by Amelia Wilde
How freaking messed up was that?
With another sigh, I tugged at my balls…and stilled.
My eyes opened to find both dogs alert, ears lifted, staring toward my bedroom.
I tilted my head and listened.
After a few minutes, they settled again, but I couldn’t manage it.
It was going to be a long night.
9
Christa
It took me a few seconds to figure out where I was and then to remember how I’d gotten here.
It took another half a minute for embarrassment to kick in, once I realized that I was buck naked under these blankets.
I was about to freak out about it when I spotted the folded up clothes on the bed beside me. As if he’d thought ahead. Micah. The man who’d saved me had thoughtfully put these here, knowing I’d want them before getting out of bed.
He’d also shut the bedroom door, giving me the privacy I’d need to get dressed.
Slowly, like an old lady—except not Gran, who was absurdly spry—I struggled into the clothing. Every movement involved testing the body part first. Neck, back, arms, chest, and places I hadn’t realized could ache, like the side of my waist. I felt like I’d been bulldozed in the night.
My need to pee made my slow pace feel like a particularly sadistic brand of torture.
Once dressed, I looked down. Oh, for God’s sake. The black long underwear was huge, except where my boobs and butt and thighs filled it out. Not a good look.
But the time for worrying about how I looked in front of Micah Graham was long passed, wasn’t it?
I stuck my head out the door.
Coffee. Oh my God, that smelled good.
Quickly, I slipped into the bathroom, where I sank onto the toilet with great difficulty, rose with even more, then used some toothpaste on my teeth, and washed my puffy face. My underwear and bra were nowhere to be seen. Okay. I wouldn’t be mortified about the fact that he’d moved my panties. Or about walking out there braless—which wasn’t something I did. Ever.
Another scent slid under the door. Bacon. My mouth watered. If anything would get me to leave this room and face the big man who’d saved my life, it was bacon.
Okay. Here goes. I took a breath in, opened the door, and almost tripped on Bear and Brownie.
“Told you to give her space!” His voice was gruffer in the morning. Was he annoyed that I was there? Had he gotten any sleep? I shouldn’t have taken his bed. Swamped with guilt, I avoided looking at the messy sofa—avoided looking up at all—turned the corner…
And ran into hot, hard man-chest.
His hands came out to steady me, lingering on my shoulders before setting me back, gently.
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
“How you feeling?”
“Good.” I forced a smile and met his eyes.
“You’re full of shit.”
I let the smile drop. “You got me.”
He lifted his chin toward the sofa. “Sit. I’ll bring you breakfast.”
“No. I need to get home. You’ve done way too m—”
“Girls. Herd her to the sofa.” He turned to the stove and my eyes traveled down his back. Dear God, he was muscular. His naked back wasn’t just big, but hard-looking, with indentations where I’d never actually seen them before. I looked down to his butt in olive green cargo shorts, and down.
“Oh! I’m—”
I blinked at his legs: what I could see of one thick thigh, sprinkled with dark hair went on to a sturdy knee and a finely-chiseled calf, ending in a dark grey slipper. On the other side, what looked like a black stocking encased his thigh below his shorts, a space-age metal contraption emerging from the bottom. He had a prosthetic leg. I got that. I understood it, but it didn’t compute with what had happened last night.
“How’d you do all th—” My hand flew to my mouth to stop me from saying whatever stupid crap I’d been about to say. And then, because he kept his back to me, I said it anyway. “You carried me up a mountain last night.”
His ribs expanded a little and he glanced over his shoulder at me, expression blank. “Sure did.”
“With a, um, prosthetic leg.”
“Yeah.”
“What are you? A freaking superhero or something?”
Though I hadn’t meant it as a joke, my question surprised him into laughing. Or something close to it. A choked huff of a sound. “No. But adrenaline’ll push you to do some pretty crazy shit.”
