Authors: Jennifer Greene
“Of course you weren’t,” Kay said placatingly, and started giggling again as she tugged off her coat. “You’re so good with the kids. Who would have guessed that a massive lug like you would be terrified of a ten-pound baby?”
“If I make you a cup of coffee, will you lay off?”
“Nope. No coffee. Just give me four and a half seconds to change and another three full minutes to call my family, and then we’ll be on our way.”
“You don’t need to change.”
“I do, too. I’m not going to your mother’s house smelling like baby powder.”
She was in such a rush, plugging in the tree lights, dropping the Santa suits, taking off her coat, slipping off her shoes in the middle of the floor. He had plenty of time to block her path back toward the bedroom, and in one fell swoop he wrapped her up and hugged her. Just…hugged her.
“Oh, Mitch.” She returned his hug, and then for an instant her head tilted back, and her eyes seared his with an intensely searching expression that he couldn’t fathom. Before he could question her, she wriggled free. “Let me go, you oaf, or I’ll tell your mother you held us up by seducing me.”
“Are you kidding? My mother wouldn’t believe you, and my father would serve you champagne.”
“Your
father
knows I’m a good woman. Unlike what you think.”
“Come back here and I’ll show you what I think.”
“Don’t you come
near
this bedroom. We’re late enough,” Kay called as she disappeared down the hall.
“What about zippers and stuff?”
“
No
excuses.”
Mitch, smiling, stuck his hands in his pockets and wandered aimlessly while she changed her dress. The huge Christmas tree was set up with winking lights, a dozen strands. She liked lights. She also liked to decorate the tree with every handmade ornament any kid had ever given her. The whole place smelled like holly and pine.
And he was going to have Kay and the holly and the pine to himself for a couple of days over the holidays. He’d talked her into a mini-vacation at the hunting lodge up north…and it had taken some talking. She too damn clearly hadn’t wanted to go.
He’d put on a casual air every time he’d been around her. A man didn’t wear hurt or anxiety on his sleeve…and he’d been afraid of pushing her too far. He couldn’t risk losing her altogether. But he was well aware that Kay had not shown any reticence in their relationship until they’d made love.
He couldn’t imagine any more explosiveness than they’d experienced making love together. Kay was totally responsive, so completely uninhibited and free in her loving that he knew she was satisfied. Or did he just want to believe that? How the hell was he supposed to measure it?
“Done. Okay?” Kay whirled in the doorway, showing off an emerald-green dress with that strange extra material under the sleeves, like the garments he saw in magazines.
His lips twitched in a smile. “Beautiful.”
She made a face. “It’s a shame I can’t believe you. You’re so darned biased… Mitch, I have time to phone my parents, don’t I? I know we’re late, but if I don’t get through now…well, you know how the lines are around the holidays.”
“Of course you have time.”
She flashed him a smile, one he could see in a glance didn’t reach her eyes. He trailed her as she crossed into the kitchen and started dialing.
“She’ll be all right, you know,” he said quietly.
Her soft eyes lifted to his. “Jana?”
“She was fine two days ago when you called,” he reminded her gently, understanding perfectly why her mood had suddenly shifted.
“I know that, but…” Kay spoke to the operator, then leaned against the counter as she waited. “You know, you’d love Jana, Mitch. She’s pretty and she’s funny and she’s got your kind of courage…
Mom?
Merry Christmas!”
Mitch watched her a moment longer, long enough to ensure everything was all right at her parents’ home. He could tell from her expression, not needing to hear any of the conversation, just as he understood her mood change whenever her sister’s name was brought up.
She’d told him a great deal about Jana’s illness. About the latest remission of two years, about the years when the family was afraid Jana wouldn’t make it, of Jana’s trial by pain. He felt he knew Kay’s sister, from having shared the similar lengthy trial of a lonely illness.
