“Just say my name,” she interrupted. “I’ll know your voice.”

Luke nodded and disappeared through the doorway, leaving Dana alone. What she’d said was true. She could pick that deep, captivating voice out of a crowded room. Maybe it was the tense circumstances, but that voice had the power to soothe her and, if she was honest with herself, to make her want to crawl into the shelter of his arms.

Power. The word stuck in her brain as she pointed Luke’s gun toward the empty door frame as he’d directed. Hadn’t she learned a thing or two about giving up her power? But this was hardly the same as her marriage had been. Luke had just given her the power of his weapon and, with barely a word of instruction, his trust.

Time passed. Five minutes? Ten?

“Dana…”

“Yes,” she responded, lowering the gun and, with it, her defenses.

Dear Reader,

Welcome to another month of the most exciting romantic reading around, courtesy of Silhouette Intimate Moments. Starting things off with a bang, we have To Love a Thief by ultrapopular Merline Lovelace. This newest CODE NAME: DANGER title takes you back into the supersecret world of the Omega Agency for a dangerous liaison you won’t soon forget.

For military romance, Catherine Mann’s WINGMEN WARRIORS are the ones to turn to. These uniformed heroes and heroines are irresistible, and once you join Darcy Renshaw and Max Keagan for a few Private Maneuvers, you won’t even be trying to resist, anyway. Wendy Rosnau continues her unflashed miniseries THE BROTHERHOOD in Last Man Standing, while Sharon Mignerey’s couple find themselves In Too Deep. Finally, welcome two authors who are new to the line but not to readers. Kristen Robinette makes an unforgettable entrance with In the Arms of a Stranger, and Ana Leigh offers a matchup between The Law and Lady Justice.

I hope you enjoy all six of these terrific novels, and that you’ll come back next month for more of the most electrifying romantic reading around.

Enjoy!

Leslie J. Wainger

Executive Editor

In the Arms of a Stranger
Kristen Robinette

www.millsandboon.co.uk

KRISTEN ROBINETTE

could never decide what she wanted to be when she grew up. She wanted to be an archaeologist, a firefighter, a psychiatrist, an equestrian, an artist, a police officer…all at the same time. After deciding that her affliction was actually the urge to write about such things, she set out to become an author. Four romance novels and multiple fiction careers later, she couldn’t be happier! Kristen lives in Alabama with her husband and three daughters. When not at the keyboard, she can be found spending time with her family, pampering her horse (who believes he’s a dog), boating, reading and generally avoiding domestic chores.

To Adrienne, who made us complete.

And

to my sister, Kathy,

who always slowed down so that I could catch up,

held my hand in front of the “big kids”

and still comes out to play.

Thank you.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Prologue

Chief Luke Sutherlin sat his coffee mug on top of a battered file cabinet and watched chaos consume his police station.

“Chief, another storm report is coming in.” Lieutenant Ben Allen hovered over the computer terminal as it began printing.

Luke nodded, dreading the fact that he’d be trapped in the station today. Working closely with his officers wasn’t a favorite part of his job. His men accepted that a Sutherlin was, yet again, in charge. Respected his authority, maybe. But they didn’t like him. Not even on a good day.

And today was definitely not a good day.

He walked slowly to where Ben stood and scanned the information as it printed. When the terminal finally stilled, he ripped the paper away and read it in detail.

“Looks like the storm will go north of Sweetwater, after all,” Lieutenant Allen offered in a too-cheerful voice.

A winter storm had built west of the Mississippi River and was now burying North Alabama and Tennessee under a blanket of ice and snow. It was a freak storm, the television meteorologists explained with panicked expressions, something they’d never seen before, much less in early March. Authorities originally predicted it would sweep across the North Georgia Mountains with the same fury, but the storm had weakened and was headed north of them.

Luke breathed a sigh of relief. They were accustomed to occasional snow flurries but were ill equipped to handle a storm of this magnitude. This was the South. He could count ten tornadoes for every true snowstorm he’d seen. He tossed the report on Ben’s desk.

“What’s that?” He pointed to a crumpled slip of yellow paper with his name scrawled at the top.

“Oh…” Ben smoothed the paper before offering it to him. “It’s a message, sir. I’m sorry. I took it late last night.”

He pulled it from Ben’s hand. Shelly Henson. The name stopped him cold. His father’s mistress. Former mistress, he amended. He hadn’t seen or heard from Shelly in over a year. Why had she called the station?

Ben had scribbled the message with a fat felt-tipped marker: “I’ll be returning what belongs to you.” Shelly had taken a couple of hundred dollars from his wallet a year ago, the night he’d taken her in. He winced at the memory.

After having received a frantic call from the housekeeper, Luke had arrived at his father’s house to find Shelly lying on the polished marble floor, her face bruised and the smell of fear in the air. His stepmother had merely watched the distasteful scene play out with cool detachment. But then, Miss Camille, as she liked to be called despite her age and marital status, had never made any secret of his father’s affairs. On the contrary, she wore them like a badge of honor. Proof of what she was forced to endure.

His father had made himself conveniently absent by then, leaving Luke to see to the nasty details.

Luke had brought Shelly back to his place, then valiantly tried to wipe the scene out of his head with a bottle of booze. It hadn’t worked. Not that night or any night since.

Why Shelly Henson would feel the need to make amends at all was beyond him. The theft was nothing compared to his own behavior that night. He rotated his stiff right shoulder. His shoulder had never failed to predict a storm, not in twenty-two years. Not since his sixteenth birthday, when his father had broken it.

Luke wadded up the note and threw it into the trash can.

Lucas Daniel Sutherlin, Sr., was the financial nucleus of Sweetwater and, therefore, a necessary evil. Sutherlin factories still employed most of the townspeople despite their tragic past. Too bad his father’s character hadn’t grown along with his stock holdings.

Why was it some men seemed born with absolution while others couldn’t be forgiven for simply having the wrong last name?

Luke walked across the station’s gritty tile floor and retrieved his coffee. He took a long sip, wishing for the comforting sting of Jack Daniels instead. He examined the faces of his men over the rim of the mug. Their condemnation wasn’t visible, but it was there. He was a Sutherlin. The badge he wore would never make amends for that fact. He glanced at the trashcan where the note lay crumpled. Shelly should keep the money.

It was the least the Sutherlin men could do.

“Chief!” someone called.

A few officers had gathered around a small television set, intermittently twisting its antennae to try and capture the reception that bounced elusively off the mountains. Luke joined them. Through the snowy picture, he could see the smiling face of the meteorologist as he pointed to the fickle storm front on the map.

The man looked immensely relieved. Too relieved, Luke thought.

“Looks like we’re out of danger.” Ben offered a grin along with the comment.

Luke rotated his shoulder again, and scowled at the television. He had a feeling otherwise.

Chapter 1

Snow was falling, covering the ground like a fuzzy white blanket. Wet, fat snowflakes covered the windshield as fast as the wipers slid them to one side. Dana Langston had never considered being a Southerner a liability, but it certainly felt that way now. Accustomed to Atlanta’s mild winters, she had no idea how to drive in snow, much less on a sheet of ice. She gripped the Acura’s steering wheel, too terrified to blink as the terrain of the North Georgia Mountains turned to rock-faced cliffs.

It was almost dark, the storm clouds stealing what was left of the twilight at an alarming rate. The temperature would drop even further soon, freezing the slush to solid ice. Clyde Jenkins, the news station’s midday producer and her boss, had given Dana the keys to his vacation cabin, along with a box of tissues, a fatherly lecture on professionalism and three weeks’ mandatory leave. Whether or not her job waited on her when she returned depended on how thoroughly she could get her personal life in order.

Your job as a midday news anchor is to inform our viewers without destroying the rest of their day. Let’s face it—your career simply won’t survive another on-air breakdown like you had today.

Dana bit her lip as her tires skidded against the shoulder of the lonely road, their traction lost in the gathering slush. The drive became more treacherous as the mountain’s incline grew steeper, but it was far too late to turn back. Clyde’s last instruction had been that, under no circumstances was she to leave for the mountains before she was certain the storm would miss Georgia entirely.

She’d tried. She honestly had. But the walls of her apartment had closed in on her as surely as the storm had closed in on the South. Dana knew that phone calls from sympathetic friends and family who’d seen her tearful on-air meltdown were inevitable.

But they were also avoidable.

Though the plan was looking seriously flawed, she’d left before she’d had to face the ringing phone. And, if she were honest with herself, she’d been genuinely frightened to spend another night alone in her apartment. The murder trial of Paul Gonzalez had been postponed. Again. She would testify against the monster if it was the last thing she did. But if the court system insisted on making her Gonzalez’s target for a little longer, she would at least become a moving target.

Dana concentrated on the twisting ribbon of road. If she’d thought for a minute that the storm could change course, she wouldn’t have been so rash. She’d heard a weather report about an hour outside of Atlanta, assuring listeners again that the storm would miss the state. Dana had popped a CD in the stereo right after that and hadn’t given it any more thought until the snow started to fall.

She stifled a hysterical laugh. Maybe she should have hung around her apartment a little longer, at least long enough to watch the weather on the evening news. She gripped the steering wheel tighter. That would have been a lot of fun. She could have sized up potential replacements for her job while she was at it.