“So that was all adrenaline? None of it was skill? Or superhuman strength?” I pointed vaguely at his excessive array of muscles.
He put down the fork with which he’d prodded at the bacon, and turned to face me. “I don’t let it slow me down.”
Apparently not. I shook my head. “Who are you?”
“Told you. Name’s Micah.”
“You wouldn’t tell me if you were a secret special agent operative person, would you?”
“Nope.” His smile, when he handed me a coffee, was a special kind of magic—like squiggly-belly, juddery-heart kind of magic. It made me both excited and anxious at once. I should get out of here before I did something stupid. Like now. I glanced at the stove. Or after I’d gotten some of that bacon.
The coffee, in a thick, bright orange mug that said Powered by Stihl, was warm in my hands.
“Cream in the fridge. Sugar’s right there.” He pointed to a bag on the counter. “Then go sit. I’ve got news.”
I went for both cream and sugar, hyper-aware of how close he was in this tiny kitchen space. Then, just as I’d opened my mouth to offer to help with breakfast, he pointed at the couch again. “Please.”
I got the strange feeling he was handling me the way he handled his dogs—kindly and calmly, but with absolute authority.
“What’s the news?”
“Turn around.”
I turned and blinked at the room, then focused on the windows, which was easy to do, given how big they were. “Shit.” Snow poured from the sky onto a landscape already coated in it. “They’ve cleared the roads, right? I’ve got to get home. Gran’ll—”
“Called the county. Nobody’s going anywhere today. Pretty sure I couldn’t make it down the mountain anyway, even with my plow.”
“I need to call Gran. I can’t leave her alone for Christmas. She’ll be—”
“She called, actually.”
I stared.
“Told me not to wake you. Said she and Gus were just fine and you’d better not do anything foolish.”
I nodded and hobbled to the sofa, where I collapsed with a groan and not an ounce of grace. I chose to stare out the window, rather than face the man I was apparently stuck with until further notice. He wouldn’t be happy at the intrusion, I was sure.
Shit. I took a sip and glanced at him. “Wow, this is good coffee.”
He smiled, lifting those high cheekbones higher and carving fine creases around his eyes. Damn, he was handsome. I wondered what he’d look like without the beard and then, because I couldn’t help it, I glanced down at his legs again.
“Want the good news?”
My eyes flew back up to meet his. Did I?
10
Micah
“All right.” Christa didn’t look like she trusted whatever I was about to tell her.
“Still got power, phone’s working, wood, and food for days.”
“Days?” Had she gone a little pale? “How long…”
“Storm’s not letting up anytime soon.”
“Aren’t you annoyed to have an unexpected guest?”
“No.” I turned back to the kitchen to hide my surprise. Annoyed? Jesus, no. Was she annoyed to be here? Of course she was. She had plans for the holiday, friends and family to spend it with. I had my girls.
“What would you be doing, if I weren’t here right now?”
“Uh, chores, I guess.”
“Can I help?”
“No.” And because that sounded pretty shitty, even to my own ears, I offered a bone. �
��Dug around in the freezer and pulled out a couple chickens to roast.”
“A couple?”
“You, me, and the girls. Four mouths to feed.”
“So…” When she didn’t finish her sentence, I glanced back at her. She’d dropped her head back on the sofa and sat staring at the ceiling, coffee in one hand, the other arm wrapped protectively around her chest. “Holy. Shit.”
“What?”
“Just thought of something that happened last night.”
Oh no. Did I sleepwalk? Say something wrong? Yell out some crazy shit? I tensed and waited.
“Before the…accident.” She swallowed audibly, remembering, probably, what it had felt like trapped by that seatbelt. The shock of almost dying.
My thoughts stuttered nonstop on that moment when she and the car had separated.
“The stupid work party. Oh my God, I can’t believe I forgot all about it.”
“What happened?”
