ski jacket and leather gloves. Now she wore dark-gray Nike sweats and matching T-shirt, similar to the garments she’d provided for Michelle’s use.
Michelle hadn’t bothered to cover up her nakedness, and she saw Lana do a quick scan of her body beneath the placid water and then look away, a slight flush darkening her cheeks. That didn’t mean anything either. She could just be shy around other people or a bit prudish when it came to the human body. Yet Michelle’s gaydar continued to ping like a sub about to be hit by a torpedo, and she believed she might have detected sincere appreciation rather than simple evaluation in that quick glance.
“Are you hungry?”
The question caught Michelle by surprise, and she had to bite back her first answer that was completely inappropriate, though fully in tune with where her thoughts had been leading. “Starved,” she admitted. “I had something to eat in—uh, Truro, I think it was called, but that was at lunch.”
“I should have something in the fridge. It should be ready by the time you’re done in here.”
“Thanks.”
Lana disappeared out the door, leaving Michelle to finish her bath. She didn’t rush it, basking in the water as long as it remained hot. After toweling off, she tried on the clothes. The athletic pants were long in the legs, but they stayed up thanks to the drawstring, while the black T-shirt was faded and soft to the touch.
After tying her hair back in a loose ponytail, Michelle carried her wet clothing out into the kitchen, where a battery-operated hurricane lantern cast a soft glow over the granite countertops and tiled floor. She looked around the cabin’s open-concept design, from the kitchen and dining nook at the rear of the house to the living room at the front, both featuring large, arched windows looking east. A big woodstove resting on a raised hearth, with a slate rock wall behind it, served as the partition point between the two. It had a glass door, and behind it, flames crackled and snapped, making everything appear warm and cozy. A covered pot, along with a cast-iron teakettle, sat heating on the soapstone surface.
“I’ll take those and put them in the laundry for now,” Lana said, retrieving the sodden mass. “Once the power’s on again, I’ll do them up for you.”
“Do you think it’ll take long for it to come back?”
“I’m not sure. There’s a lot of flooding and this isn’t exactly a high-priority area for the power company.” Lana walked into the laundry room just off the kitchen. Michelle could see her through the door, placing the clothes in a basket. “I do have a generator, but that’s looking after the water heater and the freezer right now. I don’t want to waste it on anything else.”
“Candles are fine.” Michelle smiled and then added, “Romantic.”
Lana shot her a sharp look as she returned to the kitchen but didn’t say anything. Instead, she started rummaging around in the various drawers and cabinets, bringing out plates and utensils, napkins, and other accouterments. Michelle took a seat and watched, trying not to feel useless as Lana efficiently set the table before bringing over the pot. When Lana lifted the lid, a thick chili offered a savory aroma that made Michelle’s mouth water. Crusty bread with accompanying knife was placed on a wooden cutting board, and Michelle wasted no time in reaching out for it.
Lana smiled faintly as Michelle didn’t speak. She merely offered the ultimate compliment to the chef by cleaning up her bowl in record time and reaching out for seconds.
Lana goggled when she went for thirds. “How do you stay so tiny?”
“Fast metabolism,” Michelle mumbled around a mouthful of bread, red kidney beans, and beef. “Like a hummingbird.”
“Lucky you.”
Finally, replete after a bowl of some kind of brownie-laced ice cream for dessert, Michelle leaned back in her chair, sipping a cup of coffee. It was instant since the water came from the teakettle, but it still warmed her insides. She watched as Lana went over to a door that must have led to the basement, where she retrieved a tin dishpan. Filling it with water from a bucket, she placed it on the stove to heat for the dishes. It was clear that Lana was quite self-sufficient, regardless of the circumstances, though Michelle supposed she had to be, considering how uninhabited the area seemed. With the weather the way it was and the rental car at the bottom of the river, it was unlikely anyone knew where she was.
For the first time today, Michelle allowed herself to relax. She was safe, at least for the time being.
“So what happened?”
Startled, Michelle looked up to meet those sharp eyes regarding her as if they could strip away every artifice and lie. Resisting the urge to squirm, she managed a smile. “I guess I didn’t take that curve at the bottom of the hill very well,” she said carefully. “I couldn’t keep it on the road, and then, the hill was so slippery when I tried to climb back up, I couldn’t get anywhere.” She offered a small shudder that wasn’t entirely feigned. “I’m really lucky you came along when you did.”
Lana hesitated, her features softening. “You must have been frightened.”
“It wasn’t the most pleasant experience.” Michelle offered a half shrug. “But it was an adventure. I’ll be talking about this one for years.”
“You probably will.”
“The time a beautiful woman saved my life,” Michelle added silkily, just to see what the response would be. It came in the form of a blush dusting those high cheekbones and those wonderful wide eyes sliding away from hers.
“I need to get the dishes done.” Lana turned her back, retrieved some oven mitts, and picked up the tin dishpan, carrying it over to the sink.
Michelle watched her for a few moments, smiling faintly to herself, then rose from her seat to retrieve a dishcloth from the counter.
