His Healing Touch. Loree Lough

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СКАЧАТЬ guy? She’d settle for anything less than a criminal at this point.

      He closed the door just then—a little louder than necessary, Kasey thought. When he bolted it, she swallowed, hard.

      “I don’t get much company way up here.” He laughed softly. “Especially not during a thunderstorm.”

      Well, she told herself, at least he has a nice laugh. Then her smile faded as she remembered that lady reporter’s interview with Ted Bundy. He’d had a nice laugh, too.

      Frowning darkly, the stranger said, “You’re soaked to the skin.”

      Which should have been the least of his worries. Between the mud that had clumped in the treads of her boots and the rain that dripped from her pants cuffs, she’d tracked in quite a mess. And now it was puddling on what appeared to be a polar bear rug. “Oh, wow. I’m so sorry,” she said. “When I get back to town, I’ll—”

      “Easy. I know how to use a scrub brush.”

      With no explanation whatever, he disappeared through a nearby doorway, leaving her alone near the fire. Had he gone to fetch his hatchet? A handgun? Maybe a rope and a roll of duct tape, so he could tie her up and torture her before—

      He clomped back into the room on brown suede boots. Who is this guy? she asked herself, staring at the big shoes. Paul Bunyan? Then she noticed that he carried something white, and something red, neatly folded and stacked on his hand. On his unbelievably large hand. Larry from Of Mice and Men popped into her mind.

      They stood for a moment, blinking and clearing their throats, as if trying to come to grips with the fact that she was stuck here, at least for the time being.

      “You can change,” he said, nodding toward the room he’d just vacated, “in there.”

      She nodded, too, as he handed the clothes to her. “Wow. Neat. A sweatsuit. And a towel, too,” she said. “This is great. This is good.” What inane thing would pop out of her mouth next? she wondered. “Let us thank Him for our food”?

      Smiling, both dark brows rose high on his forehead. “Lemme guess,” he began, “your name is Red.”

      “No, it’s—” She followed his gaze to the basket of cuttings still clutched in her free hand. Getting his Red Riding Hood joke, she laughed. Way too long and way too loud, but what did he expect after the chilly greeting he’d given her?

      “I—I own a… These are for…” She put the basket on the nearest end table. Maybe she’d explain later. And maybe you won’t. “I’ll just go and change now.” And backing through the door, she said, “Thanks. Really. I appreciate it.”

      The instant she closed the door, Kasey checked for a lock. “Rats!” she whispered through clenched teeth. “Whoever heard of a door without a lock?”

      You have, was her silent answer. Her own bedroom door didn’t have a lock on it. Neither did her mom’s, or Aleesha’s. And while her bathroom door had one, it had been broken for as long as she could remember. Besides, if the guy on the other side of this door aimed to harm her, a lock wouldn’t stop him. And if that was his aim, wouldn’t he have done it by now?

      Possibly.

      And he might just be one of those killers who got his jollies by watching his victims suffer….

      Trembling, Kasey leaned her back against the door. Get hold of yourself, ’cause if he is a murderer, you’ll need your wits about you! Then, trading her wet clothes for his gigantic, fleecy sweatsuit, she vowed to get her overactive imagination under control.

      Adam had just placed two mugs of hot chocolate on the coffee table, when she came out of the bedroom. He hadn’t known what to expect, considering the shape she’d been in when she arrived, but surely not this….

      No way she could’ve been taller than five foot five. He knew, because when she’d slunk past him to get inside earlier, the top of her head had barely reached his shoulder. Somehow, she looked even tinier in his bulky sweatsuit.

      Her hair had looked darker, straighter, when it had been all plastered to her head by the rain. Now, thick waves that fell almost to her waist gleamed like a new penny in the firelight.

      “I suppose it’s too much to hope that you have a phone way out here….”

      “Cell phone,” he said, “but the battery is dead.”

      “Seems to be a lot of that going around lately.” Then she noticed the mugs. “Oh, wow,” she said, smiling. “Hot chocolate, my favorite.”

      The smile put a deep dimple in her right cheek at exactly the same moment as a loud, gurgling growl erupted from her stomach. She placed a hand over it. A very tiny, dainty hand, he noticed.

      “Hungry?”

      Her cheeks turned a rosy red. “Well, I hate to put you out. I can make myself a sandwich, make one for you, too…if you have the fixin’s.”

      “You just sit there by the fire and get warm. I’ll whip us both up a bite to eat.” He headed for the kitchen. “Do you like grilled cheese?” Standing at the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, Adam picked up a can of tomato soup, opened his mouth to offer that, too, when she spoke up.

      “Do I!” She sat on the hearth, hugged her knees to her chest. “Only way I like it better is with a bowl of tomato soup.”

      “Well, then. We have two things in common.”

      Well-arched brows disappeared behind wispy, coppery bangs.

      “An aversion to being cold and wet, and grilled cheese with a side of tomato soup.”

      Either she hadn’t heard his response to her unasked question, or chose not to respond, for his surprise houseguest was leafing through a copy of Architecture Today. He wondered which house had her wrinkling her nose that way. Hopefully, the ridiculous-looking one the magazine had decided to feature on the cover. Adam didn’t know why, especially when his own house was a glass-and-wood contemporary in Ellicott City, Maryland, but he’d never been overly fond of modern-looking houses. Give him an old Victorian, like his grandma used to live in, and—

      “I could never live in one of these.”

      “One of what?”

      “These houses that have more windows than walls.” She met his eyes. “Where’s a person supposed to hang pictures?”

      He’d been trying to butter the bread when she said it, and buttered his hand, instead. After wiping it clean on a kitchen towel, he stirred the soup and shrugged. He didn’t have anything on the walls at his place, so the question had never occurred to him.

      She stood, returned the magazine to its pile, then bent to make a tidy fan shape of the stack. “So,” she said, walking toward him, “mind if I ask you a question?”

      “Fire away.”

      “Actually,” she added, sliding onto a stool, “it’s more like a couple of questions.”

      What was it with women? Did they all need name, rank, and serial number СКАЧАТЬ