More than that, he felt protective of Kay because of it. She felt guilty about not being physically closer to her family; she worried about her sister constantly and felt helpless to do anything for her. Mitch’s family had been in those shoes—those of the helpless bystanders. There was a kind of life’s trial that had to be faced alone; it hurt those closest because there really wasn’t anything they could do. He understood so much of what Kay was feeling…
And felt intense relief for her, as he watched the sparkle return to her eyes, a giggle echo in her throat as she chattered into the phone. Everything really was fine with her family, and her mood picked up again.
“Mitch?”
He shook his head, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. He was bullied into picking up the phone, coaxed into meeting three people talking all at once on the other end. Jana’s voice was soft, like Kay’s; her mother told him to not allow her daughter to let strangers into the house; her father asked him about the football season, and they made a bet on the Super Bowl. Mitch didn’t have the chance to say much in return, which was probably just as well. By the time Kay snatched the phone back, the only thing in his head was how to break it to them that he had every intention of claiming one member of their family permanently.
Waiting for her, he leaned against the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, enjoying the sound of her animated laughter as she told her sister about their hospital visit that morning.
Only by chance did his eyes flicker to the kitchen table. A letter lay there; he didn’t really mean to look. He
didn’t
look; it was more a question of catching the “Hi Hot Stuff” in the greeting and a string of
x’s
and
o’s
scrawled near the distinctly masculine “Drew” at the end.
A fist clenched in his pocket. It seemed to be his.
“Finally.” Kay hung up the phone and raced into the living room for her coat. “Darn it, I’m sorry, Mitch. I figured on a three-minute call and should have known that would turn into at least twenty.
Are
we going to be late? That’s a terrible thing to do to your mother on Christmas.”
“We won’t be late,” Mitch soothed, trailing after her with a smile. “I told you, I called Mom from the hospital—”
“The
pie.
You would actually have let me walk off without the pie!” She scurried back toward the kitchen and shouted, “It’s gone! It’s been stolen!” She rushed back in alarm, only to see the dish sitting peacefully in Mitch’s hands. She chuckled. “I have to admit you’re smarter than some,” she mentioned as she buttoned her coat before taking the pie.
“Was that a compliment or an insult?”
“I love you, you fool. Take it any way you like.” She grinned at him, holding open the door.
“Who’s Drew?” he asked idly as he reached for his car keys.
“Drew? You mean Andrew?” Kay slid into the seat, breathless, and immediately shivered violently. “Instant heat would be welcomed.”
“Coming up. And yes, I meant…Andrew.”
“A very old and very good friend. He thought he wanted to be a minister when I first met him in high school. We palled around for years. We even kept in touch after he moved out of state. To live with a girl who could have rivaled Mae West, no less. Some future in the ministry.” Kay hugged her hands under her chest, grateful for the heat flooding into the car. Her eyebrows lifted in sudden surprise, as if just aware of the question. “I must have told you about him before?”
“You’re shivering like a scared rabbit. There’s a blanket in back if you can’t wait for the heat to do its thing.”
“I’ll survive.” Kay smiled.
Mitch did, too. Sort of.
Andrew. Another one of her men from the past. Just friends. Or lovers?
Experienced lovers. Unlike himself.
Kay killed the snowmobile engine with a push on the button. Flipping up the mask on her helmet, she sighed, relaxed, and leaned back on her elbows.
Mitch’s snowmobile continued to zoom ahead, then did an abrupt circle, roared back in her direction and stopped abruptly. His machine was as snow-covered as hers was, and with his suit and helmet totally encrusted, he looked something like the abominable snowman. Particularly when he swung one long leg over the side and started stalking toward her.
“We’re never going to get there if you keep doing this,” he scolded, not for the first time.
“I couldn’t help it.” She motioned all around her.
Moscow always received its share of snow in winter, but often enough it was the kind of snow that pelted down…and then melted. This high lake country around the Kootenai River was something else. Kay knew it was a lumbering region in summer, but Mitch’s cottage was accessible only by snowmobile at this time of the year.