“You don’t have to do that,” Lana protested quickly as Michelle took a plate from the rack and began to dry it.
“I want to.” Michelle glanced at her. “You saved me, you fed me, and you took me into your home without hesitation. Very kind of you considering I’m a complete stranger. The very least I can do is help with the dishes.” She was impressed at how well she’d been treated so far from home and hadn’t been aware people were so hospitable outside the South.
Lana didn’t seem to know how to respond to that either, so the next few moments were filled with the slosh of water, the clink of dishware, and the steady tick of freezing rain pelting the window above the sink. Michelle didn’t try to fill the silence with conversation, content to enjoy the peaceful quiet between them.
“So what do you do?” Lana ventured finally.
“I’m an associate professor of American history at Tulane in New Orleans.”
“I see. That explains the accent.”
“What accent?” Michelle stared blankly at her.
Lana laughed a little and pulled out the last dish from the soapy water. “So what are you doing up here?”
“What do you know of the Acadians?”
Surprise ghosted across her face, and Lana turned her head to look at her directly. “Just what I learned in school,” she said in a doubtful tone. “They were French settlers originally living here in the Maritimes. Nova Scotia was actually known as Acadia back then and was owned by France. There were various wars between them and England. The province got handed back and forth until England finally claimed it one last time and gave it to a Scottish knight who renamed it New Scotland in Latin
. The French settlers were rounded up and expelled by the British. Many ended up in—oh, yes, now I see—a lot of them ended up in Louisiana. The Canadian connection is where the word ‘Cajun’ came from. There are still quite a few communities here in the province.”
Impressed with the rather comprehensive, if brief, history lesson from an apparent novice, Michelle nodded. “I’m of Acadian heritage myself, which is why I specialize in the Great Expulsion,” she explained. “I’m here researching a—uh, a paper.”
“Not exactly the best weather for it,” Lana said.
“So I discovered.” Michelle smiled broadly and was rewarded by a slight curve of full lips, though Lana looked away from her again. “So what about you?”
“What about me?”
“What do you do?”
“Oh, I’m a writer.”
“Really?” Michelle was delighted.
“Yes, fantasy novels.”
“Would I have read any of them?”
Lana shook her head and dumped the dishwater into the sink, turning the pan over to let it drain. “Probably not. They’re aimed at a specific audience.”
Michelle folded the dishtowel she’d been using and draped it over the handle to the nearby oven door. “Try me. Give me some titles.”
“Well, there’s Dark Ice, Dark Fire, Dark Wind…There were actually eight in that series. The titles are fairly standard. Pick an adjective and stick various nouns behind it.”
Lana ducked her head shyly as she picked up the hurricane lamp and carried it to the living room, placing it on the coffee table. Intrigued, Michelle followed, curling up in an armchair situated close to the woodstove while Lana sat down on the wine-shaded plush sofa across from her.
“Uh, let’s see, I also wrote Shadow Rider and Sky Rider…Well, you get the drift.” She grinned somewhat sheepishly. “That’s where I took a noun and threw various adjectives in front of it.”
Michelle just stared at her. “Oh, my God,” she said, unable to keep the wonder out of her voice. “You’re L. S. Mills. I just loved Dark Storm, even though I was sorry the series had to come to an end.”
Lana looked briefly confused and then, just as quickly, completely astonished. “You’ve read my books?”
She sounded as if she couldn’t believe anyone ever had, but once she actually grasped the concept, her expression immediately became even more guarded. Michelle had a good idea why. All L. S. Mills’s books had lesbian protagonists and were considered as much romance as they were fantasy. Published by a smaller house that specifically catered to that market, they weren’t the sort of books a reader picked up casually at an airport newsstand. Michelle’s gaydar had proved accurate after all.
It was too bad the real reason she’d come to Nova Scotia left so little room for pursuing such a lovely distraction.
Chapter Three
Lana felt a ripple of something she couldn’t fully identify surge through her when she realized Michelle was most likely gay. She’d just assumed, as she always did, that Michelle was straight, and now she was forced to readjust her thinking. It wasn’t an unpleasant adjustment, but it was a bit disconcerting. She wasn’t quite sure what to say next.
“So what are you working on now?” Michelle sounded eager and cheerful, apparently her normal operating state, even after being half drowned and nearly frozen to death.
“I’m not,” Lana said shortly. “Working on anything, I mean. I’m still—it’s just not where I’m at right now.” She really didn’t want to get into the reason she hadn’t been writing for the past two years, but she had a sinking feeling Michelle was going to ask.
“Why? You used to put out two books a year, sometimes three. Writer’s block?”
“Something like that.”
Lana was happy to go with the misconception. And it was writer’s block in a way, just not in the traditional sense of the word. The fact that actually trying to imagine worlds where happily-ever-after worked out and love conquered all was still far too painful to contemplate, but she wasn’t about to share that with Michelle.
“What’s the S stand for?”
“Um, Sarah.”
“That’s your middle name?”
