Retribution. Ruth Langan

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ they followed the path deeper into the woods, Sidney looked up at the canopy of fiery autumn foliage. “You picked a great time of year to visit.”

      When he didn’t reply, she added, “This is my favorite season.”

      “For the color?”

      “There’s that, of course. But it’s more. The tourists are gone, a lot of the trendy shops are closed until next summer, and there’s this wonderful feeling of anticipation.”

      He turned to her. “What is it you’re anticipating?”

      She shrugged. “Slowing down, I guess. Settling in for the winter. Have you ever spent a winter in Michigan?”

      “No. Tell me what I’m in for.”

      She laughed. “Snow. Mountains of it. I hope you like skiing, sledding and ice fishing.”

      “I’ll let you know after I’ve tried my hand at all of them.”

      “Where are you from?”

      Again that pause, as though reluctant to reveal anything about himself. “Florida, originally. But it’s been years since I’ve been back.”

      “Where do you live when you’re not here photographing nature?”

      “Wherever an assignment takes me.”

      “Assignment?”

      “I’m a photojournalist with WNN.”

      Her eyes widened. “Really? I’ve never met anyone who actually worked for television news before. I suppose you’ve been all over the world.”

      He merely gave a shrug of his shoulders, as though reluctant to talk about his work. And though it was on the tip of her tongue to ask why he was here in Devil’s Cove, instead of some exotic location, there was something about his closed, shuttered look that told her he wouldn’t be comfortable answering any more of her questions.

      They came up over a rise and Adam stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of the cabin. “Talk about isolation.”

      Sidney couldn’t decide if he was impressed or dismayed. “I guess I’m just comfortable with my own company. I knew the minute I saw it that it had to be mine.”

      He shot her a sideways glance as she opened the door and held it while he stepped past her. Once inside he handed her the easel and stool, and she set them in a corner of the room, along with her paints and canvas.

      When she turned, she saw him rubbing his shoulder. “Are you all right?”

      “Yeah.” He lowered his hand. “Just nursing an injury.”

      “You should have told me.”

      He shook his head. “Nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

      Sensing that he was uncomfortable talking about it, she quickly changed the subject. “How about some cider before you go?”

      “Cider?”

      “Don’t tell me you’ve never tried our Michigan cider?” Sidney opened the refrigerator and removed a jug. “Apple cider. Made just outside of town at the Devil’s Cove Orchard and Old Mill.” She nodded toward the great room. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll bring you a mug. You’re in for a treat.”

      “I’ll stay here.” He remained by the door. “My boots would track dirt on your floor.”

      “You could take them off.”

      “I’d rather not.”

      When he didn’t move, Sidney filled two mugs with cider and handed him one before crossing to the fireplace, where she held a match to kindling. Within minutes a cozy fire was burning on the hearth.

      She looked at the window with a laugh. “I see Toulouse is back.”

      While Adam watched with interest, she walked over, reached around him and opened the door. The black-and-white cat bounded inside and crossed the room to settle on a rug in front of the fire, where he began grooming himself.

      “Another one of yours?” Adam asked.

      She nodded. “Toulouse found us about six months ago. Just wandered in and never left.”

      “Smart cat.” Adam sipped his cider and looked around the cozy cabin, letting the warmth of the fire soothe his aching shoulder. The place smelled of cedar, apples and faintly of linseed oil. A bowl of apples adorned the coffee table set in front of the sofa. He looked up, admiring the rugged cedar beams overhead. Spying the loft he tilted his head for a better look. “Your studio?”

      “Yes. It’s perfect under the skylights. I usually work there only when I can’t paint outside. But I much prefer working in the fresh air, with my models posing in the water close to shore.”

      “Models?”

      She laughed. “Ducks. Geese. All kinds of waterfowl. They’re my specialty.”

      “I see.” He noted the number of canvases, stacked in no apparent order along the wooden railing, and the easel positioned directly under the skylights. “I guess I’ll need some models, too. Deer and foxes, and whatever else I can scare up in these woods.”

      “You’ll be amazed at how much wildlife you’ll see. This forest is alive with some wonderful creatures.”

      He heard the warmth in her tone. “I’m counting on it. I’m hoping to put together a workable darkroom at the lighthouse, so I won’t have to send my work to an outside lab. There’s a fairly good-size utility room on the lower level that I think might work. It has a small sink and several long cabinets connected by a countertop. I think it’ll give me the room I need to develop my prints.”

      It was, Sidney realized, the most he’d said since they’d met. “It’s so nice to be able to work at home. If you’re like me, you’re going to like living and working in the same space.” She settled herself on the raised hearth and absently ran a hand over Toulouse’s back. The cat closed his eyes and purred contentedly.

      “Yeah, there’s something to be said for that.” Adam found himself watching the cat with envy. Sometimes when Marcella Trowbridge, his physical therapist, whom he’d silently dubbed The Dominatrix, was pushing him to the limits of endurance, he wanted to ask her to stop and just massage his shoulder instead. Of course, Marcella wasn’t being paid to soothe him. Her job was to get him back to normal, or as close to normal as possible, in the shortest amount of time. And she did that by beating him up on a regular basis, until he wanted to beg for mercy. Each time their therapy session ended, he felt like a whipped dog. He was intelligent enough to know it was necessary, and that it was, indeed, getting the job done. Without the therapy, he’d never be allowed back to work. But he couldn’t help wishing for it to be over sooner rather than later.

      To keep from thinking about what it would be like to be the one getting a back rub, he turned his attention to the rest of the room. The walls were hung with paintings of waterfowl. Some were sweet. Families of ducks or geese swimming in perfect formation, mother in front, young in the middle, the СКАЧАТЬ