Authors: Neva Brown
Bringing wood from the storage shed and using the blower to clear the snow from the walkways and driveway were daily tasks not to be ignored. Lazarus happily accompanied her about the kitchen as she cooked and cleaned, but chose to watch through the window when she went outside to do chores.
Daily Casey said to him, “We’re a fine pair. Avoiding the things that have hurt us. You suppose we’re just two cowards, or can we be more charitable and call ourselves survivors?”
Upstairs, while she worked with the hated reading machine in the afternoon, he stretched out in the sunlight that streamed across the table. He curled up beside her when she settled for the night in front of the fireplace to read. As she read him passages from a romance or thriller that struck her fancy, he would flick an ear from time to time.
Never having read just for enjoyment, Casey found herself intrigued with the characters in the novels. Laughing and crying with them in their make-believe world, a world she escaped into rather than being forced to endure the bleakness of her real world.
Sometime in late January, after an intense few sessions with three young women who had recently divorced, the excuses for her self-imposed exile no longer had any meaning. Her need for Tres haunted her. She struggled with questions that bedeviled her.
What did you run from? What did you run to? What are you saving yourself for? What’s more important to you than Tres? Your public image? Your so-called good name? Your loveless life?
She faced the brutal truth. While trying to protect herself, she was, in fact, killing herself by degrees as she absented herself from the man who meant more than breath and life to her. It was time to do something.
But unprecedented snowfall and cold temperatures kept her marooned for days and days, where only an emergency vehicle could have gotten her off that mountain. Telling herself this was a sign that she needed this time to evaluate her life and make plans, she tried, but her heart cried out for Tres. She’d seen his picture with Valerie in the Cielo Alto newspapers that Clyde sent. They were a striking couple in their party finery. Valerie, always smiling, looked vibrant in jewel-colored original gowns. Tres’ chiseled, never-smiling features and blonde hair set off by a stark white shirt and black suit made Casey smooth her fingers over the paper as she longed to touch him. That Cinderella-fairy-tale syndrome she suffered from just wouldn’t die.
One February morning as she used the blower to clean the last of the snow from the driveway, she shielded her eyes from the blinding, bright sun on the new blanket of snow and the rainbow crystals in the frigid air. She felt a bubbling of energy and a lightness of spirit that she thought had deserted her forever. Turning off the blower, she made her way to the mailbox at the end of the driveway and removed a large manila envelope with Clyde Jones’ return address on it.
Smiling, she recalled how the good banker had prompted her to do Christmas presents for her mother and dad and Maria and to send Christmas cards to people he referred to as friends and acquaintances. His gentle prodding had kept her doing the proper things. When she’d first arrived at her mountain retreat, she’d put off opening his envelopes for days. Now she was eager to get back into the warm house to see what he had sent.
As she pushed the blower into the garage, she heard the steady grumble of a vehicle making its way up the icy road. The world was waking up from its long, snow-blanketed sleep. A black Escalade equipped with snow chains came into sight and turned into her driveway.
The tinted windows obscured the identity of the driver, but Casey knew who it was before Tres stepped out of the SUV and shrugged his broad shoulders into a sheepskin jacket. “Looks like you had fresh snow last night.”
Her heart rate surged to a gallop but she tried to maintain an outward appearance of calm composure. “It’s been like that all winter. The weather people say we’ve had more snow this winter than has ever been recorded before.” Questions burned in her brain.
How had he found her?
She raised her chin and motioned him forward. “Come on in. I’ll get this outer layer of clothes off then make some coffee.”
Tres watched as she tugged off the knitted cap and sunshades. Her auburn hair cascaded down in waves to frame her face. Her sparkling green eyes asked an unspoken question. He ached to take her in his arms and hold her close. Instead, he waited as she slide the fur-lined boots off with the bootjack then unzipped the insulated coveralls. He stepped close and slipped them off her shoulders then down so she could step out of them.
He hung the snow-spattered, wet apparel on the peg next to him, brushing the inside of them past his nose. The inner fabric smelled like his Casey. He watched as she put her cap and shades onto a peg and tucked her stocked feet into soft brown leather loafers. Her willowy body, with its soft curves, clad in creamy-white wool slacks and sweater, drew him like a magnet.
