He looked wary for a moment, but then it seemed to pass. She remembered then that he’d never had a father. Maybe things hadn’t been so sunny, growing up illegitimate in a small town.
“I don’t have any siblings, either,” he said. “We lived with my grandmother for a time, but mostly it’s been just Mom and me. She always made everything an adventure. She was like a kid herself, sometimes. Then there was Bert-he kind of unofficially adopted me. He’s the one who taught me all the outdoors stuff.”
“So while I was running wild on the sidewalks of New York, you were running wild in the countryside.”
“Pretty much. Linhart is a good place for a kid. Everybody knows everybody and we all watch out for each other.”
They fell silent for a while. Sydney stared up at the timber ceiling. “Who built this cabin?”
“Bert’s grandfather, or maybe great-grandfather, Victor Klausen.”
“Wouldn’t that make him your great-grandfather, too?” Sydney asked. “Since you two are cousins and all.”
“I’m related on his mother’s side. We’re only distant cousins.”
“So you knew all along I wouldn’t find anything about the Kleins here.”
“I really didn’t know what all was here,” he said uneasily.
“You’re really not a very good liar. But right now, I’m going to choose not to pursue the reasons why you worked so hard to get rid of me. You’re stuck with me now, pal.”
“It’s not that big of a hardship.”
There he was, flirting again. “So, about the cabin. How old is it?”
“At least a hundred years. It was all done by hand. Can you imagine cutting those trees down with a hand saw, working each log, fitting them together so exactly? You don’t see that kind of craftsmanship anymore. I’m trying to keep the place in good repair for Bert. He doesn’t come up here often anymore.”
Sydney imagined the hike would be a bit rigorous for a man Bert’s age. If he came here at all, it was testament to his health.
She leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes, thinking she’d rest just for a moment.
The next thing she knew, it was dark outside and a wonderful smell was drifting through the cabin. Her ankle had awakened her; apparently the Tylenol had worn off.
She sat up and rubbed her eyes. That was when she realized Russ had tucked the afghan around her and added a third blanket, a solid-blue woolly thing. But the cabin was also toasty warm and Russ was bustling around working at something on the cook top of the woodstove, the source of the heavenly smell.
A man who could cook. Surely whatever he’d concocted wasn’t out of a can. The closest thing to a man who could cook among her New York friends was one who could get them dinner reservations at the latest trendy restaurant.
She found her purse and a couple more painkillers. Something stronger would have been welcome, but the over-the-counter stuff at least took the edge off her discomfort.
She chanced a look at her ankle. The swelling had gone down some, but the Technicolor special effects were even more dramatic. She’d never seen such creative bruising.
“You’re awake,” Russ said.
“Mmm. Sorry I passed out on you like that. You must have been bored, sitting around with no one to talk to.”
“I’m never bored up here. There’s always something to do-hiking, fishing or just sitting outside listening to the wind in the trees. Even when the weather’s bad, like today, there are always repairs and improvements to make on the cabin. Just keeping it clean takes time. The place gets dusty even when no one is here.”
Even better. A man who wasn’t afraid of a little housework. More and more she was beginning to see that Russ was a breed apart.
“What are you cooking?”
“Fried potatoes with onion.”
“That’s what we’re having for dinner?” Not that she was complaining. After her previous few meals, just about anything sounded insanely delicious.
“I’ll heat up some chili, too.”
“Where did the potatoes and onions come from?”
“There were a few Idahos in the bin under the counter. They keep a pretty long time in the cool and dark. The onions I picked earlier today, on the way up here. They’re wild onions, growing along the side of the trail, and I figured the freeze would kill them so I might as well harvest a few.” He flipped the potatoes with the skill of someone who knew how to use a skillet and spatula.
“We can have canned fruit for dessert,” he continued. “Pineapples or peaches, your choice.”
“Wait a minute. How can you tell what’s in the cans? The labels are missing.”
“The contents are written on the bottoms with a Magic Marker. We had a flood at the store that washed the labels off a few cases of canned goods. We were able to identify the cans by the cartons, but we couldn’t sell them. So we bring them up here or eat them at home.”
“You might have told me to look on the bottoms of the cans,” she huffed. “You wouldn’t believe the nauseating meals I ate-cold.”
Russ laughed, but then quickly sobered. “I’m sorry. I should have taken more time to prepare you for an overnight stay here. I had no idea you wouldn’t know how to light the stove. It’s pretty much like a fireplace or a campfire.”
“My fireplace at home is electric and I’ve never been camping in my life.”
“Never? Not even on a Girl Guide overnight?”
“Never.”
“That is the saddest case I’ve ever heard.”
“Have you ever been to Macy’s during a clearance sale?”
“What? No. What does that have to do with anything?”
“That is the saddest thing
“Touche.” He flipped the potatoes onto a plate, then set about heating up the chili. She noticed he opened the can a lot more easily than she had.
“I just don’t understand why people would deliberately make themselves uncomfortable,” she said. “Hike up a mountain into the godforsaken boonies so they can sit in a tiny cabin with no central heat and air, no TV, no phone and substandard food.”
“And I don’t understand why people would choose to commute through hours of rush-hour traffic, breathe polluted air and never have a moment’s silence.”
Okay, maybe he had a point. Although she walked when she could, her job required that she spend a lot of time in her car, cursing the traffic, the smell of car exhaust and the noise.
“I guess we’ll just have to agree to disagree about this,” she said.
“Fine with me,” he said amiably, but with the attitude of someone who secretly knew he was right.
When the chili was hot, Russ poured it into thick ceramic bowls. “Do you want to eat at the table or should I rig up a tray for you?”
“I can come to the table,” she said, not wanting to be treated like an invalid.
After he’d set their dinner and some dishes on the rough plank table, Russ helped Sydney to one of the ladder- back chairs. She still couldn’t put any weight on her left foot, but using a carved walking stick Russ had found and leaning heavily on him, she managed. Russ brought a small pillow from the sofa and propped her leg up on a second chair.
“You’re being so nice,” she said. “I feel really foolish, injuring myself and forcing you to be stranded with me, cooking for me…”
“It’s no big deal,” he said gruffly. “I told you I like spending time up here and Bert can handle the store for a couple of days. It’s not like I have many clients this time of year.”
“What about the dog?”
“Bert will take care of Nero, too.”
“Well, this smells really good.” She took a bite of the chili. It was pretty tasty-she’d always liked chili, even the kind that came out of a can.
“Okay for substandard fare? Not too hot?”
