by Ev Bishop
He reached out and caught her arm. She glared down at his fingers. He turned bright pink and released her.
She was practically panting and felt a little bad for being snappish, but what did he expect? Mixed messages or what? She’d made it perfectly clear he could have her. He’d declined. Sucked to be him.
Back in her room, door firmly closed, she fired off a quick message to Jo, asking if she could do a coffee later that night because she’d done what she’d said she would and was planning to blast off soon. No answer came back right away, which wasn’t unusual. Jo checked her phone once or twice a day max.
As she pulled her blankets up to her chin again, she heard the rhythmic tick-tick-tick of fingers rapidly clicking away at a keyboard.
It was the perfect white noise for sleeping, she thought, letting herself enjoy the luxury of drifting off to homey sounds one final time. It really was too bad her and Charlie were parting ways sooner rather than later.
She wasn’t sure what woke her, but awaken she did. The light was strange: blue gray but bright somehow, and the window seemed shuttered. What the—
Sam got out of bed, walked over to the opaque glass and pressed her hand against it. It was cold to her touch, and though her handprint appeared in the moisture raised by her warm palm, the yard outside the window remained whited out—literally. Beyond weird.
She pulled her robe on over her sleep shirt, left her bedroom, and strode to the living room. Again the weird light and void of sound. Maybe it was the silence that had woken her—not that she ever would’ve thought she’d miss Greenridge’s almost non-stop barrage of wind and rain and dripping water noises. There was a reason Jo and Callum had chosen the pretty-if-overly-romantic name “River’s Sigh” for their bed-and-breakfast: you could normally hear the nearby river wherever you were on the property, inside or out.
She moved toward the front door and reached for the handle.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you,” Charlie said from behind her—but too late. The door was open and Sam was staring at a solid wall of white, complete with an imprint of the door.
She stood stock still, shocked. “Is that for real? All that’s snow?”
“Well, yeah. Surreal, hey?”
She hardly heard him. The smell—how frozen precipitation had its own fragrance she’d never understand, but it did—along with the blue-white brightness and separation from the rest of the world triggered a memory she didn’t even know she had.
She stepped back, shaking her head, and just narrowly avoided Charlie’s bare feet.
“Sorry,” she said.
“You look oddly happy for a woman trapped inside a cabin by a wall of snow. What gives?”
Sam shrugged. “Just remembered something from when I was a kid.”
“Oh, yeah? What?” Charlie leaned in a little, like he was genuinely eager for whatever she was going to say next.
She shook her head. “It’s silly.”
“Most really good things are, at least a little bit.”
“I made an igloo once, with real ice blocks and everything.” Saying it aloud brought the day back with more detail. “My uncle—Ray—he worked for two days straight cutting ice out of the lake for me. I slept overnight in it. I felt like fairy princess crossed with a warrior chief-queen.”
Charlie reached out and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, his eyes squinting with a smile. “I bet you were something exactly like that—just like now.”
A lump formed in the back of Sam’s throat though she couldn’t have explained why. She backed away a step, but his eyes continued to hold hers. “Your uncle sounds pretty great,” he added.
“Yeah, in some ways, I guess maybe he was.” Sam heard the surprise in her voice and it increased the tension that suddenly filled her belly. She never talked about her childhood and this was why. She hated it. The confusing happy memory was ruined as quickly as it started.
Charlie reached out, then appeared to think better of touching her. “Are you all right?”
Sam shook her head. “Yeah, sure, of course. Why?” She moved toward the kitchen. The stove’s clock read 7:05. Was that a.m. or p.m.? Surely she hadn’t gone to bed yesterday afternoon and slept all the way through until now, but then again. . . . That was a monstrous amount of snow, impossible for just a few hours. Good grief.
“Is it morning?” she asked.
“Yep, if you can believe it.”
She shook her head. “No, I really can’t. I slept for what, fifteen hours?”
