The Short and Fascinating Tale of Angelina Whitcombe (12 page)

Laura Barber . . . the one who got away. Hell, the one he'd let get away. Damn his conscience all to hell.

“Do you own this truck?” she asked after several minutes of silence.

“Rented.”

“Do you always drive something so big?”

Right. The queen of green. “What were you driving?”

“A hybrid.”

“If you'd had one of these, you wouldn't have gone off the road.”

“Touché.” She looked him in the eyes for probably the first time since she'd climbed aboard. “Truce?”

“Sure.” Although, how he'd manage that would take some mental gymnastics. She wore the same scent she had all through business school. Nothing exotic, just kind of clean and sweet. She'd wrapped the scent around him that night. It still went straight to his gut, and now he had the mother of all hard-ons. Truce, indeed.

He stared out the windshield. “That your hybrid up ahead?”

She squinted, peering forward. “It is.”

He pulled up beside the car, set the brake, and pushed the gear lever to park. “Leave the engine running for heat. Give me your keys.”

“I can get my bag myself.”

He held out his hand. “I thought we had a truce.”

After fishing in her purse, she produced a key on rental company chain and handed it over. Now, he could get away from her perfume for a few seconds. Maybe the cold would do something to ease his boner too.

He climbed out of the truck and shut the door behind him. His boots sinking into snow halfway to his knees, he trudged the few feet to the hybrid and used the key to open the trunk. She traveled light—just one carry-on and a suit bag. If he looked inside, which he wouldn't, he'd no doubt find a formless skirt and jacket combination. She could almost, but not quite, hide her plush figure under all the layers of clothing she wore.

After closing the trunk, he scrambled back to the truck and stowed her things in the back. Then he took his seat in front and set the gear to low to take them down the frosted highway.

“You seem to know your way around,” she said.

“I grew up near here.”

“You look the part. All you need is a Stetson.” She actually smiled. Not much but enough to curve that tempting lower lip. No matter how hard she tried to blend into the woodwork, that mouth and her enormous brown eyes kept her from pulling it off. Great, now he was thinking about her mouth.

“What are you doing in these parts?” he asked, even though he had a pretty good idea of the answer.

“Job interview,” she answered.

“Henderson?”

“How did you know?”

“My interview is day after tomorrow,” he said. “Doesn't look as if either of us is going to make it.”

She groaned. “Oh no.”

“Don't worry. You still have a chance.”

“Why wouldn't I?” she said. “They'll understand about the storm.”

“I didn't mean that. I meant the competition.”

“What . . . oh.” She glared at him. “You don't think I can beat you for the job.”

He didn't answer but only smiled.

“Competitive to the end, eh?” she said.

“Pot . . . kettle.”

“Is this your idea of a truce?”

“Sorry. Force of habit.” He turned the truck off the main highway onto the narrow road that led to Jeff's cabin. Here, even the four-wheel drive wouldn't help them if he made a bad move. He'd have to concentrate on something besides the chaos in his jeans. The heavy vehicle inched along while the wipers slap-slapped against the windshield and the wind howled outside, swirling the snow around them. Laura sat huddled in the corner, her arms wrapped around her ribs.

“Frightened?” he asked.

She bit her lower lip. Even a short glimpse of that out of the corner of his eye put his mind in places where it didn't belong.

“A little,” she said after a moment.

“I'll take care of you.” Boy, howdy, would he.
Stop it, damn it. Now.

Normally, she'd have bristled at any suggestion that she needed help with anything. She must have been really scared not to say a word but just sit there, making herself small. If he wasn't careful, she'd start tugging at his protective instincts. But then, when had he ever been careful where a woman was concerned? Well, maybe once . . . with this woman.

“Is it much farther?” she asked.

“A few more yards.” Of course, in a storm in the mountains, a few more yards could stretch on forever. How had the pioneers ever managed?

