Page 54 of Mistaken

“Got it,” she said, then paused, her expression growing thoughtful. “I wouldn’t have the garden be too manicured, though. The country around here is so wild, I think the yard surrounding the house should have a certain wildness to it, too.” When he didn’t comment right away, she hurried on, “I mean, it’s just a suggestion. You should do what you want with it.”

Because she looked concerned that she might have overstepped, Abdul knew he needed to immediately allay her fears.

“It’s an excellent suggestion,” he said. “One I will definitely consider when I begin work on the garden. Perhaps tomorrow, if the weather is fine.”

“That sounds like fun,” she replied with a grin. “As long as you don’t want me out there digging holes or something.”

The last thing he would ever do was expect that kind of manual labor from her. It was one thing to companionably chop vegetables together in the kitchen, but he would not ask her to perform tasks that might harden her pretty hands or allow her to get burned from too much time in the sun. Already the small cuts and scrapes and rough spots on her fingers from her work assignments in Los Alamos had begun to fade, and he wanted that trend to continue.

“No digging holes,” he said. “But you may counsel me on the colors of roses you prefer, and let me know if there are any other flowers you might like.”

“That I can do,” she replied. Now something about her expression grew sober, as though she’d just realized that making these sorts of plans together meant he intended to keep her here at Ghost Ranch for a very long time. But then she seemed to gather herself, adding, “I am very partial to irises.”

Something they wouldn’t be able to plant until the autumn…and wouldn’t appear until the following spring.

Yes, it seemed she was beginning to understand that her tenure here would be of quite some duration.

Eight days. When Sarah awoke the next morning, she realized this was the eighth time she’d opened her eyes to this room, the eighth time that she’d understood she was a captive in Abdul’s house.

All right, she didn’t feel much like a captive anymore, but still, their conversation at dinner the evening before had laid bare the reality that she wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

Or ever.

The problem was, she honestly didn’t know what she was supposed to feel about that.

As she got out of bed and headed into the shower, she thought of the original version ofThe Phantom of the Opera,the one written by Gaston Leroux. She’d read it as part of her preparation for playing Christine, figuring it couldn’t hurt to go back to the source material to get some extra insight into the character. Quite a few of the differences between the book and its theater adaptation surprised her, but what really jumped out was how long Christine had stayed in the Phantom’s underground lair when he kidnapped her from the stage of the opera house. It was a detail that had been kind of glossed over in the musical version, but in reality, she’d been down there for a full two weeks.

Back then, Sarah had only wondered what the heck the two of them had done during all that time. Now she realized there was quite a bit you could do to while away the hours spent with your captor…well, as long as he was of a musical bent.

However, she wasn’t sure if “musical” was the best way to describe Abdul. He’d acquired the skill of playing the piano because he’d realized he needed to do so to accompany her while she practiced. It wasn’t as if he spent hours in the music room composing his own works, or working out the fingering on Chopin’sFantaisie Impromptu in C# Minor,a piece known for its fiendishly difficult notation.

She wasn’t sure what she should think about that. In a way, it would have been a lot better if he’d been musical all on his own, because at least then she would know he wasn’t playing merely to better serve her needs.

But she’d been going with the flow for the past week-plus, and she knew she’d better continue to do so for the foreseeable future. Questioning Abdul’s motivations for being so utterly of service to her didn’t seem like a very good idea; otherwise, she’d have to make herself think about where all this was going to end up.

She also couldn’t let herself brood over what was happening in Los Alamos, how worried they must be. It seemed clear enough that she wasn’t going anywhere, and fretting over their reaction to her disappearance wouldn’t change anything.

Instead, she took a long, hot shower, and then, because she knew they’d be working in the garden today, put on some jeans and her hiking boots and a loose, gauzy shirt that breathed but would still give her some protection from the sun. No, it wasn’t as glamorous as most of the other outfits Abdul had provided, but it would do for their planned activities.

No response that she could see when she entered the living room and saw him standing at the kitchen island and sipping coffee, but then, she hadn’t expected one. It still frustrated her that he hid his face, preventing her from getting a good read on all his reactions, although she knew better than to ask him to remove the hood.

Unlike dinner, which he always seemed to want to do the hard way, he summoned their breakfasts each morning. Today he asked what she would like, and she told him she’d like a breakfast burrito with bacon and lots of cheese.

Utterly fattening, of course, but even though she knew she wasn’t going to be digging holes, she figured she would still be standing around a good bit and maybe helping to plant roses and herbs and whatnot, so she figured the extra calories shouldn’t be too much of a problem.

To her surprise, Abdul conjured the same meal for himself, remarking, “I had heard of these breakfast burritos, but I have never had one. This seemed like as good a time as any to rectify that lack.”

“You’re in for a treat,” she told him. “They’re delicious. Also, since they were invented in New Mexico, it’s only fitting that you should start eating them.”

“Breakfast burritos came from here?” he asked. “I did not know that.”

“Well, it’s the urban legend, anyway,” Sarah replied. “I suppose they could have first appeared in Texas or Arizona or California, too. But New Mexicans were always into their food, so I can see why someone might have come up with the idea here.”

“Interesting,” Abdul observed, but he didn’t ask any further questions.

Probably a good thing, since the story was one she remembered her father telling her in high school, and she’d never found the need to follow up with some research, not when she had so many other more important matters clamoring for her time back then.

But the burritos he summoned were delicious, filled with fluffy scrambled eggs and crisp bacon and lush cheddar cheese, along with just enough green chile to make them fun and spicy without having her tongue on fire for the next half-hour. And after they were done, they headed out to the open area behind the house that served as its yard, although, since it wasn’t fenced, Sarah didn’t know for sure how much of the land Abdul planned to develop.

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