“That sounds very good,” she said softly. “Thank you.” She saw his muscles loosen almost imperceptibly as she spoke, and his head lifted, so that the last rays of daylight from the near window silvered the strands of dark hair that brushed his collar. Before she could give in to the sudden, overwhelming impulse to run her fingers through that hair, he was striding away across the room and through the connecting door.
Wishing she had a space heater or even a fire to change in front of, Joey began to pull off her soiled clothing. She found herself unable to share Lukes obvi-usly casual attitude about nudity, and half-crouched behind the dubious protection of the sofa to change She struggled hastily out of her boots, socks, and jeans, debated briefly over her underwear, and decided after a moment to wad it up with the rest of her discarded clothing.
The new clothing was dry and clean if not much warmer than the rest of the cabin. The jeans she pulled on were quite obviously a woman’s, though perhaps a size too large, Joey considered the probable nature of their previous owner as she zipped them up. One of Luke’s many “conquests”?
The thought made her lips tighten with annoyance. She had to keep reminding herself she was here for a reason—for her own reasons. She wasn’t any man’s conquest unless she wanted to be. Least of all Luke Gévaudan’s.
The shirt Luke had provided was deliciously soft against her bare skin as Joey shrugged into it. Like the jeans, it seemed more suited to a fuller figure, though Joey was not about to quibble on that score. It felt more than wonderful to be in clean clothes again, with dry woolen socks on her feet. She allowed herself to savor that feeling and temporarily abandoned all other concerns. The sofa was surprisingly comfortable as she settled into it, pulling the blanket up to her chin and staring into the empty fireplace. With a little imagination she could see it brought to life with leaping flame, turning the cabin into something romantic and mysterious. Suitable, she thought, for its occupant.
She’d hardly realized that she was sitting in near darkness when Luke’s voice broke the silence “I’ve started a fire in the stove, but it’ll be a while before the stew is ready.” He appeared beside the sofa, a dark form surrounded by deepening shadows. Joey could just make out a pair of lamps in his hands, and as she squinted to watch him, he cleared space on two of the small tables to either side of the room, lighting the lamps one by one.
At once a soft glow spread from the lamps to illumine the room, it wasn’t enough light to read by comfortably but was more than enough to prevent accidents. Luke’s face was strange and gaunt with hollows carved of shadow, his eyes hooded when they turned to her. In the darkness they seemed almost black.
“I’m going out for firewood,” he said at last. The lamplight cast long, ominous shadow-shapes that preceded him as he moved to the entryway. “It would be best if you just stay here and rest. I won’t be gone long.” He fixed her with a final look, a long stare she could not quite interpret in the uncertain light, and vanished into the entryway.
For a while Joey sat and absorbed the peaceful stillness of the cabin, closing her eyes and allowing her aching muscles and battered sensibilities to bask in soothing quiet. But even bone-weary exhaustion was not enough to permit complete comfort in an unfamiliar place—particularly this place. When she felt quite warm, and the first edge of fatigue had worn off, she was ready to explore further.
Pulling the blanket up into a makeshift cloak, Joey resumed her study of the bookshelves. It was just possible to make out titles in the dim light.
She had been right in one of her first guesses about Luke, he was an educated man. The range of books he kept on his shelves was considerable: history, psychology, nature, and literature seemed among the most common topics but were far from the only ones .She found titles not only in English but a great many in French as well, her shaky grasp of the language enabled her to translate some of them. Like the others, the French books covered a wide variety of subjects, though there were many that seemed to focus on French-Canadian folklore and culture. They told her he was not only bilingual but fluently so. She wondered if he spoke French as flawlessly as he spoke English.