The cabin came up on him unexpectedly. He must have misjudged how far they'd come because the outline of the building appeared directly ahead of them before he'd realized they'd arrived. He let a breath out slowly, and his shoulders relaxed. Though he'd never admit it to Laura, navigating under these conditions was a bit of a crapshoot, and he hadn't felt all that comfortable himself.

He steered the truck into the carport and cut the engine. When he turned off the headlights, they fell into darkness for a moment. All the better for him to sense the woman next to him. Her scent and the sound of her breathing filled the space around him. It was going to be an interesting few days.

I
f the cabin had appeared rustic from the outside, the interior somehow managed romantic and high-tech at the same time. Laura left her ruined shoes in the enclosed entryway, what Ethan referred to as a “mini mudroom,” and followed him into the main living area. When he hit the switch, lights came on around the baseboards, producing enough illumination to suggest the interior of an elegant restaurant.

“Solar power?” she asked as she tipped up her carry-on and draped the suit bag over it.

“From batteries beneath the house,” he said. “The system gives off heat as well as light.”

“And the heat rises to fill the room.”

“Once I get the woodstove and a fire going, we'll be toasty.”

“Nice.” They'd been bandying that word around a lot. This time, it didn't carry extra meaning.

Ethan put the bag of groceries on the counter in the kitchenette. “Settle in.”

She glanced around. “Are there other rooms?”

“Bathroom.”

“Then, where would you like me to settle in?”

He paused in the act of stowing a carton of eggs in the refrigerator. After a moment, he straightened, placed his elbow on the door and assumed his too-casual pose again. “You take the sleeping loft. I'll camp out on the couch.”

She checked the piece of furniture in question. “Is it big enough for you?”

“I'll fold into it.”

“Because, I don't really have to—”

“Take the loft. As you observed, heat rises. You'll be comfortable up there.”

The baseboard heating was having an effect on the temperature, but not enough for her to remove her coat.

“I'll lay a fire,” she said.

“You know how to do that?”

“It's not rocket science.”

“Be my guest.”

While he continued putting away groceries, she went to the huge stone fireplace and knelt to check out the supplies. Plenty of wood and kindling. Starting with crumpled newspaper, she built what should soon be a good blaze. She found matches, lit the paper, and sat back on her heels to watch the fuel catch.

Out of nowhere, a male hand appeared in front of her, holding a glass of red wine. She took it and glanced up at the towering figure of Ethan Gould. “Thanks.”

“I didn't know for sure if you'd want anything to drink.”

“I'm good with wine. It's tequila I need to stay away from.” Damn it, why had she said that? She shouldn't have mentioned anything that could remind him of that night. Or remind herself, for that matter. She sipped some of her drink and stared into the fire.

Of course, he didn't do the easy thing and go back to the kitchenette and leave her alone with the memory. Oh no, he had to sit down beside her in front of the fire.

“Want to talk about the two-ton elephant in the room?” he asked.

“No.”

“I do.”

“Fine,” she said. “You talk. I'll listen.”

“Doesn't work that way.”

“Look, Ethan.” She took a fortifying sip of her wine and let it roll around on her tongue. He had good taste, she'd give him that. Eventually, she had to face him. When she did, she somehow ended up lost in the reflection of the fire in his eyes.

“Laura . . .” he prompted.

“I wasn't myself that night.” Lord, how embarrassing. If he wanted to talk about this, why didn't he say something or do something? Why was he putting it all on her? “I behaved inappropriately toward you.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. “Is that what they're calling it now?”

“Please. You'll make me blush.”

“So what?” he said. “No one's ever died of blushing.”

She could. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and her stomach felt full of cold lead. When her hands trembled, she set her glass on the hearth rather than spill red wine on the carpet.

“Hey, hey.” He put his glass next to hers and took her hands in his. “It's not that serious.”

When she couldn't take any more gazing into his eyes, she switched to staring at the fire. “You could probably have sued me for harassment.”

“Harassment?” he repeated. “How do you figure that?”

