She tried not to think about what she was doing or where she was going. Sara sat in the car, shivering as she started it up. Her breath was visible in puffs of misty air as she inhaled and exhaled. She drove down the street, taking a left and heading out of town. Five miles outside of Boscobel, she parked the car and turned it off. Her eyes swept over the snow-covered scene. It looked different. Everything did now. Nothing was as beautiful. Nothing was as peaceful. The haze of pain covering her eyes had darkened the world to her. The trees were tall and spindly, their leaves gone. It saddened Sara, seeing them in their dilapidated state. It was as though they wept for him too; they cried as Sara cried; each lost leaf, a teardrop for him. She sucked in a sharp breath, her body trembling.
Sara got out of the car and stood there, envisioning him the second time she’d seen him. He’d stood just a few steps to the right from where she now stood. Sara could feel his warmth; she could smell his scent of coffee and cherry Carmex, and man. She could feel the sunshine beat down on her as it had that day, masking the bitter cold of the present.
She’d been walking, careful to stay near the road and out of the woods. Part of her had wondered if the mysterious man would be there again. Part of her had been excited by the thought, especially when she’d thought of that smile of his.
His back had been to her, broad and muscular through the long-sleeved red Henley shirt he’d worn; his faded jeans tight against his defined backside and legs. His physique had made her mouth go dry, especially watching his muscles clench and bunch as he worked. He had a chainsaw in his hands, the engine loud and grating to her eardrums as he’d cut fallen tree limbs in half.
She walked past, eyes on him the whole time. Sara had known the exact moment he’d sensed her. The engine had abruptly cut off and a deep, raspy voice had called out, “Aren’t you worried about serial killers with chainsaw fetishes?”
Her heartbeat had picked up as well as her breathing. Sara had spun around, blinking at the sight of him. His tall body had lounged against the back of a blue Dodge Ram, one elbow on the tailgate. His eyes had been hidden below the bill of a dirty white baseball cap, but she’d known they were watching her raptly. Sara had felt them on her, going up and down the length of her, searing in their intensity. He stripped away her clothes with that look, visualized himself and her naked together, writhing on a bed, or maybe against the wall, intertwined. She’d known it and it hadn’t bothered her one bit.
“Wrong state,” she called back.
He tipped his head back and laughed. “I think you’ve watched too many horror movies,” he drawled, removing his cap to wipe a hand across his forehead before tugging it back down in place. In that brief moment he’d been hatless; his electric blue eyes had zapped her, her body unconsciously jerking in response.
“Maybe,” Sara had said, slowly moving toward him. She’d been scared. She’d been scared and it had had nothing to do with serial killers. Sara had been scared because she’d never been so instantly attracted to any man before.
“So…Sara…Cunningham, is it?” She nodded. “Miss Cunningham, I do believe you are a thrill seeker.”
“You think so?”
“I do.” He straightened as she drew nearer, naturally looming over her at his height of somewhere around six feet tall. “Why else would you have shown up here a second time?”
“I like the scenery?”
His lips had formed into a slow smile and her stomach had dipped at the facial transformation from sharply angled features to rugged handsomeness. “Which scenery?”
Oh boy, she thought, I’m in trouble.
“I think I should take you out,” he said before she had a chance to form a reply.
“Take me out where?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. She had been almost to him, close enough to know the top of her head might have reached his chest if she were to test it out.
“How about a movie? What are you in the mood for? Some ’Texas Chainsaw Massacre’?”
She laughed and he grinned and a date had been set.
Sara shook her head, pushing the image away. Only he didn’t fade away. She inhaled raggedly, closing her eyes against the tall form walking toward her. It was a ghost, an illusion. It wasn’t real. He wasn’t really there.
“Sara? What are you doing here?”
She opened her eyes, her racing heart slowing. It was real. But it wasn’t him. Lincoln made his way to her, his features becoming more defined the closer he got. He had on jeans, boots, a red flannel jacket with the hood of a gray sweatshirt sticking out the back of it, and leather work gloves. He pulled his gloves off as he reached her, shoving them into the back pocket of his jeans.
“I’m…” Her teeth chattered together, making it almost impossible to form words. She hadn’t realized it was so cold, lost as she’d been in her memories.
“Shit, Sara, how long have you been standing out here?” Lincoln exclaimed as he moved closer, briskly rubbing her arms to bring some life back to them.
“I don’t…know.”
“Come here.” He enfolded her between his arms, his clean smell mixing with the scent of the wood burning stove from the house nestled back in the woods. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
Sara couldn’t speak or move. It felt like a betrayal to him to have his brother’s arms around her. She wanted to pull away, but couldn’t gather the strength to. She felt safe, safer than she had since her world had been destroyed.
“Come on. I’ll drive your car over to the house. What were you thinking, coming out here without a coat or boots or anything?”
“I…wasn’t thinking,” she stuttered, following him to the red Pontiac Grand Prix.
“That much is obvious.” He opened the door for her, shutting it after she was in the car.
“What were you doing?” Sara asked as Lincoln started the car.
“Looks like I was rescuing you from being frozen alive.” He pulled the car onto the road and drove the two miles it took to reach the house he’d grown up in. It was a two-story log-sided cabin, almost disappearing into the trees cocooning it, becoming part of the background. Smoke curled up from the chimney, lights shone through the windows in the gloomy-skied day.
Will the sun ever shine again?
Sara walked up the steps that led to the large deck, nostalgia hitting her. She went still, thinking she heard his laughter on the wind, picturing him standing at the now-covered grill, flipping burgers, a beer in his hand. Sara would have been sitting at the black wrought iron patio set, eyes repeatedly pulled to him as though a magnet connected her to him.
“You okay?” Lincoln asked, watching her, one hand on the doorknob.
She nodded, shifting her gaze from his. This was the house he and Lincoln had been raised in, and after their parents moved to Florida to retire, the house they’d shared as bachelors until she’d come along and changed all that. What if she hadn’t gone for a walk that day? Would he still be alive, living his life with some other woman?
Sara hadn’t been to the house since before the accident. She inhaled deeply, the scent of coffee enveloping her as she stepped inside, the heat of the interior quickly warming her. Her eyes went to the black leather couch to the left, where they’d sit and watch movies. He’d play with her hair, his arm around her, his lips smiling against her cheek as he kissed her.
“Coffee?”
She blinked at Lincoln. He’d removed his jacket and hat and stood by the coffeemaker in the kitchen area to the right. He looked back expectantly. His features changed, altered, and she was staring at her husband. She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply, and when she opened them, he was Lincoln again.
“Yes. Please.”
“I was walking.”
She frowned at him. He set a mug of coffee on the black marble countertop and pulled out a barstool across from her. Sara did the same, sitting and wrapping her frozen fingers around the hot cup.
“In the woods. I was walking. I didn’t have much to do today for work with the snow and all, so I went for a walk. Some days are great, others kind of get to me. Today is one of the latter days. I thought some fresh air might help clear my head.”