Page 10 of Can She Get Home for Christmas?

“You mean an outhouse?”

“Yeah. I’ll show you where it is—after I get some heat in here. It won’t be toasty, but it will be better than outside,” he said as he turned on the space heater.

“Okay.”

“Let me help you get the duffel off.”

He came around in back of her and eased the makeshift pack off her back.

“Leave your coat on,” he advised.

She nodded as she worked her shoulders to get the kinks out, then turned to him. “Lead the way.”

He grabbed a flashlight off the counter and took her back out. Again he was watchful as he scanned the area, then led her around the side of the cabin. Several yards away was a narrow little building that looked like it came straight out of the Kentucky hills.

She lighted her way to the door that had a crescent moon carved just above eye level, and he moved a few yards away.

“Are you going to stand there?”

“Safer. And while we’re discussing safety, I don’t want you outside by yourself—understood?”

“Yes,” she answered in a gritty voice. If she had to pee in the middle of the night, she’d have to wake him up.

Repressing a protest, she went inside, closed the door and used the facilities as quickly as possible.

When she came out, he was standing with his back to her but turned when he heard her emerge.

After leading her back to the cabin, he checked the interior, then said, “I’ll just be a minute.”

She stood in the doorway and watched him retrace his steps to the outdoor facility.

Apparently he could have privacy but she couldn’t. When he returned, she ducked into the main cabin, twisting in a circle to survey his abode. He couldn’t have been expecting company. But though the place was sparse, it wasn’t messy.

He caught her expression. “Until the car radiator started heating up, I thought I’d get you to Decorah headquarters.

“Which are where?”

“Beltsville.”

“Not in this snow.”

“I could have made it through the snow—but not with bullet holes in the radiator.” He made a wry sound. “And even if we had to stop at a motel, the more miles we put between us and him, the better.”

She contemplated that last statement as she pulled out a chair at the table and sat.

He broke the silence by saying, “Do you want some hot chocolate?”

“You don’t have any food, but you’ve got chocolate?”

“I don’t neglect the necessities.”

“Yes, I’d like some,” she answered, thinking that another guy would have offered her brandy. But she supposed he had considered himself on duty while he was here and therefore wouldn’t have any alcohol on hand.

She glanced at the bags he’d set down. “I was bringing homemade chocolate chip cookies for Christmas. We could have some.”

His eyes lit up, and she wondered when he’d last had home cooking.

She watched him pour water from a plastic jug into a battered saucepan, turn on the hot plate burner, which she assumed ran on propane, and set the water to boil.

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