Danger Becomes You. Annette Broadrick

obvious.

      She couldn’t tell how old he was. Possibly in his late thirties. He was tall with a lean build. She had no idea what was wrong with his leg. All she knew was that he didn’t put much weight on it.

      He appeared to have only a nodding acquaintance with a razor and a good haircut would go a long way to improve his appearance.

      What she found most disconcerting about him were his eyes. They were almost a silvery blue that intensified his penetrating stare. They made clear that he’d sized her up and found her to be an inferior human being.

      Leslie had been staring unseeing into the mirror until her reflection caught her eye. The dark circles under her eyes had circles. She looked like a raccoon. Outside of that, she was as pale as the snow outside.

      She fished a comb out of her purse and ran it through her short hair. She’d cut it her first night on the run in an attempt to change her appearance. She’d never been the type of woman people noticed and she sincerely hoped she could pretend to be someone else if her situation grew dire.

      Leslie shivered. She was going to get frostbite if she stayed in the bathroom for much longer. She stiffened her spine and opened the door, determined to be pleasant no matter how rude her reluctant host chose to be.

      He hadn’t moved from the chair he’d been in and seemed to be enthralled with the thick book in front of him.

      She sat down and quietly sipped her coffee. She was glad she’d allowed it to cool a little. It was almost too hot to drink, even now. She waited for him to look up, to speak, to do something other than ignore her presence.

      She finally gave up on that. “It would be helpful if I knew your name,” she said, attempting to hide her irritation.

      “Jason,” he said without glancing at her.

      Great. Jason with no last name. The pistol lay on the table beside his chair. Was he a criminal? Or maybe paranoid. Or a paranoid criminal.

      She jumped when he raised his head and said, “If you’re hungry, Miz Scarlett, there’s a pot of stew in the kitchen on the back burner of the stove. Help yourself.” He returned to his book, obviously feeling that his duties as a host were done.

      As a matter of fact, she was starved; she hadn’t stopped for more than gasoline since leaving the motel. She’d been eating junk food all day, which could be partially to blame for her shakes.

      The rest was stark fear.

      She walked into the kitchen area and lifted the lid of a large pot. The aroma almost made her groan with yearning. After opening two cabinet doors, she found an earthenware bowl and filled it with the savory stew.

      “Would you like some?” she asked.

      After a moment he replied, “Yeah. Thanks.”

      Now there was a grudging thanks if she’d ever heard one, but at least he’d put himself out to show a modicum of politeness. She filled another bowl and carried both of them to the table, placing his in front of him.

      He closed the book and she handed him one of the spoons she’d stuck in her pocket. He immediately began to eat.

      “When do you think the storm will be over?” she finally asked.

      He took his time lifting his gaze to look at her. He shook his head and shrugged. “Sorry. No crystal ball.” He went back to eating.

      “Does the snow melt once it stops?”

      He sighed. “Eventually. Probably by March.”

      “March! But that’s two months from now!”

      He looked at her without expression. “Somebody should have told you that winter in Michigan isn’t the best place to vacation unless you enjoy winter sports.”

      Suddenly her appetite was gone.

      At this rate, the snow would be piled so high she wouldn’t be able to find the driveway to Larry’s place after she got her car on the road again.

      She sat listening to the sounds around her. She heard the pop and sizzle of wood in the stove, a tree branch brushing against the side of the cabin, the wind howling like a ghost in a horror movie. The smell of stew and coffee gave the cabin a pleasant aroma and the lamp on the table gave out a golden glow.

      She studied the walls, where some kind of heavy caulking sealed any gaps between the large logs, and looked up at the slanted roof supported by thick lumber. Too bad the place didn’t have a ceiling, as well, to trap the warm air that moved upward.

      When Jason spoke, breaking the silence, she jumped in surprise.

      “How did you find this place, anyway? I didn’t see any tracks.”

      “I, uh, happened to see the smoke from your chimney while I was trying to figure a way to get the car out of the ditch. During a break in the wind I was looking to see a house or a light when I spotted the smoke. I began to walk in as straight a line as possible through the trees where there wasn’t as much snow. I’ll admit I was getting a little nervous until I finally spotted the cabin.”

      “Ah.”

      Leslie gathered their bowls after they’d finished eating and washed the dishes. She refilled their cups of coffee and, rather than sit at the table, wandered over to a nearby window to look out. Although her watch showed that the time was a little after three, light was fading fast.

      If anything, the wind had picked up in intensity since she’d gotten here. She had no idea how far away her car was. She’d been darn lucky to find the cabin. She shivered, her arms hugging her waist.

      Finally, Leslie turned away from the window. She glanced at Jason and discovered him watching her.

      “I’m going to have to stay here overnight,” she finally said, more as a statement than a question.

      “Looks like it, yeah.”

      She grasped her elbows tightly. “I don’t have any clothes here.”

      “Not surprising. You wanted to use the phone, not move in.”

      She almost smiled. He had a succinct way of pointing out the obvious. Maybe the tension she’d been under for the past three days was warping her mind, but she didn’t find him quite as intimidating as she had when she’d first met him. Just rude.

      Of course, he could shoot her at any time, but somehow she didn’t believe he would. She had a hunch he used his pistol for protection, not aggression. Leslie wondered if he needed protection from anyone in particular.

      The thought was far from reassuring.

      She looked down at what she was wearing and sighed.

      He stood and made his way to the other end of the cabin. Over his shoulder he said, “I’ll see what I have that you can sleep in.”

      She trailed after him and watched as he opened a large chest, pulled out some sweats, some sheets, pillowcases and blankets. “There are pillows on the bed,” he said, nodding to the unmade bunks across from him.

      “Thank you,” she said, taking the proffered items. She quickly made up the lower bunk before she shook out the sweatshirt and pants. Even though she was tall, these would swallow her, but it couldn’t be helped.

      She turned and looked at him. “I hope you don’t mind, but I was wondering if there was something to hang between us for a little privacy.”

      He looked at her as though she’d lost her mind. She didn’t care what he thought. She folded her arms and refused to drop her gaze.

      “I doubt that a blanket would give you privacy, unless you want to drape one from the top bunk. If that’s what you want, be my guest.”

      He turned away and carefully retraced his steps to the other end. Just the little exertion had his leg throbbing. He went into the bathroom, closed the door and turned on the shower. He generally used a heating pad