![]() She didn’t trust his casual manner, nor his explanation of why he hadn’t taken her to a medical facility as soon as he found her. But there wasn’t a single photograph in the room, no knickknacks or memorabilia, nothing that hinted of his past, or, for that matter, his present. Open shelves affixed to the log walls held dozens of books, some hardcover, some paperback, tidily arranged. ![]() He lived ruggedly, without even a telephone or TV, but he wasn’t uncouth, and he was well-spoken. The cool color contrasted to his suntanned, wind-scoured face. ![]() But it was a lived-in face with a webbing of creases around his eyes, furrows at the corners of his lips, and a watchful wariness behind his eyes, which were a startling aquamarine. It only made him look older than he probably was. That frosting would make another man look distinguished. It was laced with strands of gray at his temples. His hair was dark brown, collar length in back, longer than most men his age typically wore. He wore a black and red checked flannel shirt tucked into faded blue jeans, but the garments were clean. He had a scruff, but it wasn’t more than a day or two old. ![]() He lived in an outdated log cabin, but he didn’t look like a mountain man. ![]() He served his butter from the wrapper and had crumbled a cracker into his stew, but he blotted his mouth after every bite. He’d placed a paper towel in his lap as though it was a linen napkin, but he ate with his elbows on the table. She watched him with unabashed curiosity and apprehension. ![]()
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