that veered off the main road, and brought the car to a stop at a closed gate with
a padlock dangling from one side. Jumping out, he pulled a key from his pocket, undid
the lock, and swung the big gate wide. Then he got back in and drove through.
Moments later, Lucinda knew she was gaping, but couldn’t help herself, because the
dirt track curved and she saw, finally, Holden’s destination. A two-story log cabin
with a double-decker porch on three sides, and a barn-shaped roof, perched along the
shore of a lake so still and so clear it looked like a giant mirror reflecting the
blue sky. Around it, she could see only trees.
“My God,” she whispered. “Holden, this place is incredible.” She got out of the car
and started forward, so mesmerized she blinked in surprise when he spoke again and
she realized he was right beside her.
“Better than a five-star hotel?”
“Better than all of them.”
“No heat except the fireplace,” he said. “No lights.We do have a fridge and a water heater that run on LP gas, though, and a generator
to run the water pump.”
She didn’t care. She didn’t care in the least. How could Holden have picked such a
perfect place for her? She had never pegged him as the sort of man who would like
a cabin in the woods. He seemed so urban, so polished. As excited as a child, she
hurried up steps made of logs sawed in two lengthwise, and cupped her hands around
her face to peer through the nearest window.
Holden laughed softly, and unlocked the door. “Come on, you’ll get a better view from
inside.”
He held the door for her, and Lucinda walked through, stopping just inside the door,
tipping her head back, her gaze moving slowly up the log wall opposite, with its massive
cobblestone fireplace and roughly-hewn mantel. Above that an ancient-looking gun rack
held two antique weapons, and above them an old photograph, fading black and white,
with a few age spots on its face, hung in an oval frame.
“Who is that?” she asked, pointing.
“Kingston Fortune. My grandfather.”
The man in the photo didn’t look like anyone’s grandfather. It had been taken when
he was young, late twenties, perhaps. His hair was longish and wavy, probably blond
like Holden’s. His eyes…were very sexy.
“You look like him,” she said.
“You think so?” He sounded surprised, and when she turned it was to see a matching
expression on his face.
“You don’t think so?”
He shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it. I’ve been told I look just like my father
for so long—”
“Well, your father looked like him, too.”
Holden made a sound of derision. “My father was nothing like him. Kingston…he was
a hell of a man. You wouldn’t believe what he survived in his lifetime.”
“No?”
Holden sent her one of his winning smiles. “I’ll tell you about him sometime. His
tales make great campfire stories.”
She lowered her head, averting her eyes. The image that had popped into her mind just
then, of the two of them, cozy and warm and intimate in front of the fireplace, rattled
her.
That was what she was here for, though. She supposed she’d better get used to the
idea.
“Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.” He took her arm, leading her by his side
through the cabin. The lower level was nearly all one huge room. In this first room,
the ceilings towered, cathedral-like, but so rustic. Large beams crossed at the top,
and a wagon wheel hung from an ancient-looking black-iron chain in the center. Light
fixtures shaped like hurricane lampshades dangled from each spoke of the wheel. Kerosene
lamps, all of them. The walls were decked in furs and hides, a bear’s head here, a
buck with massive antlers over there. The furnishings were clearly chosen for comfort;
overstuffed sofa so fat it looked as if a person could get lost in its cushions. Matching
love seat and chair. A pair of rockers near the fireplace. A
a padlock dangling from one side. Jumping out, he pulled a key from his pocket, undid
the lock, and swung the big gate wide. Then he got back in and drove through.
Moments later, Lucinda knew she was gaping, but couldn’t help herself, because the
dirt track curved and she saw, finally, Holden’s destination. A two-story log cabin
with a double-decker porch on three sides, and a barn-shaped roof, perched along the
shore of a lake so still and so clear it looked like a giant mirror reflecting the
blue sky. Around it, she could see only trees.
“My God,” she whispered. “Holden, this place is incredible.” She got out of the car
and started forward, so mesmerized she blinked in surprise when he spoke again and
she realized he was right beside her.
“Better than a five-star hotel?”
“Better than all of them.”
“No heat except the fireplace,” he said. “No lights.We do have a fridge and a water heater that run on LP gas, though, and a generator
to run the water pump.”
She didn’t care. She didn’t care in the least. How could Holden have picked such a
perfect place for her? She had never pegged him as the sort of man who would like
a cabin in the woods. He seemed so urban, so polished. As excited as a child, she
hurried up steps made of logs sawed in two lengthwise, and cupped her hands around
her face to peer through the nearest window.
Holden laughed softly, and unlocked the door. “Come on, you’ll get a better view from
inside.”
He held the door for her, and Lucinda walked through, stopping just inside the door,
tipping her head back, her gaze moving slowly up the log wall opposite, with its massive
cobblestone fireplace and roughly-hewn mantel. Above that an ancient-looking gun rack
held two antique weapons, and above them an old photograph, fading black and white,
with a few age spots on its face, hung in an oval frame.
“Who is that?” she asked, pointing.
“Kingston Fortune. My grandfather.”
The man in the photo didn’t look like anyone’s grandfather. It had been taken when
he was young, late twenties, perhaps. His hair was longish and wavy, probably blond
like Holden’s. His eyes…were very sexy.
“You look like him,” she said.
“You think so?” He sounded surprised, and when she turned it was to see a matching
expression on his face.
“You don’t think so?”
He shrugged. “I hadn’t thought about it. I’ve been told I look just like my father
for so long—”
“Well, your father looked like him, too.”
Holden made a sound of derision. “My father was nothing like him. Kingston…he was
a hell of a man. You wouldn’t believe what he survived in his lifetime.”
“No?”
Holden sent her one of his winning smiles. “I’ll tell you about him sometime. His
tales make great campfire stories.”
She lowered her head, averting her eyes. The image that had popped into her mind just
then, of the two of them, cozy and warm and intimate in front of the fireplace, rattled
her.
That was what she was here for, though. She supposed she’d better get used to the
idea.
“Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.” He took her arm, leading her by his side
through the cabin. The lower level was nearly all one huge room. In this first room,
the ceilings towered, cathedral-like, but so rustic. Large beams crossed at the top,
and a wagon wheel hung from an ancient-looking black-iron chain in the center. Light
fixtures shaped like hurricane lampshades dangled from each spoke of the wheel. Kerosene
lamps, all of them. The walls were decked in furs and hides, a bear’s head here, a
buck with massive antlers over there. The furnishings were clearly chosen for comfort;
overstuffed sofa so fat it looked as if a person could get lost in its cushions. Matching
love seat and chair. A pair of rockers near the fireplace. A
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