Before she had progressed very far in her study, Luke reappeared, a thick blanket slung over his arm. He had put on a shirt much like those he always wore, a brown-and-green plaid, his feet were still bare, noiseless on the carpet.
“Use this,” he said, pushing the blanket unceremoniously into her arms. It was so heavy she almost dropped it. “I’ll find some spare clothes for you.” He hardly looked at her as he turned to go, his eyes focused inward and his posture reserved.
Joey shook out the blanket and draped it around her shoulders “Do you always keep it so toasty warm in here?” she called after him. There was no reply. She tugged the thick wool closed so that it overlapped in generous folds and began a slow circuit of the room, trailing excess blanket behind like a tram.
She had not known what to expect, and she found herself wondering again just how much—or how little—she truly knew of Luke Gévaudan. The cabin did not luxuriate in creature comforts, but there was a rich sensuality, a deep love of nature, in the few articles he had chosen to display. A roughly made, hand-painted table against the left wall exhibited a number of objects, chief among them several beautifully carved animals whittled from wood. There were two wolves, an adult and cub, each was so lifelike, even the fur had been rendered in finest detail. A moose stood off to the side, head raised under a rack of antlers that reminded Joey of the battle she and Luke had witnessed. Half-afraid to touch them, Joey ran one tentative finger over the strong back of the moose. The feel of carved wood was delicious even to her weary senses.
Beside the carvings was a collection of rocks of varied shapes and sizes and a small display case containing a multifaceted crystal. Joey gazed at it for a moment and moved on to one of the rows of shelves alongside the table. She had just begun to take in the sheer number of books they contained when Luke reappeared.
“Clean clothes,” he announced as she paused to face him. Once again his arms were filled with fabric—a plain flannel shirt, jeans, woolen socks. He frowned at her as if seeing her for the first time since their arrival, his eyes swept over her critically. “Put these on. They should fit.”
He paused again, and Joey wondered if he expected her to strip in front of him. She tightened her grip on the blanket. His gaze swept beyond her to the table with the carvings, dark brows drew together briefly. Then he looked back at her, offering the clothing with an impatient gesture. “Go ahead. I’m not going to bite you. Are you hungry?”
The abrupt change in topic startled Joey as she took the folded clothing from Luke while trying to maintain a precarious hold on the blanket. She failed, and it slipped from her shoulders to he in a puddle about her feet. Luke crouched to pick it up, Joey found herself following his motion in blank fascination. Even now she was completely aware of the way he moved, the glitter of his strange eyes, even the corded strength of his bare feet.
He rose and stood with the blanket for a long moment of awkward silence. They looked at each other, Joey felt her pulse rising and wondered if he could hear the pounding of her heart. But he turned at last to lay the blanket on the sofa. “Are you hungry?” he repeated over his shoulder. All his attention seemed focused now on some fascinating flaw in the weave of the blanket, he did not turn again to receive her reply.
“Yes, as a matter of fact—I am,” she said at last to his broad back. As if to underscore the words, her stomach rumbled loudly at just that moment, Luke cocked his head, and Joey had the absurd notion that if he’d had the right kind of ears, he would have swiveled them back at her.
“So I hear.” There was the slightest trace of humor in his voice, though she could not see his expression. “I have venison stew, it’s not fancy, but it’s filling.” Joey had the sudden impression from his body language—a language she was beginning to learn and which was far more subtle than she’d guessed—that he was almost on the defensive, as if he expected her derision at such simple fare. His shoulders were taut and almost hunched, his fingers had tightened ever so slightly on the blanket draped over the sofa back. The fact that he should care what she thought of his cooking disarmed her in an unexpected way.