Love Is Elected (2 page)

Kara transferred her sodden grocery bags to the counter separating the kitchen from the living area and glanced at the massive fieldstone fireplace. Thank goodness George Mason from the village had already laid a fire. What she needed was to get out of her soaking wet jeans and apricot lambswool sweater and dry off.

Crossing the room, she searched the mantel for the long wooden matches Uncle James kept there and quickly lit the paper underneath the bed of dry wood. In moments a warming blaze had sprung up, casting long shadows across the room's rich cherry paneling.

Kara lifted a plaid wool blanket from the back of a nearby leather easy chair and spread it in front of the hearth. Then she began rummaging in her overnight bag for a towel and brush. Moments later she was pulling her wet sweater over her head.

"That's better," she murmured as she kicked off her clogs, unzipped her jeans and wriggled clear of the damp, clinging fabric. Clad only in silken bikini underpants and a matching beige lace bra that accented her slender but shapely curves, she toweled herself dry and then began to brush her raven curls by the inviting heat of the blazing logs.

Firelight gleamed warmly on her porcelain skin. And she felt the glow from the burning logs melt away the chilling effect from her wet clothes.

Relaxed and comfortable at last, she glanced around the spacious living room of the cabin. The flickering shadows gave the rustic furniture a mellow look. A sturdy, dark green leather sofa faced the fireplace, flanked by a matching leather and wood easy chair to its right. A colorful handmade quilt in the wedding ring pattern, folded over the arm of the sofa, added a bright touch of warmth.

A brass kerosene lamp occupied the end table. The cabin did have electricity, but Kara knew that the lamp stood ready for use in a power failure—a not uncommon occurrence in this remote mountain hideaway.

Rain was still pelting the cabin's roof, and Kara wondered icily if the storm might interrupt the power tonight. But it wouldn't really matter, she told herself. She wouldn't be watching the Friday night movie anyway, since the cabin's location precluded even marginal TV reception. And tonight she wasn't in the mood to listen to the radio or the tapedeck.

Kara stretched out on the plaid blanket, letting the warmth of the fire lull her into a peaceful lassitude. She could even let her mind wander to the subject of Wayne now without feeling so upset. When he had learned about the cabin, he had wanted to come up here with her, she remembered. But she'd been afraid of what would happen if they were alone together in such an isolated setting.

Should I have let him? she asked herself. But she knew instinctively that the answer was no. Don't worry about Wayne anymore, she told herself. It was so wonderfully comforting and drowsy by the fire. She would take a little nap and then fix some dinner.

She had just drifted off, her dark hair spread in a thick curtain over her shoulders, when she felt a gust of wind as the door suddenly flew open.

Jarred from the peaceful security she had just felt, Kara whipped her head around and her violet eyes opened wide. There framed in the doorway stood a dark, forceful stranger.

A look of surprise and then anger, mixed with something Kara couldn't quite fathom, crossed the man's features as he slammed the door and closed the distance between them in a few long strides.

Terrified, Kara clutched at her towel and tried to cover herself. But the stranger was undeterred. Grabbing her wrist in an iron grip, he pulled her ruthlessly to her feet. The towel slipped from her fingers.

"What the devil are you doing here?" he demanded. Grasping her shoulder, he administered a forceful shake that sent an electric shock down her spine.

"I hope for your sake you have a rational explanation for being half-naked in
my
cabin," he rasped menacingly, his eyes raking her body. "If this is another of Bill Thorp's attempts to discredit me, you'll both regret the day you agreed to this scheme!"

It took Kara a moment to recover from that initial shock and to find her voice. "
Your
cabin?" she finally managed to blurt out with more authority than she felt. "This happens to be my uncle's cabin and I have permission to use it. Just what gives you the right to walk in here without so much as knocking and threaten me?" she cried, lashing out at him with a clenched fist. But he merely laughed at her attempt to defend herself.

"Cut that out," he warned.

Sputtering with anger, Kara lowered her trembling arms. Ignoring her outrage, the stranger reached down, scooped up the fallen towel and thrust it at her.

"Cover yourself up," he said harshly. "I don't have time for one of Thorp's girls, though I have to admit he's showing better taste than I would have thought possible," he said, sweeping his eyes appraisingly over her scantily clad form.

Kara glared back as she pulled the towel around her body. Try to memorize what he looks like, she told herself, so you can give the police a good description.

Despite her fear, she forced herself to study him intently. Although she'd never met him before, he seemed vaguely familiar, as if she had seen his face once on television or in the papers. Maybe he was on the FBI's most-wanted list.

She had to admit he was handsome in a hard, ruthless sort of way. His thick, black hair, prematurely gray at the temples, glistened with droplets of water. The flinty gray eyes, set wide apart, and the strongly chiseled nose and chin gave him a compelling, arrogant appearance. He was tall, over six feet, with an athlete's powerful body of broad shoulders and narrow hips. The wet fabric of his wool slacks and flannel sport shirt clung to his muscular arms and hard thighs.

