The Wedding Arbor. Valerie Hansen

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Chapter Three

      “So, what brings you to the Ozarks?” Adam asked later, over dinner.

      Sara didn’t intend to admit she was running away from anything. “Oh, just a whim.” Which was at least partially true.

      “But why come up here? You mentioned the Leatherwoods, before. You do realize that forest has been gone for almost a century, don’t you?”

      “So my granny told me. It’s a shame. I would have loved to see a tree with bark so strong a person could actually make shoes out of it.”

      “That’s the way the story goes. It’s my guess the finished product wasn’t anything like what you and I would consider decent shoes.”

      She glanced at her mud-stained sandals by the door. “Well, maybe. Right now I’d settle, though.”

      “Don’t worry. They’ll dry.”

      Sara rubbed her arms through the fleecy sleeves of the borrowed sweatshirt. “I know.” She shivered. “Do you mind if I go stand by the stove where it’s a little warmer? I’m still chilly.”

      “Not at all. Are you done eating? There’s plenty of chicken left if you want more.”

      “No, thanks. I’m stuffed.”

      “Okay. Go get warm. I’ll clean up the dishes.”

      Sara made a silly face at him. “What did you say?”

      “Go get warm.”

      “No, the rest of it,” she drawled. “I could have sworn you mentioned doing the dishes.”

      “So?”

      She giggled. “So, you’re going to have to bribe me not to tell anybody that I actually found a good-looking guy who can not only cook, but cleans up after himself.”

      “I’d just as soon you didn’t mention meeting me at all.” His scowl confirmed how serious he was.

      “Don’t worry,” Sara assured him. “Nobody would believe it, anyway. Far-fetched news like that falls into the same category as a sighting of Sasquatch.” She smiled. “Hey! Maybe I could sell your picture to the tabloids and retire for life on the proceeds.”

      “I wouldn’t bet on it.” His voice was gruff, emotionally charged. “They didn’t pay me anything the last time.”

      Hesitating, Sara tried to decide if he was kidding. Studying his closed expression didn’t help. She quit speculating and asked. “Are you serious?”

      “It doesn’t matter.”

      “It does to me. I have a history of making rotten choices in men. I’d like to know if I’m stuck out here in the woods with a famous criminal or something.”

      Adam had been noticing how she glanced at the door and tensed up every time there was a crack of thunder or the wind blew debris against the windows. For the first time since they’d met, it occurred to him she might be frightened of something other than the storm.

      He held up his hands for assurance, palms facing her. “I’m as honest and normal as anybody. A regular guy. Real apple pie.”

      Sara made a face.

      “What do I have to do, stand at attention, salute and sing the national anthem to prove it to you?”

      Her eyes followed the path of his gaze. A guitar was propped in a far corner. “Do you really play and sing?”

      “Some.”

      “Oh, would you? I love folk music!” Given the natural ambience of the cabin, a wood stove for warmth, the cadence of the rain against the roof, she couldn’t think of anything she’d like better than hearing a softly strummed guitar.

      “Maybe all I know is rock.” Adam watched her face to see what secrets her guileless features might betray. He usually played only for himself. The songs were more than company. They were catharsis. Did he really want to share that private part of his life with a stranger? He sighed. Maybe he should. If she was truly fearful, the distraction might help. The last thing he needed was to be trapped in a one-room cabin with a terrified woman.

      “Anything will be fine.” Sara wanted to be agreeable, above all. “Afterward, I’ll help you clean the dishes.”

      “That’s hardly scale wages for a musician.”

      “Maybe not, but it is a big sacrifice for me,” she said. “I have an automatic dishwasher at home. All I have to do is load it. It does the whole job all by itself, even most of the pots and pans, providing I don’t burn them cooking.”

      Adam was amused by a droll thought. He lifted the guitar carefully. “Actually, it’s Samson who usually does my dishes for me. I just set them on the floor and…” The distressed look on Sara’s face made him laugh. It was diverting СКАЧАТЬ