Close to Heaven

by Pamela Clare

  Tomorrow, I shall ride up to the area called Caribou to visit the mine I am here to purchase. My assayer and engineers assure me that one of the richest silver lodes in the West is trapped within its rock, waiting to be blasted free. The man who discovered it, a placer miner, lacks the capital to develop it. I will make him a wealthy man, at least according to his standards, and then we shall see.

  Rain read until it was nearly dark outside and Joe had texted her that he was on the way home. She couldn’t say she liked Silas Moffat. Still, his impressions of this area from long ago fascinated her. Her own ancestors had arrived in Scarlet Springs not long before he’d come, and she wondered if she’d read anything about them in his pages.

  She tucked a bookmark in where she’d stopped reading and set off for the kitchen to bake cornbread.

  Joe smelled it the moment he stepped out of his Land Rover, and his mouth watered. “Damn.”

  He grabbed the two large bags of belongings he’d managed to rescue from Rain’s place and walked inside, stopping to take off his coat and boots before following that delicious aroma straight to the kitchen.

  Rain looked up, smiled, her hair hanging loosely around her shoulders. “Hey. I made chili and cornbread. I hope you’re hungry.”

  Holy hell.

  Joe stared, his gaze raking over her. She wore one of his shirts and a pair of his jeans, but they looked a hell of a lot better on her than they did on him. His jeans hugged her hips and ass. The overly large shirt made her look small and feminine despite its masculine cut, her nipples dark and pebbled against the cloth.

  He was hungry all right, but not for food. “Chili. Cornbread. Good.”

  You sound like an idiot.

  He was an idiot, his mind unable to rein in his body’s response to her. He cleared his throat, moved whatever was in his hand so that it covered the growing bulge at his groin, some part of his mind stuck on one thought: Her ass was in his jeans.

  “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed some of your clothes.” She smoothed her hands down the front of her shirt drawing his gaze back to those nipples.

  He gave a shake of his head. “No. No. Not at all.”

  “I just grabbed a pair of your underwear, some jeans, and this shirt. I’ll wash them when I’m done.”

  She was wearing a pair of his boxer briefs?

  Goddamn.

  Her gaze dropped to his crotch—or rather to whatever he was holding in front of it. Oh, yeah. The bags that held her clothes and a few other things. Right.

  “I managed to get into your place—just the bedroom. Hawke brought in some beams to stabilize it, while I crawled in and grabbed a few things for you.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You went inside my house?”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, Joe!” She moved toward him.

  He hesitated to offer her the bags, not wanting to give away his hard-on.

  Shit.

  She took the bags from him, set them down on the table, opened them.

  He stepped behind the counter, willed his dick to chill out. “I couldn’t get out of your room to the rest of your house, but I did make it to your closet. I hope I grabbed the right stuff.”

  “This is perfect.” There were jeans, a couple of sweaters, T-shirts, a few blouses, her bathrobe, and the clothes she wore to work, as well as lacy underthings—and the framed photo of Lark she kept on her bedside table.

  She gave a little gasp, pulled out the photo, held it to her breast. “Thanks, Joe. This means a lot to me. You weren’t in danger, were you?”

  “Do you honestly think Hawke would let me go in if I were?”

  “Mmm… no.”

  The timer on the oven beeped.

  She left the bags near the table, hurried to grab an oven mitt, and pulled a golden loaf of cornbread from the oven. “Dinner is ready.”

  “That smells incredible. I’ll just wash up.” He took the stairs up to his bathroom, washed his hands, and gave himself a stern look in the mirror.

  Rain worked for him. She was a valued employee, and she was a decade younger than he was. He did not fuck around with his female staff. He did not try to romance them. She was off-limits, even if she was wearing the hell out of his Levis.

  Got that, buddy?

  Yeah. His mind got it. He wasn’t sure about the rest of him.

  He made his way downstairs again to find the table set, and dinner served, chili in bowls, cornbread on plates. “I’ll go grab us a bottle of wine.”

