floor of the small space.
Lance’s room was plain and unadorned except for a high shelf on one wall with more books, and a couple of guns mounted on racks under that. Even as austere as it was, she found it cozy and full of his presence.
“You built this room?” she gave him a look of admiration.
“I did. The cabin was originally just one room. I added on these extra rooms.”
“I have to say I’m impressed. It’s very nice, Lance.” She was so absorbed; she had almost forgotten her sore feet for a few minutes.
“Thanks, Brooklyn.” He couldn’t help but be a little proud as he showed her around. He offered her his arm again and she took it gratefully. There was enough room to walk around the bed, and not much more. On the other wall was another door. Lance escorted her through that doorway into a larger room. Again he had her wait by the door while he lit some lanterns. To her delight, this room also had a tree growing through it about midway along one wall. There were more shuttered windows here and the rough walls were stained a light color, making it much brighter than the rest of the cabin. Cabinets lined one wall and a generous sized worktable took up the center, its surface holding some sketches, a few tools, and a metal project in the making. A small square wood stove squatted in one corner radiating warmth, and a tall stool sat next to one side of the workbench.
“Tools and materials in those.” Lance gestured to the cabinets. “This is where I do most of my work, so I designed it to have more light. You’ll have to come see it in the daytime.”
“I will,” she promised. She turned to him. “I love your home, Lance. It’s really hard to find words, but it’s so unique. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s a sanctuary, like a warm comforting cocoon. It envelopes me.”
Lance stared down at her, meeting her earnest upturned eyes, and let his gaze wander over her. He drank in the curve of her face, the blush on her cheeks, and the fullness of her lips. The urge to kiss her came over him and she leaned toward him as if she shared the feeling. Time lingered in the moment and his pulse picked up. Brook closed her eyes, and Lance almost gave in. He was so close to actually doing it, he could almost feel her lips on his. At the last second, he settled for putting an arm around her shoulders. She sighed, telling herself she had misread the moment. She leaned against him and he led her back to the living room, seated her on the rocking chair, and then returned to the back rooms to put out the lights.
Once in the privacy of his bedroom, he stood against the wall for a few minutes. He was suffused with the aftermath of the emotion he had just experienced. It felt good and bad at the same time, but more good than bad. He put his hand to his eyes and rubbed them, took a deep breath, and let it out. Calmer, he returned to the living area where he found Brook with a book in her hands.
Lance started some water heating, and then turned on the radio. “I’m going to wash up these dishes,” he told her.
“Not without my help,” she asserted.
“Oh, really!” he grinned at her. “Well, I’m not going to argue with someone who sounds that determined. How about you wash and I’ll dry?”
“It’s a deal,” she said as she laid her book aside and got up. Her feet complained a bit, but she ignored the discomfort and walked to the counter. They worked companionably, chatting while the music played in the background. Every so often they brushed against each other or their hands would touch, and the air around them was full and ripe with the promise of desire that they both tried to ignore.
Shortly after, they went to bed and each fell asleep in separate rooms with the warm new excitement of knowing the other was only a few steps away.
Chapter 38
“Do you have paper and a pen I can use?” Brook asked one evening.
Lance looked up from a sketch he was making. “Sure.” He left the room and returned in a minute with a lined pad and pencil. “Will these do?”
“Perfect.” Brook said. She immediately moved to the table, wincing from the soreness of her soles, in spite of the cushioning of her soft shoes. Sitting, she chewed the side of her finger for a minute and began to write. She worked diligently for a long while, turning from one page to another frequently.
Lance could hear her sniffling and realized she was trying hard not to cry. He unobtrusively listened, ready to go to her if she needed him, but he did not interrupt.
Brook finished working after an hour or so and held her head in her hands as her shoulders heaved.
“Brooklyn?”
“Not now, please.” Brook’s voice broke and she rose and went into the bathroom. When she returned she lay on her bed, closed her eyes. Lance soon noticed her breathing become even and he realized she was asleep.
He glanced at the notepad she'd left laying on the table. He thought about looking at it but decided he should wait until invited; unless, of course, she left it lying there too long. In that case, he might have to take a peek.
The notepad remained on the table for two days before Lance picked it up. Brook was in the bathroom, soaking in a tub of hot water. As Lance read, understanding flickered across his face. Realizing these pages contained the descriptions of the people who had hurt her, he grabbed a second pad and began sketching, using her imagery as a basis. Soon, he had four rough drawings. He left his pad next to hers and waited for her reaction. It came soon.
Brook exited the bath, relaxed and feeling more herself. She ambled to the table and noticed the second pad lying next to her notepad. She paused a minute and then picked them both up. She froze. Staring from the top page was Jase, at least a likeness of him she recognized. Brook dropped the pad and turned to look around the room. Lance was seated in a chair by a window, reading. “You did this?” Brook asked, pointing towards the table.
“The sketches? Yes.”
“Why? How?” Brook stumbled over the words.
“I decided since you left the pad unprotected for two days that it didn’t contain anything too important, so I looked. I was wrong. It was very important. I almost left the whole thing alone but then I thought that maybe drawings would help. You know, when you finally can go to the police.”
Brook stared, first at Lance, and then back at the pad with the drawings. She picked it up and leafed through the pages. “Can you change these some? They’re not quite right.”
“Absolutely.” Lance stood. “Now?”
“Yes. Now.” Brook sat on the bench and leaned on the table. Lance sat next to her.
“Which one first?”
Running a hand over her face, she said, “Gina. Let’s do the easy one first. See how it goes.”
“Okay.” Lance sat with the picture of Gina he had previously drawn. “What first?”
“Her face is a little rounder, here, and here,” she pointed out the areas and Lance erased and redrew the lines.
“Her eyes are slightly closer together and her mouth fuller.”
Working in this way they finally reached a point when Brook sat straight and took the pad from him. “Yes! This is her. This is Gina.”
A tear trickled down her cheek and her jaw clenched, but she remained seated. In a flat voice, she simply said, 'Jase next.”
It took several hours, but in the end, Brook claimed the pictures were perfect. She retired to the bathroom and Lance heard her sobbing quietly. He didn’t interrupt, but sat looking at the drawings; memorizing their faces. If he ever saw these animals, he knew he would kill them. His face was hard as a rock as he studied the images.
Chapter 39
Brook sat in the easy chair in front of the fireplace, diligently working on turning another pair of Lance’s sweats into something she could wear without looking like she had on a bag. She smiled as faint sounds from outside reached her ears; she could imagine Lance and Gilbert doing their special dance, or maybe just frolicking in