When he spoke, his voice was deep and vibrant, and still a bit menacing.

"I'm here for a meeting with James Barnett tomorrow. Since I had important business in Frederick this evening, he invited me to spend the night here so we could get right to work in the morning."

"Well that's too bad," Kara shot back. "You can't spend the night here. You'll just have to find other accommodations."

"We both know there are no other accommodations around here," he answered harshly, turning to retrieve his carryall from the porch.

As soon as his back was turned, Kara grabbed her jeans and sweater, now dry from the fire's heat. She had zipped up her pants and was struggling to find the armholes in her V-neck when she heard the stranger's sardonic laugh.

"Now that does make an interesting picture— being treated to a striptease in reverse. Maybe Bill Thorp's done me a favor after all."

His words set her raw nerves on edge. Yanking the sweater over her head, she shook her curly tresses free. Narrowing her normally wide eyes, she hissed, "Listen, mister, I don't know your Bill Thorp and I don't know why you're here, but you'd better get out of my uncle's cabin before I call the police."

"Nice try," he drawled with insolent amusement. "But I happen to know this cabin doesn't have a phone."

He was right she realized with horror. Uncle James always boasted of the fact that this was his impenetrable retreat where no one could get hold of him except by having a message relayed through George Mason in the village.

"All right. Then
you
stay! But I'm getting out of here," she exclaimed, snatching up her purse and bag and heading for the door.

"Leaving without your shoes?" the maddening intruder called out just before she slammed the door.

It was still raining hard, and the soft mud was cold and slippery under her bare feet.

"I'd rather die than go back there," she muttered fiercely. She stumbled across the clearing and crawled into her car.

As the engine sprung to life, the door to the cabin was flung open and the man's tall figure emerged, striding purposefully toward the car and shouting something about the roads. Panic stricken, Kara slammed into reverse and tried to back out of the clearing and onto the dirt road. But her wheels spun uselessly.

As the stranger reached for the handle of the car door, she gunned the engine, sending a spray of muck onto his expensive-looking slacks and shirt. She heard him curse. An instant later he had yanked the door open and snatched the keys from the ignition.

"Just what do you think you're doing, you little idiot?" Roughly his strong hands grasped her, and she felt herself pulled from behind the wheel.

"Get your hands off me," she protested, trying to fight back. But in his grip, her struggles were as ineffectual as a child's. She felt herself hoisted in the air, slung over his shoulder, and then he was striding grimly back to the cabin.

"You beast, you animal!" she cried, pounding in helpless fury on his broad back. But he ignored the blows.

In a moment they were back in the cabin. With one hand he switched on the radio. Then he lowered Kara to the couch, holding her beside him in a vise-like clamp.

The strains of a popular song issued from the radio.

"What is that? Music to molest by?" Kara jeered, looking at him fiercely. But her anger turned to fear at the suddenly intense expression on his face.

"Not a bad idea," he murmured. Taking hold of the back of her neck, he drew her face slowly closer to his. His gray eyes locked with hers. She wanted to scream but the sound died in her throat as his warm mouth covered hers.

Her body stiffened in anger, but the hard pressure of his lips aroused a reaction she had not expected— a strange heat spread through her like a runaway flame as his lips explored hers. She'd never felt like this when Wayne kissed her.

She became so absorbed in this new sensation that she didn't notice the change in the radio broadcast— but he did. Abruptly he put her aside and reached over to turn up the volume.

Kara felt as though a pitcher of ice water had been dashed against her feverish skin and she realized with horror that she'd actually been enjoying his kiss.

"What do you think you're doing…" she started to gasp. But her captor pressed a tanned, muscular hand over her mouth.

"Quiet," he grated. "This is what I want you to hear."

"… flash flooding in Frederick and Garrett counties… Traveler's advisory warning. Highway 15 is under four feet of water and impassable. Flood waters are expected to recede by early morning."

"We're just going to have to put up with each other's company, for now," he said, smiling sardonically. "Neither one of us can leave this cabin. We're stuck with each other for the night."

Wrenching herself free from his grasp, Kara leaped to her feet.

"Well, we may have to spend the night together, but you better believe it will be in separate rooms," she stormed.

"My, you are the proper young miss. Don't you think your Victorian theatrics have gone far enough?" he paused, considering. "You say you've never heard of Bill Thorp and you claim to have permission to use this cabin—so you must be one of Barnett's girlfriends. I've heard he likes his women young. But honestly, isn't he old enough to be your father?"

"He's older than my father by five years," the young woman snapped. "Haven't you been listening to a word I've said? James Barnett is my uncle. And I'm Kara Barnett. Now I think you'd better tell me just exactly who you are," she challenged, putting her hands on her hips.