Glancing in her rearview mirror, she looked for the lone set of headlights that had appeared and disappeared behind her during the past twenty minutes as her car had hugged the inside curve of the winding mountain road. Part of her welcomed the idea of another living soul on the road, but part of her wondered if the headlights could belong to Gonzalez.

Paranoid, she scolded herself. The whole day was making her crazy.

Dana switched on the dome light and pinpointed her progress on the map with quick glances. By her calculations she should be only ten minutes from the cabin.

Without warning her car lurched sideways. Dana threw the map aside and gripped the steering wheel with both hands, her worst nightmare realized. The barely passable road had become a solid sheet of black ice. Terror seized her. She hit the brakes but the action only caused her to slide. She was spinning, the interior of the car becoming a sickening blur of light, darkness and fear. Desperate, she turned the wheel in the opposite direction and her car straightened, eventually finding the shoulder of the road in a violent spray of ice and rock.

Then all was still.

For a full minute she just sat there, breathing in gulps of air and willing her fingers to loosen their death grip from the steering wheel. She blinked, her vision clearing as the panic subsided. Her car had gone off the shoulder of the road, coming to rest in an area of tangled underbrush mere feet from the mountain’s unguarded ledge.

Dana covered her face with her hands, stifling a sob. It had been foolish to take her eyes from the road. It had almost proved suicidal.

Ignoring the tangle of vines and scrub trees that curled over her windshield, she took a deep breath and pressed the gas. The car lurched forward once before its tires spun, digging ruts into the freezing slush.

No.

Panic tightened her chest. She tried again, slower this time, but the result was the same. She couldn’t risk backing, not with the cliff so close. Hot tears of frustration burned her eyes. She gunned it, praying the force of the action would work. It didn’t. In fact, she felt the left side of the car settle deeper into the mire.

All the events of the last week slammed into her. She wanted to curl into a ball and cry, sleep and wake to find out she’d only dreamed that her life had gone to hell. Dana shoved the tears from her cheeks. The only thing that would get her was frozen.

Switching off the engine, she donned her down coat and fought her way past the underbrush that clung stubbornly to the car.

The world outside was ghostly silent. The wind seemed to be the only living thing, whipping across the rocky face of the mountain and swaying the trees, their branches now laden with crystals of frozen ice. There hadn’t been a turnoff since she’d last seen the headlights behind her. Unless the car had done a U-turn, it would eventually catch up to her, she reasoned.

But did she want it to?

She began frantically searching the side of the road for branches, rocks—anything she could use to stuff beneath the car’s wheels—but the thick blanket of snow and ice camouflaged anything she might have used. It was then that she noticed the tracks. Deep tire tracks crisscrossed those made by her car, following a similar path. It appeared the car had been ascending the mountain in the northbound lane and had lost control, just as she had. Only…

Dana began walking forward, following the tracks, then paused. Her gaze followed the tracks until they disappeared. Then she saw the massive oak tree, its gray bark scraped clean with a fresh wound. Flanking it were pine saplings, their tops snapped away like gruesome, headless necks.

The car had gone off the cliff.

“Hey!” Dana yelled into the silence, spinning to search the road for help before she began running.

Briars and underbrush scratched her hands as she shoved them aside to reach the cliff. As she’d feared, the car was on a rock ledge below her. It had obviously made a nosedive and had hit a second ledge, crushing the front end. The only thing that kept it from continuing to slide down the mountain was a sharp boulder that had caught the rear underside of the car. Its crumpled front end was now suspended in midair; its tires overlooked a sheer rock cliff.

“Hey!” She yelled again. “Is anyone in there?”

Adrenaline pumped through her, and she assessed the situation with surreal clarity. If anyone had escaped, which seemed impossible, she’d have seen their footprints. The same was true for anyone that might have come to help.

The car was an older-model four-door, its faded blue sides making it nearly impossible to see in the growing darkness. The only way to reach it would be to lower herself down to the second ledge. There wasn’t time to consider anything else. Dana grabbed the rubbery trunk of a scrub brush and lowered herself onto her belly, slithering down the sharp cliff until her boots met the crunch of loose stone.

She approached the car cautiously, as though her footfalls could send it toppling off the mountain. The windshields were clear of snow, and the back door closest to her was slightly ajar. She cupped her hands to look through the window but saw only a tangle of clothing and blankets. Making her way to the other side, she did the same. This time the sight made her stomach lurch and bile rise in her throat.

The driver, a young woman, was visible from this angle. Though she was still in the driver’s seat, her body had come to rest at an angle, her head thrown back in a silent scream. The delicate flesh and cartilage that had once formed her features was now pulled away by a vertical gash. Congealing blood had stained and matted her long blond hair.

Dana felt her entire body begin to tremble. Was it possible to survive such a thing? She stared at the door handle. Any action on her part could send the car careening off the cliff. She took in a steadying breath. The woman was, in all likelihood, dead.

The trick would be to keep the car from dragging her with it if it began sliding.

As gently as she could, Dana lifted the handle and opened the door. It caught on its hinges, grinding against the boulder. The news station had required all its reporters to take basic CPR and emergency training courses, and she called on the half-forgotten knowledge. Leaning partially in, she pressed her fingertips against the woman’s bloodied neck. There was no pulse.

A crushing sadness flowed over her as she straightened. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

A thin gust of wind whistled through the car, carrying the strong, unmistakable odor of whiskey. Dana’s gaze fell to the floorboard of the back seat where several liquor bottles lay next to the woman’s purse. More than one was empty, and one was half-finished. The sadness doubled and she hugged her jacket against her body.

The back seat was literally mounded with clothing, and Dana noticed an upturned laundry basket and a box with linens and partially spilled household items. It was as if the woman had thrown everything she owned into the car. Dana thought of her own escape from Atlanta and the similarities between herself and the dead woman. What had this woman been running from?

A second blast of wind hit the face of the mountain, rocking the car. Dana gasped and took a step backward. There was nothing else she could do. Or was there? She could at least identify her to the police. She carefully leaned in and pulled the woman’s purse from the tangled floorboard.

She stared at it in frozen horror. It wasn’t a purse.

Dancing blue bears decorated the side of the white satchel. Dana unzipped the top with trembling fingers. Diapers. A pacifier…

Oh, my God. A baby.

She threw down the diaper bag and leaned back into the car, resting one hand lightly against the back seat. “Baby!” she called. The car rocked beneath her. Slow a voice in her head whispered. Careful. She forced her hands into deliberate action as she began pushing clothing and blankets aside from the center of the back seat. “Baby!” she called again. Her hand hit the solid form of a car seat and she instantly heard a soft mewling sound.

The infant. Elation spread through her. She’d found the infant.

As Dana pushed away the last article of clothing, the baby lifted a chubby fist in the air, turned to look at her, and instantly began crying. It was music to her ears. “It’s going to be okay,” she whispered, the wind whipping the words away. It was all the same, Dana thought. She glanced at the child’s mother. The words were a lie.

She had to get him out. The car swayed, groaning against the rocky boulder as if threatening her.

Go, an inner voice commanded. Do it now.

Dana leaned farther in, a million prayers dancing through her head. The carrier-style seat was built for an infant, with the car’s center lap belt fastened over it. If she could just unfasten the seat belt… There was no choice but to climb partially in.

Her entire body was trembling as she placed her knee on the back seat and leaned over the child. He was screaming in earnest now. Was he hurt? The car lurched forward as her fingers found the release button. The seat belt gave way, and Dana scrambled to get a grip on the car seat. Her frantic actions swayed the car just as a gust of wind hit the mountainside.

She knew instantly that the car was going to go over the cliff.

Her fingers dug into the car seat and she threw herself backward with every ounce of energy she possessed. A hard blow smacked the flesh on the left side of her face and as if from a great distance she heard the sound of shattering glass, felt something cold and wet drench her foot. She was tumbling, felt her precarious grip on the car seat slipping… She hit the ground, her breath leaving her lungs as the car seat landed painfully on her chest.

The sound that followed was horrible. Metal ground against rock, screaming as it slid. Then there was the seemingly endless sound of the car crashing down the mountain face, snapping trees with the force of its weight.

And then there was silence.

Her eyes opened to darkened purple sky, wet snowflakes falling against the skin of her face. The daylight was almost completely gone. She still hugged the car seat but there was no sound. Panic seized her. Where was the baby?

Dana rolled to one side, and the throbbing pain on the right side of her head filled her vision with dancing lights. She eased the car seat to the ground and scrambled to sit up, blinking to clear her vision. The baby stared back at her, still securely held in its seat, his eyes wide and panicked.

Him? The question registered absently in her brain.

She glanced at the blue sleeper with its bright cars and trucks. The cheerful clothing brought hot tears to her eyes. Yes, a boy. And so young. Probably only three or four months old.

“Oh, little one,” Dana whispered. “My God, what have you been through?” Her fingers fumbled with the restraining belt, releasing it. She scanned his tiny body for injury, finding none. Lifting him from the car seat, she realized that the weather was the next greatest threat to his safety.

And hers.

Dana partially unzipped her jacket and eased the baby inside. He instantly snuggled against her, nuzzling her breasts frantically. “Oh, sweetie,” Dana cooed through unshed tears. “There’s nothing for you there, but we’ll find something. I promise.”

Something in her mind stilled as she said the words. Food. Where was the diaper bag? Her legs trembled uncontrollably as she stood. As she looked down, Dana instantly found the source of the shattering glass. The liquor bottle had tumbled from the car, shattering at her feet and drenching her boot with alcohol. She stared at the heap of glass. It was the only thing that remained, a sad reminder of a tragic mistake.

