The One Safe Place. Kathleen O'Brien

at his heels.

      She couldn’t have been more wrong. No gray hair, no wrinkles, no reading glasses, no lab coat and no hound. Instead, the real Reed Fairmont was in his early thirties and good-looking enough to be an actor playing a country vet or a model posing for the cover of Adirondack Adventure.

      Six-foot-something, with broad shoulders, trim hips and muscles in all the right places. Longish, wavy brown hair with a healthy dose of highlights. And green eyes smiling out from a forest of thick lashes.

      He bent down and gave Tigger a pat. He smiled at Spencer. “Hi,” he said comfortably. “You’ve got a pretty great dog here.” Spencer just ducked his chin and stared down at Tigger.

      Reed didn’t seem to notice. He stood without comment and gave Faith another smile. “It’s getting chilly,” he said. “I bet you’d like to get out of those wet clothes.”

      She looked over at the house, which was gleaming now with lights in the encroaching dusk. Autumn House. It, too, had surprised her. Detective Bentley had reported that it was a large, wooden Adirondack cabin, but that simple description hadn’t begun to do it justice.

      Autumn House was huge, and as beautiful as the forest itself. It sprawled with a natural grace as far as the eye could see—here following the contours of a small silver creek, there wrapping around an ancient oak. The house rose three stories at its center, then sloped to two, then one, then tapered off to a long wooden boardwalk that eventually disappeared into the woods.

      It had huge picture windows that looked out onto the sunsets, and porches on all three floors. She felt sure that the place had been built as a haven, a place where terrible things wouldn’t dream of happening.

      If only that were true.

      “Tell you what,” Reed said, as if he had followed her longing gaze to the warm, lighted house. “Why don’t you let Parker take you up and show you where your rooms are? That way you can get a warm shower and change.”

      She longed to say yes. A warm shower sounded like heaven. But she looked down at Tigger, uncertain. “I think I’d better wash the puppy off first,” she said. “He’ll get mud all over your lovely house.”

      “I can do that.” Reed squatted down again and tugged lightly on Tigger’s muddy ear. “I’ve got everything I need back in the clinic. That is, if Tigger doesn’t mind going with a stranger.”

      Tigger had never met a stranger. He licked Reed’s hand and wriggled with anticipation. Reed chuckled. “Guess that’s my answer,” he said pleasantly, then looked at Spencer. “I promise I’ll take good care of him.”

      Suddenly Parker Tremaine stepped up, clearing his throat. “I think you’ve got it backward, Reed,” he said with a wry smile. “It’s your house—I’m not even sure which rooms you’ve set aside for them. So how about you take Faith and Spencer up to the house, and I’ll wash the dog?”

      Tigger sniffed Parker’s outstretched hand and began thumping his tail in unqualified approval. But Reed gave his friend a quizzical expression that Faith couldn’t quite decipher.

      “What about your suit, Parker? I seem to remember that you’re wearing Sarah’s favorite suit.”

      Parker tilted his head and grinned slowly. “True, but, you know, Reed, there is something Sarah values even more than a good suit.”

      Reed squinted narrowly at the other man, as if he suspected him of an ulterior motive. “Really. And what would that be?”

      Parker hesitated—a small pause that had a distinctly teasing flavor. Faith saw that they were communicating privately—and very effectively—but she couldn’t really tell about what. Maybe it was as simple as trying to get out of having to wash the muddy dog. Or having to squire the dripping guests up to the shower…

      Suddenly Parker held out his hands with a smile, asking Spencer to transfer custody of Tigger. To Faith’s amazement, Spencer hardly hesitated. He handed the puppy over with a single kiss to his matted head.

      “Dogs,” Parker said, holding Tigger up with the triumphant air of a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat. “As you know, Reed, Sarah just loves dogs.”

      SPENCER AND TIGGER fell asleep early, almost as soon as they had wolfed down dinner. Reed wasn’t surprised. They had both been subdued, obviously exhausted by their eventful day.

      At one point, Spencer had looked up at his aunt intently, then gazed over at his bed. She must have understood, because she turned to Reed and asked whether he’d mind if Tigger slept on the bed.

      Naturally, he hadn’t minded at all. He’d been six years old once. And frankly he still didn’t see the point in having a dog if you didn’t let it sleep on the bed.

      Reed assumed that Faith would fall asleep early, too, but to his surprise when he strolled out onto the second-floor porch at about ten o’clock, she was standing out there, as well.

      She didn’t hear him at first. Wrapped in a moonlight-blue robe and a gray cloud of deep thoughts, she was staring into the trees as if she longed to lose herself in their inky depths.

      It probably would be wiser to turn around and leave her there. But he wasn’t feeling wise. All evening he’d been feeling edgy, unable to settle in. He felt irrationally as if his life was on the verge of becoming completely different, though he had no idea how.

      Maybe it was just the weird feeling of having other people in the house. No one but him had slept in this house since Melissa died.

      And, to be honest, he was curious. He wanted to know Faith Constable’s story. Parker had given him broad outlines, but, now that he’d met her, outlines weren’t enough.

      He was careful to make enough noise walking toward her to be sure she’d hear him. Given what she’d been through lately, the last thing he wanted to do was startle her.

      She turned around. “Hi,” she said, smiling.

      “Hi,” he responded casually, but inside his senses were suddenly reeling. She smelled of soap and some kind of perfume that made him think of pink flowers and springtime. She wore no makeup, and the blue-gray shadows under her eyes were more apparent than before, but somehow she was more beautiful than ever.

      Her dark hair fell to midarm—curving against the tender spot where he had earlier noticed a large white bandage. The bandage had been a brutal reminder that she wasn’t here for a social visit. She wasn’t even here to be his housekeeper.

      She was a wounded, frightened woman. A refugee seeking asylum.

      He felt a sudden flash of anger toward this insane, vicious Douglas Lambert. How could anyone be trying to hurt someone so beautiful?

      He joined her at the railing. The night was chilly, but not yet cold. The autumn sky was like a piece of heavily sequined black satin.

      “So,” he said, not sure how to open a normal conversation. So much about this situation was far from normal. “Is the room okay? Do you have everything you need?”

      “Oh, yes, absolutely.” She sounded stilted, but polite. She turned toward him with another of those strained smiles. “I haven’t thanked you properly yet. It’s very generous of you to let us hide out here.”

      “I’m glad to be able to help,” he answered. God, this was like a bad comedy of manners. They were living together, for Pete’s sake. They might be living together for weeks—even months. They were going to have to get past this stilted exchange of meaningless pleasantries.

      “So, I was wondering… If this is a good time, with Spencer asleep, I thought maybe you’d be willing to tell me a little more about what happened.”

      She touched her arm. “More like what?”

      He chose his words carefully. He didn’t want to sound insensitive, as if he found her tragedy as morbidly fascinating and unreal as a soap opera. “About your sister, and why this guy