“I heard that, but between the two of us, I think I’ve got enough wood by the door. The fire is hot. I got some blankets for the sofa. I’m good.”

  “Got enough candles?”

  “Yep, I’m good. You know, I’ve lived here all my life, and I’m not worried about a little power outage. The Lord made this day too. Amen?” His eyes twinkled at them.

  “Amen. Listen you call if you need anything. I’ll be right over. Of course you know you can come over to my house.”

  “I know it, I know it, but I’ll be fine.” Then he turned his cheerful countenance to Erica, “How about you, Miss Erica? Are you fine? What brings you out in this weather?”

  Erica explained about the tree and the downed power line that had stranded her at Jack’s.

  “Well, the Lord couldn’t have provided a better host for you if you have to be stranded.”

  “Yes, he has been most kind.”

  “Well, I would be surprised if he was otherwise.”

  Jack looked down at his boots. “Ok, Ben, we’re gonna go. I want to check in on Jenny before we head back.”

  “Yes, you better get going. It’ll be dark soon, and you don’t want to be wanderin’ around after dark in this mess. Give my love to Jenny and the kids.”

  “I will.”

  They trudged through deepening snow another mile or so until they saw another farmhouse set back from the road. A weak stream of smoke trickled from the fireplace chimney. Erica could hear children laughing. This time Jack led them to the front of the house.

  A beautiful woman with long blonde hair answered the door. She was at almost six feet tall and had with clear blue eyes. She was dressed in blue jeans and a shabby sweatshirt that on her looked chic. Erica’s muscles clenched.

  “Hi, Jenny.”

  In one smooth motion, Jenny stepped out onto the porch and put her arms around Jack.

  “I’m so glad you came.” She stepped back and waved him inside, “I’m having trouble with the fire. Can you take a look? My boys are so excited for the snow.”

  Erica stepped in behind Jack. “Hi, I’m Jenny.” Jenny offered her hand to Erica. “These are my boys.” She waved toward four small boys jumping up and down for Jack’s attention by hollering, “Mr. Jack! Mr Jack!”

  Erica’s tightness eased, and she found herself smiling at Jenny. “Erica.”

  “They love snow, but I haven’t quite got the hang of fires yet. Jack has been teaching me, but this is the first time I’ve had to try on my own. We’re from Florida.”

  It was a large room with big windows and little else. The walls were empty.

  “I know it’s bare. I’m just waiting until the kids are older. I don’t want them to get hurt, so the end tables and other stuff are in storage.”

  “Oh, I just assumed children would learn to get around furniture.”

  “Do you have children?”

  “No.”

  “Oh.” Jenny turned her attention to Jack who was working on the fire with two the smallest boys hanging on his back. “Can you fix it?”

  Jack carefully stood catching one boy as he slid around Jack’s side while the other slid to the floor landing on his feet.

  “That should do it. Just keep adding wood. You’ll need to watch it tonight to keep it going, unless you and the boys would like to camp out at my house.”

  Jenny looked from Jack to Erica and back to Jack. “No, me and the boys are going to have some hot chocolate and read some books.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. We’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll be back tomorrow. Call if you need anything.”

  “Thanks I will.”

  They walked back in silence down the narrow trail. Jealousy was foreign to her, and she knew she had absolutely no right to feel that way after one afternoon’s visit, yet there it was. Of course there was a beautiful woman around. Why wouldn’t there be a beautiful woman around Jack Callahan?

  They ate dinner across from each other this time at the table. Erica sat in a chair so he could see his parents.

  Midway through the meal, she wished she had sat on the bench side so she would have something to look at besides him. She liked him more and more by the minute. Why was that? And why did he keep looking at her like that? There were no sunbeams shining on her hair now.

  “Where are your parents?” She asked between mouthfuls of stew.

  “At home.”

  “Oh, so they’re not gone.”

  “Nope. They live a couple of miles from here.”

  “So close? I got the impression they were either dead or a long way away.”

  He smiled in response, “Nope. They are close by. I called them while you were on the phone outside, they’re at home, threatening to take an excursion in their sleigh.”

  “A sleigh? Like pulled by a horse?”

  “Yes. My dad loves horses, and my mom loves sleigh rides. But they probably won’t venture out until tomorrow after the snow stops.”

  She smiled at him, but she was afraid it only came out as a stretching of her lips and not the smile she intended it to be. Ugh. This was so awkward. She wished she could disappear into her book.

  How was she going to be able to read another Jack Murphy book? Now that she had met him, really met, him she knew she would never feel the same about his books.

  “There’s no sex in your books,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

  His eyes shot up.

  “I mean there are no sex scenes at all. I mean you talk about sensuality and stuff, but there’s no sex. How do you get away with that? How did I not notice that before?”

  He started to laugh. He laughed and laughed till she saw little tears forming at the corners of his eyes.

  She looked down. Abrupt and abrasive does it again. She picked up her bowl and took it to the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry,” she said when she returned to the table, “Sometimes what I think falls right out of my mouth. I should never have said that.” He wiped his eyes as the last tickles of laughter quieted down.