Dana found the diaper bag a few feet away and looped it over her arm. She turned to face the mountain cliff she’d so easily slid down. It would be impossible to climb back up, especially holding the infant at her chest.

“No, no, no…” she whispered.

She scanned the terrain and found that the ledge curved back toward the mountain, a natural footpath. Tears of relief stung her eyes as she maneuvered a steep but manageable pathway up the side of the mountain. She was trembling all over as she reached the top. Cool under fire, her uncle always said of her. Until the firing stops. Unfortunately the adrenaline that always saw her through a crisis had the tendency to abandon her too soon. It was happening now.

She stumbled away from the ledge, then leaned against the trunk of a tree, sliding down the length of it until she sat on the frozen ground. The baby… Her breath left her in bursts of frozen vapor as she unzipped her jacket. Just a few inches and she could see the infant’s head, his dark hair swirled on the top. Dana eased the zipper a little farther.

He was sleeping.

Hysterical laughter gave way to tears as she hugged the baby, her thumb tracing circles against his chubby cheek. She’d done it. She might have made a mess of everything else she’d touched in the past year—her marriage, her career… Her thoughts stilled when they reached little Michael Gonzalez.

She’d failed Michael in the worst possible way. What started out as a story segment on the life of a foster child had turned into much more. She’d fallen in love with the sweet five-year-old and wanted desperately to keep his abusive father from obtaining custody. But her overzealous reporting of the abuse had had the opposite effect. Provoked, Paul Gonzalez had stepped forward to claim his son, referring to him as his “property.”

The child who had stolen her heart fell from the window of his father’s second-story apartment less than a month later.

Dana drew the baby against her chest, tears in her eyes. She may have failed Michael, but by God she hadn’t let tragedy claim this little life.

She kissed the top of the baby’s head and stood, making her way to her car. Her cell phone proved useless, its signal no doubt deflected by the mountains. It was just as well. The road wouldn’t be navigable for much longer. She and the baby could freeze to death waiting for help. Still, she tucked the phone in the baby’s diaper bag, along with her billfold, car keys and the map.

She turned to face the mountain.

Was that a pinpoint of light? Hope surged as Dana focused on a distant light that twinkled in the growing darkness. It was the only sign of civilization in the expanse of forest that surrounded her.

She would follow the light and she would make it to safety. Her hands cradled the baby beneath her jacket.

She had to.

The rifle felt good, like an old friend. The woman’s form appeared in the crosshairs of the scope.

Taking down a target was like riding a bicycle. Some things you never forgot…. Things like going hungry, like waking with your own breath frozen against your pillow and hearing your father slowly choke to death on the black silt from the mines.

A lifetime ago, but yesterday. The nose of the rifle trembled, despite the determined fingers that gripped it. If the bitch thought she could waltz in and take everything away, she was wrong.

Dead wrong.

There was no going back. Not after you’d risen from the dirt. The girl should have understood that the first time she was warned. The shot cracked through the frigid silence, and the woman fell. But just as quickly she stood again, darting toward the road.

“Dammit.” The word was whispered, controlled, even in the face of desperation.

She’d merely slipped on the ice and the shot had missed its mark. That the girl had survived the accident was an insult to the original plan. She’d scrambled back up that ledge like some nasty bug that refused to die. The rifle’s scope found the woman again but she slipped into the cover of the woods. It was obvious where she was headed. And when she got there it would all be over.

No more bug.

“Damnation!” Luke killed the headlights and pushed the vehicle’s door against the side of the ditch. He squeezed out, the space he’d made barely allowing his six-foot-four frame to pass. Snow and half-frozen mud clung to his jeans and boots as he climbed from the ditch and onto the road. He squinted through the falling snow, staring at the mangled mess that used to be his Jeep Cherokee.

That ice don’t care whether you got a four-wheel-drive or not, his grandfather had said when he’d urged Luke to go home. Get on outta here while there’s still a road to steer that fancy lump of steel on.

He should have listened. Luke doubted that Seth Carlisle had been wrong often in his eighty-five years. Besides being his maternal grandfather and the only person in this godforsaken town he considered a friend, Seth lived in the middle of nowhere. Luke had to make sure he had firewood and food, at the very least.

He stared at the useless form of his vehicle and sighed. The storm had turned toward Sweetwater with the fury of a scorned woman and was bearing down hard, adding a layer of snow to the frozen mountain. Thanks to his determination, the town’s chief of police was now stuck in the middle of nowhere during the worst storm in living memory. Not good. He touched the cut on his forehead, reminding himself that it could have been worse.

“If I’m in this mess, you’re in this mess,” Luke called, stamping the circulation back into his already numbing feet. “Get out here.”

Sam managed the narrow opening with more grace than Luke, but he had twice the traction. The yellow Lab bounded up the side of the ditch and looked at him expectantly.

“Aren’t you supposed to have a keg of beer or something?”

Sam cocked one round eyebrow and wagged his tail.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

A gunshot cracked through the still night and Luke instantly dropped to the ground, drawing his gun.

“What the hell…?”

A second shot shattered the silence that had followed the first, and Luke heard someone cry out. The voice was muted but distinctly female. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in response. He crouched on the balls of his feet, listening as he reached for his two-way radio at his waist. Damn. He’d left the radio in the Jeep.

The road took a sharp turn a short distance down the mountain, following a treacherous cliff and creating a natural overlook. Luke jogged, crouching, until he reached it.

The sound he heard next was unmistakable. Someone was running—crashing—through the forest. He could hear the underbrush snapping, even hear their panicked gasp for breath. He cocked his head, listening. The shots had come from the right, he calculated, making the person below him the woman.

He knew with every lawman’s instinct he possessed that she was running for her life. What was going on? There wasn’t time to make sense of anything other than the fact that she needed his protection.

He intentionally slowed his breathing, concentrating on what few facts he had. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly where the shots had come from. He scanned the area below him. There was only blinding darkness to his left with one exception. A faint light glowed through the cover of the trees. The old forest ranger’s station, he realized.

When the woman reached it, she would find it locked. Worse, she would discover that it had been built on the furthermost point of a natural rock crag, chosen to provide rangers with an unrestricted view of the forest below. Flanked only by the impossible rock face of the mountain behind it, there was only one way in—and out.

She would be trapped.

Chapter 2

She wasn’t going to die. Gonzalez—it had to be Gonzalez—wasn’t going to win. Dana clawed at the doorknob, rattling it against the solid pine door. It was locked. The baby was silent inside her jacket. Too silent. Fear cut through her. Oh, God, had she hurt him while running? She had to check, had to get inside.

Hot tears of frustration burned her eyes. She stepped back, admitting that the door was not going to open. Her heart pounded as she frantically paced the cabin’s porch, searching for a way in. It looked as if the porch wrapped around the cabin but it was difficult to tell. A bare lightbulb burned next to the door but the light didn’t extend…

Dana stopped abruptly. The window. There was a window near the door. Hope filled her. She needed something to break it, something hard. A dark object was on the porch stoop next to her feet. She knelt, curling her fingers around solid metal. A boot scraper. She could use it to—

Glass shattered above her and the porch light was instantly extinguished, plunging her into darkness. Rough fingers curled over her mouth, swinging her body up and against a solid form.

Oh, God, he was here. He’d found her. She was going to die…. As soon as the thought formed in her head, the baby squirmed against her chest, reminding her that her life wasn’t the only one at stake.

She would not let him die.

Dana brought the boot scraper up as hard as she could, aiming for the man’s face. It met flesh with a solid thump, then fell against the wooden planks of the porch. She heard the man curse beneath his breath. She’d hit him, but the heavy metal had connected with flesh rather than bone. He’d been too tall for her pitiful weapon to hit its mark.

She tried to scream then, even knowing that the effort would go unheard.

“Shut up,” a deep voice whispered next to her ear. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He was dragging her, she realized, and she was helpless to fight with one hand securing the baby beneath her jacket. Her feet shuffled against the wooden porch. Was he was hauling her to the back side of the cabin? She heard the sound of keys rattling, and her mind struggled to make sense of what was happening. As Dana felt the man’s grip on her relax, she realized he was fitting a key into the door.

It might be her only chance.

Maybe he felt her muscles tense or maybe he read her mind, but his grip returned to her arm, pulling her against his side, his other hand still firmly wrapped over her mouth. “Who’s out there?” he whispered.

The words stopped her, and she repeated them in her head to try and make sense of what he’d asked. She heard the door creak on its hinges and a gust of stale air flowed over her as he dragged her inside. He used their coupled bodies to push the door closed behind them, then leaned his head near her ear.

“I’m here to help you.” He didn’t whisper this time, and the deep sound of his voice vibrated against her ear. “I’m a law officer. Do you understand?”

Relief, mixed with wary disbelief, poured over her. She wanted to believe. She nodded against his hand.

“If I let go of you, are you going to hit me again?” There was a tinge of humor in his voice that comforted her far more than his words had.

She shook her head.

She scrambled backward as he released her, connecting with something hard. She used her free hand to steady herself in the darkness. A stone fireplace. She took in huge gulps of air, never taking her eyes off the dark form of the man.

“Who was shooting at you?” His voice resonated in the dark. “What’s going on?”

