by VK Powell
“Ten-four Base, Ranger One out.”
“Thanks, Carter.” Turning to Emma with a nod of accomplishment, Ann continued with a kind but unnecessary relay. “Ranger West will meet you at your cabin with the key. You’ll like Carter. We’re family. She’s my niece, and we run this place like it’s our own home. Take the driveway beside the office and follow the signs to number seven. Enjoy your stay, and if you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask. I’ve always got a pot of coffee and an array of spirits on hand if you feel the urge, but don’t spread the part about the spirits, against park policy.”
“Thanks for your help, Ann.”
As the last of the evening sun settled between tall pines, Emma approached the cabin that would be home for a while. She breathed deeply, as if sucking in the magnificent view. The cottage was perched on an incline overlooking a clear, still lake surrounded by deciduous and evergreen trees. The setting was postcard pretty.
Two empty wooden rockers on the sprawling porch foretold the days and nights she and Sheri would never spend in this place. Had Sheri wanted to be found in bed with another woman? Had the betrayal been her easy way out? If Sheri had known the truth—that Emma had never felt real passion for her—she would’ve left much sooner. Maybe Emma had been the dishonest one, the cheater. Her stomach tightened and she clutched the steering wheel.
She sighed, mentally brushing away the past, and got out of her car. She dragged her luggage and laptop case over the uneven ground to the edge of the porch. Up close, the exterior of the cabin was rustic, with intermittent logs and faded chinking. She rubbed a finger between two logs, and the mixture of mud and straw crumbled. Would she be safe from vermin and wild creatures? Could she adjust to this environment with strange noises in an old log cabin with no insulation in the woods? She shivered. She’d botched Camping 101 as a child, a refresher as a teenager, and the immersion course as a baby dyke and had no desire to revisit her failure. What had she been thinking?
A gust of wind plucked harvest-colored leaves from the trees and cast them to the forest floor, as Emma hugged her light jacket around her and started toward the lake’s edge. The short heels of her leather-soled shoes sank into the soft ground, and she struggled with each step like she was walking in quicksand, apropos of her life.
The final rays of daylight danced near the mountain peak when Emma heard rustling behind her and turned toward the cabin. A park ranger stood at the top of the incline. The dimming light cast a soft glow across high cheekbones and dark eyes that reminded Emma of her beloved grandmother’s Native American heritage. The woman was outlined in green pants and a beige shirt, an equipment belt visually breaking the two. Her right elbow rested on top of a gun at her side, and she raked her left hand through dark hair. Emma felt like a cliché from a Harlequin romance, stunned into silence by the appearance of a dashing stranger. She continued to stare until the silence became awkward.
“Ms. Ferguson, I’m Carter West. Sorry for the wait.”
Emma shook the pleasantly unsettling image from her mind and struggled up the hill and into a huge spiderweb that stuck to her face, hands, and clothes. “Ahhhh!” She flailed her arms and swatted at the clingy snare. From the corner of her eye, she saw Carter West bite her lip to suppress a grin, with the smug assurance of those comfortable in their surroundings. Emma wiped her face again with the sleeve of her jacket and continued up the slope.
As she climbed toward the crest of the hill, the rocks shifted under her feet. She was on solid ground, and the next instant, she was falling. Carter grabbed her around the waist, and the air whooshed from her lungs as Carter hefted her onto level ground. Carter’s cocoa-brown eyes turned dark with tiny flecks of green, and her pupils constricted. Her lips parted, and the breath that swept across Emma’s face was hot and slightly minty. The muscles in Carter’s upper arms, where Emma’s hands rested, were taut, infusing Emma with a sense of safety.
Emma felt weightless for the interminable seconds until her feet touched down again. Carter’s full lips moved and then curled into a broad grin before Emma realized Carter had asked a question.
“Huh? Oh, sorry.”
“Not the outdoors type?”
“No. Not at all.”
“Imagine how the poor spider felt.” This time Carter didn’t suppress her laughter, and it echoed through the trees, deep and heartfelt.