“You obviously didn't welcome . . . um, feel the same . . .”

“Because I didn't follow through?”

She clenched her teeth together and sat in utter, silent shame.

“You'd had too much to drink, Laura,” he said. “Only a bastard takes advantage like that.”

“Well,” she pulled her hands from his and took a steadying breath. “It was a long time ago. I'm glad we settled it.”

“I don't call that settled,” he said.

She stared into the fire again. If she didn't look at him, maybe he'd go away. “I do.”

“Damn it, Laura, you're going to deal with this.” Taking her chin in his hand, he turned her head until she had to look at him. “Do you know how exciting you were that night?”

“I was drunk and disorderly.” Drunk enough for him to have rejected her but not enough for her to have forgotten all the things she'd said to him. No one on earth had ever heard of her fantasies, but after that encounter, this man had.

“You turned me on like crazy,” he said. “I went nuts trying to figure out how to get you to make the same invitation sober.”

“It was a long time ago, Ethan.”

“I would have called you, but I figured that would have embarrassed you.”

“I'm glad you didn't.”

“I kept putting myself in places where I'd bump into you by accident, but you disappeared”—he gestured with both hands—“poof.”

“I don't want to talk about this,” she said. “You promised.”

He studied her for a long moment before picking up his wine again. “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“Thanks for understanding.” This time, when she lifted her glass, it didn't wobble.

“You'll at least eat dinner with me, I hope.”

“Of course,” she said. “This is excellent wine, by the way.”

“It should go with the steaks. How do you like yours?”

“Rare.”

“Rare it is.” With the knuckle of his free hand, he tapped the end of her nose before rising and sauntering back to the stove.

She took a deep breath—the first truly relaxing one she'd had since he strolled into the country store—and watched him rinse vegetables for salad in the sink. She ought to help him, but he seemed to know what he was about. Besides, the world was a safer place with distance between them.

So, he'd refused her that night out of gallantry. Or so he said. That made things marginally less humiliating. Sort of.

As he worked on their dinner, his movement fluid as he went from counter to refrigerator to cabinet and back, she couldn't erase the memory of that lean body against hers. The kisses . . . sweeter and more potent than the margaritas that had caused her to lose control. And the misery, the soul-crushing disappointment, when he'd pushed her away.

Now that they'd discussed the two-ton elephant, the whole incident was closed. Over and dealt with. Finito. Somehow, that only made her stomach sink even lower.

 

An Excerpt from

by Candis Terry

Welcome Back to the Sugar Shack

Straitlaced . . .
Chicago prosecutor Kelly Silverthorne has a perfect record in the courtroom and a big fat zero in the bedroom. When she loses her first case ever, she returns home to Deer Lick, Montana, to regain her confidence and shake off the “Sister Serious” moniker she's been strapped with since childhood. Only a few hours into her repentance, karma thrusts her face-to-face with yet another of her major fiascos—a one-night stand with the hottest cop in the county.

Rebel with a Cause . . .
Deputy James Harley has always played with fire. When smart and sexy Kelly pops back into his life, he doesn't mind going for a full burn. And that might be exactly what happens when his past threatens to catch up with his future.

A Match Made in . . .
Heaven only knows what Kelly's dearly departed mom has planned from the
other side
—especially since she's already meddled in Kelly's siblings' love lives. But even heaven knows that when love comes knocking, there's no stopping the good things to come.

 

K
elly Silverthorne despised killers.

Especially the type who possessed the charm of a movie star that belied the icy heart of the snake that beat in their chest.

“I think it's dead.”

Jarred from the dark images in her head, Kelly looked up at her fellow Chicago prosecutor, Daniel Bluhm. A streak of sunlight shot through the window of the deli and glimmered in his golden hair. While they awaited word that the jury had reached a verdict in the Colson murder case, lunch had seemed a good idea. The nerves coiled in her stomach said otherwise. “Excuse me?”