Then he’d tried to take her into town for clothes. “You can’t live in my t-shirts forever,” he’d teased. But she didn’t want to go. Even when he’d offered to drive three hours away, to a different town, she refused.

“He’ll find me.”

Silas didn’t point out the holes in her logic. If Carlos found the car, if he discovered her body missing from the wreck, that would prompt a sweep of the area-and being anywhere near the accident site would then be the worst place to be. No, he didn’t emphasize that fact at all.

But he did bolster his security around the cabin-not lights or alarms, but traps and snares. And he watched, and waited and tried not to leave her alone. But he couldn’t always be there. He’d had to run to town for supplies, going three hours away, as he promised, getting them staples like sugar and salt, things he only had enough stocked of for one. He’d bought her clothes too, some jeans and shirts, both a little too snug-she seemed smaller to him than she was, apparently-along with underwear and socks.

“No bras?” Jolee had asked in wonder as she pawed through the bags.

Silas had flushed and shrugged and turned away to finish putting away groceries. What did he know about women’s clothes? The truth was, he had looked at bras, lacy, strappy things, small and soft in his hands. They made him dizzy, and the woman who had come out to help him had just made him feel more uncomfortable, so he’d left. He bought underwear for her somewhere else, plain white cotton, the kind that came in a plastic package, the kind he didn’t have to handle or touch. That seemed safer.

Of course, now the woman was walking around braless in t-shirts and driving him further to distraction. Lesson learned. But she’d really liked the oranges he brought home and had delighted in the bar of chocolate he’d splurged on. That alone made the trip worth it, in spite of her protest and worry and constant questions.