Her thoughts tumbled over one another. The only logical answer was Gonzalez. But she was wary. After all, she didn’t know this man. He’d appeared out of nowhere, just as the shots had. Was she supposed to believe more than one person was crazy enough to be in the middle of nowhere during an ice storm?

“I don’t know,” she finally answered, her voice hoarse.

Luke studied the faint outline of the woman, sensing her presence as much as anything. She was small. That much he could tell. Her ragged breathing spoke volumes in the darkness. She was obviously scared as hell. Whether or not she was telling the truth was temporarily irrelevant.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No, but…” She shifted and he thought he heard a soft grunt as if she were hiding an injury.

He glanced over his shoulder at the window, at the faint outline of light that shone through it. “Stay where you are,” he commanded.

Luke felt his way along the interior wall of the ranger’s cabin, finally reaching a bookcase. He knelt, hoping his memory of the place was still worth a damn. His fingers brushed along a row of books, finally reaching cold metal. The flashlight. Paydirt. He inched his way back down the wall, then covered the small distance between himself and the woman, grabbing her by the arm.

“We need to get to an interior room,” he said as he half dragged her through the cabin. She made a small cry of protest and followed clumsily behind him.

The cabin’s layout flashed in his head. It was practically one room, with a small kitchenette adjoining the den area they’d entered. There was a bedroom but it had a window. He mentally dismissed using it for that reason. A supply pantry off the kitchen was the only choice, and he pulled the woman toward it, finally hauling her through the door.

As soon as he released her, she began to fall. Luke caught her arm again and flicked on the flashlight. The floor was littered with supplies, and the woman had inadvertently stepped into the circle of a coiled water hose. The flashlight’s beam focused first on the hose, as she stepped clear of it, then on the woman’s boots and slender, jeans-clad legs. Mud and moisture clung to her thighs where they met an oversize down coat. Luke’s gaze traveled upward but stopped abruptly at the hand that protectively cradled her full abdomen.

She was pregnant.

He inadvertently flashed the beam of light toward her face, and she used her free hand to protect her eyes.

“Please…”

“I’m sorry,” he muttered. Luke sat the flashlight on the floor, its beam of light pointed toward the ceiling, softly illuminating the small room. He hoped she understood that the apology included manhandling a pregnant woman.

The woman immediately ducked her head, straight blond hair falling about her shoulders as she concentrated on unzipping her jacket. Her actions were frantic, her fingers trembling. Was she hurt? The sound of the jacket’s zipper lowering was punctuated by a shrill cry.

Time seemed to freeze as the woman reached into the bulky coat and pulled out an infant.

Luke suppressed a nervous laugh as he took in the blue-patterned sleeper that covered the baby from chin to toe. What had he expected? Considering he’d thought the woman was pregnant just moments before, not even a naked newborn would have surprised him.

She hugged the baby against her for a moment before easing herself to the floor. Laying the infant against her thighs, she inspected every inch of him, ignoring Luke during the process. “Thank God,” she finally whispered.

Luke knelt down next to her. “Is he okay?”

The woman glanced up, making eye contact for the first time. Luminous gray-blue eyes stared back at him, her cheeks flushed with color. Disheveled blond hair covered her shoulders, and a trail of dried blood had stopped midway down her left cheek. Beautiful. The thought registered, though it had no logic in the time and place. He frowned, reaching out to inspect the wound.

She didn’t pull away, but he watched her bite her lip as if the action frightened her. He turned her head slightly, noting that the wound wasn’t a threat, then forced his hand down. “Your baby—is he okay?”

“Oh, he’s… Wind rattled the walls of the cabin, and she jumped, her eyes searching the open doorway. “I think he’s okay,” she whispered.

“What’s your name?”

A look of surprise crossed her face. “Dana Langston.”

“I’m Luke Sutherlin. I’m the local chief of police.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked him up and down. He realized then that she probably expected him to look more official. He’d slid on his oldest pair of jeans and a black, long-sleeved T-shirt before making the trip up the mountain. The brown leather jacket he wore was hardly official either. Luke pulled out his ID and passed it to her. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

Relief softened her features as she examined the ID and returned it. Her gaze returned to the baby. “There was an accident. The car went off the cliff…”

Luke summoned his patience when he saw a tear slide down her cheek. “Ma’am?” He gently touched her chin with his fingers and tipped her face upward. “I need to know what’s going on so that I can help.”

“I tried to help.” She pulled the baby against her chest when he began to fret. “Someone started shooting at me.”

“Why would someone shoot at you?”

The baby began crying and the woman tried to soothe him, glancing nervously at Luke and then at the door. He let out a piercing yell as she rocked him against her shoulder.

“You’ve got to get him quiet,” Luke growled, knowing the infant’s cries were like a beacon in the darkness, blowing any cover they had.

“I know.” She shifted him, patting his back frantically. “I think maybe he’s hungry. I’m really not sure.”

“I hope you have the answer in that diaper bag.” He paused, his gaze dropping to her chest. “Unless you need some privacy, in which case you’re right out of luck.”

“No.” The woman looked confused then angry as she pulled the diaper bag to her. “I think I saw some formula in here.”

Luke frowned. “You think? Why don’t you know?”

Dana Langston looked at him as though he’d lost his mind. “This is not my baby.”

She began frantically searching the diaper bag with her one free hand while Luke digested her words. “The baby was in the accident?”

“Yes.” She cupped her hand over the side of the baby’s face, as if shielding him from her next words. “His mother is dead.”

Luke cursed, his gaze scanning the confines of the cabin. He needed backup. Why hadn’t he gotten the damned two-way radio out of the Jeep?

He forced his next words to sound calm. “You’re telling me someone died in this accident?”

“A woman. I assume she was his mother. She was the only other one in the car.” Her voice took on a faraway tone, and he glanced up to find her staring at the baby as if she didn’t hear his cries, her expression fixed and her pupils dilated. “Her car went off the cliff. I climbed down and found them. I took the baby and then…”

“It’s okay.” He forced himself to speak the words softly and to postpone the other questions he wanted to fire at her. Luke laid his gun on the floor and jerked the diaper bag from her hands. Inside it was a cell phone. “You have a phone?”

“It doesn’t work,” she answered, patting the crying infant on the back.

“Figures,” he muttered, substituting the word for a stronger one that came to mind. He turned his attention back to the diaper bag. There were several miniature glass jars full of milky-looking fluid and a canister of powder. He turned the label to the light. Powdered Baby Formula. Fat good that did. He found a couple of bottle nipples in the bottom of the bag but no bottle. The baby’s cries became even more frantic and Luke dumped the contents onto the floor, growing a little frantic himself.

“Here—hold him. I’ll do it.”

As Luke looked up, Dana thrust the baby into his arms. He felt a surge of panic as the baby squirmed against his grip, arms and legs flailing. He instinctively pulled the infant against his chest, his gaze falling to his gun, judging how many seconds delay lay between him and his weapon. Any delay could cost them their lives.

“I’m glad one of us knows what they’re doing,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Luke looked up to find a sad smile playing about Dana’s mouth. The expression snagged some emotion within him, and he had to force himself to follow her gaze. When he did, he found the baby had pulled his pinky finger to its mouth and was gumming it frantically. “Beginner’s luck,” he replied.

She lifted her hand. “Should I try?” Luke saw that she’d opened one of the small glass jars and capped it with a bottle nipple.

“Yes.” He thrust the baby toward her and she popped the bottle into the infant’s mouth before he could protest.

Luke watched as she covered the baby with the hem of her long jacket, and decided that she instinctively knew what to do. Unlike him. He retrieved his gun, relieved to hold something that he actually knew how to handle. He stood and covered the door, assessing the dark cabin, listening. He glanced down at Dana and the baby. The infant greedily consumed the bottle, but the woman’s eyes were glued to him.

“You don’t know who I am, do you?” she asked.

He frowned, examining her face. “No. Should I?”

“No—it’s just… I’ve gotten used to being recognized in Atlanta. I’m a television news anchor.”

“We don’t really get Atlanta reception up here.” He cocked his hip against the door frame, his eyes scanning the interior of the cabin that was visible from the hallway. “We get Greenville, South Carolina, if the weather’s good.”

Dana’s gaze flowed over Luke. He literally towered over her, especially from her position on the cabin’s floor. His shoulders filled the doorway, casting an impressive shadow into the hall. If he was a cop, and Dana had every reason to believe that he was who and what he said, she was a lucky woman. If he wasn’t—if he were playing some sort of twisted game—then she was…how had he put it?

Right out of luck.

But the choice to trust Luke Sutherlin had already been made. She’d made it the minute she saw him hold the infant. He’d obviously not known what to do. Yet he’d held the baby with tenderness. An old pain twisted inside her, but she forced herself to focus on the present.

“Have you heard of Paul Gonzales?”

“Yes.” She noticed a muscle twitched at the side of Luke’s jaw. “I don’t know much about the case but I know what he did.”

“I think that’s who’s out there.” Her voice sounded uncertain, even to her own ears. “That’s who was shooting at me.”

Luke whirled to face her, his blue eyes narrowed. For a moment she recoiled at the anger reflected there. “Why would you think that?”

Dana hesitated, thrown off guard by the question. Every news station, including her own, had hinted at her involvement in the Gonzalez case. The Atlanta papers had reported the story endlessly, at least until a fresher story had finally stolen the headlines. Maybe her guilt had led her to believe that her connection was more obvious to others than it really was.