“Jonathan. What an absolute asshole.” She covered her face with her hands and started shaking. It wasn’t until she looked up again that I realized she was laughing, not crying. “I should’ve left the second I got there. Apparently, the stupid thing was cancelled and I had no idea. He didn’t even tell me until I’d been there for, like half an hour, in that dress and… He was wasted. Oh my God, he pulled out his… He grabbed my…” She cleared her throat. “My breast.”
I’d kill him.
“I kneed him in the crotch and took off.”
“And you’re laughing about this.”
“Better than tears.”
“Guy lives up there, right? Jonathan…Crandle?” At her nod, I threw down the kitchen towel and stalked to the closet to grab my boots. Asshole had to be stuck up at his place, as surely as we were. I’d tear him apart.
“Hey.”
Limb from fucking limb.
“What are you…” She stood and watched me struggle to put on my boots. “You’re not going up there.”
“Sure am.”
“What? No way.”
“You’re okay with what he did? Just want him to get away with it?” I was breathing hard, my vision dark at the edges. Should have known that a guy who drove like he did would hurt women. Dickless fuck.
“He didn’t get away with it. I kneed him. In the balls!”
“Yeah?” I reached for my coat and slid it on. “I’m gonna finish the job.”
“You can’t do that. What does that even mean, anyway?” She stood and ran to the door. “Hey! Stop. Stop it!”
“Guy’s a shitbag.” I put out an arm to set her out of my way and she wrapped herself around it like a vine.
“Yes. Yes, he is.” Her voice was low. Urgent. “And if you ignore me right now, you’re an asshole.”
“I want to hurt him.” The words came out, sharp and ugly. I imagined digging my fingers into that self-satisfied prick’s neck, tightening until he turned blue.
“You can’t.” Her eyes flicked between mine and her hand tightened on my arm, hanging on me. “Stay here. With me.”
Brownie whined from her spot in front of the fire, her eyebrows twitching as she watched.
“Look, Micah. It was awful. He’s a creep. But, because of you, I can honestly say that my night got better.” She stepped into my space and snagged me with her dark intensity. “I mean, I almost fell off a cliff, but then you saved me. Do you know how amazing it is to almost die? To be here when—” She glanced down at my leg and back up, something so familiar on her face that all I could think was, I know this woman. I know her. “Yeah, I guess you probably get it, Micah. Right now, I feel alive. Exhausted, in pain, freaked out that my car’s gone and is probably polluting your beautiful mountainside. I’m freaked out that I have to figure out a job situation and worried that my presence is annoying as hell to you…but I’m alive.” Her grin was lopsided and fascinating. “Because of you. You saved me last night. And I don’t want anything to happen to you. Including hurting yourself by hurting him. He’s not worth it, Micah. But you are.”
Her words felled me, twisted me up in knots, made me feel bigger and stronger.
“You get it, Micah? We may not know each other, but…” She put her hands to her face and shook her head. “Crap, you’re gonna think I’m batshit crazy, but here it is.” Her intensity was almost blinding when she looked at me. Her inner strength superhuman. “Right here, right now, right this minute, you’re the most important person in my life. You risked your life to save mine.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but she put up a hand to stop me. “No biggie, I know. The point is, if you went to prison for beating that asshole up, I’d never forgive myself, ever. For involving you, for telling you what he did, for letting you go up there and do things you’d regret.”
Oh. I could see that.
“So, please. Please stay here. Okay?”
I swallowed and stepped back, taking her in, from the high shine in her eyes to the bright pink circles on her cheeks, then down to the quick rise and fall of her chest.
I blinked. “Yeah.” The need to hurt faded to a tingling in my fingers and toes—all four limbs feeling the exact the same thing, as if I hadn’t left one back on that roadside in Afghanistan. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You are such an ama—” Her lips pressed together and she swallowed, then shook her head. “How about that bacon?”
11
Christa
I stood by the front door watching Micah stomp to the kitchen in his boots and coat. His brow was creased, his mouth tight, his face as darkly dangerous as the chasm I’d nearly lost my life to.
