Private Lives - Gwynne Forster Mills & Boon Kimani

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mother. We’ll do whatever she says.”

      “Come on, son,” she said and left without saying goodbye.

      By the time Brock finished his shopping and stood outside, he saw no trace of the woman he’d met in the nearby cabin. She still hadn’t introduced herself or divulged her name and she avoided calling her child by name. Clearly she had something to hide. Hmm. He’d have to think about that. One thing was certain: she was just as attracted to him as he was to her. Facing one another in the grocery store, he realized that he’d stirred something in her that made her tremble and almost lose her balance. She had a child, and probably a husband, so he’d better get a grip. He doubted that he had fooled her into thinking he didn’t know one cut of beef from another. He’d just needed an excuse to talk to her, and she was probably smart enough to figure that out.

      Using his cell phone, he called the telephone company Monday morning and asked that his house phone be connected. “So you’re back!” the customer rep said. “For you, anything. It’s been pretty dull around here ever since you left last September. You coming to the harvest fest this year?”

      “That’s months off, Marge. We’ll see. How are you?”

      “Same old, same old. Only difference is now we got a TV here in the office and a couple of chairs for people to sit in. Did some lucky gal marry you since you left here?”

      He couldn’t help laughing. Marge asked him that question every year when he returned to his cabin and called to have his phone reconnected. “I’m over the hill, Marge,” he said, which was his usual reply.

      “Shucks, Brock. Ain’t a woman under ninety who wouldn’t marry you if she got the chance. Those over ninety would, too, if they could see what you looked like. I’m making biscuits when I get home. Drop by around five-thirty if you want some.”

      “You didn’t have to add that last part. I’ll be there. Thanks, Marge, for the welcome.” To his mind, Marge offered just enough mothering to make him feel at home, and although she was naturally friendly, she didn’t pry. She was probably around sixty, he imagined, and that was part of her charm. That plus the fact that she adored a man she’d lived with for over thirty years and who would have married her if she’d been willing.

      He put Jack in his SUV and drove to Marge’s house. “Well, don’t you look good,” Marge said, opening the back screen door and coming out to greet him.

      He hugged her. “You’re the one. Where’s Bob?”

      “Come on in. Bob just brought in some pike he caught in the big lake over in Sabael. I cleaned a couple for you. Sit down. Bob’s in the shower.”

      “Have you met my neighbor?” he asked Marge, getting around to the real reason for his agreeing to come to her house.

      “Allison? We’ve met, but she stays to herself. The only reason I know her name is because I work for the telephone company. She’ll go up there to the office and pay her bill, but she’s yet to introduce anybody to her child. That little boy of hers must be suffering for somebody to play with. He ought to have playmates. I suggested to her that he’d meet some children in Sunday school, but I coulda been talking to the wind.”

      “Is her husband with her?”

      “If he is, nobody up here’s seen him. Be careful where you step, son. She’s a real looker and she’s got good manners, but she’s as tight as a drum.”

      “Why do you think I’m interested?”

      Marge threw back her head and released a guffaw. “’Cause you’re a young, healthy man with plenty of testosterone. That’s why. Here. Try these.” She put three hot biscuits on a plate along with butter and homemade jam.

      He bit into a biscuit. “You’re still rockin’, Marge. I could make a meal of these. Why do you think my neighbor shies away from people?”

      “You asking me? Why would a young, attractive woman move up here and hide away in the woods with a five-year-old? Every man in Indian Lake has asked me about her.”

      “How long has she been up here?”

      “Since late April. It was still snowing when she got here. Nobody moves here that time of year. People come in the summer.”

      “I know. Thanks for the goodies and for my fish. Come over and pick some raspberries. They’re ready to fall off the bushes.”

      “I’ll send Bob over. Thanks.” He bade her goodbye and headed home. Something told him he’d better stop thinking about that woman. He slowed his SUV as he passed her cabin, saw a light and shook his head. Maybe when he got to know her, and he would, he’d discover that she wasn’t an enigma at all.

      On Sunday morning he jumped out of bed, startled by Jack’s barking, and ran to the back door. He looked out and saw a long-antlered deer at his back fence. He dressed, went outside, tossed a few pebbles at the deer and chased it away. Deciding to go for a walk, he put a leash on Jack and headed up a trail leading to a small lake about a mile from the highway. What on earth? He reached down and rubbed Jack’s back. What was this kid doing alone on a trail in the woods?

      “Hi. Are you lost?” he asked as the boy got nearer.

      “I don’t know. I was looking for your dog. I wanted to play with him.”

      He didn’t like the sound of that. “Did you ask your mother?”

      “No, sir. She’d say no. But you said he wouldn’t hurt me.”

      “That’s right. I did. What’s your name?”

      “Dudley.”

      “Well, Dudley, I’d better introduce you to Jack properly. Give me your hands.” He let Jack smell the boy’s hands. “Now pat him gently on the head. You see. He’s wagging his tail and that means he’s friendly. Whenever a dog’s tail is sticking straight up and not moving, that means the dog is probably dangerous and you shouldn’t go near him. Do you understand?”

      “Yes, sir. Jack isn’t dangerous ’cause he’s wagging his tail.”

      “Dudley, what are you doing here? Where have you been?”

      If he’d ever heard the sound of panic, that was it. The woman charged toward them, with tears streaming down her face, and grabbed her son. Jack’s growl startled her and she jumped back.

      “Easy, boy.” He rubbed Jack’s back. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but my dog just made friends with Dudley and he’s trying to protect the boy from you. The dog doesn’t know you. Would you mind holding out your hands?”

      She stared at him. “It’s all right, Mommie. Jack wants to be friends. His tail isn’t sticking up, so he won’t hurt you.” She allowed the dog to sniff her hands and then patted him on the head as Brock suggested. Then Brock lifted Dudley and placed the boy in her arms. She hugged him, but put him down at once because of his weight.

      “I thought I’d go crazy. I didn’t know where he was.”

      “I was looking for Jack,” Dudley said. “I wanted to play with him.”

      “Don’t do this again,” Brock said to the boy, now convinced that the woman was a single mother. “Jack just chased a big deer away from my back fence. All kinds of wild animals live in these woods, Dudley, and they’ll hurt you.” He looked at her, frightened and vulnerable, and it took a lot of willpower to resist taking her in his arms and comforting her. “You’ve never told me your name.” He sounded so cool that he almost laughed at himself.

      “It’s Allison Sawyer,” Dudley said, “and we live in that red house up there.”

      Allison didn’t have to be told that the expression on her face when she looked at Dudley was not what anyone would describe as motherly. “How are you, Mr. Lightner? Thank you for intercepting Dudley.” She wanted to kick herself. She had inadvertently let him know

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