by Nora Roberts
At her quick squeal, he brought his hands to her arms, both to steady and to reassure. “It’s only me.”
“I know who it is,” she snapped, infuriated that she’d jolted. “What are you doing?”
“Before or after the lights went out?”
She could see him well enough, silhouetted by the firelight, to make out the smile. “It’s the storm.”
“What about it?” The muscles in her arms were tensed. He had to resist the urge to slip his hands up the sleeves of her sweater and soothe them and stroke her skin.
“It knocked out the power.”
He hadn’t let her go. He’d told himself to, but his hands hadn’t listened. “Would you like me to fix it?”
Her laugh was quick and a bit unsteady. She wished she could blame the power failure for her nerves, but she’d never been afraid of the dark. Until now. “It’s a little more complicated than a toaster. The power company will get to it when they can.”
He was sure he could jury-rig something, but he didn’t mind the dark. “All right.”
All right, she thought, letting out a long breath. In the meantime, she was alone with him. Added to the fact that she wasn’t sure about his mental balance was the very real problem of being attracted to him. One thing at a time, she told herself, and took a deliberate step back.
“We have plenty of candles.” To prove it, she lit the one she held in her hand. It helped her confidence when she saw the flame hold steady. “And plenty of wood. If you’ll put a couple of logs on the fire, I’ll deal with getting us more light.”
He watched the way the small flame flickered in her eyes. She was nervous, he realized, and wished that didn’t make her even more seductive. “Sure.”
Sunny gathered every candle she could put her hands on. Too late she realized that one or two would have seemed rustic. The dozen she had scattered through the room only added an impossibly romantic atmosphere. Stuffing the matches in her pocket, she reminded herself that she wasn’t affected by things like atmosphere.
“You wouldn’t know what time it is, would you?” she asked him.
“Not exactly. Around six.”
She sat on the arm of the sofa nearest the fire. “I slept longer than I thought.” Now she was going to have to make the best of a bad situation. “So, did you entertain yourself this afternoon?”
“I fixed the faucet.” It had taken more time and given him more trouble than he’d anticipated, but he’d managed.
“You’re a regular Harry Homemaker, aren’t you?” Because it sounded sarcastic, she smiled. They really did only have each other at this point, and alienating him wouldn’t be wise. “I could fix some sandwiches.” She rose, willing to be gracious if it kept her busy. “Want a beer?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Sunny took two of the candles into the kitchen and nearly relaxed before she realized he’d followed her in. “I can manage this by myself.” She opened the refrigerator and swore when she remembered that the light wouldn’t come on. Saying nothing, Jacob handed her a candle. She shoved two beers at him.
He remembered how she had dealt with the bottles that morning, and he was delighted when he found the same tool and popped the tops.
“Switch on the radio, will you?”
“What?”
“The radio,” she repeated. “On the windowsill. We might get a weather report.”
He found a small plastic box. He was grinning at it as he found the dial and turned on static.
“Mess with the tuner,” she advised him.
He was contemplating borrowing it and taking it back home. “Mess with it?”
“You know . . . fool with it. See if you can come up with a station.”
He stared at the little portable for a moment, wondering how one fooled an inanimate object. Making sure Sunny’s back was to him, he took the radio off the windowsill and shook it. Because that seemed stupid, he began to turn dials. The static faded in and out.
“Mustard or mayo?”
“What?”
“On your sandwich,” she said, striving for patience. “Do you want mustard or mayo?”
“It doesn’t matter. Whatever you’re having.” He found some tinny music that was almost audible. How did people tolerate such unreliable equipment? he wondered. At home he had a portable unit that could give him the weather in Paris, a play-by-play of a ball game, a traffic report from Mars and a passable cup of coffee. Simultaneously. This antique child’s toy wasn’t coming up with anything more than what sounded like a banjo playing in a wind tunnel.
“Let me try.” Setting the sandwiches aside, Sunny snatched the radio from him. In moments there was a blast of music. “It’s temperamental,” she explained.
“It’s a machine,” he reminded her, miffed.
“A temperamental one.” Satisfied, she set it back on the counter, then carried her sandwich and her beer to the table. “Weather report’s not much use anyway.” She applied herself to the sandwich. “I already know it’s snowing.”
Jacob picked up one of the potato chips she had piled beside the bread. “More to the point is to know when it’s going to stop.”
“Speculation.” She shrugged as he joined her. “No matter how many satellites they put up there, it’s still guesswork.”
He opened his mouth to contradict her but thought better of it and bit into his sandwich instead. “Does it bother you?”
“What?”
“Being . . .” What phrase would she use? “Being cut off.”
“Not really—at least not for a day or two. After that I start to go crazy.” She winced, wondering if that was the best choice of words. “How about you?”
“I don’t like being closed in,” he said simply. He had to smile when he heard the light tap of her foot on the floor. He was making her nervous again. He took an experimental swig of beer. “This is good.” He glanced around when a voice broke into the music to announce the weather. The cheerful, painfully breezy announcer carried on for several moments before getting to the mountains.