She’d never been this far north before. Steep slopes had given the three-hour ride a roller-coaster quality. Over each rise there seemed to be a lake or stream hidden in the mountain folds. The sun had to fight to soar through the growth of old cedars and giant firs, so snow-laden they were drooping. In places, the wind-driven snow completely buried the trees, and they looked like mammoth ghosts, whimsical giant figures about to take off and walk.
Kay motioned again, entranced by the curve of silver stream they’d just passed. A foot-high shelf of snow curled over its banks; the sun had put a glaze of rhinestones on it. The air was so pure and fresh it hurt her lungs, and the sky had that incredibly clear blue of aquamarine. “It looks as if no one’s ever been here before—ever,” she said helplessly.
A lazy slash of a smile lit Mitch’s wind-reddened features as he bent over her and matched extremely cold lips to hers. “I knew you’d like it.” His warm eyes settled on hers for a long moment before he moved behind her and made sure for the dozenth time that her pack was secure on the back of the snowmobile. “This used to be mail-order-bride country, you know.”
“For the lumberjacks?”
“For lumbermen. Miners. Outlaws. Whoever was foolish enough to try to carve a living out of the wild. Old-timers say that anyone living alone here for long ‘got as goofy as a wooden watch.’ No matter what the season, they were cooped up. Eight feet of snow in the winter, and in summer the undergrowth could get so thick in the woods that you couldn’t travel through them.”
“How
did
they travel, then? Your family started around here way back, didn’t they? How’d they get the timber out, if there weren’t any roads?”
“They used the rivers. And as for simple visits between folk, the Kootenai and Kalispell Indians built some strange-looking sturgeon-nosed crafts. Kootenai canoes, they were called, ideal for traveling the rivers. And you’re not going to get me talking again until I have you nice and warm in front of a fire with a mug of hot coffee in your hands.” He tucked one snowmobile glove under his arm, and felt her cheek with his bare fingers. “You’re freezing,” he informed her.
“Am not.”
“You’re also hungry.”
“Am not.” She grinned.
“And it’s going to be dark in two hours. Did I tell you this area has its share of grizzlies?”
“Don’t give me that. Bears sleep during the winter.”
“Black bears sleep during the winter. But grizzlies…”
Kay righted herself promptly, not that she seriously believed him. Casting one lingering glance at the idyllic scene, she started the snowmobile engine. The vibrating roar filled her ears, and she adjusted her visor.
Leaning forward to keep the snow from rushing onto her mask, straddling the seat, she felt something like a jockey in the Kentucky Derby. A couple of hours before she’d been wary of the snowmobile; by now she was into the spirit of it. The thing liked to race; she’d just let it have its way—and had elicited Mitch’s roaring laughter when she pitched headfirst into a snowbank some time before.
Her fingers and toes were long past freezing and had gone completely numb. As she followed Mitch’s spray of snow in the distance, she thought dismally that she was doing a terrible job at keeping a handle on caution. She’d balked at the idea of spending three days alone with him, for the very reason that she knew darn well they would turn out as terrific as these first few hours.
Her heart couldn’t afford to get in deeper; she was in hock to Mitch, and heavily, already. When he’d tried to give her the star garnet for Christmas, panic had set in. She couldn’t accept a gift like that unless they were…committed. She
was
committed, but she just couldn’t be that sure of Mitch. She knew what he thought he wanted, but she couldn’t get it out of her head that the special feeling for a first lover would fade, that he’d suddenly be looking for other women and other sexual experiences.
She’d hurt him badly when she refused to take the garnet pendant. They’d been stiff with each other for the first time on the drive up here. Kay didn’t know how to broach the subject of his inexperience, which had clearly been a tender one for Mitch for so long…but then, as civilization had sped behind them, as the landscape changed to wild white mountains and bubbling streams, laughter had so naturally broken through. How do you keep your distance from a man you love more than life?
At his cabin, they’d be alone, and she’d have the chance to talk to him—she’d
make
the chance.
