The mother and two children were close to the hearth. Mom was a somewhat mousy-looking, average-size brunette with purple-shadowed brown eyes and nervous hands. Banner guessed her age to be midthirties, a few years older than himself. She was towel drying the hair of a little girl of maybe five years, a brown-eyed, pink-nosed duplicate of her mother.
A brown-haired boy whom Banner guessed to be around seven stood nearby, staring in fascination at Banner's enormous, dumb lump of a dog. The multicolored mutt sat on his favorite scrap of rug, studying the roomful of strangers with his usual unflappable acceptance of circumstances.
The truck driver had shed his big coat, but that hadn't reduced his overall size by much. Broad-faced, bearded and barrel-chested, he might have been forty, and he looked as though he'd have been as at home panning for gold in the Old West as behind the wheel of a big truck. He rubbed a towel over his bushy, sandy hair, leaving it standing in spikes around his ruddy face.
The older woman Banner had carried inside huddled beneath a thick, dry blanket also retrieved from his linen closet. She sat in a Windsor rocker pulled close to the fire, and the firelight flickered over her lined face, highlighting the fine bone structure that was still beautiful. She looked so fragile it scared him now to think he had carried her in; what if he'd dropped her or fallen?
Her husband hovered around her chair, his wispy gray hair already dry, his bent hands patting his wife as if to assure himself that she was all right. Banner doubted that either of them was younger than eighty.
What on earth was he going to do with all these people?
Lucy noticed that their host was standing in the doorway, looking rather dazed. She supposed she couldn't blame him. Judging by the nice fire and the mystery novel sitting open beside a cooling cup of coffee on the table next to a big recliner, he had just settled down to ride out the storm in comfortable solitude. Except, of course, for the company of his dog-the shaggiest, oddest-colored, laziest-looking mutt Lucy had ever seen.
At least the dog didn't seem to mind the company-which was more than she could say for its owner, who was definitely showing signs of stress.
Someone needed to do something to put him more at ease. Never one to wait around for others to take care of things she could handle herself, she gave him a big smile. “Thank you so much for taking us in. You've… Mr…?”
“Just call me Banner,” he said, lifting a hand to massage the back of his neck.
She nodded. “Mr. Banner.”
“Just Banner,” he corrected, letting his hand fall to his side.
“Oh.” Strange, but anyway… “I'm Lucy Guerin. I'm on my way to Springfield, Missouri, to spend Christmas with my family. Why don't the rest of you introduce yourselves?”
She knew she sounded like a too-perky cruise director, but the man who called himself “just Banner” was making her nervous, lurking glumly in the doorway like that. She turned to the mother and children behind her. “What are your names?”
The woman's face paled, as if she had been asked to make an impromptu speech in front of a large audience. The shy type, apparently-which Lucy had never been.
“I'm, um, Joan Gatewood,” the woman finally murmured. “These are my children, Tyler and Tricia. We're going to my mother's house in Hollister, Missouri, for the holiday.”
“I'm Cordell Carter,” the older man said, smoothing a spotted hand over his mostly bald head. “Everyone calls me Pop. This is Annie, my wife of sixty-two years. We're on our way to Harrison to our grandson's house.”
“Sixty-two years of marriage,” Lucy repeated in wonder. “Mrs. Carter, you must have been a child bride.”
The old woman's weary eyes brightened with her smile, which still held hints of the mischievous grin that had likely captivated her husband sixty-two years ago-and apparently still did. “I was twenty-three. And you can just call me Miss Annie. Everyone always has. 'Mrs. Carter' reminds me of my mother-in-law, and I never cared much for her, God rest her contrary soul.”
Her husband chuckled and patted his wife's shoulder indulgently, seeming to take no offense to the slight to his late mother. After so many years, Lucy figured he must have gotten used to it.
“I'm Bobby Ray Jones,” the big truck driver volunteered. “I was headed the opposite direction from the rest of you-s'posed to be in Little Rock by tonight. I'd hoped I could beat the storm, but I guess I miscalculated. My boss is going to be ticked off that I put the rig in a ditch, but that's just too bad, I guess.”
Lucy noted that Joan Gatewood was eying the big, bearded man with the same wariness she displayed toward Banner's huge dog. Apparently Joan was intimidated by large, hairy critters. As for herself, Lucy thought Bobby Ray seemed very pleasant. Everyone here seemed nice-with the possible exception of their glowering host.
“Okay,” she said, wiping her hands on her jeans. “Now that we know who everyone is…”
“What's the dog's name?” Tyler asked, pointing to the mutt.
Lucy looked questioningly at Banner.
“That's Hulk,” he said, speaking to the boy. “He answers to Hulk or Get-Out-From-Under-My-Feet-Stupid.”
The unexpected quip took everyone by such surprise that there was a brief hesitation before they laughed. Though Lucy smiled, she wasn't entirely sure Banner had been joking.
Returning to the task at hand, she said, “Now, we all need to get into dry clothes and-wait a minute.”
She whirled back to their host, her hands on her hips. “Your name is Banner and the dog's name is Hulk? I don't suppose your first name is Bruce?”
“No.” He looked at her without smiling. “You haven't wandered into a comic book.”
Shaking her head, she turned back to the others. “We need dry clothes and a telephone so we can call our families and let them know we're safe.”
“Mommy, I'm hungry,” Tricia said, tugging at her mother's damp blouse.
“I'll start a pot of soup or something,” Banner said, and once again he sounded glumly resigned. “The telephone is on that table. Make yourselves at home.”
As he turned away, Lucy thought she heard him add beneath his breath, “It's not as if there's any other choice.”
Chapter Two
Following the scents of food, Lucy wandered into the kitchen a short time later. She had changed into a dark- red sweater and dry jeans, and her feet were clad in thick red socks. She'd left her boots by the fire to dry.
Still wearing the damp jeans and gray sweatshirt he'd worn earlier, though he had kicked off his rubberized boots, Banner stood at the stove, stirring something in a large stockpot.
“That smells delicious. What is it?”
“Vegetable-beef soup,” he answered without turning around. “I hope no one's a vegetarian. If they are, I'll rustle up something else.”
She peered over his shoulder into the pot. “That looks homemade.”
“It is. I had a couple of containers stashed in the freezer. All I had to do was thaw and heat.” A timer dinged, and he reached for an oven mitt, then bent to pull a large pan of corn bread from the oven. It smelled as good as the soup.
Lucy stared at Banner in astonishment. “You made all of this?”
He shrugged. “I like to eat, and I'm the only one here to do the cooking.”
“I see.”
“Where's everyone else?”
Just as he spoke, a heavy gust of wind threw ice pellets against the kitchen window. The lights flickered but remained on.
Relieved that they hadn't been plunged into darkness, Lucy released the breath she had been holding. “Pop and Miss Annie are changing clothes in your bedroom. Joan and the children are using the guest room. Bobby Ray waited while I changed in the bathroom, and now he's in there.”
“I'm surprised he fit.”
