Betrayed (21 page)

Chapter 37

They woke still wrapped in each other's arms and parted almost reluctantly. Brook knew being in Lance’s arms should feel wrong, but it didn’t. She was a married woman. But after all she had endured, she decided she would not feel guilty about taking consolation where she could find it. Maybe it was an excuse, but she didn’t care. She had felt safe and protected next to Lance, and it answered a deep and wrenching need in her soul. Besides, it was innocent. It was as he said, just two people drawing comfort from each other. And although he hadn’t told her so, she got a strong feeling that he had found solace in their closeness as much as she had.

“It's a little late for the cocoa we planned; how about some supper instead?” Lance smiled as he stood and stretched.

“Sounds good,” she replied. “Can I help?”

“You could peel the potatoes. Let me get you over to the table.”

Brook held up a hand, palm out. “No, Lance. I need to try to walk. I have to stop babying my feet sometime.” She stood and made her way to the table while Lance stood by in case she needed him. It wasn’t an easy trek, and she secretly congratulated herself for the progress.

Once she was seated at the table, Lance brought her a bowl, knife, and four potatoes. He prepared the meat for cooking and fired up the stove. They talked while they worked.

“We used to have a big garden,” Brook reminisced.

“Back home in Denver?”

“God forbid! That would never go over where I live now.” Brook smiled. “We have a gardener, but he doesn’t really garden. He just takes care of the grounds. Mows, trims the hedges, waters, that type of work. I wanted a vegetable garden at the house but Clark was outraged and said, ‘That’s what farmers markets are for. That’s who you used to be; that’s not who you are now. Why don’t you join the garden committee at the club?’

"Yeah, right. I didn’t want to tell people what to plant and where. I wanted to do the work myself.” She sighed. “No, I was talking about my childhood. My family always had a big garden and we all pitched in to tend it.”

“Did you like it?” Lance asked.

“Yes, I did. I loved it, actually. From setting out the seeds and plants, right up until we harvested the fruits of our labor. Of course, weeding wasn’t much fun. That’s why Dad always used a thick layer of mulch. I take it you like gardening?”

“Yes,” Lance said as he rolled the meat in seasoned crumbs. “I have a few plots around the cabin. Nothing too big. I buy some of my produce from farmers markets. I plan on teaching myself how to can vegetables.”

Brook finished peeling and laid the knife aside. “I can’t quit thinking about my parents,” she said, staring off into space. “My mom especially. They must be frantic. I wish I could spare them this heartache.”

“I know you do,” Lance said. “I’ve been thinking of that, too, but didn’t want to bring it up again. I know your family is worried about you.” He seemed to mull something over before continuing.

“Brooklyn,” he said. “It wouldn’t be easy, but I could try to snowshoe out of here. If I made it I would be gone at least two days. But, I could call your family and tell them you’re safe. It's up to you. Say the word, and I’ll do my best to get in contact with your people.”

“No!” Brook’s reaction was strong and immediate. “Please don’t leave me here alone. I can’t stand the thought. Besides, if, God forbid, something happened to you, no one would know I’m here.
I
don’t even know where ‘here’ is.”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed. “It was just a suggestion. I didn’t really think it was a good idea. But I’d try it. For you.”

“Oh, Lance. I appreciate that more than you can know. Please don’t let my sadness push you into making unwise decisions. They’re people of strong faith and they won’t give up hope.”

She wiped a tear away, and looked over at Lance, watched his hands as he transferred the meat to a roasting pan.

“Do you ever get lonely?” she asked softly. He seemed surprised by the question, and pondered it for a moment.

“No,” he said. “Not really. At least I don’t think so. How about you?”

“Well, I’m married,” Brook said.

“I know.”

She cocked her head slightly and then nodded.

“I guess marriage isn’t a sure antidote to loneliness,” she admitted. “In fact, the last year I have been lonely. Clark is a hard worker, away a lot of the time. We haven't been as close lately as we used to be.”

“How about friends?” Lance asked as he took the potatoes from her and rinsed them.

“No, not many. Not any, actually. Well, I do like Lizzy from the club, but we don’t do a lot together. And my best friend, Beth, lives back in Kansas. I’m really not close to any of the other women I know. But maybe loneliness has more to do with a person’s state of mind than whether they’re with anyone.”

