Behind the Mask (17 page)

“There must be a way,” she protested, although her voice lacked any degree of conviction. “I have responsibilities. I’ve got to get back.”

“It doesn’t matter who you are or what you should be doing. You can’t leave.”

Cameron watched her squeeze her eyes closed as he hurled the final blow. He wanted to take her in his arms and assure her that he would take good care of her, that everything would be all right. But it was easier—and mandatory—to keep barriers between them. He watched her eyes come slowly open, releasing a strand of tears that fell down her face. He wanted to wipe them away, but he also wanted to kiss her, and he wasn’t sure he could do one without being too closely tempted to do the other.

Abbi smoothed her tears away, too stunned by the news to be embarrassed by them. “How long?” she asked warily, afraid of the answer.

“April, if we’re real lucky.”

She took a deep breath and swallowed the hard knot in her throat. “And that’s why I should have been an old man.”

“It would have suited me better.”

His words were cold, and Abbi had to blink back the threat of more tears. She could cry later when he wasn’t staring at her as if she’d scourged his life. Setting her own despair aside for the moment, she returned his stare, certain the only way to deal with this man—especially through an entire winter—was to be just as strong and bold as he.

“Why?” she asked, lifting her chin.

“Are you that naive or just stupid? I once considered myself a gentleman, but that was a long time ago. Now I am a man too close to the edge of insanity to quibble about moral judgment and social propriety when loneliness long ago took full control of my every judgment, and I have no society to answer to. You know absolutely nothing about me.”

“I’m in danger?” she asked. “Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Maybe.” His eyes showed more concern than anger as he added, “Do you really think it’s wise to be trapped with a man who has been completely alone for three years?”

Cameron had expected her to show alarm or fear as he gave her evidence to back up his reference to insanity. But she took him in with a gaze of perfect compassion while new tears rose in her eyes. “Three years?” she echoed breathlessly. “How have you survived?”

Cameron hated the pity in her eyes even more than he loathed the desire he felt to respond to it, and allow her to get close enough to soothe his pain. He knew she wasn’t asking how he’d managed to keep himself fed. So he answered her question with one to counter it. “What makes you think I have?”

She didn’t look as disconcerted as he might have expected, and he had to admit that her lack of predictability left him disarmed. While he was attempting to keep her in her place with a cold stare, he was startled by the way she returned it. How could he feel so intimidated when he was trying so hard to intimidate her?

“Why are you here, Cameron?” she asked as if he were on trial.

“The reason I’m here is of no importance to you. Just be glad that I was, or you wouldn’t be alive. Which brings me to an important point. Why
are
you here, young lady? I made it perfectly clear that I didn’t want you coming back here,
ever!”

“My stallion broke out of the stable,” she stated, not ruffled by his anger. “I knew he would come here. I was hoping to get him and be gone, but . . .” She sighed and glanced down. “I didn’t break my promise to you. I swear it . . . not until the storm. And I was only—”

“I know. You already told me. If nothing else, the horse you risked your life for is in my stable.”

“Blaze?” she asked, her countenance brightening. “He’s here?”

“He didn’t mention his name, but yes, he’s here.”

Ignoring his jest, she asked, “Is he all right?”

“I’d say he’s doing better than the rest of us.” He smirked. “It seems he was lured by some bizarre obsession; looking for a little romance, perhaps. Smart horse.” He raised his eyebrows playfully, and Abbi felt uneasy over the contradictions in his character. She couldn’t help wondering which personality was the real Cameron.

Abbi’s unity with Blaze once again became evident as she considered her own obsessions that had lured her here. Until the storm she’d not come through the ridge, as she’d promised, but she
had
been lured to the lower meadow over and over, always consumed with thoughts of this man. She’d suspected Blaze’s reasons for wanting to get through the ridge, but
a little romance
had never once crossed Abbi’s mind in regard to her feelings for this man. Until today. And now she felt wholly unnerved by every facet of this situation. She wondered what her dreams had led her to, and how she was supposed to deal with the results now that they couldn’t be undone. Still, she was alive, and sheltered, and fed. And she needed to keep perspective.

Putting an abrupt end to the conversation, Cameron moved toward the door, saying, “I’ll get the tray later.”

“Cameron?” she asked.

He turned impatiently.

“Could I perhaps get some water . . . to freshen up?”

“Later,” he said, “I’ve got work to do.”

Life on the mountain quickly fell into a routine which Abbi abhorred. Cameron brought her meals and saw to her needs. He said barely what was necessary and insisted that she stay in bed. She had to demand wash water to get it, and finally coerced him into finding her another nightshirt so she could wear something fresh. Although she had to admit that Cameron managed well enough. The meals weren’t too bad, and the nightshirt came back to her room freshly laundered the next day.

Abbi felt weak and sore from her ordeal, but after a few days it gradually passed, and the only remaining sign of her brush with death was the splint on her ankle. Feeling as well as she did, Abbi’s frustration increased daily at being stuck in this room. She missed Blaze and wondered if Cameron was treating him well. He assured her that he was, but she would have preferred to do it herself. She missed fresh air and conversation and the security of home. While she tried not to dwell on the negative aspects of the situation, she knew a change of scenery and something to occupy her time would do wonders for her spirits. But Cameron insisted that she stay put, and he was a difficult man to argue with. He brought her a book to read that she found boring, but while he was out of the lodge Abbi occupied herself by moving carefully about the room to ease the stiffness in her legs, even though she could barely touch her ailing foot to the floor at all.