  “You are right. There are no sex scenes in my books because I think the conversation is bigger than that. I’m not interested in other peoples bedrooms. I’m only interested in mine.” He caught her square in the face with his eyes focused on hers.

  All the thoughts she had flew out of her head at that moment. Was it an invitation? Surely not. She was too old for him. Besides, what would he do if he found out that she had never participated in that particular activity? Wouldn’t he laugh if he knew she had waited for a marriage that had never happened? After what felt like an hour, but was probably fifteen seconds, she bent down and retrieved her purse so she could find her reader. For some reason, she felt comforted having it in her hand. And then she sat down because as her brain was reviving, she realized the intellectual aspect of the argument he presented. She was interested in that.

  “Tell me more about this conversation you keep talking about.”

  He pushed his bowl away and rested his arms on the table. “Each book or story presents an argument…an idea that must be reckoned with not just with the characters but with the reader…there are millions of conversations going on all the time on different levels with millions of people..” He gestured widely including the whole world. “Lots of people talk about sex because its fun, it’s lusty…and it’s ok…but it’s not the only thing to talk about…”

  “I thought you were going to say something like you didn’t believe it was right or something like that.”

  “Oh, no. I believe in sex.” He chuckled then, but it was an inclusive laugh that he assumed she would understand.

  “Ok, but I have another question for you.”

  He looked open, eyes twinkling.

  “There are things missing here.” She waved toward the room behind him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s what I don’t see. Where are the paintings? Where are your books? Your walls are bare.”

  With that, he rose from the table.

  “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

  Chapter 6

  Outside of her ever-present discomfort with new people and crowds, Erica was always annoyed that her introversion kept her from noticing her surroundings at times when her emotions ran high, like when she was going to take a walk in the woods with Jack Callahan.

  How else could she explain that had she missed the small building at the back of the house? They must have walked right by it on their way to the woods.

  It was another beautiful cabin, about three quarters the size of the main house with just one story. It too had lots of floor-to-ceiling windows to let in the light.

  The sun was long gone from the sky. It was cold and still snowing. Erica snuggled into her down coat. Jack swept the snow away with his booted foot, opened the door and stepped into the room. Erica followed.

  The room was dark and still and cold. The absence of wind provided relief, but no warmth as the glowing fire in the house had. Erica could hear him moving about the room. With the scrape of a Zippo, a candle flared to life. He lit an oil lamp from the flame and then lit several others that cast a ruddy radiance upon the room.

  Erica felt time slip away as she gazed around her. It was a wooden work room. It smelled of wood and paint and mineral spirits. A controlled chaos compared to the starkness of the house. Paintings were stacked along the walls and were tacked to the supporting beams. There were cans of paint brushes set on wooden shelves that also held paints in tubes and small pots. Cloths smeared with color hung from various hooks. It was gloriously alive with images of all types of plants and animals. A reverent scrapbook of snapshots of a soul engaging with the world around him and the souls of the those he engaged looked back out at him.

  Each looked like a snapshot of a conversation. Animals, trees, flowers, sky different scribblings of color. If Kincaid was the painter of light, then Callahan was the painter of the soul. The details of the eyes and poses were all precisely drawn. In the imperfect candle light, they gave the appearance of being just a shimmer away from life. If she caught them out of the corner of her eye, they would spring to life and run. They were like his book characters: precisely drawn; captured for an eternal instant.

  A canvas sat upon an easel placed at the center of a bank of windows that constituted the back wall of the room. A canvas tarp draped over the whole thing hid whatever he was working on. In front of the covered easel was a barstool that had been nailed to a makeshift dolly. Off to the right, on the floor, was the beginning of a painting of a tree.

  Jack stood in the middle of the room watching Erica’s face as she moved from section to section. Her expression flowed from watchfulness to wonderment to reverence. His heart expanded to fill his entire chest cavity and threatened to squeeze out of his thickened throat. He looked down at her feet, waiting for her to finish, struggling to control his impulse to pick her up in his arms.

  When Erica stopped moving about, she walked back over to stand in front of him. He looked up from her feet to her eyes. His vulnerability slammed into her heart. She warmed and searched for words that would let him know she would never betray the trust he had placed in her by allowing her access to this room.

  “What do you think?”

  “I can see why you don’t paint people,” she pointed to small sketch of a fox. “It’s as though he stopped to talk to you. No guile or malice.”

  His gaze didn’t leave her face as he approached her.

  “You are the most exquisite woman. . . .”

  She rolled her eyes. “Right.” He caught her chin just as she began to move and placed his lips on hers in a single soft kiss. He kissed her again, and she responded before she knew what she was doing, pressing herself into the warmth of his body. As he deepened the kiss, Erica felt his hand slide under her coat around to her back. Slowly his hand moved back toward her waist and up toward her breast. Her knees buckled.

  “Stop,” she said and stepped back.