“I think that’s true,” Lance said. He wondered if he would be lonely once Brook left. He could so easily get used to her presence. Not that it mattered. She’d be leaving come spring if not sooner, depending on the weather, and he’d be wise to remember that. He placed the potatoes in the pan with the meat.

“It’s not that I mind being alone,” Brook said. “I don’t want you to think I need someone around me twenty-four seven.”

“I didn’t think that,” Lance said. “But being around you twenty-four seven sounds like a pretty good gig to me.” She blushed from the compliment. He pretended not to notice as he opened a can of creamed soup and poured it over the meat and potatoes. Reaching above his head, he pulled an onion from a hanging bunch. Deftly, he peeled, sliced, and added it to the pan, before covering it with foil. Opening the oven with a folded towel, he slid the pan inside.

“We’ll be eating supper rather late tonight,” he remarked, changing the subject. “Hope we can stave off our appetites until its ready.”

“Oh, I’m sure I can wait,” Brook answered.

“I have a few things I need to do but I’ll be done by the time the food is ready to come out.”

 “Do you mind if I heat some water?” Brook asked. “I’d like to take a sponge bath.”

“I want you to make yourself at home for as long as you’re here,” Lance answered, as he walked to the curtained doorway. “Feel free to help yourself to anything you need.” He smiled at her before he raised the curtain and stepped through.

Brook awkwardly brought a kettle of water to a boil and then found it was too large for her to lift. Using a ladle, she spooned water into a couple of smaller containers she could easily carry into the bathroom.

Kneeling over the tub and using a mixture of hot water from the pans and cold water from the pump to fill a pitcher, she washed and rinsed her hair. Next, she sat in the bottom of the tub and using a wash cloth, soaped herself, shaved her legs and under her arms and then rinsed from the pitcher.

Cleaning between her legs proved to be nearly painless and she mused over the resilience of the human body. Out of water now, she stood and dried. Glancing in the mirror she was pleased to find most her bruises gone. There was still one tender spot on her head but it was much improved. She finger-styled her hair and nodded approval at her reflection. She was clean and, in her opinion, she didn’t look too bad. Now if she could only quit feeling so dirty. If she could only heal her mind.

Brook tidied the bathroom. Once finished, she moved back to the stove and heated a smaller pan of water so she could soak her feet.

As Brook went about her ablutions, Lance worked in his shop. He concentrated on his project, applying his skills with the utmost care. This was a job he didn’t want to botch. Finally, he returned to the kitchen, surreptitiously slipping a cloth-wrapped bundle onto one of the nearby shelves.

Taking a peek into the oven and inhaling deeply he commented, “Smells ready.” He glanced at Brook. “Are you done soaking?”

Brook pulled her feet from the pan and Lance moved to pick it up. "Umm, you smell good," he said, inhaling deeply. "And your hair looks really nice." He lifted the pan, took it to the tub and dumped it, and washed his hands. Returning to the kitchen he pulled the meal from the oven as Brook dried her feet and slipped on clean socks.

“Hold on a second,” Lance said, arresting Brook’s moves. “I have something for you.” He took the bundle from the shelf and hid it behind his back before approaching Brook. With a flourish, he whipped off the wrapping and presented her with a pair of handmade shoes. Her hands trembled as she took them from him.

“Oh,” she whispered. “They’re gorgeous. Did you make these?”

“Yes, I did,” he said. “I figured there was no way you could tromp around in my clodhoppers, and socks just aren’t warm enough on this stone floor, so I thought I’d put together a pair of moccasins for you. They’re lined in rabbit fur, so they’re extra soft. They should be easy on your feet. You know, for when you’re ready to do some walking.”

Brook hugged them to her chest. They were rich camel-colored on the outside, the interiors plush and supple with thick fur. “When did you do this?” she asked, amazed anew at the skills this man possessed.

“Oh, I've been working on them here and there, mostly while you were sleeping.”

“You’re kidding! You amaze me. Thank you, Lance,” she said, her eyes moist.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Here, let me help you. Let’s see if they fit.”

With extraordinary care, he eased one of her feet into a moccasin.

“I feel just like Cinderella,” Brook smiled.

“Well, these aren’t glass slippers,” Lance quipped.