“Do all the rangers have such an odd sense of humor?” Emma hated being a screw-up, especially when someone else was watching. She brushed at her clothes more out of nervousness than any real need. “And I’d stay well back if I were you. I’m a bit clumsy, and I wouldn’t want to take you over the side with me next time.” She was mildly annoyed, but the sound of Carter’s genuine joy proved contagious, and she chuckled in spite of herself. Twice in the past hour she’d really laughed and meant it. Maybe the fresh air was getting to her in a good way.
“Duly noted,” Carter said. “Let’s get you settled and a fire going before the chill deepens.” She smiled again, and Emma’s annoyance completely vanished as she followed Carter to the cabin and up the steps. “Do you need help with your bags?”
Emma wanted to say all her worldly belongings were in the trunk of her car and it would probably take hours to unload them, just to keep Carter close. Was she afraid of being alone in the woods, or was it something else?
“Ms. Ferguson?”
“Sorry. More like boxes instead of bags, but everything I need tonight is over there.” She nodded toward her suitcase and computer bag. “I’ll unload the rest tomorrow.”
Carter crossed the porch in two long strides, scooped up her suitcase and laptop bag as if they were weightless, and placed them at her feet. As she stood, her gaze swept Emma’s body again, and her long fingers tugged at a chain resting against bronzed skin at the neck of her shirt.
“You’ll need a fire.”
Carter probably lit a lot of fires—in women’s fireplaces, in their bedrooms. The last thing she needed was another lothario. Her words stuck in her throat. “I…I really mustn’t impose on you any further. I’m sure you have other things to do.”
“It’s no imposition. It’s my job.”
“I’m certainly capable of…” She had no idea how to set logs for a fire. Might as well own it. “I’ll figure it out. Sorry, didn’t mean to snap. I’m a little edgy. I just get tired of people thinking…You certainly don’t need to hear all that. Thanks for your help.”
“You sure do apologize a lot.”
“Force of habit.” Emma hadn’t meant to say that. It had just happened, like running into a spiderweb or falling down a hill. Apologizing was her first line of defense whenever she disappointed her parents, teachers, friends, or lovers, which was a lot.
“Bad habit, I’d say.” Carter unlocked the door, handed the key to Emma, and stepped back. “Here you go, Ms. Ferguson.”
“Call me Emma.” Heat crept across her face as she turned to go inside, trying to keep from logging another of Carter’s amused looks, but stumbled over her suitcase.
Carter caught her arm gently and steadied her. “I’ve got you.”
Such a simple phrase, so confidently delivered that Emma believed it completely. Carter’s words seemed carefully chosen, and Emma found herself clinging to every one. She’d enjoy listening to Carter’s smoky voice for hours, mining the mysteries from her closely guarded words, but Carter West probably never talked for hours.
Carter guided her gently over the threshold and slowly backed away. “Need anything else?”
Reeling from their closeness, Emma could only shake her head.
“Very well. Have a nice stay, Ms…Emma.” With a confident grin, Carter closed the cabin door softly behind her.
Emma dropped onto the closest piece of furniture, a sofa with wide wooden arms and leaf-patterned upholstery in autumn colors that belonged in the seventies. She sucked in some air and placed her hand over her stomach. Her heart was racing. Damn Carter West and her overly gallant reflexes.
<
br /> After she caught her breath for a few minutes, Emma pulled the bottle of Riesling from her suitcase. Thank God it was nearly full. She unscrewed the cap, poured a hefty dose into a coffee cup she’d scrounged from the scantily stocked kitchen, and headed for the front porch. She quickly downed two gulps of the lukewarm wine and set the cup beside her rocker. The night was much darker than in the city and full of unfamiliar noises. She’d come here to do a job and unwind, but she couldn’t relax, not at all now. She pushed her feet against the porch until the rocker pitched back and forth so violently she almost tipped out.