  Down in the wine cellar, he closed his eyes, drew a deep breath. “What the hell has gotten into you, man?”

  “What did you say?” she called.

  “I said how about a 2012 Château Grand Traverse Pinot Noir Vin Gris.” He reached for the bottle and headed back upstairs to open it.

  “That sounds fabulous.” Rain was lighting candles, which she’d arranged in the center of the table.

  Hell. Was she trying to create a romantic atmosphere? Joe wasn’t sure he could survive that.

  Keep your shit together, man.

  “Did you go out of your mind with boredom today?” He found his wine bottle opener, removed the cork, and poured them each a glass, then carried both glasses and the bottle to the table and sat.

  “I spent the day in your library reading.” She put her napkin in her lap. “I found Silas Moffat’s journals, and I’m reading all about the early days in Scarlet.”

  Joe froze for a moment, spoon in mid-air, a hint of adrenaline making his heart beat faster. “Oh?”

  It was on the tip of his tongue to warn her that she wouldn’t like what she read, but he knew Rain. If he tried to stop her from reading the journal, he would only pique her curiosity.

  “I just reached the point where he bought the mine and hired a photographer to document everything. I guess most of those photos on your walls are his.”

  “Yeah.” Joe took a bite, barely noticing the mingled flavors of the chili flaring across this tongue. “Silas wasn’t a good man.”

  That was an understatement.

  The bastard had been ruthless, and Joe was ashamed to be his descendant—and the beneficiary of his cruelty. If Joe had anything to say about it, the name Moffat would die with him. Joe didn’t plan to marry or have a family. When he died, his money would go into a foundation for the people of Scarlet Springs, and that would be the end of Silas’ legacy. Some part of Joe wished he’d hidden the journals so that Rain wouldn’t have found them. With any luck, she would lose interest before she got to the worst of it, the part of Silas’ story that haunted Joe.

  “O’Hara—that’s the last name of Lexi and Britta’s mother, isn’t it?” Rain had gone to school with the two Jewell sisters and knew them well. Their mother had died in a car crash in the canyon when they were little.

  “Yeah.” Joe buttered his cornbread. “The O’Haras came west, built the Forest Creek Inn during the silver rush, and stayed. Bob Jewell took possession of it when his wife died. Unless Lexi or Britta takes over the operation, I’m not sure what will happen to the place. Someone will probably buy it, and it will leave the family.”

  That would be a shame after five generations.

  “Is the Mr. Gundry that Silas mentioned related to our Hank?”

  Joe nodded. “Hank is his great-great-grandnephew—or something like that.”

  Rain looked over at Joe, a knowing smile on her lips, wine glass in hand. “This is how you know so much about Scarlet Springs history, isn’t it? You’ve got an eye-witness account of it in your library and all those photos.”

  “Yeah.” Joe left it at that.

  After supper, they did the dishes together, then moved to the living room, taking their glasses and the bottle of wine with them. Rain couldn’t help but love the intimate feel of the moment. She was getting a glimpse of the private side of Joe, the side of him that no one except perhaps Rico got to see. She could get used to this.

  Joe flicked the switch to start a gas fire in the fireplace, then sat with her on t
he gray leather sofa in the living room to watch the news. Channel 12 led with a weather update, predicting high winds, blowing snow, and another nine to twelve inches of snow in the high country. The governor had yet to lift the state of emergency, and mountain highways were still closed due to a combination of icy conditions, blowing snow, and avalanche danger.

  “Are you going to open tomorrow?” Rain couldn’t remember a time when Knockers had been closed two days in a row.

  Joe’s brows drew together as he thought about it. “If the wind kicks up, we’re going to have twenty-foot drifts blocking the roads. They’re saying more snow. I guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

  Outside, the sun had long since set, snow swirling against the windows as the wind picked up.

  Rain thought of her house and the mess waiting for her there. “Maybe it’s a sign.”