“No, it’s…” Lana faltered, feeling the familiar dull ache in her chest. “It was my wife’s name. Sarah helped me out a lot on plot and characterization.”
Michelle immediately sobered. “Was?”
“She passed away a year and a half ago.” Lana managed to keep her tone even, but it was an effort. “Breast cancer. She was diagnosed three years ago.”
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” Michelle abruptly appeared stricken, eyes going wide. “I’m just—I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
Lana lifted a hand, not in dismissal, but as a sort of wave of acknowledgment. She still didn’t know how to react to the sympathy and condolences. That was probably why she spent most of her time to herself, cooped up here in her cabin, rarely drawn out by friends and family. Eventually she was going to have to move on, maybe even start writing again. She just wasn’t there yet.
She attempted a smile, hoping it didn’t look as awkward as it felt. “So, you’re researching a paper on the Acadians? Where were you headed? The Valley? Grand-Pré?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, that’s exactly where I’m headed.” Michelle seized on the change of subject with enthusiasm. “I want to check out a church there.”
“Well, it’s beautiful country, though perhaps not this time of year.” Lana suddenly remembered how the woman had ended up in her living room. “Tomorrow, we’ll contact the Mounties and tell them about your accident. I suppose I can drive you to Windsor after that. That’s probably the closest place with a car-rental agency.”
“Mounties?” The tone sounded uncertain.
“The Royal Canadian Mounted Police,” Lana elaborated, reminded she was dealing with someone from far away. It seemed the farther south one went in the States, the less they knew about Canada. Still, she thought an expert on a part of Canadian history would be a little more aware of the rest of the culture. “They have jurisdiction. I’d call them tonight, but without electricity, the phones don’t work and my cell doesn’t really have good service out here. Too many hills.”
“Good. I mean, there’s no hurry. I’m safe, after all, and they probably have more things to worry about tonight than a stranded tourist, anyway.”
“That may be true, but I’m a little concerned that someone might find the car and think the driver drowned.”
Michelle peered toward the front windows where nothing could be seen but the reflection of the hurricane lamp on the glass. “In this?”
Lana followed her gaze and laughed a little. “It is dark as pitch out there,” she said. “Chances are, no one’s going to spot a car in the river tonight.” She glanced at the clock hanging on the wall, surprised to see it was almost ten. “Time to turn in.”
Michelle fixed her with a direct gaze, one that made Lana feel uncomfortable, but then she looked away and the feeling was gone. “I like reading before I go to bed. I don’t suppose you have a book you can lend me?”
“Of course. Follow me.”
Picking up the hurricane lamp, Lana led Michelle back toward the bathroom. To either side of the short hallway, doors led to bedrooms, one of which Lana used as her office. Inside, the walls were lined with shelving that sagged beneath the immense collection of hardcover and paperback books.
“Help yourself,” she offered dryly.
Michelle laughed and wandered in, looking around at the books and the desk in the corner where a large, high-definition monitor resided on the neat surface. Although Lana hadn’t been writing, she was usually on her computer once a day, catching up on her e-mail and the few things that still intrigued her. After Sarah’s death, it had taken months before she even turned it on. That time was a big black hole to her, without memories of any significance at all, outside of enduring pain and heartbreak.
Lost in thought, she started a bit when Miche
lle pulled a book from the shelf and smiled at her in a way that made her look young and mischievous. The expression was infectious, and despite the path her mind had wandered, Lana found herself returning the smile.
“Found one?”
“Yep, one of yours.” Michelle flashed the book cover at her and Lana felt her cheeks heat. “It’s been a while since I read it.”
Still feeling awkward, Lana didn’t respond, instead easing out the door and across the hall to the guest bedroom. She’d made up the bed with fresh linen while Michelle was in the bath.
“You’ll probably want to leave the door open,” Lana suggested as she put the hurricane lamp on the nightstand. “The heat from the woodstove should be enough to keep you warm. There are some old T-shirts in the dresser that you can use for pajamas if you’d like, and some toothpaste and new toothbrushes in the top drawer of the vanity in the bathroom. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything else.”
“I’ll be fine. Thank you.” Michelle put her hand on Lana’s forearm, making her pause. Looking down at it, Lana was surprised at how much that simple physical contact made her body respond with an unusual intensity. When had she become so starved for human contact?
“I mean it, Lana,” Michelle told her warmly. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”
“I’m glad I could help.” Lana turned to leave.
“Wait! Won’t you need the lamp?”
A veteran of many late nights spent pacing the empty rooms of her cabin or just sitting huddled by the fire, staring emptily into the flames, too devastated to sleep alone in their empty bed, Lana shook her head. “I know my way around in the dark.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “Good night, Michelle.”
Despite her words, she retrieved a flashlight from one of the kitchen drawers and filled the woodstove again before heading upstairs to the master bedroom and the adjoining ensuite. As she brushed her teeth and undressed, she could hear the wind whistling about the eaves and lightly shaking the house, while ice pellets peppered the glass.
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