***
Wielding an armload of logs, Mitch pushed open the cabin door with his boot. Dropping the wood on the ketch beside the wood stove, he unzipped his snowmobile suit halfway and glanced around in search of Kay.
The log cabin was one big room with a raised potbellied stove in its center. The snow outside was knee-deep, and it curled on the windowsills like whipped cream. Inside, the stove was really popping, and the cedar logs let off their woodsy fragrance, which permeated the cabin.
The cabin was already toasty. Mitch pushed off his boots at the door and started stripping off the snowsuit, his eyes roaming the room restlessly. A twelve-point buck elk’s head hung over the couch; its eyes always stared back if you looked long enough. A double bed took up one corner; Kay had already removed the cover from the feather bed and fluffed it out.
She’d also set a kettle of water on the stove. And checked out the books in the ceiling-high bookcase. He smiled. Every cupboard in the kitchen area was open, obviously recently explored.
He might have thought she’d disappeared altogether if the trapdoor in the far corner hadn’t been open. Rubbing his hands together, he wandered to the opening and crouched down on his haunches.
“I would think you’d have the sense to warm up by the fire,” he called down.
“You’re back,” Kay announced unnecessarily. “Mitch, there’s enough food down here for an entire winter!”
“Of course there is. Anyone crazy enough to come up here in the dead of winter could get stranded.”
“When I saw there was no food upstairs, I got a little concerned,” she admitted. “But I never dreamed—”
“If we kept it upstairs, it would freeze—or spoil, during the long periods no one’s around. The generator obviously isn’t kept on when no one’s here, and you can’t count on it anyway through a long snowstorm.”
“The bathroom’s adorable,” Kay mentioned.
He grinned. “You like that?” The tiny cubicle just off the main room was big enough for a chemical john and that was it. A big claw-foot tub stood next to the pump sink in the kitchen area and could have contained two grown men. A propane heater promised enough hot water to fill the tub, but privacy was another story.
Privacy was not exactly what he had in mind for Kay these few days anyway. The holiday had not prompted much intimacy so far. Actually, none, although there were occasions he could have taken advantage of if the lady had shown the least inclination. Furthermore, Kay had reminded him twice on the way up that she wanted them to get back for a New Year’s Eve party at Stix’s.
An insensitive fool could tell Kay was turning cool. Mitch was not insensitive. Kay was her usual bubbly self, but it was obvious she suddenly wanted to play it light…and it was obvious to him that in some way he’d disappointed her as a lover. Nothing else could be wrong; in every other way they blended like two peas in a pod. And the worst of it was he couldn’t imagine any lover more satisfying than Kay—for him.
He’d felt as touchy as a wounded bear on the drive up. That edginess had only gradually eased on the snowmobile ride; his mood had lifted as Kay’s natural exuberance had broken through her odd quietness of the past few days. Her smiles had made him smile; her daredevil antics on the snowmobile ride had alternately made him roar with laughter and want to turn her over his knee.
“I love it,” Kay announced as her head popped up through the trap door.
“Help!”
She handed him foodstuffs, one by one. Coffee, tea, a bottle of wine. Flour. Canned stew, sugar… “We’re having stew for dinner. With homemade biscuits, and I’ll be darned if this doesn’t look like homemade jam. And here are the pickles—”
“Pickles?”
She pushed the trapdoor shut and locked it, then turned to retrieve the food from his arms. “Everyone loves dill pickles,” she informed him. “Furthermore, there’ll be a fruit salad. Not necessarily a fresh fruit salad, but what do you want to bet by the time we get this fixed you’ll be so raving hungry you couldn’t care less?”
The corner of Mitch’s mouth was twitching. “We brought steaks, you know.”
“We’ll have those tomorrow. When I’ve figured out how to cook on the wood stove without destroying everything. You—” Kay pointed a wagging figure in his direction. “Just stay out of my way and let me go.”