She was confused and agitated. She wasn’t an immediate-attraction kind of woman, but she felt as if she’d met Carter before, as if she knew things about Carter she couldn’t possibly know—the intimate feel of Carter’s hands around her waist, the safety she’d felt in her arms, and the intensity of those chestnut-brown eyes. Emma was just vulnerable right now. Sure, that was it. Still, she couldn’t deny the heat of her body’s reaction to Carter West.
She stood and paced the length of the porch, taking another healthy sip of wine with each pass. She needed to go for a run to burn off some energy, but she had difficulty staying upright on city sidewalks, so she’d probably break something on the rough terrain of the park’s gravel paths. Emma inhaled the smoky hint of a fire hanging in the air and listened to the crickets chirp as she scoured the star-filled sky. When the cool night air seeped through her thin jacket and she was no closer to an explanation for her strange reaction to Carter, she went inside.
Emma threw a cheater log on a pile of old newspapers already crumpled in the fireplace and lit a match to the stack. How considerate of the park to provide the necessities for non-camping types. Any moron could start a fire with one of these things, Carter West. She loved the flickering flames, the occasional crackling that imitated real wood, and the cozy warmth the fire provided. It wasn’t a Girl Scout fire, but it would do. All she needed was the ambiance and the rest of her wine to knock the chill off and relax her before sleep.
Settling on the sofa in front of the fire, she tucked her feet under her and examined the cabin for the first time. The living-kitchen space was about the size of a small loft, compact and snug, with a two-seater table tucked into a corner. A sliding barn-type door to the left led into the bathroom with a small shower and claw-foot tub Emma could imagine soaking in for hours. The other room on the right was barely large enough to accommodate a queen-sized bed and a valet stand for her suitcase. This would do for now.
She sipped wine. The quiet was almost disconcerting—no street noises, sirens, or voices from passersby, no television, music, not even the electrical hum ever-present in the city. The night was peaceful but not exactly soundless. Tree limbs brushed against the side of the cabin, leaves rustled in the wind, something scratched near the front door. Suddenly she didn’t feel so peaceful or safe. Perhaps she’d become too accustomed to the sounds of civilization.
She downed the final dregs of wine and headed for the bathroom. She’d come here to examine her life without Sheri, to complete an assignment, and possibly make a professional decision about her future. Tomorrow she’d begin working on the business side of the problem, but the personal would have to wait. Her emotions were too raw. After a quick shower, she climbed into bed and reached for the earplugs usually reserved for raucous nights downtown. Tonight they’d protect her from peculiar sounds she didn’t want to examine too closely.
*
“Well, well, well, guess I don’t have to ask why you’re late. I’m sure it has something to do with the guest in cabin seven.” Ann grinned as Carter entered the office.
“Please don’t start.” Carter wasn’t about to admit her attraction to the high-strung Ms. Ferguson. Emma’s wild red hair and sad blue eyes had caught Carter off guard. Damn it, even her crooked smile was unique and endearing. The fullness of Emma’s breasts and the press of her hips as Carter had rescued her from a tumble toward the lake had ignited instant desire, but Emma’s flash of annoyance at her clumsiness and Carter’s laughter had set off drama-queen warning bells.
“You’ve got to admit she’s a looker,” Ann said. “It’s like the Goddess sprinkled copper shavings all over her body with those freckles and set her hair on fire. I imagine she’d fly hot in a second.”
“You have no idea,” Carter mumbled. “Do we have to talk about this right now?” She rolled her eyes as her aunt launched into her next observation.
“I was just making conversation. If I know you, you didn’t say a dozen words. She probably thinks you’re mute.” Ann gave Carter an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t mean that. You know me, open mouth, insert both feet.”
“It’s okay, Ann.”
“Redheads are sexy as hell and independent too. Your mama, Goddess rest her soul, was the same way. You couldn’t tell her anything she didn’t want to hear, especially when it came to my no-account brother. The more he chased, the harder she ran the other way. I think dating was a sport for both of them, but I do believe they really loved each other.”
“Does this story have a purpose or are you just rambling?”
Ann pretended to ignore Carter as she locked the office, hung the emergency number on the door, and walked toward the Jeep. “So what are you going to do?”