Or maybe it was that this north Georgia mountain range was a world unto itself. The borders of North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia came together like the crosshairs of a rifle scope, with Sweetwater situated at the borders of all three. It was as close to no-man’s-land as you could get. Was it possible that he really didn’t know her tragic connection to Michael Gonzalez?

A sort of freedom presented itself to her. She’d lived with the judgment of others—including herself—for over a year now. But if Luke Sutherlin didn’t know…

He doesn’t have to know, her mind whispered, that Paul Gonzalez had been ready to relinquish his paternal rights until the story aired. He didn’t have to know that because of her a madman had been given the opportunity to kill an innocent child.

Her mistake was her own. All Luke Sutherlin really needed to know was that she was scheduled to testify in the Gonzalez trial. And that Paul Gonzalez wanted to stop her.

“Why?” Luke demanded a second time.

“I’m a key witness in his trial. He’s threatened me.” She met Luke Sutherlin’s flinty-blue eyes and saw them soften. But would he feel concern if he knew the whole story? “Someone broke into my apartment two days ago. I believe it was Gonzalez.” Her chin began to quiver and chill bumps rippled down her arms, scattering her thoughts. “He wants to scare me, to keep me from testifying.” She forced the words out, wrapping her free hand over her arm to still the trembling.

What was happening to her? It was cold, but she still wore her jacket. Besides, this cold seemed to come from within, emanating outward. She drew in a ragged breath. It was becoming difficult to breathe. Her hands began to tremble and her arms felt weak. Dana clamped her chattering teeth together and concentrated on her precarious grip on the baby.

“Are you okay?” Luke’s voice was deep but soft.

She looked up. “I—I don’t know what’s happening.” It was becoming more difficult to breathe with each passing second. “I’m cold and it’s like I can’t…I can’t get enough air.”

“Damn.” Luke dropped to his knees in front of her. “How badly were you hurt?” he asked, leaning over the baby as he examined the cut on her forehead a second time. “Were you injured anywhere else?”

Dana shook her head.

“You might be shocky.” He said the words more to himself than her. “Or it could be a panic attack—a delayed reaction.” He shimmied out of his jacket and draped the leather over her knees, partially covering the baby. He grasped her shoulders firmly. “Either way, you need to calm down. Try and relax.” His palms slid to her neck and upward, finally cradling her face. “Look at me, Dana.”

Her eyes met his.

“You’re safe.”

She felt tears well up in her eyes and hated herself for the weakness. They spilled as she nodded, trailing over Luke’s warm hands.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” He placed one hand against the baby’s head, absently caressing the dark peach fuzz that topped it. “Not to either of you.”

Dana tried to answer, but she couldn’t seem to take in enough air to form the words.

“You need to slow your breathing,” Luke stated, his eyes never leaving hers. He pulled her free hand to him, spreading her fingers over his chest. “Breathe with me.”

Dana stared at her hand, pale against the black fabric that covered Luke’s chest, her fingers resting inches from the leather holster that crisscrossed it. Slowly she began to match her breathing to the rhythmic rise and fall of Luke’s chest. Time passed in a haze, and every breath she took with Luke loosened the smothering tightness in her chest. Soon Dana was more aware of the subtle play of muscle beneath fabric than the rise and fall of his chest.

The baby squirmed in her lap and Dana blinked, her gaze rising to Luke’s face. Loose waves of dark-brown hair just brushed the neck of his T-shirt. The fabric expanded to cover broad shoulders. He was a giant of a man, yet there was a gentleness about his face, more specifically his eyes. Set above high cheekbones, his eyes were startlingly blue against his dark complexion. Eyes that watched her intently, missing nothing.

Dana was surprised to find that a surreal warmth had filled her, calmed her when she wasn’t even aware of it. But to her amazement, that wasn’t all. She’d hardly been aware of herself as a woman during the past year and a half. But emotions she’d thought long dead now warmed her body in places she’d learned to ignore. Luke’s gaze flickered to her mouth, and Dana jerked her hand away as though she’d been burned.

“Is anyone expecting you?” Luke’s deep voice cut through the silence that followed.

Was anyone expecting her? She desperately wanted to say yes, but couldn’t think of a soul who’d look for her. Her aunt and uncle had raised her since the age of five, after her parents died in an auto accident. Dana checked in with them once a week. But if she didn’t, would they call her? An old pain threatened to resurface, and she suddenly knew why she phoned them so regularly. The answer was no.

Her chest constricted again, but this time Dana reached for Luke, her hand seeking his chest like a lifeline. He placed his hand over hers, warm and reassuring.

“No, Dana,” he crooned, his deep voice hypnotic. “Don’t let it happen again. Breathe.”

Her eyes were glued to his chest, but her thoughts were frantically searching for a positive answer to his question. The list of people close to her was short and getting shorter. Her ex-husband? She shook her head, forcing down a hysterical sob. No, Robert was busy tending to his new wife and newborn son. His biological son, she mentally added. A child that even the most advanced fertility treatments hadn’t allowed her to bear.

Perhaps that was the reason she was so out of control, she reasoned. She’d continued to try to become pregnant, even after the divorce, for the last year and a half. Her doctor had pumped enough hormones into her system to give her normally laid-back personality a jolt of hysteria. Not that the effort had done any good.

And now that door had permanently closed.

I’m afraid we’ve reached an impasse, Dana. Her doctor had delivered the news as gently as possible. There’s nothing more we can do.

She’d received the call from her doctor just moments before she was to go on-air today. The proverbial straw that had broken the camel’s back.

There hadn’t been time to confide the news to anyone, but she could predict the reaction of friends and family. It’s for the best, they’d say. After all, she was a single woman in the public eye. If viewers reacted negatively to a pregnancy, it could mean the end of her career.

But what did she care?

People looked at her carefully arranged appearance, her high-profile career, and thought she’d achieved her dream. It made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. What she wanted was to spend sleepless nights holding an infant against her breast, make mud pies with a toddler, and teach a first-grader how to turn a wad of gum into a shiny pink bubble.

At one time the dream had included a loving husband, but not anymore.

“Dana?”

Dana looked up, knowing his watchful eyes had seen the play of emotion on her face. She dropped her hand, forcing her breathing to steady on its on. This was her life, the hand she’d been dealt. She called on the stubborn pride that had seen her through more than one lonely crisis, including her childhood.

Dana lifted her chin slightly. “No. No one is expecting me.”

Chapter 3

Luke nodded, trying not to be distracted by the sudden moisture in her eyes. In his experience in law enforcement, emotion that intense could be traced to one of two things. Either the suspect had just bared their soul or they were desperately lying. The thought struck him as odd. He had no logical reason to think Dana Langston would lie.

He flexed his free hand, wishing for the familiar feel of the radio, for the chance to call for backup. And to check her story, he admitted. He lifted the cell phone from the floor where it lay among the spilled contents of the diaper bag and optimistically pressed the power button. The phone came to life, its face illuminating in the dim lighting of the storage room. Luke cast a questioning glance at Dana.

“I couldn’t get through earlier when I tried. Maybe the mountains, maybe the storm…”

Luke punched in the number for the police station and hit the send button. Nothing happened for a few seconds and then the familiar no-connection tone sounded. “Still nothing,” he announced.

His shoulder muscles tensed beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, reacting to the cold in a painful spasm. There was nothing more bone-chilling than an empty house, no matter what shelter it offered. Luke looked at Dana and the baby. Dana’s jeans were encrusted in mud and melting snow, as his were. And the baby just looked vulnerable as hell. Without a means to call for help, they were stuck for the night. He had no intention of spending it shivering in a supply closet.

“Do you know how to use a gun?”

Dana’s eyes widened in response to his question. “I—I did a segment once on personal protection. The instructor at the range showed me how to shoot the targets.” She shook her head and Luke noticed she was making an effort to breathe slowly. “It was just for the camera.”

Luke grinned. “How’d you do?”

The corners of her mouth twitched slightly. “Pretty good for a city girl.”

My God, she almost smiled. Luke had a feeling that didn’t happen often, even under better circumstances. “Good.” Luke noticed that Dana held the baby in the crook of her left arm, propping the bottle with the same hand, which left her right hand free. He laid the gun on the floor and gently slid it toward her. “I’m going to leave this with you while I—”

“No.” She shook her head. “Please don’t. Don’t leave me.”

“Shh…” Luke placed his hand on her knee, absently caressing her leg beneath his discarded jacket while he spoke. “The temperature is dropping, and we’re stuck here for the night. We’re going to need a way to stay warm. The good news is, the porch light was on, so I know there’s an electrical feed.” He gestured behind her at a dusty space heater. “I just need to find the fuse box and switch the circuit breaker. If that doesn’t work, I’ve got to see if there’s any firewood.”

“No—you can’t build a fire. He’ll see the smoke. He’ll know where we are.”

“He already knows where we are, Dana.”

She went perfectly still, but her eyes registered fear so deep that Luke regretted the words. “Look, whoever is out there can’t stay out there in this storm for long. He’ll freeze to death before he gets another chance at us. We’re safe here.”

Dana looked around her, as if considering where she was for the first time. “What is this place?”

“An old forest ranger’s station. They gave me a key a couple of years back when they built a new observation tower. It’s no longer used.” He smiled, for some reason determined to see the worry lines disappear from her face. “At least not normally.”

