ungrateful, and I’m not. I appreciate what you’re doing.” Pausing, she searched for suitably tactful words. “It’s just that this isn’t quite what I’d planned.”
“What had you planned?”
“Sunshine and fresh air. A cabin all to myself. Plenty of time to work and read and walk in the woods. And cook—” She looked up in alarm at the thought. “I have food in the car! It’ll spoil if I don’t get it refrigerated!”
“It’s cold outside.”
“Cold enough?”
“Depends on what kind of food you have.”
She would have listed off an inventory had there been any point. But there wasn’t, so she simply let out a breath of resignation. He’d made it clear that she couldn’t get to her car. Whatever spoiled would spoil.
Tugging the lapels of the flannel shirt more tightly around her, she sent him a pleading glance. “This is the first time I’ve even thought of living outside New York, and to have things go so wrong is upsetting. I still can’t understand why Victoria offered me the cabin.”
Garrick was beginning to entertain one particularly grating suspicion. Eyes dark, he set the dishrag aside and retreated to the living room. The sofa took his weight with multiple creaks of protest, but the protests in his mind were even louder.
Leah remained where she was for several minutes, waiting for him to speak. He was clearly upset; his brooding slouch was as much a giveaway as the low shelving of his brows. And he had a right to be upset, she told herself. No man who’d chosen to live alone on a secluded mountainside deserved to have that seclusion violated.
Studying him, taking in the power that radiated from even his idle body, she wondered why he’d chosen the life he had. He wasn’t an avid conversationalist. But, then, neither was she, yet she’d functioned well in the city. He’d left it—at least, that was what she assumed, though perhaps it was an ingrained snobbishness telling her that the cultured ring to his speech and his fondness for certain luxuries were urban-born. In any case, she couldn’t believe that a simple housing problem such as the one she’d faced had sent him into exile. For that matter, he didn’t look as though he were in exile at all; he looked as though he were here to stay.
Leah took advantage of his continued distraction to examine the cabin in its entirety. A large, rectangular room with the fireplace and bed on opposite sides, it had a kitchen spread along part of the back wall, leaving space for the bathroom and what looked to be a closet. Large windows flanked the front door. Sandwiched between door, windows, furniture and appliances were bookshelves—a small one here, a larger one there, each and every one brimming with books.
They explained, in part, what Garrick Rodenhiser did with his time. He wasn’t reading now, though. He was sitting as he’d been before, staring at the ashes in the hearth. While moments before he’d been brooding, his profile had mellowed to something she couldn’t quite define. Loneliness? Sorrow? Confusion?
Or was she simply putting a name to her own feelings?
Unwilling to believe that, despite the clenching of her heart at the sight of Garrick, she looked desperately around for something to do. Her eye fell on the bed, still mussed from the night they’d spent. Crossing the room, she straightened the sheets and quilt, then folded the spare one he’d wrapped around her and set it at the foot of the bed.
What else? She scanned the cabin again, but there was little that needed attention. Everything was neat, clean, organized.
At a loss, she walked quietly to the window. The woods were gray, shrouded in fog, drenched in rain. The bleakness of the scene only emphasized the strange emptiness she felt.
Garrick’s deep voice came out of the blue. “What, exactly, is your relationship to Victoria?”
Startled, Leah half turned to find herself the object of his grim scrutiny. “We’re friends.”
“You’ve said
“What had you planned?”
“Sunshine and fresh air. A cabin all to myself. Plenty of time to work and read and walk in the woods. And cook—” She looked up in alarm at the thought. “I have food in the car! It’ll spoil if I don’t get it refrigerated!”
“It’s cold outside.”
“Cold enough?”
“Depends on what kind of food you have.”
She would have listed off an inventory had there been any point. But there wasn’t, so she simply let out a breath of resignation. He’d made it clear that she couldn’t get to her car. Whatever spoiled would spoil.
Tugging the lapels of the flannel shirt more tightly around her, she sent him a pleading glance. “This is the first time I’ve even thought of living outside New York, and to have things go so wrong is upsetting. I still can’t understand why Victoria offered me the cabin.”
Garrick was beginning to entertain one particularly grating suspicion. Eyes dark, he set the dishrag aside and retreated to the living room. The sofa took his weight with multiple creaks of protest, but the protests in his mind were even louder.
Leah remained where she was for several minutes, waiting for him to speak. He was clearly upset; his brooding slouch was as much a giveaway as the low shelving of his brows. And he had a right to be upset, she told herself. No man who’d chosen to live alone on a secluded mountainside deserved to have that seclusion violated.
Studying him, taking in the power that radiated from even his idle body, she wondered why he’d chosen the life he had. He wasn’t an avid conversationalist. But, then, neither was she, yet she’d functioned well in the city. He’d left it—at least, that was what she assumed, though perhaps it was an ingrained snobbishness telling her that the cultured ring to his speech and his fondness for certain luxuries were urban-born. In any case, she couldn’t believe that a simple housing problem such as the one she’d faced had sent him into exile. For that matter, he didn’t look as though he were in exile at all; he looked as though he were here to stay.
Leah took advantage of his continued distraction to examine the cabin in its entirety. A large, rectangular room with the fireplace and bed on opposite sides, it had a kitchen spread along part of the back wall, leaving space for the bathroom and what looked to be a closet. Large windows flanked the front door. Sandwiched between door, windows, furniture and appliances were bookshelves—a small one here, a larger one there, each and every one brimming with books.
They explained, in part, what Garrick Rodenhiser did with his time. He wasn’t reading now, though. He was sitting as he’d been before, staring at the ashes in the hearth. While moments before he’d been brooding, his profile had mellowed to something she couldn’t quite define. Loneliness? Sorrow? Confusion?
Or was she simply putting a name to her own feelings?
Unwilling to believe that, despite the clenching of her heart at the sight of Garrick, she looked desperately around for something to do. Her eye fell on the bed, still mussed from the night they’d spent. Crossing the room, she straightened the sheets and quilt, then folded the spare one he’d wrapped around her and set it at the foot of the bed.
What else? She scanned the cabin again, but there was little that needed attention. Everything was neat, clean, organized.
At a loss, she walked quietly to the window. The woods were gray, shrouded in fog, drenched in rain. The bleakness of the scene only emphasized the strange emptiness she felt.
Garrick’s deep voice came out of the blue. “What, exactly, is your relationship to Victoria?”
Startled, Leah half turned to find herself the object of his grim scrutiny. “We’re friends.”
“You’ve said
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