“What do you mean, what am I going to do? Nothing. I just met the woman.” Carter gave Ann a pleading let’s-not-go-there look and twisted her necklace between her thumb and middle finger. “What’s on my to-do list for tomorrow?”
“Stop with the diversion and fiddling with your necklace. You do it every time you get nervous. I haven’t known you all your life without learning a few things. You must like this girl at least a little.”
“I have a couple of errands to run and need to fit them into my day.” Carter wanted desperately not to have a conversation about Emma Ferguson. If Ann got wind she was even slightly attracted to her, she’d do everything in her power to push them together.
“Carter Amelia West, listen to me. I’m the closest thing you ever had to a mama. I’m damn sure your aunt and only living relative, so you have to listen to me. I’m going to say my piece. You see something you like and haul tail in the opposite direction. All I ask is that you give yourself a chance for once.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.” Flashes of Ann’s thirty-six-year relationship with Cass played like a slow-motion trailer in her mind. She could never emulate their years of love and commitment, nor could she imagine the eventual loss of a love so deep. Maybe she was just afraid. She’d learned years ago that pain was a normal part of life and love.
“At some point you’re going to have to settle down. These fly-by-night liaisons with tourists and townsfolk won’t last forever. You’ll eventually get lonely for something real, substantial. Trust me.”
“How could I possibly be lonely if I have you?” Carter joked, hoping against hope to change the subject of her transitory but sexually sufficient escapades.
“That’s just it. I won’t always be here, and at the rate you’re going, I’ll find another girlfriend before you do. When was your last dalliance anyway? That one you met in certification training a year ago. What was her name?”
“Dalliance? Really, Ann?”
“Call it what you want. It was temporary. They all are with you. What was that woman’s name? Bobby, Bunny…something weird.” Ann thumbed the side of her jaw and looked at her expectantly. “I know you still hook up with her occasionally when you go to Charlottesville.”
“Hook up? Where do you hear these words?”
“The kids keep me hip, but you’re avoiding again. Tell me her name.”
“It doesn’t matter because we’re not talking about her. You’ve got this harebrained idea about Emma Ferguson, a woman I just met. Let it go, Ann.”
“Just promise that whatever reservations you have about a real relationship, you won’t let me stand in the way of your happiness. I’d never forgive myself.”
Ca
rter swallowed against the tightness in her throat. What would Ann think if she knew Carter had ended more than one relationship because she was afraid of being hurt the way she’d seen Ann hurt? She’d call her a coward and demand she take charge of her life. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You were studying to be a child psychologist at UVA, quit, and moved here, supposedly because you were bored with university and wanted something new. I think you were worried about me being here alone.”
“It’s not about you, Ann.” What else could she say? Ann’s safety and happiness had been part of her reason, but the truth was more complicated, and Carter would never hurt Ann by telling her.
“I’m not convinced, but whatever you say. Now get me home. It’s cocktail hour, and there’s a vodka tonic with my name on it.”
“I love you, Ann.” Carter reached over and patted her aunt’s hand as she drove the short distance to their log home just outside the park property.
“Of course you do, honey. ’Cause I know best, always have. You don’t live to be my age without getting a few perks. I’m never wrong, except that one time. Never mind. I knew I shouldn’t listen to that crazy woman. I can’t believe I lived with her for thirty-six years.”
“You loved Cass as much as your vodka tonics.”
“Course I did. Don’t mean she didn’t drive me crazy sometimes. That’s another thing I know for sure. It’s the ones that drive you crazy, claw their way right under your skin that we end up wanting, not the nice ones. Women in our bloodline need a challenge, honey.”
“You need a vodka tonic in the worst way.” She stopped the Jeep in front of their home that suddenly seemed huge compared to the small park cabins. “Do you ever think this place is too big for just the two of us?”
Ann looked toward the sprawling two-story house. “It was perfect when Cass was alive. We had a master suite on one side, and you had one on the other, perfect cohabitation property. I keep hoping you’ll bring someone special home one day…and not kick me out.”