His arms lifted as if in supplication and gave a silent word of thanks when she slid her arms around his waist, burying herself inside his jacket against his chest. In quiet jubilation, he held her, absorbing the joy and comfort, the sense of completeness. Finally the chill in the garage seeped in. Casey eased away from him and took his hand, inviting him into her hideaway.
The aroma of yeast bread filled the kitchen, reminding Casey to put the rising loaves into the oven. Feeling Tres’ eyes following her every move made her edgy. She wanted to forget the mundane things, go to him, hold him, breath in the scent of him, and feel his heart beat against her as she held him close. Instead, she started coffee.
“I’ve intended to write, but just haven’t,” Casey said. “Clyde sends the Cielo Alto newspaper so I’ve kept up with the happenings. You’ve been one of their favorite topics through the holiday season.” He moved close to her as she slid cookies onto a plate and set it on the tray with coffee mugs.
“Let’s go sit by the fire,” she said as she poured the coffee.
Tres picked up the tray and followed her. He put the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch while Casey added another log to the steady burning fire.
“How did you find me?”
He just grinned at her as he embraced her and lowered his lips to hers. She returned his kiss and slipped into a world of magic that only she and Tres inhabited.
Later, when the oven timer buzzed loudly announcing the bread was done, Casey struggled back to the real world. Every nerve in her body tingled from his caresses. Her hand smoothed along rock-hard muscles in his back. They lay twined together on the couch in front of the fireplace with never-touched coffee still on the tray. His once-perfectly-creased shirt lay crumpled on the floor close to her inside-out sweater. As the haze cleared in her mind, she saw his dark, blue, stormy eyes that held mysteries, mysteries she did not want to unravel but wanted to be a part of.
The insistent noise of the oven timer sounded again. Casey let her hand brush his shoulder then the side of his face before scrambling up and hurrying to the kitchen.
Tres watched as she scooped up her sweater untangled it and pulled it over her head. She moved with a subtle sway in her hips. His need for her stormed through him like an avalanche at full force. The ache he felt sucked the air out of his lungs and squeezed his loins into a knot of pain. He fought for control as he stared back at the big marmalade cat with unblinking eyes sitting in the streak of sunlight across the floor. As the cat twitched his tail, got up and padded toward the kitchen, Tres sucked in a deep breath, got up, and went out onto the snow-covered deck. He needed the cold that attacked his shirtless body to cool his raging need. He stared at the silent landscape until the cold prickled his bare skin.
Cold embraced him, feeling almost like a burn as he inhaled then exhaled, watching his breath form fog in the icy air. He welcomed the pain of the cold as he castigated himself for what had just happened. His plans to court Casey, to talk with her, to coax her back to Spencer Mansion were forgotten the instant he kissed her. His libido had taken control, not something he was proud of.
The cold drove him back into the house. He put on the crumpled shirt and tucked it in as if it were crisp and smooth. Picking up the tray, he went to the kitchen where he could hear Casey talking to the cat.
He poured the cold coffee down the drain and leaned back against the counter, willing himself to be patient. Before he could decide on the best way to broach the subject that had made her flee the Running S, she began to talk.
“There’s hot coffee in the pot. Help yourself while I make us a Mexican omelet to go with the fresh bread.” Not looking at him or hesitating, she nodded toward the cat. “This is Lazarus. I found him out on the deck almost frozen the first morning I was here. I don’t know who he belongs to, but we’ve had a good sojourn together. I put a notice on the bulletin board down at the convenience store where everyone up this way trades, but no one has claimed him.”
He sensed her tightly controlled tension as she measured and mixed ingredients. Pouring himself a cup of fresh coffee, he sat down at the table. Her graceful, efficient movements, made his body hum. “I didn’t know you cooked.”
“I didn’t until I came up here. It was pretty much a matter of survival at first, then I realized I enjoyed it. Evidently my landlord likes to cook. I found a shelf full of cookbooks and an array of ingredients that I didn’t know existed. I’ve learned how to make some interesting dishes.”