He wouldn’t. She should have known better, Kay thought wryly. He started baking potatoes and cooking the steaks before she’d begun the fruit salad; he took the dough for the biscuits out of her hands and set the table before she even found the plates. Arguing with him accomplished nothing beyond having her wineglass refilled and her fanny consolingly patted as he worked around her.
They used the coffee table as their dining room. Seated cross-legged across from each other, Mitch fed her a warm biscuit, dripping with butter and honey, just as if she were incapable of feeding herself. To her total embarrassment, once she’d swallowed the morsel, she yawned.
Mitch chuckled. “Late nights just don’t go with hours in the cold and a little wine, now do they?”
“I’ll wake up,” she promised.
“By the time you get your bath after dinner, you’ll be so sleepy you won’t even appreciate the feather bed.”
“My bath,” Kay echoed vaguely.
“Your bath,” Mitch affirmed.
Kay chewed rapidly on another mouthful of steak, regarding Mitch through feathery lashes. She’d evaded intimacy for days, not from preference but from common sense. You don’t judge the heat of the fire by getting burned up in it. A little distance for Mitch’s sake, and she hoped he’d see they had more than sex together anyway.
She took a sip of wine. “Actually, I don’t need a bath,” she mentioned.
“You’ll love it. Melted snow is so soft that it’s like silk on your skin, and if we drag the tub over by the stove you’ll think you’re in a sauna.”
“Hmm.” There was just a hint of a stubborn cast to Mitch’s chin; she’d never noticed it before. His dark hair had been finger brushed; there was a shadow of stubble on his chin. A red flannel shirt hugged those strong shoulders of his, and in the light of the stove and the kerosene lamps, his features took on dominantly male shadows. Don’t-argue-with-me shadows.
“Is taking a bath a prerequisite to being invited up here again?” she questioned wryly.
“All guests are given a claw-foot baptism the first time they come here,” he explained.
“A Cochran custom.”
“You’ve got it.”
“And have you got another backwoods story for me?” she asked with a chuckle.
As if on cue, she heard the faint piercing howl of a wolf in the distance and started. Mitch, standing up to gather plates, leaned over to plant a kiss on her forehead. “That’s the other reason you’re taking a bath. This is a strange place with scary sounds in the night, and a hot bath will guarantee that you sleep well in spite of yourself.”
“I expect I’ll sleep well regardless,” Kay insisted, which had the same effect as trying to make an arrow pierce through steel.
Snow melted at a very slow rate. Mounds of snow produced very little water. The dishes were long done before the tub was a third filled; she’d lost a trivia game before it was two-thirds filled; and by the time it was full and she was staring at it interestedly with all her clothes on, Mitch seemed to be refilling her glass again—this time with a spiced mulled wine that had the effect of a potent sleeping pill combined with an aphrodisiac.
“You don’t need this sweater,” Mitch remarked.
He was so right. She hadn’t needed the sweater in hours. The wind had picked up outside, but though it whistled around the windows, the inside of the cabin was marvelously warm. Mitch’s hands were marvelously warm as they unbuttoned the shirt beneath her sweater, and then that garment, too, was tossed aside… She stared in amazement; he’d actually managed to hook it on one of the elk’s horn points.
“He was staring at you,” Mitch explained gravely.
Kay giggled. “It wasn’t personal. It’s obvious that he stares at everyone.”
“Not at you. He has no right whatsoever to stare at you. Particularly…”
The bra went, then she felt his hands on the zipper of her pants. Somewhere in the muddled part of her brain, she was saying to hell with it. Mitch’s hands felt good. The look in his eyes warmed her blood, and the moment she slid into the hot water and leaned her head against the side of the porcelain tub, her eyes closed in sheer ecstasy.
She really hadn’t had so much wine; she was simply exhausted, physically and emotionally. The water lapped over her and soothed her weary muscles, and on the far side of the room, Mitch turned down both of the kerosene lamps. Soft shadows exploded in the silence; the crackle of the fire in the stove was mesmerizing, and she only flicked open an eye because for some odd reason the water level suddenly rose.