“How far are we from town?”

Luke shook his head. “Too far to walk, which is the only option right now.”

“Your car…”

“Is in a ditch up the road.” He experimented with another smile. “Lucky for you.”

She returned the smile, then her face went serious. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Right place at the right time. What are you doing on the mountain, anyway?”

She looked uncertain. “Vacationing.”

Luke nodded, though suspicion hit him like a fist. “Take the gun and level it at the doorway.”

Dana pulled the baby more tightly against her chest. “I can’t.”

Luke looked down at the infant’s face. He’d fallen asleep, oblivious to the danger around him, the bottle nipple now slack against his lips.

“Yes, you can.” Luke nodded toward the baby. “Besides, I left my four-legged partner out in the cold. I need to check on him, at least.”

Dana crooned softly as she eased the bottle from the baby’s mouth. Her expression was hopeful when she looked up. “A police dog?”

“No, an ornery old Lab. But he’s as big as a pony and barks like he means business. Besides, he likes kids and beautiful women.”

Where had that comment come from? He’d intended to lighten the mood, to see her relax, but he’d caught himself off guard instead. The wary expression on Dana’s face told him he wasn’t the only one who wished he’d kept the comment to himself.

Luke retrieved the coiled hose from the supply room floor and molded it into an oval shape. “Here. Use my jacket and lay him inside.”

Dana pulled the supple leather jacket from her knees and folded the baby inside. He barely stirred when she laid him inside the makeshift cradle, only nuzzled contentedly against the lining of Luke’s jacket.

Dana lifted the gun but looked at it as if it were a snake. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“You have to.” He took her by the upper arm and turned her toward the baby. “Unless you want to freeze to death and leave this little guy alone.”

Anger and determination flashed on her face as she pulled her arm free. “Okay.”

Just the reaction he’d been hoping for. “I’ll leave the flashlight with you. I have a lighter.” Luke stood when she nodded. “Keep the gun focused on the door. I’ll try and alert you when I—”

“Just say my name.” She interrupted. “I’ll know your voice.”

Luke nodded and disappeared through the doorway, leaving Dana alone. What she’d said was true. She could pick that deep, captivating voice out of a crowded room. Maybe it was the tense circumstances, but that voice had the power to soothe her, to irritate her and, if she were honest with herself, make her want to crawl into the shelter of his arms.

Power. The word stuck in her brain as she rested her wrist on her knee and, with a trembling hand, pointed the gun toward the empty door frame. Hadn’t she learned a thing or two in the last year and a half about giving up her power? But this was hardly the same as her marriage to Robert. Luke had just given her the power of his weapon and, with barely a word of instruction, trusted her not to blast him to kingdom come with it.

Time passed. Five minutes. Ten?

“Dana…”

The sound of Luke’s voice made her jump. She hadn’t heard him enter the cabin. “Yes,” she responded, lowering the gun.

“It’s us.”

Us? This time she heard a shuffle, heard the gentle sound of the cabin’s door closing and the unmistakable click-click of canine paws against the wooden floor. Big brown eyes suddenly peered around the doorway, framed by a golden muzzle and inquisitive eyebrows. Dana laid the gun on the floor and fought the overwhelming urge to cry. There was something so entirely welcoming about the presence of the dog. Something so normal that she wanted to fling her arms around his big neck and squeal with delight like a child.

Luke appeared, resting his hand against the dog’s head in an easy gesture. “Sam, this is Dana. Dana, this is Sam.”

“Hi, Sam,” she whispered, her voice betraying the emotion.

When she looked up, she found Luke watching her again. Assessing her. The expression on his face was neutral, but his eyes said something else. He looked at her as if she were a puzzle with half its pieces missing. She thought of the broken mess her once-orderly life had become, and shivered. Maybe he was right.

“Good news.” He stepped inside the supply room and pulled the chain on an overhead fixture. The single lightbulb came to life, its glow barely brighter than the flashlight.

With the light, Dana could see that snow dusted his shoulders, darkening his black shirt as it melted. He’d sacrificed his jacket for the baby’s sake.

He reached around Dana and retrieved the space heater. “I’ll be right back. Sam—” he looked behind him at the dog, then gestured toward Dana “—stay here.”

Sam walked over to Dana and plopped down next to her feet. She eased her fingers into his thick fur and was rewarded with a friendly lick. This time she didn’t ask where Luke was going but trusted that he wouldn’t go far. Trust. The emotion surprised her.

She heard Luke move to a nearby part of the cabin, could make out the sound of something heavy being moved, the soft shuffle of his feet. In a moment he returned, filling the doorway with his silhouette. Dana noticed that he’d changed shirts. He’d put on a white thermal shirt, the sleeves of which were drawn tightly around his arms. He walked into the supply room and knelt down beside her. For a moment she thought he was going to lift her in his arms, but he reached for the flashlight instead.

“Come with me. Bring the baby.” He stood, gently slapping the side of his leg. “Sam.”

She lifted the baby and drew him into her arms. His warm, trusting little body fitted perfectly against her shoulder. How many times had she dreamed of holding a child of her own like this? Dana closed her eyes against the threat of tears.

“Ready?”

The expression on Luke’s face told her that he hadn’t missed the moment of weakness. Dana stood, her legs shakier than she’d expected. It was then she noticed Luke held out his hand. She stared at it. His hand was so large that hers would disappear inside it. Her gaze slid to Luke’s. Why was she afraid to make the simple contact?

A frown marred his forehead. “Dana?”

She stepped forward and slid her hand into his. The contact should have been simple, but it wasn’t. Luke took her hand inside his, his thumb caressing her knuckles for a moment before he abruptly stopped. It was too late. The gesture had already caused her breath to catch in her chest.

“Ready.” She forced the word out, trying to deny the awkwardness that had filled the room.

He turned away, still clutching her hand in his, and slowly drew her from the supply room. Dana followed, steadying the baby against her shoulder with her free hand. Luke kept the beam of light trained on the floor and led her down the short hallway to an adjoining room. The hum of the space heater filled the room, though its heat had yet to make progress against the cold.

As her eyes adjusted to the near darkness, Dana realized the room was a small bedroom. Though she could see the faint outline of a window against the far wall, Luke had apparently pulled a dresser in front of it, its attached mirror blocking the expanse of glass.

“This will conceal us well enough, but I don’t want to risk the lights.”

He drew her forward a few steps and Dana realized he was leading her to the bed. Despite the circumstances, the intimacy of the bed made her pause. Luke must have felt her tense, because he dropped her hand.

“Settle the baby in the bed.”

He didn’t whisper, but his voice was lower, softer than it had been in the supply room. The realization that he was more alert to danger here caused a fresh chill of fear.

“You need to get out of those wet jeans and boots. I found a pair of sweatpants and some socks.”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Changing out of her clothes somehow meant the situation was real. They wouldn’t be rescued in a few minutes. No wailing sirens outside. Only the howl of the blizzard as it finished the job it had started. And it meant something else. They were in this together. Things were going to get pretty personal pretty fast. Starting with the fact that she was about to undress in the same room with a stranger.

He gestured toward the bed, where the clothing lay. “It’s not much but at least the clothes are dry.”

She nodded, then gently laid the baby in the center of the double bed. He was still wrapped snugly in Luke’s jacket, and the selfless gesture again triggered something inside her. She’d learned from Robert the hard way that some men lacked paternal instinct. Or at least, in her ex-husband’s case, paternal feelings for a child that wasn’t his biological child.

Dana eased the jacket from around the baby, then substituted the bed’s thick blanket. She extended the jacket to Luke. “Thank you,” she whispered.

She felt him tense beside her in the darkness. Had she said something wrong? Perhaps it was because she’d thanked him, because that right belonged exclusively to the child’s mother. And the child’s mother was dead. Whatever the reason, he silently accepted the jacket and slid it on.

Luke commanded Sam to lie down at the foot of the bed, then walked to the window, peering through a small crack between the dresser’s mirror and the window frame. There was moonlight despite the storm, and the ghostly white light was bright enough to cast dancing shadows in the room. As her eyes adjusted, Dana could see that Luke held the gun in position as he scanned the outside perimeter of the cabin.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Nothing.” His voice was soothing, deep and hypnotic against the steady hum of the space heater. “Everything’s fine.” He kept his back to her. “You need to change.”

She realized that he was offering her a measure of privacy. To turn down either the dry clothing or the privacy would be foolish. Her toes were numb, and her jeans were heavy with moisture. The idea of a soft pair of fleece pants and dry socks sounded like heaven.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off the department-store boots she’d once thought perfect for the trip. Instead of protecting her feet, the porous suede had soaked up moisture like a sponge, including the whiskey from the bottle that had burst at her feet. Dana stood, unzipping her jeans before she lost her resolve.

The sound of the zipper lowering was only slightly less embarrassing than the rustle of fabric as she forced the jeans over her hips. As Dana wriggled free of the wet, clinging denim, the cold seemed to wrap itself around her bare legs, seeping instantly through the silky fabric of her panties.

She felt totally vulnerable and glanced up, only to find that Luke had taken a step back from the window and had caught her reflection in the dresser’s mirror. Dana could see her own reflection, illuminated by the moonlight and the seductive red glow of the space heater.

The instant their eyes locked, he looked away.