The aroma of the cooking omelet whetted Tres’ appetite. It had been a long time since he had stopped for gas at an all-night quick stop where he’d bought a cup of bitter coffee and a not-too-fresh cinnamon roll. Tres got up and poured Casey a cup of coffee as she set the steaming concoction on the table along with the hot bread, butter, and honey. The spicy omelet, liberally laced with crisp bacon bits and cheese, did not disappoint.
Casey watched Tres take his first bite as she sipped hot coffee. He smiled at her as he swallowed. “I should have known your cooking would be excellent, just like everything else you do. This is delicious.”
The tension eased as they ate and she
spoke about her months alone. Tres prompted just often enough to keep her talking as he basked in her presence. His world felt right again.
With the table cleared and a second cup of coffee poured, Casey sat across the table from Tres and looked him in the eye. “At the risk of sounding inhospitable,
why
are you here?”
Tres tried to organize his thoughts as he looked at this Casey who had become a chameleon, a complex mystery, a composite of all those personalities he had seen as she recovered. A woman who’d walked away from what he considered a serious relationship and had isolated herself in the mountains, and . . .
damnit!
Before that blasted buzzer interrupted, she’d responded to him with a passion that had kicked his body into overdrive. He felt flummoxed. Sure, he’d told himself he was coming to apologize, to set things straight, to see she was okay. But in truth, he came because he was starving for her, wanted her at Spencer Mansion with him. She made him complete, made life worth living.
He watched Casey’s hands encircle the warm coffee mug, saw a nervous tension in her slender fingers, but her eyes were steady as she waited for an answer. Shoving away from the table, he went to the window and stared at the glistening snow as he spoke. “I’m here because you’re here. I need to know some things that only you can tell me.” When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “Why did you just up and leave?” He came back to the table, twisted his chair around, and straddled it waiting for her answer.
Casey sensed the aggression in his action. She said aloud what she had explained to herself so many times during her self-imposed exile. “Jordan and Leila’s comments made me realize I was in a situation totally foreign to me. I hated what they said and was devastated that you’d said nothing to set them straight. But I knew their assumptions came close to being right. Only weeks before, I’d decided to do whatever it took to be with you for as long as you’d have me. But when push came to shove, I couldn’t do it.”
Tres fought to breathe. How had he missed her intentions? Then it dawned on him. She knew none of the signals and come-ons that a worldly-wise woman used to let a man know she was available. She’d just been Casey. Loyal and true. His bright, beautiful, brave Casey had suffered because of his past experiences with sophisticated women who’d sought to aggrandize themselves at his expense. His agitation quieted as he met her clear, still eyes that watched and waited.
He smiled at her, then moved around the table and took her hand. “I came to court you, to spend time with you.” He brushed his thumb across her the palm of her hand.
Speechless and looking like a deer caught in the headlights, Casey gripped his hand as he continued. “I came so we could get to know each other the way a man and woman do before they marry.”
She stood up and touched him as tears welled up then spilled over her long lashes. Rising up on tiptoes, she brushed his lips with hers and sighed as he inched her close and deepened the kiss.
Chimes and bells rang through the house, breaking the spell. She groaned against his lips. “The doorbell.”
“Nothing I know of measures up to you.” He struggled to extinguish the fire that had rekindled in his loins. Reminding himself that he had come to court Casey, not to seduce her, he brushed his hand across her cheek.
The chimes sounded again. Sighing, Casey slid her hand down Tres’ chest then went to answer the door.
“Ms. Mason, I’m Jeff Adams, and this is my daughter Jennifer, We read your notice at the store about a big marmalade cat and wondered if it could be Jennifer’s. Hers ran away last fall while we were here winterizing our cabin.”
Jennifer spoke up in a clear, tentative voice. “His name is Jelly, ‘cause he’s the color of my favorite kind of jelly.”
“Please come in. The cat I found is in the kitchen, I think,” Casey said. But the cat was trotting toward them when Casey turned around. The stately, standoffish Lazarus had become Jennifer’s Jelly at the sound of her voice. The youngster gathered him in her arms, laughing as he butted his head gently against her cheek.