“This,” Ashley said, “is not what I’d pictured when you said cabin.”
“What did you picture?”
He’d lifted her bags out of the back of the vehicle while she stood there looking at the long, low dark brown building. Somehow, she’d had in her mind a building like, maybe her parents’ carriage house. Small, with a high pointed roof. A fairy-tale kind of building. This wasn’t that.
She turned to go back and pick up her bag. Glanced into the back of the vehicle and saw, as she’d guessed, a storage locker. Two, actually—one along each side of the cargo space.
She looked back at the building that seemed more small house than cabin. “No secure garage to lock it up in?”
She meant it archly, but he just shrugged. “It has a custom-built alarm system that will go off if a rabbit sneezes within ten feet of it. And,” he added with a gesture up to the side of the building, “there’s 24/7 video surveillance.”
She drew back. “Then why the detailed check of it when we came out of the library?”
“Because some humans, the craziest ones, can be sneakier than a rabbit.”
“That,” she said, “I won’t argue with.”
He gave her a sideways glance. “I’m sure you could if you tried.”
His tone was amused, not nasty, so she didn’t rise to it. “I can argue most sides of most things,” she said as she picked up her bag. She noted that he let her, then remembered how her parents’ security people never carried anything, so their hands were free at all times.
“Even sides that oppose what you want?” he asked. He sounded as if he seriously wanted to know, and so she answered accordingly.
“Especially those. That’s why I like having both sides of an issue angry with me at one time or another. I take it as proof I’m doing the right thing, not a one-sided thing.”
He looked surprised, then thoughtful. “Points to you, then,” he said, and went to open the door.
She walked down a rather dark but short hallway with paneling that matched the outside and a wood plank floor. And then the space opened up, and she set down her bag in amazement.
The room was like nothing she’d ever seen. The inland side of the cabin might be all solid walls, but this large space was nearly all windows—except for one wall that was almost entirely a large and quite full bookcase—with a glorious view over a spacious deck down to the lake glistening in the near-winter sun. There was a huge stone fireplace with a heavy wood mantel at one end of the oblong room, and a kitchen with somewhat-dated tile but sleek new appliances at the other.
It was furnished with comfortable-looking, rather mismatched furniture. It would drive her meticulous mother crazy. Clearly, there had been no professional decorator in charge here. And she wasn’t sure she didn’t like the place better for it.
But what completely caught her attention was, of all things, the ceiling. It was made of what looked like metal tiles, or a single sheet of metal crafted to look like individual tiles, each perfectly square with a raised hammered ridge on the edges and a circular decorative medallion in the middle. The golden expanse should have been out of place, she supposed, but it wasn’t. The color blended perfectly with the lighter wood of the walls, and it warmed up the entire large room.
She hadn’t even noticed he’d come up behind her when he spoke. “It came from an old bank building in Braxville, our hometown. When they tore down the building, Mom bought it and had it installed here.”
“It’s beautiful. And unique.”
“I’ll give you unique,” he said with a wry grin and lift of his eyebrows.
She found herself smiling at him. “Had to explain that a lot, have you?”
“How could you tell?”
“The explanation did sound fairly well practiced.”
“It was easier when I was a kid. I’d bring a friend out here, he’d look up and say weird. And I’d say yeah. And that was it.”
She laughed. When he wasn’t being dictatorial, she quite liked him.
She walked over to the windows and looked out. “That’s the tree you mentioned?” she asked, pointing at the big cottonwood to the right.
“Yep. My mom again. And my Uncle Shep. They planted it as a sapling when I was about three.”
She stared at the towering tree. “A sapling?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t much taller than Uncle Shep at the time. They grow really fast at first, like about six feet in a year. Only took until I was seven to be tall enough for me to fall out of and break my arm.”
She turned quickly to look at him. He was smiling. “I’ll bet your parents loved that.”
“Mom kind of freaked. Funny, considering she’s a nurse. Dad was in the middle of some project, so he didn’t find out for a couple of days.”