  Jack stepped back, hands in the air, and turned away. “I’m sorry.”

  Erica could think of nothing to say. She was not sorry, but it was not ok. The warmth of his body was still imprinted on hers. She felt lost in the coolness now invading her coat. She could feel herself falling for Jack Callahan, and that was not going to happen. It wasn’t the first time a pig had come on to her. She might be a virgin, but that didn’t mean she had never been pursued. But this was the first time she’d ever been in danger of falling for the pack of lies of a womanizer.

  Exquisite indeed.

  How often had she told her clients that analysis is required because humans are not good at interpreting data without some formalized structure? Something outside of themselves so they could make sound decisions. She needed space and time so she could remember crucial things about his character like . . . . She drew a blank.

  “I need to get out of here.”

  Chapter 7

  Once in the house, she paced.

  Pacing in her own house was routine. When she got upset, she put her energy to good use by getting out the cleaning supplies, and she’d go to town on her house, talking to herself all the while until the upset was gone. It was a good system, but she was not at home. She was here in Jack Callahan’s spotless house. And she was ashamed and angry.

  How dare he kiss her like that? And more to the point: how dare she like it like that? She swung around for another pass and remembered the dishes. She removed her pullover and headed for the kitchen bringing a lit oil lamp with her. Here was another anomaly: why didn’t someone as successful as Jack Callahan have a generator?

  As she looked under the sink for some dish soap, she remembered her husband model. It was just what she needed. She tried the tap and found they still had running water. She put a little water in the sink and searched through her mind for the nodes of the model she’d built in graduate school. She would have to put it down on paper to properly work through it, but she thought she could remember the basic structure.

  The idea had first come to her when she was in high school watching some sitcom in which the mentor character told the mentee that finding the right girl was easy. One just needed to make a list. She had spent days creating her list.

  In graduate school, she’d needed something for a project, so she adapted her earlier list into a probabilistic classifier. She had been older then and discarded silly requirements like tall and dark, for more reasonable qualities like honest, kind, and faithful. It was just the thing she needed now to work through the contradictions she was finding in Jack Callahan. Once she was done with the dishes, she would dig out her notebook and get to work.

  Chapter 8

  “Dang it.” Jack kicked the chair on its dolly sending it careening into a wooden pillar. Kissing her had clearly been a misstep. It didn’t matter that he had wanted to since that day in the airport.

  Her response to his most hidden self had intoxicated him.

  “Well what did she think would happen?” he said to the chair as he returned it to it’s rightful place in front of his canvas.

  Of course that didn’t matter. What mattered was the commitment he’d made five years ago. Erica was the first real challenge he had faced since then. Perhaps that was always the case with the woman you meant to marry. He would have to ask Ben about that.

  He lifted the cloth and took a look at his progress. It was good. His fingers itched to pick up a brush, and he knew he had to give her a few minutes to think, but the light wasn’t right and it was too cold. He would have to go inside soon. The temperature was supposed to fall into the teens overnight. They would need to stay by the fire to keep warm. She was going to really like that.

  He grinned. He liked her spunk.

  Spunk? No, spirit. He liked her spirit. He had never met anyone like her, and if today was any indicator, he was going to enjoy every minute of getting to know her better.

  He turned the knob forcefully to announce his entry into the room. He had an inkling that she would be angry. He didn’t want to add to the conflagration by startling her.

  She was seated on the couch in front of the fire, bent over writing something when he opened the door. She didn’t respond to his presence, so he couldn’t tell if she was ignoring him or just absorbed in whatever it was she was doing. Choosing to believe it was the latter, he moved quietly upstairs to retrieve blankets and some sweats for her to sleep in.

  Erica released her grip on the pen she’d been using as soon as she heard Jack’s footsteps on the stairs. She reordered her things so that he could not see the model she was working on when he returned.

  “Are you working on your article?”

  “You may be able to avoid the elephant in the room, but I am not that kind of person.”

  Jack’s eyes widened and his lips tightened. He looked down, and when he looked back at her, he had relaxed his features. He rubbed the palms of his hands together.

  “An apology is in order.” He cleared his throat. “Erica, I am very sorry to have stepped over the bounds of propriety. I will not do so again. You have my word that I will not touch you again tonight.”

  Erica frowned, “Did you think I wouldn’t catch that?”

  Jack’s eyebrows went up, and a gleam lit his eye. “Do you mean that I did not apologize for kissing you?”

  “Yes, and you’ve only promised for tonight.”

  “I am not sorry for kissing you. I have wanted to kiss you since the moment I saw you a year ago, and it’s gotten worse since you arrived this afternoon. And since you will likely be leaving in the morning I only need to promise for one night.”

  His words slapped all the words right out of her head . . . . again.

  “I’ve had a brilliant idea while I was digging out these blankets. How about we decorate the tree this evening?”

  “Um, sure,” was all she could muster. Had he been thinking about her since their airport encounter too? Nah, he wasn’t that kind of guy. Or was he?