Each day Cameron came to her room several times to see that her needs were met and to stoke the fire. He also brought chopped wood which he added daily to a pile in the corner near the fireplace, even though there was already enough there to last a good many days. Abbi said little to him beyond polite requests and a “thank you” here and there. He’d made it clear he had no interest in conversation, or even being remotely polite. But on a particular afternoon she ventured to ask, “Do you have any paper available?”

He glanced over his shoulder from where he was putting wood on the fire. “What kind of paper?”

“Just . . . paper.”

“For what purpose?” he asked, as if she might be conspiring to commit some crime against him.

“I would like to draw, if you must know. It’s something I enjoy, and I thought it might help ease my boredom.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said and left the room abruptly.

It wasn’t until the following afternoon that Cameron came into the room and tossed a book and pencil on the bed at her side.

“What is this?” she asked.

“It’s paper and pencil,” he said with mock grandeur, as if he’d granted freedom to a condemned prisoner.

Abbi pressed her hand over the smooth leather binding of the book, then she opened it to flip through the thick stack of blank white paper. “Where did you get it?” she asked. “It’s so fine.”

“I’m in the habit of keeping a journal,” he stated with his back to her as he worked at the fireplace. “I have several blank ones on hand.”

“But if you’ll need this in the future, then—”

“Keep it. I won’t miss it. There isn’t much to write about these days.” He left the room again without even glancing in her direction.

Abbi pushed away the irritation spurred by his brashness, and instead concentrated on the lovely gift he’d given her. In her present state of boredom and confinement, it was priceless. She began sketching right away, taking great care with each drawing, rather than filling the book up quickly. She did sketches of her surroundings, and even of her benefactor, always careful to keep her drawings from his view whenever he came into the room. And she did drawings from memory, things from home, and things she had seen in books. And even things from her own imagination. She felt the practice improved her skills, and she found that she actually enjoyed drawing more than she ever had before—perhaps because it eased the difficulty of her circumstances.

Every day for what seemed like hours, Cameron chopped wood below Abbi’s window, and the heavy crack of his axe splitting timbers echoed against the mountain. Out of sheer boredom, Abbi occasionally sat in the window seat and watched intently, trying to figure him out. Despite Cameron’s brash nature, she often remembered how he had been the night he’d saved her life. And how could she forget the dream that had lured her here in the first place? And the way it had made her feel! At times it was easy to believe there was nothing to him beyond his cruel nature. But watching him while he wasn’t aware, it was easier to recall the tenderness she’d witnessed, and she sensed something deeper. Pondering the single fact that he’d been completely alone for three years, she found it difficult to dislike him. She felt more prone to compassion as she considered that his years of loneliness had likely left him bitter and understandably disoriented at no longer being alone.

As Abbi began to wonder if he’d ever run out of wood to chop, he paused and leaned against the axe. Methodically he removed one glove to wipe the sweat from his brow. While replacing it he glanced up and caught sight of Abbi at the window. He stared boldly at her and Abbi wondered if he’d scold her later for being out of bed. Certain he was just trying to intimidate her, she stared back, proud of herself for her defiance. She couldn’t hold back a smile, and was gratified to see him smile back—especially seeing how reluctantly it had come. A fluttering sensation caught her off guard. It was nice to see him smile.

Finally looking away, Cameron fell back into the rhythm of his chore, glancing up toward the window occasionally. Abbi played idly with the pearl hanging around her neck while she watched him with deep contemplation as to what compelled him to live this kind of life. When he finished at last, he looked up once more before turning and walking away. A minute later Abbi heard him enter below, followed by his familiar footsteps on the stairs. He entered the bedroom still wearing the long coat he wore to work in. His face was red and glistening with sweat from his labor in the cold air.

“What are you doing?” he asked, but it sounded a little less gruff than usual.

“Being a naughty girl and sitting by the window.”

“I see.” He removed his coat and gloves and threw them to a chair. Abbi noticed traces of frost in his beard before he squatted near the fire to stoke it.

“Are you going to beat me or just confine me to bed for another ten days?” she asked, wanting to provoke him.

“You shouldn’t use that leg,” he said, still attending the fire.

“Is that how you justify keeping me prisoner up here?”

Cameron hated the guilt that rushed into him at her accusation. But he quickly forced it back and tossed her an angry glare before piling more wood on the fire.

“You don’t even know my name,” she said and the guilt almost conquered.

Cameron reminded himself for the thousandth time of what he felt certain was best for both of them before he snapped, “That’s right. And I don’t want to know it, either.”

She sounded equally angry as she countered, “Do you think by pretending I don’t exist, I’ll go away? Perhaps I should sleep with the horses if you want me to, then I can stay out of your way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He stood to face her.

“Why not? You are! I can’t take it any longer. I have to get out of this room or I’ll lose my mind. I’ve got one good leg, Cameron, but it won’t be for long if I don’t get a chance to use it. Please, let me move around and take care of myself. There’s no need for you to wait on me. I’m capable of at least seeing to my own needs.”

Cameron took in her determined gaze, wondering how she could look so frightened and unfaltering at the same time. While he was pondering how to handle this without backing down on his convictions, she asked in a voice that chilled him as much from her tone as the memory it provoked, “Didn’t your mother ever tell you about Goldilocks?” Their eyes met, and he was taken back to that moment he’d first seen her. Did she have any idea what she had done to his life since then? Could she have the slightest comprehension of the internal hell in which he existed? Did she know the torment she was putting him through while he hourly resisted the desire to just bask in her presence and revel in the thrill of human companionship? His temptation to indulge crept closer to the surface as she added, “Perhaps you’d like to hear
my
version. When Goldilocks became stranded in a strange house in the woods, the big bad wolf kept her locked in the tower until she became as lonely and miserable as he was.”