Even so, Dana could feel the lingering brand of his stare, feel his gaze touching her bare skin as she stepped into the waiting clothing. Luke said nothing, just resumed his watch at the window. An apology or acknowledgment, she realized, would only make things worse. Better to pretend the incident hadn’t happened, which is what she intended to do.

The clothes she wore smelled like cedar, no doubt having been stored, but she couldn’t have cared less. The socks and fleece pants were heavenly against her skin, warming her instantly. She walked to the side of the bed and arranged a pillow against the headboard, then slid carefully beside the baby. Despite herself, she relaxed. It was a strange, surreal state. One part relief and two parts exhaustion. Mentally she was still pumped with adrenaline, though, and her mind relentlessly returned to the scene of the accident, then back to the events that had brought her to this darkened room with the man who now stood watch.

Her gaze followed Luke as he paced from the window to the hall. When he glanced in her direction, she looked down, embarrassed that she’d been staring.

He’d done the same, she reminded herself. And more.

Her eyes now accustomed to the dark, she could see that the baby was peacefully sleeping at her hip, his lips pursed and his fist balled next to his chubby cheek. She lightly stroked his cheek with her fingertips. His skin was like velvet, so new and unmarred. It was a miracle that he hadn’t been injured in the accident.

“How could someone be so careless with this precious life?” she whispered, as much to herself as to Luke.

Luke turned to face her. “What do you mean, careless?”

Dana realized that she hadn’t explained the cause of the accident. Her mind flashed back to the whiskey bottle as it tumbled from the car and shattered at her feet, to the sound of metal screaming against rock as the car slid down the mountain face. The memory was so vivid that she jumped, waking the baby. He struggled to find the thread of sleep again, his little fist punching the air at the unseen enemy that had awakened him. Dana traced the outline of his ear, cooing and whispering until the soothing motion worked its magic.

When she looked up, she found Luke staring at her, waiting for an answer.

“The mother had been drinking.” She heard the anger in her words and realized that it matched the anger she felt. A delayed reaction, she supposed, but fierce.

Her comment was met with silence, as if Luke were considering the validity of her words. “Are you sure?” he finally asked.

Was she sure? She stifled an edgy laugh. “Yes, I’m sure. There were several bottles of alcohol in the car. Only one of them was full. It fell out and broke at my feet.”

“Can you tell me about the accident now?”

Now… The single word said a lot.

It said that he’d known how close she’d been to breaking down and that he’d intentionally gone easy on the questions because of it. She was grateful. It was only natural that someone in his position would be anxious—obligated even—to sort out the details of the accident. And again he’d used that soft, hypnotic voice. She realized that, intentional or not, he used it when he wanted to soothe her or needed her cooperation.

Like now.

At first she was reluctant, but talking about the events surrounding the accident proved easier than she’d imagined, likely because she’d relived it in her head countless times already. And each time she relived it, certain details grew clearer, jumped out at her. Her years as a reporter were probably to blame. She’d reported on and written about catastrophic events for so many years that certain dramatic details tended to jump out at her, stick in her memory, even when she would rather they didn’t.

This was similar, she realized, as she recited the events to Luke for at least the third time. The one detail that kept emerging, each time with more intensity, was that the mother had been drinking. She was surprised to hear the anger in her voice. She hadn’t realized how angry she was at the infant’s mother until now. But she was. Because of one reckless decision, a little boy would grow up without a mother.

Just as she had.

Finally weary of her own voice, she stilled, waiting for Luke’s response. It was slow in coming, and when it did it was that same, controlled voice that made her feel as if she was his entire focus.

“I’m glad you and the baby are okay.” The words were a near whisper in the darkness. No questions. No commentary.

Maybe it was the purging of the details, but Dana was suddenly so tired she could barely keep her eyes open. She propped her cheek against the pillow and watched the baby as he slept.

“Lie down next to him.” Luke’s voice vibrated with some emotion that Dana didn’t recognize. “He could use your body heat until the room warms.”

Dana eased her shoulders to the mattress and curled her body around the baby’s. She felt drugged by his nearness, by the sweet, sound sleep that possessed him. In the back of her mind she recognized that the adrenaline that had saved their lives was now depleted.

As she closed her eyes, the last image she saw was of Luke standing at the window. Standing guard.

Luke heard the gentle sound of Dana’s breathing and knew she’d drifted off to sleep. He walked to the bed. It was an invasion of her privacy, violated some damned code of honor to watch her as she slept, but he didn’t care. He was drawn to her. Maybe it was that he admired her fierce maternal instincts, or maybe it was as simple as the arousal he’d fought since the moment he’d laid eyes on her long, bare legs.

Or maybe it was that her story didn’t entirely ring true.

He looked down at her. Her face was pale in the moonlight, her features near perfect as she slept. Yet he recognized a pattern to her behavior that didn’t fit the angelic features. She’d repeated her story over and over again, literally cramming the details down his throat as if she were desperate for him to believe how the events took place.

As if she were convincing herself in the process.

Why would a woman alone want to vacation in a mountain cabin in the middle of nowhere? Especially a woman like Dana Langston. His eyes flowed over her. Even with the trickle of blood staining her cheek and little makeup on, she looked more like cruise ship material. Glitz and glamour. And wouldn’t a woman in her position be brighter than to drive headlong into a storm?

He had to admit he’d been caught off guard by the storm, as well. But he’d at least known the storm had changed course, just decided in a fit of male bravado that he could outrun it. But no matter how well intended, his actions were just as stupid as hers. Maybe his sense of suspicion had become overblown through the years. A job hazard, he mused.

Still, he had had all sorts of questions about Dana Langston. And all sorts of ideas. His mind flashed to the scrap of panties she wore, pulled tight as she stepped out of her jeans. Hell, not half of his ideas were honorable. But the other half clung to a sense of duty.

Between the two, one thing was clear: she was hiding something.

The question was, What?

Chapter 4

It was like waking to another world. Dana peered through the small expanse of glass next to the mirror. The snow had coated everything, transforming the shadowy forest into a stark white landscape dotted with ghostly shapes. Only the occasional stubborn branch poked through the shapes, hinting that the mounds of snow were really saplings, their tops bent double with the weight of ice and snow. Other larger trees had succumbed to the storm and now lay across one another on the ground like fallen soldiers.

“Looks like we’re trapped here for a few days.”

Dana jumped, pressing her hand against her heart. She’d been so lost in thought that she hadn’t heard Luke enter the room behind her. She turned to face him.

Some part of her subconscious noticed that Luke carried an armload of firewood, but the thought never made it to the forefront of her brain. Instead she focused on Luke’s face. It was the first time she’d seen him fully in the light. He was handsome. Not the pretty-boy handsome of her male co-workers at the news station but an honest, rugged handsome that matched his imposing size. His face was reddened from the cold, and his dark hair was sprinkled with snow.

Dana blinked, realizing she’d been staring. “It’s incredible.” She turned back toward the window, embarrassed at her abstract reaction to his announcement.

“Are you okay?” Luke asked.

She glanced at the baby, still sleeping soundly on the mattress. She’d awoken this morning to the chirping of birds, an odd, cheerful sound against the backdrop of all they’d experienced last night. She’d gently risen from the bed and followed the sound to the window. There she realized that the birds weren’t cheerful at all, but squawking and flittering over the frozen ground in frustration.

Even they knew the situation was dire. So why wasn’t she panicking? Why didn’t she have sense enough to be afraid instead of noticing that Luke’s eyes were an incredible shade of blue in the morning light?

It had to be a reaction to the overdose of stress she’d received in the past twenty-four hours. A sort of final surrender to a situation that was out of control. An image of Gonzalez flashed in her head. The situation had been out of control for some time.

She’d just faced it alone until now.

Dana forced a smile. “I’m okay.” Her gaze went to the baby, and Luke’s eyes followed.

As if on cue, the baby turned his head against the mattress and sighed, his tiny fingers caressing the sheet. There was an almost tangible relief in the room, and Dana realized that both she and Luke had been watching the baby in anticipation, looking for some reassurance that he was okay.

“I’m going to stack this next to the fireplace.” Luke shifted the firewood against his chest.

Dana looked at the firewood, then at the space heater that faithfully hummed a steady stream of warmth into the room.

Luke read her thoughts. “I’m afraid the power won’t last much longer.” He nodded toward the window. “The trees are coming down like crazy. But there’s at least a cord of dry wood outside.”

“You left the cabin?” Her words conveyed the wave of panic she felt.

“The wood is stored under the porch. I didn’t go far.” He watched her intently for a moment. “The snow has blanketed everything, and there’s no shelter other than this cabin for miles. If anyone were out there, it would be obvious. I want you to stay inside, keep away from the windows. But that’s just a precaution. We’re safe here.”

Dana nodded. “I guess I’m still a little shaken.”

“Are you hungry?”

She was. In fact, she was starving, which surprised her. Her appetite had been a casualty of the roller-coaster ride that was her life as of late. “Actually, yes.”

“I found some canned goods in the kitchen.” Luke took a few steps toward the other room, then stopped, looking over his shoulder. “If your tastes aren’t too elaborate.”

She wanted to laugh. She’d eaten at every upscale Atlanta restaurant by the time she was eight. And had been thoroughly sick of it by the time she was eighteen. Her aunt, who had never planned on raising a child and certainly never planned on cooking a well-balanced meal based on the food pyramid, had nonetheless taught her the finer points of dining out. Not the most maternal of lessons, but her aunt had never tried to be anyone other than who she was. Dana may have craved more, but she appreciated her aunt’s honesty.