“And you people way up in the Klamath might as well snuggle up. Hope you’ve got your main squeeze with you, ’cause it looks like you’re in for a big one. The white stuff’s going to keep right on falling through tomorrow night. Expect about three feet, you hardy souls, with winds gusting up to thirty miles an hour. Brrr! Temperatures down to fifteen tonight, not counting old Mr. Wind Chill. Bundle up, baby, and let looove keep you warm.”
“Not very scientific,” Jacob murmured.
Sunny made a rude noise and scowled at the radio. “However it’s presented, it means the same thing. I’d better bring in some more wood.”
“I’ll get it.”
“I don’t need—”
“You made the sandwiches,” he pointed out, sipping more beer. “I’ll get the wood when we’re finished.”
“Fine.” She didn’t want him to do her any favors. She ate in silence for a time, watching him. “You’d have been better off to wait until spring.”
“For what?”
“To come to see Cal.”
He took another bite of his sandwich. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was terrific. “Apparently. Actually, I’d planned to be here . . . sooner.” Almost a year sooner. “But it didn’t work out.”
“It’s a shame your parents couldn’t come with you . . . you know, to visit.”
She saw something in his eyes then. Regret, frustration, anger? She couldn’t be sure. “It wasn’t possible.”
She refused, absolutely, to feel sorry for him. “My parents couldn’t stand not seeing Libby or me for so long.”
The disapproval in her voice rubbed an already raw wound. “You have no conception of how the separation from Cal has affected my family.”
“Sorry.” But she moved her shoulders to show that she wasn’t. “I’d just think if they were anxious to see him they’d have made the effort to do so.”
“The choice was his.” He pushed back from the table.
“I’ll get the wood.”
Touchy, touchy, she thought as he started toward the door. “Hey.”
He rounded on her, ready to fight. “What?”
“You can’t go out without a coat. It’s freezing.”
“I don’t have one with me.”
“Are all scientists so softheaded?” she muttered. Rising, she went into a long cupboard. “I can’t think of anything so stupid as to come into the mountains in January without a coat.”
Jacob took a deep breath and then said calmly, “If you keep calling me stupid, I’m going to have to hit you.”
She gave him a bland look. “I’m shaking. Here.” She tossed him a worn pea coat. “Put that on. The last thing I want is to have to treat you for frostbite.” As an afterthought, she threw him a pair of gloves and a dark stocking cap. “You do have winters in Philadelphia, don’t you?”
His teeth gritted, Jacob struggled into the coat. “It wasn’t cold when I left home.” He dragged the hat down over his ears.
“Oh, well, that certainly explains it.” She gave a snort of laughter when he slammed the door behind him. He wasn’t really crazy, she thought. A little dim, maybe, and so much fun to aggravate. And if she aggravated him enough, Sunny mused, she might just get some more information out of him.
She heard him cursing and didn’t bother to muffle a laugh. Unless she missed her guess, he’d just dropped at least one log on his foot. Perhaps she should have offered him a flashlight, but . . . he deserved it.
Wiping the grin from her face, she went to the door to open it for him. He was already coated with snow. It was even clinging to his eyebrows, giving him a fiercely surprised expression. She bit down hard on her tongue and let him stomp across the kitchen, his arms loaded with wood. At the sound of logs crashing into the box, she cleared her throat, then calmly picked up her beer and his before joining him in the living room.
“I’ll get the next load,” she told him solicitously.
“You bet you will.” His foot was throbbing, his fingers were numb, and his temper was already lost. “How does anybody live like this?”
“Like what?” she asked innocently.
“Here.” He was at his wit’s end. He threw out his arms in a gesture that encompassed not only the cabin but also the world at large. “You have no power, no conveniences, no decent transportation, no nothing. If you want heat, you have to burn wood. Wood, for God’s sake! If you want light, you have to rely on unstable electricity. As for communication, it’s a joke. A bad one.”
Sunny was a city girl at heart, but nobody insulted her family home. Her chin came up. “Listen, pal, if I hadn’t taken you in you’d be up in the woods freezing like a Popsicle and no one would have found you until the spring thaw. So watch it.”
Overly sensitive, he decided, lifting a brow. “You can’t tell me that you actually like it here.”
Her hands fisted and landed on her hips. “I like it here just fine. If you don’t, we’ve got two doors. Take your pick.”
His little excursion to the woodpile had convinced him that he didn’t care to brave the elements. Neither did he care to swallow his pride. He stood for a moment, considering his choices. Without a word, he picked up his beer, sat and drank.
Since Sunny considered it a victory, she joined him. But she wasn’t ready to give him a break. “You’re awfully finicky for a guy who pops up on the doorstep without so much as a toothbrush.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said you’re awfully—”
“How do you know I don’t have a toothbrush?” He’d read about them. Now, with fire glinting in his eyes, he turned to her.
“It’s an expression,” Sunny said, evading his question. “I simply meant that I wouldn’t think that a man who travels with one change of clothes should be complaining about the accommodations.”
“How would you know what I’ve got—unless you’ve been going through my things?”
“You haven’t got any things,” Sunny muttered, knowing that once again she’d opened her mouth before she’d fine-tuned her brain. She started to rise, but he clamped a hand on her shoulder. “Look, I only went through your bag to see—just to see, that’s all.” She turned, deciding a level look was the best defense. “How could I be sure you were who you said you were and not some maniac?”