For a moment, she said nothing. She tried to imagine her father, even as busy as he always was, not finding out that she had broken an arm at seven. The image wouldn’t form. He’d talked to her practically every day of her life, asking her not just about her day but her life, her dreams.
“My father would probably have wanted to cut the tree down for daring to be complicit.”
He tilted his head as he looked at her, as if he were studying her. “And I’ll bet you would have stopped him, saying it wasn’t the tree’s fault.”
It unsettled her a little that he was exactly right. “Of course.”
He didn’t say any more about it, only, “Let’s get you settled in.”
This time he did pick up her bag and started up the stairs that led up off the entry hall, directly opposite a closed door to either a closet or a room behind the expansive great room. She followed him up, brow furrowed as she tried to remember from the outside. It had seemed to her there wasn’t much of an upstairs, that it had only covered about a third of the lower story.
When they reached the top, she realized that the entire space was a rather grand, spacious master suite, with a large picture window that looked out at the lake. He set her bag down on the foot of the bed while she looked around. The four-poster bed seemed huge and was covered with a blue-and-gray comforter. The blue matched the color of the lake today, and she guessed the gray matched it on cloudy days. There were coordinating drapes at the big window—the only window, she noticed—but she couldn’t imagine ever wanting to close them.
“Guest closet,” he said, jabbing a thumb toward a door on the back wall. “Bathroom,” he added, now pointing toward a door to her left.
Curious, she went to look. “Lovely,” she said, meaning it. The bathroom was worthy of the spa her mother adored to frequent. She could soak in that tub—which also had a view out to the lake, carefully angled so it didn’t go both ways—up to her neck. And she stood there, staring out the carefully placed window, fighting down the ridiculous flush that had begun to rise at the thought of being naked in that tub under the same roof with this man. The realization that it was plenty big enough for two.
“Should be towels and whatever else in the tall cabinet,” he said, clearly not bothered by such fevered imaginings. “My mom keeps it pretty well stocked.”
She steadied herself and then turned to face him. “Shouldn’t this be your room?”
He shrugged. “There’s another bedroom downstairs.”
“Like this?”
He smiled. “No. A lot smaller.”
“Then I’ll take that one and you—”
“No.”
And there he was, back again, Mr. Authority. “I’ve slept in mud huts, Mr. Colton. As long as I sleep, it doesn’t matter where.”
“Noble of you. But in this case, it does matter.”
The jibe stung. She hadn’t said it to sound noble, just to make a point. But he seemed insistent on putting the worst spin on...everything. She’d dealt with village elders who were less cranky. With an effort, she kept her voice level. “Why does it matter here?”
“Because there’s only one way to get to this room. And they’ll have to go by me to do it.”
She stared at him. Now she guessed she knew that door at the bottom of the stairs led to the other bedroom. “You say that as if you expect armed troops to show up.”
“I don’t expect them. That doesn’t mean I don’t prepare for them.” She couldn’t argue the logic of that, so didn’t try. Instead, after yet again reaching for her bag before remembering the special pocket for her phone was empty, she held out her hand. “My phone now, please?”
“Oh. Yeah.” He sounded rather odd, but started to reach into his pocket. He also nodded toward her bag. “No fancy designer label?”
“I thought we swore off assumptions.”
“Just asking,” he said. “It looks like something my sister would use, if she needed to carry but couldn’t wear a holster.”
She glanced at the bag, startled. “I had it made,” she said briefly, managing not to frown in impatience as he pulled out her phone yet didn’t hand it to her.
“Ah. Custom job.”
He made it sound like that was somehow worse than carrying a big-name designer bag around. “Hard though it may be for you to believe, I actually prefer the low-key look of this bag, and I’ve had it for years. My phone?”
At last, he handed it over. Then he said briskly, “Get settled in. I’ll go see what my partner’s idea of stocking the kitchen was.”
He was gone before she could answer, and she had the strangest feeling he hadn’t just left, he’d escaped.