“Guess your body needed it.”
“Hmmpf. What my body needs is—” you, her stupid brain—always the comedian—intoned. Thankfully she hadn’t finished the thought out loud.
“Is?” Charlie prompted.
“Caffeine.” Sam grabbed a filter from the cabinet above the coffee maker and waved it for emphasis.
“Are you still mad at me?” he asked a second later.
Really? They were going to have this conversation? How perfect. She filled the coffee pot with water and dumped it into the machine, then hit the grind button. Over the roaring of the motor, she said, “Not at all.”
“Really?”
The grinding was finished all too soon. Sam hit brew. “Really. And I wasn’t so much as angry as I was humiliated. But thanks for bringing it up. Nothing better in the morning than facing all my regrets.”
He chuckled but it sounded forced. Great. Why on earth hadn’t she just gone to bed after she got home from the hospital last night instead of waiting up? Now she’d ruined everything, just when they’d started to be normal around each other—actually, no, she wasn’t taking the full blame. They’d wrecked it.
She doctored a mug for herself, then held up an empty one and shook it in Charlie’s direction.
“Sure, please. Just milk.”
“I know.”
She handed him a full cup a moment later and moved toward the couch with hers.
“I just don’t get . . . why are you humiliated? You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Charlie, can we just avoid this whole conversation?”
“Why?”
“Fine. I, like probably any and every person alive, don’t like getting mixed signals, deciding to go for it, then being shot down.”
“Is that what you think happened?”
She took a big mouthful of coffee and swallowed slowly. “That is what happened.”
“May I?” He’d been standing awkwardly with his cup beside the couch and now he motioned at the cushion beside her.
“Be my guest.”
He sat down and stared down at his mug. His mouth opened, but whatever he was going to say was cut off by the cabin’s shrill landline.
Sam reached for the cordless phone on the end table. “Hello?”
“Sam, thank goodness. You’re all right?”
“Of course, I’m all right. We’re both all right. It’s just snow.”
“It’s not just snow. Have you seen it out there? It’s a freak show.”
“Deep breaths, Jo, deep breaths.”
“You’re telling me to take deep breaths?”
“Ironic, isn’t it?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Then Jo laughed. “Okay, so you’re fine. Good. I admit I was worried.”
“Are we actually snowed in-snowed in? Like totally trapped?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, my bedroom window is a blanket of white and the front door, when you open it, is literally a wall of snow.”
“Yikes. Callum or I will be over shortly. We got close to four feet of snow, but it’s the drifting followed by freezing rain that really did us in. Everything’s covered in a shell.”
“Okay, so I have just one question.”
“Yeah?”
“Why on earth would you willingly choose to live here?”
Jo sighed. “Just relax and don’t try to go anywhere. It’s an ice rink. Warmer weather is on its way, however. This was winter�
�s big farewell.”
“More like winter’s big kiss your ass.”
“Nice, Sam. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Rescue the other bed-and-ice-fest dwellers first.”
“I will.”
Sam ended the call and resumed sipping her coffee. Charlie had apparently gleaned enough from her side of conversation that he didn’t have any questions—or else he was just a glutton for awkward moments because he continued where they’d left off.
“I didn’t shoot you down.”
Sam raised her eyebrows.
He set his mug down on the coffee table. “Every bit of me wanted what you were offering.”
“Sure, except . . . obviously not.” She danced her fingers down his chest in a parody of their earlier contact—then quit when even that got her motor racing again. He caught her hand before she could successfully pull away.
“The only part that didn’t was the tiny bit that sensed what you were selling was a lie.”
“What I was selling?” She tried to yank her hand free, but he held fast.
“A quickie won’t get me out of your system, Samantha—or vice versa.”
A slow sizzle of heat moved from the pressure of his hand on hers all the way up her arm—and then beyond, far beyond. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
He took her cup with his free hand, placed it on the table beside his, then rested his hand on her bare knee. His skin was warm against her flesh and made her shiver.
