That Loving Touch. Ashley Summers

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      Three

      Carrie awoke with a jolt. Her gaze flew to the window, still black with night, and in swift succession, she oriented herself. Recalling the circumstances that had brought her here, she skirted thoughts of Sam. She was tense enough already.

      Her cheeks were wet. Apparently she’d been crying in her sleep again. Remnants of her nightmare still clung like the spiderweb in which she’d been entrapped, helpless to defend herself against the circle of angry people. Contorted faces, pointing fingers, accusations flying at her like metal-tipped darts...

      Carrie shuddered. Leaving Keedysville so precipitously had probably undermined her claim of innocence, but she couldn’t subject her child to the reality of that nightmare.

      She startled as a tree limb scraped the windowpane. She was too anxious about the future to worry about the past. Too scared, she admitted. She didn’t consider herself a brave woman, yet she had left behind all that was safe and familiar to challenge the unknown, an act that filled her with misgivings. Only the precious new life she carried gave her the courage to strike out on her own.

      What if she couldn’t make it? Plagued by self-doubt, she ran through a mental list of her assets. She was strong and capable. She had a year’s lease on a cottage, and a job beginning in January. The interest on a small, protected trust fund, though inadequate alone, would be sufficient combined with her salary.

      “We’ll do okay,” she insisted, wiping tears. Chastising her weakness, she cradled the barely detectable curve of her belly. Oh God, could a baby sense its mother’s moods, even be affected by them? Appalled at the possibility, she whispered warmly, “All is well, love. Tomorrow we’ll see the doctor, just to make sure.” The realtor who found the cottage for her had also introduced her to a local physician.

      “He’ll take good care of us,” Carrie assured her baby.

      The sudden intrusion of Sam Holt’s image evoked another kind of warmth. She pushed it away—she had no use for feathery little feelings. Or any other kind, for that matter. Spending Christmas alone in a rented cabin at a frozen lake wasn’t a pleasant prospect, but that’s the way it was. “So deal with it, Carrie,” she muttered.

      Her attention snagged on the man who slept just a wall away. Sam Holt probably had big plans for the holidays—he’d be gone in a day or two. But she wouldn’t. She had nowhere to go. Her sister had died years ago, and her aging parents had suffered enough because of her stupidity. They had never liked Justin, and the circumstances surrounding her pregnancy would only upset them further.

      Rejecting hurtful memories, she let her drowsy mind drift. This time last year she’d been playing her guitar for the children’s Sunday School class...

      “Oh, Lord,” Carrie cried softly. Caught in the icy grip of sadness and regret, she tried to picture something that would make her feel warm and safe again.

      Something besides Sam Holt’s face, that is.

      Awakening from a muddled dream, Sam switched on a lamp. He had no idea of the time; the gray light outside the windows could have been dawn or dusk. Glancing at his watch produced a surprised whistle—it was nearly noon! Usually he was up by seven.

      But usually he didn’t play doctor until the wee hours of the morning. He frowned, irked rather than amused at his unintentional eroticism. To a man who needed to get laid, it wasn’t the least bit funny.

      Arching his arms over his head, he stretched to relieve various other aches. After Carrie went to bed, he’d stretched out on this too-short couch to read, and fallen asleep. The house was silent; apparently she slept late, too. A smile tugged at his mouth as he thought of the intriguing redhead. It would have been fun meeting her at some mindless cocktail party where nothing was asked and nothing was given, he thought, oddly wistful. Quickly he shook it off. While he didn’t know what she might be thinking of asking, he did know what she was getting. A night’s shelter. Then she was out of here.

      Fine with me, he told himself. All these crazy thoughts and feelings she evoked were downright unsettling to a man like him. He bounded to his feet. Despite his discomfort, he felt good. And hungry. “Lord, yes!” he growled, inhaling the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Before retiring last night, he’d remembered to set the coffeemaker СКАЧАТЬ