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ng those very pine floors. But if she intended to get on with her life, and that meant without him, then she needed to learn to scorn those very thoughts.
Dropping her fingers, her smile vanished and she turned away with a sigh before starting a fire in the large stone hearth. Then, without warning, a silent unexpected tear rolled down her cheek.
CHAPTER 7
The wind picked up outside, thrashing angrily against the log cottage. Laura curled further into the warm knitted afghan she tucked around her feet; a good book propped against her knees. She knew the cold winter was coming and if she had any sense she ought to think about heading back to the city. But the actual thought of leaving her small haven was depressing. In the two months she had been there, she slowly but surely came to peace with herself.
Painfully she faced the truth she had fallen in love with Dexter, and the feeling would never be reciprocated. She might have been able to live with that, but the bitter more disturbing realization was knowing not only would he never love her, but more painfully, wanted nothing to do with her.
It was this pain which she came to face, and with it the foresight to a long and lonely life, for she knew with surprising assuredness her heart would belong to no one else.
A loud painful howl came from the November wind outside her window. Putting her book down, Laura sensed the forlorn wail could have been her own. Soon it would be December and with the wintry month came Christmas. She wasn't sure if she had gathered enough strength to face another holiday alone, but she couldn't hide from the outside world much longer. She needed to leave soon, to get her life back in order. How, she wasn't sure, but knew she needed to get a job and a place over her head.
Pushing the afghan aside, she slid her feet into a pair of slippers and crossed the cold floor to the kitchen. She just passed the threshold when the lights flickered and went out. The storm obviously taken out the few hydro poles crisscrossing the wooded shoreline. Thankfully, Laura was prepared, lighting the thick candle waiting on the kitchen table in such an event. She returned to the living room, checked the fire was still burning warmly, then sat back on the couch with the afghan curled around her, and the candle perched on the nearest table giving her light to read.
She had only read a couple of pages when a noise from outside caught her attention. At first she thought it was the wind thrashing against the cottage walls, then realized it was the actual physical thumping of either a large animal or person.
Not having seen a single sole since her arrival, Laura pictured an enormous and angry bear in search of food and shelter. Nervously, she searched her surroundings for some type of weapon. Her eyes fell upon the beady eyes of the elk. “Some good you'll do.”
The thumping reached the front of the house and was now nearing the cottage's entrance. Laura held her breath, then leaped into action. Grabbing the cast iron poker from the fireplace, she quietly approached the entrance, poker posed above her head ready to kill.
It all happened so quickly, she hadn't a moment’s thought. The heavy wooden door swung open and a large dark form loomed forebodingly, the wind howling directly behind it. Instinctively, Laura screamed then with all her strength, brought the poker forcibly down.
Just before the blow reached her victim, it raised its head and cried out, “What the—”
Shock struck her, after she struck him. “Dexter?”
He moved but not nearly fast enough, the edge of the poker caught a corner of his face. Immediately, he collapsed to his knees, crying out in pain.
Aghast, Laura dropped the poker and fell to her knees beside him. “Oh God, are you all right?”
He was still conscious, unbelievably. Foul language rolled off his tongue as he angrily placed a hand against the infliction. When he removed it, Laura nearly fainted. It was covered in blood.
“Oh God.” Tears stung her eyes. “I'm so sorry.”
Furious eyes shot to her anguished expression, then dropped to her tear streaked cheeks, before jerking to his feet. “You stupid woman, you nearly killed me.”
“Let me help you.” She grasped his elbow in unsteady hands.
“Don't touch me!” he barked. “You've done enough damage.”
He moved forward and stumbled over something. “For pity's sake, turn some damn lights on.”
“I-I can't, the hydro has gone out.”
He cursed again. “Is that why it's so damn cold in this place?”
“Come near the fireplace and get warm.” She led him to the couch and watched as he dropped lifelessly against the pillows. Pang pierced her heart even as he growled up at her.
“Well, don't just stand there, get me some warm water and clean towels. There's a first aid kit—”
“I know, I know.” She quickly turned and hurried out of the room. In the kitchen she found the first aid kit, a large bowl to fill with warm water, and plenty of clean towels.
Five minutes later she returned, placing the bowl on a nearby table and began soaking a cloth. Turning on her knees, she reached up to begin cleaning the wound, when he snatched her wrist in a fierce grip. “I think I can manage without your help.”
Hurt, but allowing him to remove the cloth from her hand, she watched in grief as he cleansed his wounded mouth, his face grimacing in pain. Without realizing it, she began crying all over again. It wasn't until he finished then returned the cloth to her when he noticed her tears.
“Now what?” He tried to look angry but appeared more troubled.