  “A sign? What’s a sign?” He released his hair from its ponytail, letting it fall loose and free over his shoulders.

  Rain’s brain went blank, her fingers aching to run through that hair. Did he have any idea how good-looking he was?

  She took another sip of wine, fought to pull herself together. “My house. Maybe it’s time for me to start over somewhere else.”

  Joe frowned. “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m thirty-seven. My only child is an adult and living on her own. I’m perpetually single.” Hint, hint, you big dummy. “I’ve been here all my life.”

  Except for the year she’d spent on the road with Guy, but that had been a disaster.

  “Here isn’t so bad.” Joe gave a little laugh. “I’ve seen what’s out there, and, believe me, what we have in Scarlet is as good as life gets.”

  It was Rain’s turn to laugh. “That’s a depressing thought.”

  He studied her through narrowed eyes. “I thought you loved this town.”

  “I do.” She did. Really. But… “I’ve been here all my life, and now my life doesn’t seem to have much of a point.”

  A look of understanding passed over his face. “This is about Lark.”

  His words, like an arrow, shot straight to her heart.

  Tears welled up in her eyes. She turned her face away from him, blinked. “No. Okay, maybe. Yeah. I miss her.”

  Joe reached over, took her free hand in his, gave it a squeeze, heat shivering up Rain’s arm at the touch. “Lark is a smart, fun, caring, beautiful young woman, and you raised her. You raised her on your own even though you were just a kid yourself when she was born. You should be proud.”

  Joe knew the whole story, of course—how Rain had dropped out of high school to tour with Guy and his Grateful Dead cover band; how she’d gotten pregnant on the road and had given birth alone in the back of an old VW van while Guy was off drinking, doing LSD, and screwing some other woman; how he’d refused to drive her to the hospital because he was afraid he’d be arrested; how Rain had hitchhiked her way home with Lark in her arms; how her parents had rejected her, even moving to Florida to get away from the daughter that had shamed them.

  It was Joe who’d given Rain a job and helped her find a place to live. He’d even held a baby shower for her at Knockers so that Lark could have clothes and a crib and all those things babies needed. When Guy had shown up at Knockers a few years later, wanting money and demanding to see Rain, Joe had punched him, thrown him out the door and onto his ass in the parking lot.

  Rain had been hopelessly in love with him since that day.

  “I am proud, but…. ” How could she explain this? “It feels like the center of my life just packed up and left. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself now. I didn’t even put up a Christmas tree this year, though I guess that turned out to be lucky. If I had put up a tree, all of the ornaments Lark and I made together would have been broken. They’re all in boxes in the garage.”

  “Way to find the silver lining there.” Joe’s gaze dropped to the floor, and she knew he was thinking about something.

  Was he upset at her for reading Silas’ journals? He hadn’t said so over supper, but she knew him well enough to know that something about it bothered him.

  He lifted his gaze to hers. “I have an idea. After work tomorrow, let’s put up a tree here. I’ve got boxes and boxes of decorations somewhere around here. Some are antiques. Hell, some of them probably even belonged to Silas and his wife.”

  “Really? How cool is that?”

  “We can decorate the place, make some hot chocolate, play some of that awful holiday music that everyone loves.”

  Rain stared at Joe. “Are you serious?”

  He nodded. “Sure.”

  “I could make Christmas cookies, too, and fudge—well, if you’ve got the ingredients. I think you probably do.”

  Joe laughed. “All right, then. Let’s get to it. Bundle up. You can borrow whatever outdoor gear you don’t have from me. We can take out my snowmobile, cut down a tree, and have it waiting for us when we get back after closing tomorrow.”

  For the first time in what felt like a long time, Rain was excited about something.

  Chapter 5

  Joe attached the sled to the back of his snowmobile, then tied the chainsaw onto the sled, together with his snowshoes and a bundle of rope. He used the sled to haul back firewood that he cut on his property through the winter. He’d never used it to carry a Christmas tree.

