< previous page page_41 next page >

Page 41
nurtured for years fled to so suddenly? Hadn't he learned from his wife to trust no one? Not her, and certainly not a stranger. Whatever he had felt for this woman in those brief, effervescent moments had been imagination, wishful thinkingan illogical lowering of his guard. She seemed to know him, and she was up to something. Whatever it was, it would be of no benefit to him.
He realized he was still holding her. He lowered her gently to the ground, feeling strangely abandoned. If only the first impression of a fragile, lovely creature who would be important to his life could have been real. He shook his head, tossing off the unwarranted whimsy. Then, looking down at her, he demanded, "Who are you?"
Abby, now fully awake, sat up. She felt frightened. This man looked much like Arlen, but his face was yet more gaunt, with deeper hollows in his cheeks. His jaw was stronger, the dark hair that hung below his collar much wavier, his eyes grayer and more expressive. Right now they appeared confused and angry. She could not tell for sure whether he was as much taller than Arlen as he looked, or whether she was simply feeling intimidated as he placed her gently back on the ground, then rose to tower over her, his broad hands on his hips.
In any event, his body appeared even more muscular than Arlen's beneath clothing that looked . . . well, foreign. His blue pants looked like pictures she had seen of the Levi's worn by gold miners, but surely no prospector would wear them so tight. He had a pack of some sort

 
< previous page page_41 next page >