Page 9 of Can She Get Home for Christmas?

“I’m tougher than I look,” Samantha answered.

In a million years, she wouldn’t have picked a tramp through the woods on a day like this. Now she thanked God that she was here instead of lying in the back of the SUV, chained to a ring in the cargo compartment—headed for horrors she didn’t want to imagine.

“I’m lucky you came along,” she said to the man who had helped her up.

“Yeah, but we can’t stay here,” he said. “Not in this weather.”

“I know. But give me a minute.” She adjusted the duffel on her back. When she indicated she was ready, he started off again, still breaking the trail through the mounting snow. She noted that he’d slowed his pace a bit as she walked in his boot prints.

It was almost dark now, and she hoped he knew where he was going because she saw no indication of any buildings ahead of them. But she kept doggedly following him, shifting the duffel on her back to a more comfortable position.

When he stopped, she almost plowed into him.

Looking up, she saw they were standing in the woods about twenty-five yards from a small wooden building that was almost invisible in the dark.

“This is where I’ve been camping out.” He turned to face her. “Sorry, but I wasn’t expecting company. It’s pretty rough.”

“That’s okay,” she said, before she even got an idea of how rough.

“Wait here a minute.”

She saw him put down the carry bags and pull out a semiautomatic.

“You have a gun,” she breathed. “But you didn’t use it back there.”

“I couldn’t take the risk of shooting you.”

“So you tried to plow into his car.”

“Yeah.”

She was still eyeing the weapon.

“Do you know how to shoot?” he asked.

“Yes. At a shooting range. Because we lived in a rural area, Dad used to take us out to a private range he’d set up. He believed that girls should have the same skills as boys.”

“Agreed.”

“But I’ve never used a gun against a person,” she added quickly, “only for target practice. And the targets were concentric circles, not silhouettes of people like you see in cop shows.”

“But if you had to defend yourself, you could do it?”

“I hope.” She gave him a long look. “Are you expecting trouble?”

“Hopefully, no. But I’m not going to break protocol,” he said as he moved carefully forward toward the cabin. When he reached the door, he unlocked it with one hand and held the gun in the other. Easing the door open, he reached inside. She saw dim yellow illumination through the slim opening. After he looked around inside, he came back out, picked up the bags, and carried them inside.

“All clear.”

Sam came out of the woods, crossed the snowy ground, and stepped into a small room that couldn’t be more than twelve by twelve. A small table by the door held a lamp. There was a space heater in one corner, a narrow cot, a counter along one wall with a hot plate on top and one of those small refrigerators underneath. A chest of drawers plus a table and two chairs completed the furnishings.

She looked around for windows and saw they were covered by blackout blinds. The only door was the one through which they’d entered.

“Where do you get your electricity?”

“Mostly batteries. But I have solar and a generator if I need it.” She kept looking around. “Um, does this place have a bathroom?”

He jerked his hand toward the right. “Over that way.”

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