“Well, I didn’t say it had to be quick,” she said, fighting for a semblance of control.
He dragged his thumb along her bottom lip and she caught it with her teeth. Her stomach tightened with delicious anticipation when his breath hitched. “Before we start anything I want you to know that Maureen was my first, and believe it or not, I haven’t been with anyone since.”
Sam almost yelped in disbelief. “What?” All the syrupy sweet heat spreading through her froze and turned brittle. She got to her feet. “No, I’m sorry—but you were right last light. Whatever this is, you, me . . . ” She shook her head. “It shouldn’t be happening.”
Charlie’s eyes widened, but then he smiled cautiously. “Don’t worry. I’m not totally inept. You won’t be disappointed.”
Sam waved a hand. “I don’t care about that—or I do, but sex is kinda like pizza. Even when it’s bad, it’s still pretty good.”
“What?”
“It’s not going to work, sorry.”
His voice was stunned now. “So just like that you’re on, and now you’re totally off? Why? Because I’m not into a one night stand or because I’m not some big player?”
“Because you obviously take life very seriously—and good for you. It’s a good thing, or at least not a bad thing . . . but it’s not me. You’re not the kind of guy I want.”
Charlie had joined her standing and was so close Sam could feel his breath on her face, slightly minty still despite his coffee. He took a stride back and pondered her words. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
Sam cupped Charlie’s face with her palms. “I know, Charlie. Case in point.”
His shoulders sagged and for a split second she entertained a fantasy: what if neither of them were who they were today, without the pasts they each had, what then? Would he or someone like him be her type after all? But then the grating noise of metal on ice and a growl of heavy machinery in the parking area brought her to her senses.
“If it’s any consolation,” she added on the way to her room, “this is much easier, less messy, for both of us.”
“And that’s always the top priority, right? Whatever’s easiest and the least messy?”
She turned back, surprised at his sharp tone. “Well, of course. What else would be?”
Chapter 18
Samantha opened the door and Charlie barreled past her. He was acting like kenneled dog freed at last, but he didn’t care. The cabin was suddenly claustrophobic. What had just happened? Was he really just turned down because he didn’t want completely casual sex? And what was he? A complete idiot? What guy who’d been celibate as long as he had said no to a bit of no-strings-attached fun?
The cold air was a truth serum straight from his lungs to his heart. Him, that’s who. He was that guy. Dammit, Samantha had totally pegged him. So what was it that he found so attractive about her? That she was the opposite of him—and of Maureen—in every way? Or that he sensed deep down she, for all her bravado, was actually as scared of closeness as he was?
The grater rumbled over to the other side of the lot, spewing sand and gravel, but Charlie didn’t get to enjoy the quiet for long. A black Hummer with lots of chrome and bumblebee yellow decals advertising some sort of fitness club took the driveway too fast. Chunks of salt and grit peppered Charlie’s shirt and face.
“Slow down, asshole,” he muttered as a huge blond guy climbed out of the driver’s side.
“Sorry about that, dude,” the man replied, obviously not sorry a bit.
Charles took in the stranger’s tanned glow and gelled hair. What an idiot. He swallowed his irritation and stalked toward the main house. Some battles were worth fighting. Some weren’t.
“Hey, fella. Wait up. This is Jo and Callum Archer’s place, right?”
Charlie stopped. “Yeah,” he said reluctantly.
“River’s Sigh B & B—like the bed-and-breakfast?”
“Yeah.” What kind of moron felt the need to clarify that “B & B” stood for bed-and-breakfast anyway?
“And that’s the main house, like where Jo lives?”
Muscle-bound Guy nodded in the direction Charlie had been headed, but Charlie was slow to confirm it. He was getting a strange vibe. “Did you need something specific?” he asked, as if he had any right to get territorial about the place.
The guy took a step back, confirming Charlie’s suspicion that something was up, and turned his head to scan the scattered cabins. “I’m looking for Sam.”
