Clay stared at the cabin, which Allie had already entered. He'd never dreamed she'd take him to such a place. He hadn't even known it existed. Now that he did know, however, he could easily imagine Allie's father calling Irene and asking her to meet him here for a few hours on an available afternoon.
Not that imagining such a rendezvous created a picture Clay wanted to see....
"Aren't you coming?" Allie called from the front step, her body silhouetted by the flicker of a kerosene lamp. She seemed uncertain about his delay, but she didn't act as if she'd just stumbled on proof that her father was having an affair.
Releasing his breath, Clay got out of his truck and approached the cabin.
"This is definitely private," he said.
"My dad comes out here almost every Sunday," she told him. "He likes to fish."
"With you?"
"When my brother and I were younger, he'd bring us along. These days he mostly comes alone."
Or so he wanted everyone to believe, Clay thought. "What about today? He didn't come up?"
"No, he had too much to do. I saw him at home before I left."
More good news. "I can see why he likes it here."
The qui-ko-wee of a lone whip-poor-will, which rose from the damp woods surrounding them, seemed louder than any Clay had ever heard. He liked that sound and the sense of seclusion provided by the dense vegetation. But he hesitated at the cabin door, still afraid he might find something of his mother's inside.
"You seem...reluctant to be here with me," Allie said, frowning up at him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he said and stepped across the threshold.
Only about twelve by fifteen feet, the shack looked like an old miner's cabin. There was a double bed pushed up against the wall. A dining table sat in front of a rock fireplace that had a spit and an iron hook dangling from above. Three wooden logs, crudely fashioned into chairs, were arranged by the table. White drapes hung at the window. The other furnishings included a small bookcase near the bed, some detached cupboards, a shelf above the fireplace with cooking utensils hanging from it and a knotted rug that covered the wooden planks of the floor.
"There's no bathroom?" he said.
"The outhouse is downstream a bit. This time of night you'll need a flashlight or you'll never find it."
"How long has your father owned this place?"
"Most of my life." She gestured around her. "Luxurious, isn't it?"
Maybe it wasn't luxurious, but it was appealing. After all the unwanted attention he'd endured in his life, Clay felt as if he'd just stepped into another world, as if he could hide out here and avoid the prying eyes that watched him wherever he went in Stillwater.
It was easy to see how Chief McCormick and Irene might feel the same sense of security.
Clay was almost certain this had to be their meeting place. But, fortunately, he saw no sign of his mother's having visited once, let alone more often.
"Maybe someday my father will make improvements," Allie said.
Clay shook his head. "I hope not. I like it the way it is."
"If you had to cook here very often, you wouldn't be so eager to keep it primitive," she said.
"I personally think it could use running water and electricity. And I'm not fond of trudging down to the outhouse in the middle of a dark cold night." She moved the picnic basket from the floor to the table. "But considering how remote this place feels, it's really not that far from civilization."
She tilted her face up, expecting a reaction to her remarks, but he'd already forgotten what she'd said. Clay was beginning to marvel at the fact that he hadn't originally considered Allie very attractive. She was so quick-witted and optimistic, so full of life and energy. She made him feel again--eagerness, hope, a deep-seated arousal--just when he'd decided he was beyond reach.
Stillwater had become such a stagnant place, one that, for him, still revolved around the events of nineteen years ago. And yet, now that Allie was back, everything seemed to be changing....
He welcomed the way she made him feel, knew he needed it. At the same time, he feared the hope--because he knew no one could really change anything in his life. Certainly not the past...
"What?" she said when he simply stared at her.
"It's perfect," he said.
She smiled as if she was a little surprised he liked it so much. But he hadn't been talking about the cabin. "I hope you're hungry."
"What's for dinner?" He eyed her basket. "Or do the pointed questions come first?"
"Don't worry about the questions. I'm going to ply you with wine before we start. Maybe I'll get more out of you that way," she said with a wink.
He arched his eyebrows. "More what out of me?"
She ignored the double meaning. "More than you normally say, which isn't much." She pinched her bottom lip, an action Clay found distracting, to say the least. Her lips were so full, so kissable. He was imagining what they might taste like, when she drew him back to the conversation. "Why is that? Why do you keep such a tight rein on yourself?"
Clay was beginning to believe they were far too alone.... "I don't. Haven't you heard? I do exactly as I please."
She shook her head. "That's not true. You push everyone who reaches out to you away.
And yet I sense a deep desire to connect."
"That's bullshit," he retorted, but he couldn't meet her eyes. The way she watched him made him feel as if she could decipher every need, every longing. "I don't trust just any idiot who comes along, that's all."
She folded her hands on top of the picnic basket. "Are you willing to trust me, Clay?"
He couldn't trust anyone. Especially her. But he didn't say that. He steered the conversation in a different direction. "Tell me what you think happened."
"To Barker?"
"Who else?"
"As far as I'm concerned, it's still a mystery."
"Come on," he said. "After everything you've heard, you have to wonder--am I the guilty party?" He advanced on her to see if she'd back away. "I don't even go to church regularly. That makes me a heathen right there."
She stood her ground. "Not in my opinion."
"You're avoiding the bigger issue," he said softly. "What if it's not safe for you to be alone with me?"
He loomed over her, hoping she'd cower in fear or retreat--so he could dismiss her as easily as he did everyone else in Stillwater. He had to destroy the confidence she seemed to have in him.