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again, and she smiled. “Can you spare some? Although, as you mentioned last night, I am a little shorter than you are.”
    Ryan closed her laptop and went in the direction of the bedroom. Jen blew out a long breath, turning to glance back out the windows. Ryan was nice enough. Pleasant, in fact. Sometimes. But other times, like now, she was withdrawn. Silent. Dare she say brooding? Or was she just moody?
    Jen couldn’t blame her. Whether she called her a recluse or not, Ryan obviously wanted to be alone. Having someone thrown in your lap unexpectedly—and for possibly eight weeks—would no doubt put anyone in a foul mood.
    “Here you go,” Ryan said, tossing the sweats at her. “My shortest pair.”
    “Thanks.”

Chapter Eight
     
    Ryan scooped rice onto a plate, then added a generous amount of the chicken mixture on top. It was a dish Morgan had taught her—salsa chicken. Ryan had stopped by unexpectedly one evening, and Morgan had thrown together this: small pieces of chicken breasts sautéed with celery, carrots, onions, a can of stewed tomatoes and salsa. It was easy and quick, and Ryan had added it to her list of favorites. But her supply of fresh foods was dwindling, and she’d just barely salvaged the last of the celery for this dish. She still had onions and potatoes. Other than that, they would have to rely on canned foods for the rest of the winter.
    She felt Jen watching her, but she didn’t look up. Jen was full of questions, none of which Ryan was prepared to answer. It would be best if Jen remained just a little afraid of her. Perhaps it would limit her inquisitiveness.
    “Are you going to avoid talking to me the whole time I’m here?”
    Ryan glanced up, raising her eyebrows questioningly.
    “I know you want to remain this mysterious recluse,” Jen said, “but I think I have a right to know something about you. I am putting my welfare in your hands, after all.”
    Ryan smiled at this. “Yes, you did drive up a closed mountain road during an impending avalanche, didn’t you? You didn’t so much ‘put’ your welfare into my hands, though, as thrust it there. It’s not like you had any other choices. Or that I did, for that matter.”
    “So you’re going to clam up anytime we talk about personal things? Are you, like, wanted by the law or something?”
    “Seeing as how I called the county sheriff on your behalf, I hardly think so,” she said with a smirk.
    “Then why won’t you talk to me?”
    “I told you, I don’t like people. I don’t like questions. I choose to live up here alone so that I can avoid both of those,” she said sharply, hoping to end the conversation.
    Jen pulled out a barstool and sat down, accepting the plate that Ryan slid her way. Ryan walked around the bar and sat next to her, thinking it would be rude to eat her dinner in the recliner the way she usually did.
    “This is good,” Jen said. “Thank you. I know you didn’t expect to have to feed someone else.”
    Ryan shrugged. “I have to cook anyway. It’s no problem.” She could feel Jen studying her, could sense questions forming in her mind. She could always just tell her who she really was, but she could only imagine the hundreds of additional questions that would bring.
    “What are you running from?”
    Ryan glanced at her, knowing she was fishing. “Nothing.”
    “I write self-help books. And while I’m not an expert on anything, I’ve researched behaviors to death. And you, the mysterious Ryan, are running—hiding—from something.”
    “Is that what you think?” God, she wished Jen would just let it rest.
    “A lot of people don’t like other people, but they don’t choose to live somewhere where they are literally cut off from the outside world. Not unless they are hiding from that outside world.”
    “Perhaps I have a mental disorder,” Ryan said. “That should cause you some concern.”
    Jen put her fork down, taking a drink from her water glass instead. “You’re trying to