What the hell had I gotten myself into here? One asshole up the mountain trying to grab my boob and this guy flying off the handle at the drop of a hat. In all fairness, he had good reason to lose it. I just didn’t want him to ruin his life over it.
I followed his movements for a few more seconds, still wary that he’d blow right out the door if I moved.
“You taking off that coat or do I have to stand here forever?”
He stilled, back to me. “Can’t.” His head dropped. Were his shoulders shaking?
“Why not?”
“’Cause then you’ll see that I forgot to put on a shirt and long pants under this and realize what a douchebag I am.”
“Yeah, well…” I broke out into a grin, fighting an actual laugh. “You had a shirt on when you saved my life last night. Guess I’ll let this one time slide.”
He threw me a funny look, unzipped his big coat and put it away, then grabbed his slippers, set them on the floor by the bench, where he removed his boots, and replaced them with the slippers.
Watching his precise movements, it occurred to me that he had to keep his place neat or it might trip him up. I hadn’t been in any condition to notice the place last night, aside from a general impression of small and dark and rustic. As I took in the details, now, it became clear that rustic didn’t necessarily mean rough-hewn. In fact, the light coming in made the place downright bright and it was remarkably clean and…fresh for a log cabin.
By the time he’d put on his slippers and looked up to meet my eyes, the humor I’d felt earlier had morphed into something else. Not any one clear emotion, but a mess of feelings in my belly and chest, so mixed up it wasn’t clear if I’d end up in laughter or tears, or maybe doing something completely off the wall, like pounding the floor.
What would this morning be like, if I’d made it home last night and awakened in my own bed?
Bad. Really, really bad.
He went to the kitchen, where he lit the stove, grabbed something from the fridge, and went to work.
This looked like pretty new construction, actually, with built-in details that had to be specially-made for him. The bench beside the front door, for example, and the shoe cubby beneath it. The kitchen was entirely made of smooth, streamlined wood. White pine, maybe? I had no idea. The dining table was the same type of construction—sturdy and simple. Whitewash the whole thing and it
would look like that modern Swedish stuff people went crazy over.
The dark, plain grey sofa was probably the oldest thing in the room, aside from a rag rug in front of the fire, and the wood stove itself.
I liked it—the high ceiling, the warm, knotty wood, the feeling that it belonged up here on the mountain, blended in, unlike the ostentatious eyesore I’d gone to last night.
“Eggs okay?”
I blinked. “Um, yeah. But you don’t have to—”
“You like ’em scrambled?”
“Yes.” I watched him work for a few minutes. “So… What do you do for a living?”
“Arborist.”
My brows flew up. Man, the guy wasn’t kidding about not letting that leg impede him. “You climb trees and stuff?”
“I do. You?”
“No. No, I do not climb trees.”
“Should try it. Kind of a rush.”
“Yeah, well, I’ve had my share of rushes this week.”
“What’s your job?”
I flushed. Oh, that was probably what he’d meant, rather than whether or not I climbed trees.
“Marketing Manager for a local company. Project 54. We create Integration Platforms for—” Anxiety hit me like a punch to the gut. “Actually, I don’t have a job, do I?” Something a lot like relief filled the empty places in the wake of that wave of panic. “I’m currently seeking opportunities in Marketing and Communications. Preferably at a female-owned company.” My own, one day.
He eyed me for a few seconds, without speaking, probably checking me for signs of an imminent breakdown.
“It’s strangely freeing, actually, not to work for that asshole anymore.”
“I’ll bet.”
“Investor profit. I’m so tired of pretending to care about that soulless crap.”
He made a pained face. “Can’t imagine.” He walked to the built-in dining table, set two plates down, then made another trip with the coffee. Did he have a limp? Not really. A long gait, heavy footsteps. Nothing I would have noticed. “You okay to sit here, or you prefer the couch?”