Charlie started. Whatever he’d been expecting, it wasn’t that. But then again, why wasn’t it that? A woman like Samantha must have them lining up. What had he thought? That she was here just to torture him and be the focus of all his lame fantasies?
Charlie shook his head and the guy misread it. “She’s not? Well, could you point me to which cabin is hers?”
The cobalt blue door on the main house banged opened, saving Charlie from having to answer.
“I thought I heard a vehicle pull up, hello—” The cheery greeting died on Jo’s lips, and when she spoke again, Charlie was shocked by the change in her demeanor. Her voice was cold and her mouth twisted with contempt. “Dave. I’d say it was a pleasure, but you know better.”
“Jo.” The man raised his hand in greeting as if she hadn’t just slammed him. “I’m here for Sam. She around?”
“You’re here for Sam?” Jo’s tone could’ve frozen salt water.
The “Dave” guy—whoever he was to everyone, obviously someone—shrugged amiably. Charlie walked over to stand closer to Jo.
“We’re supposed to be getting together. I wanted to set up a time.”
“You’re supposed to be . . .” Jo echoed again, then trailed off. “Well, isn’t that just bloody-fricken-typical,” Jo said under her breath. She raised her eyebrows at Charles. “Well, is she there?”
He was saved from having to figure out what to say. Samantha’s flirtatious laugh floated over to them. “Dave? Whatever brings you here?”
His grin was slow and practiced. “Would you believe me if I said I was in the neighborhood?”
Of all the oily, flashy creeps. For a heartbeat, Charlie thought he glimpsed contempt in Sam’s face too, but then her laugh tinkled again.
“No,” she said, her voice light and flirty. “I would not. What gives?”
“I’ve enjoyed seeing you at the gym, but what I’d really like to do is . . . well, let’s start with dinner or something, shall we?”
Jo practically bared her teeth. Then she huffed a
nd disappeared back into the house without another word.
Dave gave Charlie a grin. “Women, hey?”
Charlie assumed a stony expression, intentionally ignoring the comment; yet again Dave didn’t acknowledge the snub. He just happily ambled over to Rainbow’s deck and commenced chatting up Sam.
Burning off energy with a walk in the woods no longer seemed like it would be peaceful or productive—and why should he have to clear out of the cabin? It had been his first. He stomped over to where Samantha and Dave stood visiting and tried to brush past her and into the house.
Samantha touched Charlie’s forearm. “Have you met Dave?” she asked.
“Yeah, I’ve met him all right.” He continued forward without pause.
She didn’t follow him inside.
He skulked around, putting on water for tea, setting up a lamp for better light to work by, digging up a snack—all the time knowing what he was really doing: listening for her return. The kettle had just whistled when the Hummer started outside the window and roared away, followed by Sam in her SUV. He sighed. Obviously his other guesses had been off track. The reason Samantha declined his advance once she was sober is that she had some other guy on the line. Thank God they hadn’t gotten together when they were drunk. He didn’t need that kind of heartbreak.
He looked at the clock. Visiting hours started soon. A happy lightness coursed through him, dispelling his gloom. He had a granddaughter!
He went through the motions of planning out a writing schedule that he’d keep for the remainder of his time at River’s Sigh, so he’d be able to get a rough draft done in time and left the isolated cabin.
At the hospital, he could barely refrain from running to the elevator and down the hall to Aisha’s room.
“Dad,” she exclaimed as he practically peeled out turning into her doorway. “Great news! We’re cleared to go home tomorrow morning.”
“You’re not kidding? That’s fantastic! What changed your mind?”
In the dead silence that followed his overly enthusiastic response, Charlie realized two things. One—by “home,” Aisha had meant her cabin at River’s Sigh. Two—Samantha had beaten him to the hospital and was sitting by the window, staring at him just as incredulously as Aisha was. Shit.