He kept his grip painfully firm. “And are you sure now?” He caught the quick flicker in her eyes and decided to exploit it. “There wasn’t anything in my bag to tell you one way or the other. Was there?”
“Maybe not.” She tried to shrug his hand off. When it remained, she balled one of her own into a fist and waited.
“So, for all you know, I am a maniac.” He leaned closer, until his face was an inch from hers, until her eyes saw only his eyes, until his breath mingled with her breath. “And there are all kinds of maniacs, aren’t there, Sunny?”
“Yes.” She had trouble getting the word past her lips. It wasn’t fear. She wished it were. It was something much more complicated, much more dangerous, than fear. For a moment, with the firelight flickering beside them, the candles wavering, the wind beating soft fists on the window, she didn’t care who he was. All that mattered was that he was going to kiss her. And more.
The fact that he would do more was in his eyes. The image of rolling on the floor with him sprang into her mind. A wild, willful tangle of bodies, a free, frantic burst of passion. It would be that way with him. The first time, and every time. Raging rivers, quaking earth, exploding planets. Such would love be with him.
And after the first time there would be no turning back. She was certain, as she had never been certain of anything, that if there was a first time, she would want him, she would crave him, as long as there was breath in her body.
His lips brushed hers. It could hardly be called a kiss, yet the potency of it sent shock waves streaking through her system. And had warning bells screaming in her head. She did the only thing a sensible woman could do under the circumstances. She drove her clenched hand into his stomach.
His breath pushed out in a huff of pained surprise. As he doubled over, nearly falling in her lap, she slipped to one side and sprang to her feet. She was braced and ready for his next move.
“You’re the maniac,” he managed after he’d wheezed some air into his lungs. “I have never in my life met anyone like you.”
“Thanks.” She was nibbling on her lip again, but she let her tensed arms drop to her sides. “You deserved that, J.T.” She held her ground as he slowly lifted his head and sent her a long, killing look. “You were trying to intimidate me.”
It had started out that way, he was forced to admit. But in the end, when he had leaned toward her, smelled her hair, felt the soft silk of her lips, it had had nothing to do with intimidation and everything to do with seduction. His. “It wouldn’t be hard,” he said after a moment, “to learn to detest you.”
“No, I guess not.” Because he was taking it better than she’d anticipated, she smiled at him. “I tell you what—since we are family, so to speak . . . I do believe you, by the way. That you’re Cal’s brother, I mean.”
“Thanks.” Finally he managed to straighten up. “Thanks a lot.”
“Don’t mention it. As I was saying, since we’re sort of family, why don’t we call a truce? It’s like this—if the weather keeps up, we’re going to be trapped here together for several days.”
“Now who’s trying to intimidate whom?”
She laughed then and decided to be friendly. “Just laying my cards on the table. If we keep throwing punches at each other, we’re only going to get bruised. I figure it’s not worth it.”
He had to think about that, and think hard. “I wouldn’t mind going for two out of three.”
“You’re a tough nut, J.T.”
Since he didn’t know what to make of that description, he kept silent.
“I still vote for the truce, at least until the snow stops. I don’t hit you anymore and you don’t try to kiss m
e again. Deal?”
He liked the part about her not hitting him anymore. And he’d already decided he wouldn’t try to kiss her again. He would damn well do it, whenever he chose to. He nodded. “Deal.”
“Excellent. We’ll celebrate the truce with another beer and some popcorn. We’ve got an old popper in the kitchen. We can make it over the fire.”
“Sunny.” She paused, candle in hand, in the doorway. He couldn’t help but resent the way the flickering light flattered her. “I’m still not sure I like you.”
“That’s okay.” She smiled. “I’m not sure I like you, either.”
Chapter 5
She might have called it rustic. He might have called it primitive. But there was something soothing, peaceful and calming about popping corn over an open fire.
She seemed to have the hang of it, he thought, as she shook the long-handled box over the flames. The scent was enough to make his mouth water as the kernels began to pop and batter the screened metal lid. Though he could have explained scientifically how the hard seeds exploded into fluffy white pieces, it was more fun just to watch.
“We’d always make popcorn this way here,” she murmured, watching the flames. “Even in the summer, when we were sweltering, Mom or Dad would build a fire and we’d fight over who got to hold the popper.” Her lips curved at the memory.
“You were happy here.”
“Sure. I probably would have gone on being happy here, but I discovered the world. What do you think of the world, J.T.?”
“Which one?”
With a laugh, she gave the popper an extra shake. “I should have known better than to ask an astro-whatever. Your mind’s probably in space half the time.”
“At least.”
She sat cross-legged on the floor, the firelight glowing on her face and hair. That face, he thought, with its exquisite bones and angles, was perfectly relaxed. She was obviously taking the truce seriously, rambling on, as friendly as a longtime friend, about whatever came to mind.
He sipped his beer and listened, though he knew next to nothing about the movies and music she spoke of. Or the books. Some of the titles were vaguely familiar, but he had spent very little of his time reading fiction.