“Yes. I even shot the moose you’re about to eat.” He took a seat on the opposite side of the table.
Emma blew on a spoonful of chili and took a cautious taste. “It needs time to cool, but it’s good,” she said, meaning it. “I’ve never tasted moose before.”
“You were married to Boone, and you’ve never had moose?”
Emma sighed and put down her spoon. “Is that my cue for the rest of the story?”
“You need to eat. Your story can wait.”
She shook her head. “I’ll feel more like eating after I’ve told you. Be warned. It isn’t pretty.”
He propped the spoon on the edge of his bowl. “I’m listening.”
* * *
John studied the woman sitting across from him, his bathrobe warming her bare body. Her damp chestnut hair hung past her shoulders, curling around her face in soft tendrils. Even though he knew she was in her thirties, there was a look of almost childlike innocence about her. He found her intelligent hazel eyes, generous mouth, and lightly freckled complexion appealing, but her features came together in a way that fell short of beauty. Such a woman—vulnerable and lacking confidence when it came to men—would be a natural target for a man like Boone. The fact that she had money put away would make her the perfect mark.
Outside, the storm had arrived. Thunder boomed across the sky. Rain battered the windows of the cabin as Emma began her story.
“I flew in last night on Alaska Airlines,” she said. “Boone met me at the ferry landing. He said he had a motel room for us, but . . .” She flushed awkwardly. “I didn’t want to spend the night with him until we were married, so I paid for a room of my own. Early this morning he gave me the marriage license to sign. A minister friend of Boone’s performed the ceremony in a park with totem poles. It was beautiful, with the sun coming up, reflecting on the water. I’d even brought along my mother’s wedding dress to wear. I was so happy, so trusting. . .”
Her words trailed off. She was close to tears. It would be a kindness to stop her. But John knew he had to hear the rest of her story. He’d never meant to get involved with this woman and her problems. But whatever ugly truths he might be about to hear, he was too curious to turn his back and walk away.
He waited in silence while she fought to bring her emotions under control. She seemed determined not to cry. John liked her for that. He remembered how he’d found her, struggling through the muskeg with dogs on her heels. She might appear as fragile as a violet, but she was a scrapper.
“I’m sorry, this isn’t easy.” She took a sip of milk and picked up her story. “I gave Boone all my cash. While I changed clothes, he used some of it to fill his pickup truck with gas and supplies and pocketed the rest. Then we left town and drove most of the day, over old logging roads, into the back country. I’d dozed off, dreaming about the beautiful log home he’d shown me in the photo and how we were going to raise our family there.
“I woke up—literally and figuratively—when he stopped the truck and told me we were home. That was when . . .” She paused, lifting her chin. “That was when I knew I’d been a silly, romantic fool. I was looking at a dilapidated house trailer, surrounded by junk. Two huge dogs were chained by the front wheel—they didn’t look like they’d had anything to eat, except this old deer head they were fighting over. Some kind of animal carcass was hanging from a tree. . . .”
She shook her head. “There was more. But you get the idea. It was awful. But worst of all was the change in the man I’d married. It was like he’d been acting in a play, and the play was over.
“Boone ordered me to get out of the truck and help him unload. You can imagine what the inside of the trailer was like. Food wrappers, garbage, even flies.” She shuddered. “On the stove there were some burnt-looking pans. Back home, I’d had a neighbor arrested for cooking meth. I recognized the smell.”
She’d begun to tremble. Her fingers twisted the gold ring on her finger. John checked the impulse to get up and comfort her. Hands off the lady—that was the only sensible rule.
“So was that when you ran?”
“Not quite.” Her reply was laced with irony. “When we’d finished unloading supplies and were back in the house, Boone announced that he was going to the bathroom. He told me, ‘When I open the door, I want to see you undressed and in that bed.’
“By then I was already searching for a way out—any way I could find. When he closed the bathroom door, I saw my chance. I’d noticed a jug of kerosene and some matches next to a lamp on the table. I poured some kerosene into a pan on the stove, lit a couple of matches, and tossed them into it. When the fire blazed up, I ran for my life.”
“You set the trailer on fire with Boone in the bathroom?” John was torn between horror and admiration. Damn, the woman had guts. No wonder Boone had come after her with a rifle.
“The fire was in a cast-iron pan, on the stove. And I’d left the trailer door open. Boone wouldn’t be trapped—I was sure of that. But he’d have to deal with the fire before he came after me. I was hoping that would give me time to get away.” Her gaze dropped to her hands. “I was wr
ong. I’d been on the run for an hour, maybe, hopelessly lost, when I heard the dogs. You know the rest.”
“At least you know you didn’t kill him,” John said.
“I wouldn’t want to kill anybody. Not even Boone. But he’s bound to come after me again. And if he recognized you, he could come here. That’s why I have to leave.”
John glanced upward, listening to the drumbeat of rain on the roof. Emma could be right. But she wasn’t equipped to go anywhere. She’d fled Boone’s trailer with no spare clothes, no identification, and no money. Without help, she’d be reduced to begging on the street.
Standing, he took her bowl and scraped the chili back into the pot and turned on the gas flame. “You still need something warm in your belly,” he said. “And don’t worry about tonight. You’ll be safe enough with the storm outside. Tomorrow you’ll be rested and have dry clothes to wear. I’ll drive into town, buy you some shoes, and we’ll take it from there.”
The chili hadn’t taken long to warm. He ladled it back into the bowl and placed it in front of her. “Eat. That’s an order.”
She took one spoonful, then another. He could tell she was hungry. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know my being here is an imposition. I’ll be out of your way as soon as I can walk through that door on my own two feet.”