Private Scandals

reserve.
    Instead of a lawn, rocks, low evergreens, flowering bushes, herbs and hardy perennials covered the ground. A few brave crocuses were already peeking through.
    “You garden. How did you learn?”
    “I read a lot of books.” Finn hauled their suitcases from the trunk while Deanna stood at the head of the gravel drive and looked around. “I never know how long I’ll be away, so grass wasn’t practical. I didn’t like the idea of hiring a lawn service. It’s mine.” Faintly embarrassed by the statement, he shrugged. “So I spent a few weeks putting in stuff that wouldn’t need a lot of attention.”
    “It’s beautiful.”
    He’d wanted her to think so, he realized. “It’ll look better in another month or two. Let’s go inside. I’ll start a fire, then show you around.”
    She followed him up to the porch, ran her hand along the arm of a rocking chair. “It’s hard to picture you sitting here, looking out over a rockery and doing nothing.”
    “It’ll get easier,” he promised, and led her inside.
    The cabin opened up into a large room, topped by a loft and a quartet of skylights. One wall was dominated by a fireplace fashioned of river rock; another was crowded with books on built-in shelves. The paneling was the color of honey, as was the flooring, over which he’d scattered rugs—Orientals, French, English, Indian. And, incredibly, the lush black sheen of a bear rug, complete with snarling head and claws.
    Catching her eye, Finn grinned. “It was a gift—some of the guys from the station.”
    “Is it real?”
    “Afraid so.” He crossed to the hearth, where the bear spread like a wide black pool. “I call him Bruno. Since I’m not the one who shot him, we get along pretty well.”
    “I guess he’s . . . good company.”
    “And he doesn’t eat much.” He sensed her nerves, shivering along the chilled air. And he understood them. He’d rushed her out of Chicago before she’d been able to think things through. Now she was alone with him. “Colder in here than it is outside.”
    “Yes.” She rubbed her hands as she wandered to one of the windows to study his view. There was no other house to disturb the panorama, only those lush yews and trees not yet greening. “It doesn’t seem that we could be only an hour or so out of the city.”
    “I wanted somewhere I could get away.” He built a fire competently, quickly. “And where I could get back quickly if a story broke. There’s a TV, radio and fax machine in the other room.”
    “Oh, I see. You can take the boy out of the newsroom . . . That’s nice,” she said, and walked over to where the wood was beginning to crackle and spark.
    “There’s another fireplace upstairs.” He took her bag and gestured toward the steps that led to the loft.
    The second floor held one large bedroom that echoed the simple furnishings of the main room. A sitting area in front of a window contained a love seat in deep hunter green, another rocker, a low pine table and a three-footed stool. The gleaming brass bed was covered with burgundy corduroy and faced a small stone fireplace. There was a pine dresser and a roomy armoire.
    “Bath’s through there.” Finn indicated the door with a nod of his head as he crouched to set the fire.
    Curious, Deanna nudged the door open. Staring, she stood on the threshold unsure whether to laugh or applaud. Although the rest of the cabin might have reflected rustic elegance, in the bathroom, Finn had gone for dramatic.
    The ebony, oversized tub was fitted with jets and surrounded by a ledge that snugged against a wide window. The separate shower was constructed of glass block and white tile. The wall over the sink was mirrored and hugged by a long counter of black-and-white tiles, as neat as a chessboard. A portable television sat on it, facing the tub.
    “Some bathroom.”
    “If you’re going to relax,” Finn commented as he rose, “you might as well relax.”
    “No TV in the bedroom?”
    Finn opened one door of the armoire. There, atop a trio of drawers, was the blank eye of a television screen. “There’s a shortwave in the drawer of the nightstand.” When she laughed, he held out a hand. “Come down and keep me company while I cook dinner.”
    “You, ah, didn’t bring your bags up,” she said as they started down.
    “There’s another bedroom downstairs.”
    “Oh.” She felt the tension dissolve, even as she was pricked by regret.
    He stopped at the base of the steps,