“No, they’re better. Glass slippers wouldn’t be very practical up here in the mountains.”

Lance slid on the other shoe. They embraced her feet in cushioned warmth, a perfect fit. She took a few tentative steps across the stone floor, then walked slowly around the daybed. Her tender feet made their usual objections known, with darts of pain and soreness, but it was so much easier to walk with the shoes on.

“I love them,” she announced. “I just love them.” To have real shoes again was a luxury, something she had always taken for granted. To have shoes made especially for her by gentle caring hands was exquisite. She wasn’t sure which helped more, the shoes themselves or the fact that he cared enough to make them. Now she had three things. Brook was beginning to feel the pride of ownership once more, and all over a tiny tree, a pair of shoes, and her old beat up purse. While walking, she made a pass by the sink and washed her hands, readying for supper. She padded over to the table.

“Well, good then,” Lance said, reaching out a hand to steady her as she sat back down on the bench. “I’m glad.”

Brook wished she had something to give Lance. She determined that she would give him some kind of cash reward once she got out of this. He had been so kind to her and all she had done in return was twist his life around, cause him extra work and inconvenience. Remembering their previous conversations, she realized that cash meant nothing to this man. He had plenty of money, buried out here somewhere. Then Brook had an idea. She would surprise him with a meal one of these times when he went out. She
could
cook. Even though she hadn’t done much in the kitchen for years, there was a time when she could turn out a pretty good meal. With that decision made, Brook could hardly wait to try it. Lance would be so surprised when he came in from his chores to find a meal already prepared. She smiled.

Lance smiled back. He was happy, he realized.
How strange. It’s odd to suddenly discover you’re happy right in the middle of a moment. Usually, you don’t recognize happiness until it’s over and you’re looking back on it.

The warm glow stayed with him throughout their meal.

Afterwards, he pushed their dishes aside and said, “I’ll clean up later. I thought you might like a tour of my humble abode, if you’re up to a little exploring. Think your feet can handle it?” He rose from the bench and came over to her side.

“Let’s give it try,” Brook said. Her natural curiosity was coming back, and she wanted to see what was behind the curtain. She stood and Lance offered her his arm.

“The first time I tried to tell you about my cold pantry, you couldn’t have been less interested. Maybe you could bear with me this time while I brag a little. I’m really quite impressed with myself for the way it turned out.”

“I guess I don’t remember the first time you tried to show it to me,” she said.

“That’s because you were busy planning your ‘great escape’.” Lance smiled down at her and she felt her heart do a small flip. They walked to the kitchen and he opened the pantry door. Icy air rolled over them as he explained the principle behind the design of the cold storage. “By keeping the walls really thin, it stays pretty damn cold in there. And it’s bigger than almost any refrigerator on the market, except for maybe industrial ones.” She admired the small room, honestly impressed with not only his handiwork, but also with the amount of food stored there. “It’s a good feeling having this thing full, I can tell you that,” he said. She understood his sentiments exactly. She too found comfort in the sight of its well-stocked shelves.

He closed the door and led her past the stove and sink area to the curtained doorway. “You haven’t seen my bedroom or workroom yet. I think you’ll find them interesting.”

“You have a bedroom?” Brook paused outside the curtain. “I thought I was sleeping in your bed.”

“I should be so lucky,” Lance murmured, only half-kidding. At the shocked look on Brook’s face, he quickly said, “I’m sorry. That was totally inappropriate. I shouldn’t have said it.”

Brook gathered her composure. Yes, she had been shocked. But not outraged, just taken by surprise. It had been a while since a man had openly flirted with her. Feeling reckless, she tossed her head and looked him in the eye.

“Why not?” she challenged. “Didn’t you mean it?”

Now, Lance was surprised. He stammered a bit before she let him off the hook with a grin. “I can tease, too,” she said. “Don’t worry so much, Lance. I can handle a little good-natured banter now and again.” He exhaled his relief. So, it was okay after all if he joked with her. Trouble was; he wasn’t entirely joking.

“Anyway, it’s good to know you have a bed. I pictured you sleeping on a pallet in a walk-in closet or something. I felt really guilty for taking your bed. And other times, I thought you had been sitting around in that closet in order to give me some privacy.”