Free A Will and a Way by Nora Roberts

excitement and anxiety. She hadn’t had one since Uncle Jolley died. As she let herself out one of the side doors, she thought how much he’d have enjoyed this one. The moon was only a sliver, but the sky was full of stars. The few clouds that spread over them were hardly more than transparent wisps. And the air—she took a deep breath—was cool and crisp as an apple. With a quick glance over her shoulder at Michael’s window, she started toward the woods.
    The starlight couldn’t help her there. Though the trees were bare, the branches were thick enough to block out big chunks of sky. She dug out her flashlight and, turning it side to side, found the edges of the path. She didn’t hurry. If she rushed, the adventure would be over too soon. She walked slowly, listened and imagined.
    There were sounds—the breeze blew through pine needles and scattered the dry leaves. Now and again there was a skuddle in the woods to the right or left. A fox, a raccoon, a bear not quite settled down to hibernate? Pandora liked not being quite certain. If you walked through the woods alone, in the dark, and didn’t have some sense of wonder, it was hardly worth the trip.
    She liked the smells—pine, earth, the hint of frost that would settle on the ground before morning. She liked the sense of being alone, and more, of having something up ahead that warranted her attention.
    The path forked, and she swung to the left. The cabin wasn’t much farther. She stopped once, certain she’d heard somethingmove up ahead that was too big to be considered a fox. For a moment she had a few uncomfortable thoughts about bears and bobcats. It was one thing to speculate and another to have to deal with them. Then there was nothing. Shaking her head, Pandora went on.
    What would she do if she got to the cabin, and it wasn’t dusty and deserted? What would she do if she actually found one of her dear, devoted relatives had set up housekeeping? Uncle Carlson reading the Wall Street Journal by the fire? Aunt Patience fussing around the rocky wooden table with a dust cloth? The thought was almost laughable. Almost, until Pandora remembered her workshop.
    Drawing her brows together, she walked forward. If someone was there, they were going to answer to her. In moments, the shadow of the cabin loomed up before her. It looked as it was supposed to look, desolate, deserted, eerie. She kept her flashlight low as she crept toward the porch, then nearly let out a scream when her own weight caused the narrow wooden stair to creak. She held a hand to her heart until it no longer felt as though it would break her ribs. Then slowly, quietly, stealthily, she reached for the doorknob and twisted it.
    The door moaned itself open. Wincing at the sound, Pandora counted off ten seconds before she took the next step. With a quick sweep of her light, she stepped in.
    When the arm came around her neck, she dropped the flashlight with a clatter. It rolled over the floor, sending an erratic beam over the log walls and brick fireplace. Even as she drew the breath to scream, she reached in her pocket for the hairspray. After she was whirled around, she found herself face-to-face with Michael. His fist was poised inches from her face, her can inches from his. Both of them stood just as they were.
    “Dammit!” Michael dropped his arm. “What are you doing here?”
    “What are you doing here?” she tossed back. “And what do you mean by grabbing me that way? You may’ve broken my flashlight.”
    “I almost broke your nose.”
    Pandora shook back her hair and walked over to retrieve her light. She didn’t want him to see her hands tremble. “Well, I certainly think you should find out who someone is before you throw a headlock on them.”
    “You followed me.”
    She sent him a cool, amused look. It helped to be able to do so when her stomach was still quaking. “Don’t flatter yourself. I simply wanted to see if something was going on out here, and I didn’t want you