  Rain stepped into the garage and closed the door behind her, one of his hats on her head, his ski gloves on her hands, an old woolen scarf wrapped around her neck, his ski pants on her legs. “The socks make the boots fit better. Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” He studied her for a moment. “Are you sure you should be going out? You just got over hypothermia. I could do this and be back in a flash.”

  “I want to come.”

  “Okay, but promise me you’ll say something if you start to feel chilled.”

  “Yes, mom.” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes, a teasing gleam in those green eyes.

  Damn, she was sexy when she was a smart-ass.

  He opened the garage door, straddled the snowmobile. “Climb on.”

  Rain settled on the seat behind him, her arms going around his waist, her inner thighs pressing against the outside of his. Even through the layers of parkas and clothes, he could feel the heat of her body. Or maybe that was the heat in his blood.

  “Hold on.” He rode the snowmobile out of his garage and into deep snow, the sled with the chainsaw following behind.

  The night was cold, but it was also beautiful. A thick blanket of white lay over the landscape, pine branches laden with snow until their boughs bent. The snowmobile’s headlights illuminated the path ahead of them, snowflakes swirling in the wind.

  “This is fun!” Rain called to him.

  “Have you ever been on a snowmobile before?”

  “No!” she called back.

  Well, it was about time.

  Joe went a little faster, found himself smiling when she squealed. He hadn’t had a Christmas tree since he was a kid. He was rarely home, and there was no one to share it with. It seemed like a lot of work for nothing. Then again, Christmas had never meant much to him. It had always seemed like an empty holiday, a time when people got themselves into debt buying shit they didn’t need. But that’s clearly not how Rain felt about it. Her face had lit up the moment he’d suggested this, her eyes filling with excitement.

  Hell, he’d have been willing to do almost anything to see that smile.

  “Where are we going?” she shouted up to him.

  “Just over here.” He knew every inch of this forest and would have had no trouble finding his way even without the snowmobile’s headlights. He knew right where he was taking her—a thick stand of young evergreens on the other side of the old shaft house that he’d planned to thin.

  “What’s that?”

  The shaft house loomed out of the trees, a dark shape against the forest, the words Caribou Silverlode still visible on the side.

  H
e waited until he’d stopped the snowmobile to answer. “That’s the shaft house. It covers the entrance to the mine shaft. That’s where you find the machinery that lowers the kibble—that big iron bucket you saw in the photo—into the mine. That’s how miners got in and out with their tools and gear. Can you reach my snowshoes?”

  Rain turned and climbed back onto the sled to untie the knot that held them in place. “Here you go.”

  “Thanks.” He strapped into them, then stepped onto seven feet of new snow, sinking up to his ankles. “You probably ought to stay where you are. If you step out onto this stuff, you’ll find yourself post-holing and be hypothermic again in no time.”

  He walked a short distance away to the stand of trees he’d had in mind, snow crunching under his snowshoes. He shook the snow off the branches of the tallest one. “What do you think?”

  “It’s perfect.”

  He started up the chainsaw, cut through the slender trunk, then took hold of the tree and dragged it back to the sled. “I’ll just tie this down, and we’ll get you back to the fire where it’s warm.”

  He lifted the tree onto the sled, picked up the rope, but couldn’t manage to tie it down with his gloves on. He pulled them off, accidentally dropping one in the snow.

  Rain reached for it. The snowmobile tilted just a little, but it was enough to dump her into the snow. She laughed, floundered, sinking deeper until she was up to her hips in powder. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.” He walked over to her and took her hands to pull her up—only to lose his balance and fall into the snow almost on top of her.

  Damned snowshoes.

  She laughed, looking up at him through wide eyes, breathless, snow on her eyelashes. He laughed, too, unable to take his gaze from hers.

  God, he wanted to kiss her.

  His gaze dropped to her lips, his mouth only inches from hers now, close enough that he could feel the heat of her. It would be so easy.