Danger Becomes You. Annette Broadrick

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      Her cousin Larry owned a two-story log cabin that his family used as a vacation spot. It was somewhere along this road, near the edge of one of the lakes in the region. She and her mother had visited with them for two weeks over several summers in years past, but everything had looked so different now, especially with the snow obscuring her vision.

      She had no idea how close she was to his place. Before she’d slid into the ditch Leslie had begun to worry that she might miss the entrance to the long, private driveway that ended at the cabin.

      The skies had been gray and a strong, cold wind had been blowing when she’d left the motel this morning. She’d had no idea that it was expected to snow.

      The man in the other room was right: she hadn’t understood what the signs meant or she might not have left the motel. However, once the snow began to fall she was only about thirty miles from Larry’s place so she’d decided to keep going.

      She’d panicked when the snowflakes quickly turned into thick sheets of white. She hadn’t been able to see the road and had slowed to a crawl, peering through the windshield that the wiper blades couldn’t clear fast enough.

      Of course she wouldn’t have deliberately driven out into a storm if she’d known one was coming. Regardless of what her curmudgeon host thought, she wasn’t a complete fool.

      Not that any of that mattered now. There was no way she could rewind her day to make a more informed decision, which placed her in an extremely awkward situation. She was faced with the very real possibility of freezing if she went back to her car. If she stayed, she would have to deal with the crabby stranger in the other room, which put her between a rock and a hard place.

      Her luck was running out fast at a time when she desperately needed it. Of all the places where she might have gotten stuck, she’d managed to find one with a hermit who hated people. Or maybe he just hated women. Whatever it was, his total lack of enthusiasm in allowing her to stay had been 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.”

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