A Question Of Honor. Mary Anne Wilson
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don’t we go down for your things, then you can settle in and get your rest?”
Five minutes later, Faith had her bag and computer in the room and she was closing the door behind her and locking it. While she’d retrieved her things from the car, Mallory had put a pitcher of ice water along with a glass on a tray by the bed. A chocolate mint lay on the fluffy pillows piled against the headboard, and the scent of roses faintly drifted on the warm air.
Faith felt weariness wash over her. She sank down onto the bed, tugged off her boots and pushed back until she was half sitting against the pillows. The chocolate fell to one side and slid to the floor, but she didn’t pick it up. She thought she’d rest for a few minutes, then set up the computer on the desk and pull up the files.
The next thing Faith knew, she woke with a start, and for a second she couldn’t remember where she was, but then the world settled. One look at the bedside clock showed her she’d been asleep for over two hours. It was almost eight o’clock. She got off the bed, stretching her hands over her head. Should she just go to her car and get the leftovers she had from Willie G.’s place or see if there was someplace close by to get something hot to eat?
She tugged on her boots, grabbed her jacket, her car keys and wallet, then went downstairs. A man and woman were relaxing in front of the fireplace. On the table in front of them were wineglasses, a carafe of deep red wine, and a platter of crackers, meat and cheese.
If things had been normal, she would have said hello to the couple, filled a plate with cheese and crackers, poured a glass of wine and gone back up stairs. But since she’d left Chicago, she hadn’t been normal. She stayed away from people as much as possible to avoid contact, hopefully without looking odd or being remembered by any of them.
No one was behind the reception desk, so she avoided seeing the owner. She quietly passed behind the couple, reached the door and cringed at the soft chime that sounded when she opened it. She quickly slipped out into the biting cold.
She got into her car, started the engine and the heater, then put her things on the passenger seat and let herself relax for a moment. Slowly, she backed out onto the street and turned away from the direction she’d entered the town. She drove along the deserted street and spotted a modest shop that was open. Its neon light proclaimed it as The Hitching Post, along with advertisements for sandwiches, burgers, cold drinks and doughnuts. A real mixture of offerings, she thought as she stopped her car in front of the low brick structure.
The snow had let up a bit, she noted as she left her car and sprinted into the store. She got a sandwich, some cookies and a take-out cup of coffee. When she reached her car, her attention was drawn by raised voices close by.
“Jack!” a male voice ordered. “We have to talk this over.”
She glanced over and saw two men nearby on the sidewalk. One had his back to her. He was at least six feet or more, with broad shoulders that tested the seams of a leather jacket trimmed in shirred wool that he wore with jeans and black cowboy boots. She took in the sound of his quick breathing as he faced the other man.
Faith couldn’t see that man’s face, since it was lost in the shadows and he had a cap pulled low on his face. He was in a blue down jacket with dark pants and running shoes. She couldn’t see his expression, but she didn’t miss the edge to his voice when he countered, “Leave me alone! I am not a charity case, and I don’t need you suggesting—”
“Hey, I’m not here for charity,” the first man said in a lower, calmer voice. “I came because—”
The man in the cap spun on his heel and hurried off with a wave of one hand over his shoulder. “Go back to where you came from,” he said as he strode off down the sidewalk.
Faith realized she’d been eavesdropping and quickly went to open her car door. But before she could escape, the remaining man turned abruptly and ran right into her. Her coffee flew out of her hand, and her bag of food fell at her feet along with her wallet and keys.
She bent quickly to gather what she could, and the man did the same, his large hand grabbing her bag while she got the rest. “I’m really sorry,” he said as they crouched and faced each other.
She looked up into a face with sharp features, a strong jaw that showed a new beard, then eyes as dark as the night around them. She felt flustered under his intent gaze and stood. He matched her action and seemed to tower over her. “I...I wasn’t looking where I was going,” she said in a breathless voice. “I’m sorry.” She looked away from the man, her gaze landing on her coffee, which had spilled right by her car. “Oh, shoot.”
“What were you drinking?” the stranger asked.
“Just plain old coffee,” she muttered, frowning at the still spreading pool of brown liquid that was melting the snow beneath it.
Before she realized what he was doing, the stranger had gone into the shop. She could guess what he was up to, and soon he returned with a cup in his hand, which he held out to her. “My treat,” he said with a smile that revealed a dimple on his right cheek.
“Oh, no,” she said, awkwardly trying to get her wallet open.
“I mean it,” he stated firmly. “I was distracted by...” He shrugged, his smile fading. “I feel it’s my duty to make sure a visitor’s stay in Wolf Lake is a pleasant one.”
She was thankful her mouth didn’t drop open with surprise that he’d spotted her as a visitor so easily. “How would you know that?”
“Easy,” he said and that dimple was gone.
Faith felt her anxiety rising. Enough was enough. She quickly took the coffee he offered her, ignoring the warm touch of his hand, and said, “Thank you.”
He inclined his head slightly, looked past her and his brows knit together questioningly. She turned to see he was checking out her car. “You’re from Illinois?”
She nodded as she opened the car door and slipped inside. She set her things down, wanting to close the door, but the man was still there, blocking her. “Yes, from Illinois.”
“You’re a long way from home,” he said.
In that moment, she felt intensely her total isolation, and she almost hated him for saying it out loud to her. “A long way,” she echoed.
He had his hand on the top of the door frame. “I’m Adam,” he said, expecting her to give him her name, but she didn’t.
“And you live here,” she finished for him.
“Used to. Right now I’m just home for Christmas.”
He wasn’t aware of her situation, thankfully, but everything he said made her feel sad. He was home for Christmas, and she knew she wouldn’t be. She wouldn’t be home for her birthday or New Year’s Eve, and probably not for a long while. She felt the heat of tears stinging her eyes and quickly said her thanks.
He drew back, and she slammed the door shut with more force than she intended to. Without looking at him again, she pulled onto the street and drove back to the inn. She was worse off than she thought she was if a total stranger could make her feel this way just by making innocent conversation. She really needed to relax and calm down for more than a few days.
But she couldn’t and she hated that. The tears came silently. She hated tears, too, but couldn’t stop them, either. Like so much else in her life...
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