Still, the first thing she’d bought after moving into her own apartment was a cookbook and a set of cookware. Ten years had passed and she could now make corn bread and pot roast with the best of them.

“Thanks.” Dana ran her hand through her hair, and her fingertips stilled on the side of her face, stopping at the trail of dried blood.

Luke frowned. “There’s a bathroom next to the supply closet.”

Dana nodded, then watched him leave the room. His ability to read her thoughts was unnerving and comforting at the same time. She secured a pillow on either side of the baby and watched him for a moment as he slept. With a chubby cheek pressed against the mattress and his lips puckered into a sweet cherub’s smile, he looked like an angel. She stroked his cheek with her index finger. He was completely at peace, completely oblivious to the fact that he was alone.

Alone. God, she hated that word. The baby might not have her for long, but he had her for now. He wouldn’t be alone. She would see to that.

Dana walked quickly to the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She pulled the overhead chain that lit a bare bulb and stared at the stranger in the mirror. Old-fashioned vanity assaulted her. It was wrong to be embarrassed by her appearance, given the fact that another woman had lost her life, but she couldn’t help but be mortified. It hadn’t occurred to her that she looked like hell. After all, Luke had looked like a model in some outdoorsman’s catalog, right down to the armload of firewood and his perfectly disheveled hair.

She sighed, running her fingers through her hair. It was hopelessly tangled, twigs and briars sticking out from it like a pincushion. A swollen gash was visible at her hairline, a trail of dried blood pointing to the source. She was pale as a ghost, and dark circles rimmed her eyes.

A roll of yellowed paper towels sat next to the sink, and Dana pulled one away and dampened it, gently dabbing at the dried blood until it was gone. She tugged all the visible twigs from her hair and finger combed it into submission. She stared at her unkempt image for a moment then closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that she’d lived through the incident. That the baby had lived.

And that Luke Sutherlin had found them.

Dana opened her eyes and searched her reflection. She’d grown accustomed to seeing her own image over the years, from nightly broadcasts to countless ad campaigns. The consummate professional. But she didn’t know the frightened, shaken woman who now peered back at her. Which image had Luke seen when he looked at her?

Dana shivered, recalling the heat in Luke’s gaze as he’d watched her change clothes. He’d seen neither image, she realized. He’d seen something she hadn’t felt in a long time, resurrected it with one heated glance. He’d seen her simply as a woman.

She switched off the light without another glance in the mirror and stepped into the hall. It was strange, unnerving to walk through the cabin in the light of day. When she made her way to the kitchen, she had to resist the urge to crouch, to shrink from the daylight that poured through the window above the kitchen sink. Only a few feet of wall separated the den and kitchen, and she could hear Luke stacking the firewood in the next room. But she couldn’t force herself to join him. The few steps that separated them meant walking toward the front of the cabin, toward the windows. The direction the gunshots had last come from.

Dana decided she preferred the kitchen. Its solitary window was high and small. Safe. She mentally admonished herself. For her sanity’s sake, she had to stop viewing every structure as a means of protection, every door a means of escape. Luke said they were safe and she believed him. Dana took a steadying breath and glanced around the room. An old table crowded the tiny kitchen, its laminate top warped with age. On it were several dusty cans of food. Dana lifted one, turning it to read the label. Green beans. She checked another. Pears.

“Definitely a better breakfast choice.”

The sound of Luke’s voice was startling yet comforting with its deep timbre. Despite herself, she smiled as she turned toward him. “I’m almost hungry enough to gnaw through this can.”

He grinned. “As entertaining as that would be, it’s not necessary.” He walked to a kitchen drawer and withdrew a metal can opener and fork, then came to stand beside her. “Pears, is it?”

“Yes, thanks.” Dana handed him the can, and he went to work on it, his large hands dwarfing the can. She glanced up at him.

“Six-four. Since I was fifteen.”

“Oh, I wasn’t…” Dana took the can when he offered it to her. “Okay, I was wondering.”

“I know.” He passed her the fork. “I would offer you a dish to put those in, but there aren’t any.”

“You keep doing that.”

“Offering you a fork?” Luke watched Dana’s expression go from confused to charmingly irritated.

“You seem to know what I’m about to say, about to do.”

He intentionally hesitated, waiting until her gaze slid upward to his. He wanted another look at her eyes in the daylight. They were an unusual shade of gray blue, but their color wasn’t what fascinated him. It was the way they expressed her thoughts. It wasn’t any wonder he knew what she was thinking. Hell, those eyes made her an open book.

The thought surprised him. After all, he’d had more suspicions than he’d known what to do with last night.

Luke watched her fork a dainty bite of pear and wondered how she managed to look sophisticated eating out of the can, with its jagged lid and faded sides. But she did. And, despite her ladylike demeanor, she didn’t make any bones about being hungry. She immediately slid another bite of the juicy pear into her mouth, catching a syrupy drip on her index finger and sucking it off. Luke felt his body harden with such intensity that he physically winced.

The fantasy that slid, uninvited, through his mind was totally out of place. He had no business thinking of Dana Langston as anything other than a potential victim, someone who needed his protection. But the effect the simple gesture had on him couldn’t have been stronger if she’d planned it. His thoughts stilled, traced their way back to his earlier suspicions before he dismissed them. There was a fine line between fact and instinct, a line Luke normally walked with ease. Normally.

A piercing cry cut the silence, and both Luke and Dana jumped. The baby was awake. Dana plopped the half-eaten can on the table and headed for the hallway, just as Luke made his way around the table and did the same. They collided, and the force of the collision knocked Dana against the wall. Luke instantly steadied her, catching her against his body in the shadowy hallway. He clenched his teeth against his body’s instinctual reaction to her nearness, to the distinctly female scent that assaulted his senses as his hand snaked around her waist.

This wasn’t going to do at all, he realized. Not at all. “Sorry,” he muttered through clenched jaw. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Her gaze lifted to his for a moment before drifting to the holster that was slung across his chest. She pulled away from his grasp and continued down the hall.

Luke let her go, running his hand through his hair and willing his body to return to normal. Had it been so long since he’d been with a woman that he’d begun to react as out of control as a sixteen-year-old schoolboy?

He could hear Dana in the next room. She was whispering to the baby, comforting him. Luke took a deep breath and joined her. “How is he?” he asked as he rounded the corner and saw Dana gently lay the baby back against the mattress.

“To be honest, stinky,” she replied.

Her eyes were lit with amusement and something that Luke couldn’t quite define. Something maternal that made him want to do nothing other than watch her. Maybe it was that the tender moment between Dana and the baby was so foreign to him. Or maybe it was because it triggered some long-buried memory of his own mother, a memory all but wiped out by the cold aloofness of his stepmother.

He shook off the thought. “So what do we do?”

“Uh…” Dana raised her voice to be heard over the baby’s insistent cries. “Can you get me the diaper bag?”

Luke retrieved the diaper bag from the floor, passing it to Dana. A rustling noise in the hall surprised him and he spun toward the sound, his hand going immediately to his gun. Sam stood in the doorway, his brow drawn into an inquisitive expression and his tail wagging cautiously. Luke walked to Sam and gave him a scratch behind the ears. The dog looked as puzzled as Luke felt. He could usually feel his way through any situation, but a baby was another matter entirely.

“I need, uh…”

Luke looked up to find the expression on Dana’s face had turned a little frantic. No wonder. Though she was busy fastening on a fresh diaper, the baby was still crying. Louder even, Luke thought. If that were possible.

Dana held up the dirty diaper, its contents neatly folded inside. The sticky tabs that had once secured it on the baby were now holding it in a perfect triangle. At least it looked harmless. Luke took the diaper from Dana’s hand.

“Can you throw that away for me?”

Her expression was slightly amused and slightly commanding. No doubt because he was standing frozen in place, smelly diaper in hand. Not much help in the scheme of things. He took the diaper to the porch and sat it outside. Freezing it to death seemed like a good enough plan.

When he returned to the bedroom, he found Dana sitting cross-legged on the mattress and the baby contentedly taking a bottle.

“There’s not much formula left,” she announced, her face pulled tight with worry. “How long do you think we’ll be stuck here?”

Luke thought of the solid layer of ice that lay beneath at least ten inches of snow, of the downed trees that dotted the landscape. He’d intentionally made light of the situation when he’d told Dana they were snowed in for “a few days.” Everything depended on how quickly the temperature rose, but it could be longer than a few days before they could attempt to navigate outside without committing suicide. Much longer, in fact.

“At this point it’s hard to say. How long do you think the formula will last?”

Dana glanced down at the diaper bag. “This is the last of the premixed bottles but there’s a small can of powder we can use. It’s only half-full, though. I really don’t know how long it’ll last.”

Luke nodded, determined not to make matters worse with any dire predictions. Surely there was something they could do other than watch their options disappear with the formula. He pulled the cell phone from the diaper bag. “I’m going to try and get a signal outside.” He turned to Sam, then pointed at the foot of the bed. “Stay.”

Dana looked relieved when Sam obeyed the command and plopped himself down with a contented sigh. “Be careful,” she whispered to Luke.

He nodded, thinking how the situation would look to someone who didn’t know them. A man, a woman and a baby tucked inside a cozy cabin with a greeting-card landscape outside. Hell, there was even a dog. Picture-perfect family.

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