Snowbound Snuggles

by T. F. Walsh

The foot, cleaned up, wasn’t nearly so bad. A couple adhesive strips took care of it. Ten minutes later she was ready to go, dressed and only slightly damp.

  Kirk’s gaze raked her blue jeans and sweatshirt. “You’re wearing that?”

  “What’s wrong with casual? I like to be comfortable when I travel.”

  “I’m casual.” He held out his arms.

  Edie stared at his idea of “casual”: gleaming leather loafers (were those calf?), snazzy silk socks, slim wool slacks, and cashmere sweater, all topped by a black blazer and looped scarf. “No one’s going to see you except me. Why go to all that trouble?” When his expression went mulish she blew an exasperated, “Fine. Do I have time to change?”

  His jaw worked briefly. “Where are your suitcases?”

  She’d won—this round. She pointed to her shoulder, slung with carry-on bag, purse, and ancient laptop. Didn’t want to chance her new one getting stolen. “My boots are by the door. Do I have time to make coffee?”

  “We’ll stop on the way.” He grabbed the laptop from her as she passed. Grunted. “What’s in here, a brick?”

  She stopped to smile sweetly at him. “If it’s too much for you . . . ?”

  “Hardly.” He shrugged it onto one powerful shoulder, muscles rippling . . . and while she was distracted, he grabbed her carry-on. Tricky buzzard. He gave her another penetrating look. “This is awfully light. You’re not wearing blue jeans to management camp, are you?”

  “Relax. I have a couple lightweight suits in there.” Edie started for the door. Her shoes crunched broken wood. “Nuts. I forgot about this.” She brushed awed fingertips along the jamb. Sweet sex on a unicycle, it had taken enormous strength to crash through. “Why did you break my door down, anyway? Angry that I overslept?” She looked at him.

  His cheeks were dark. Kirk, blushing? Impossible.

  “You weren’t answering,” he said. “I thought you were in danger.”

  Edie’s brows shot up. “You were rescuing me?”

  “We can discuss it in the car. Let’s go.”

  “Let’s not.” Edie headed for her landline phone. “I have to get my door fixed.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Edie—”

  “Mr. Kirk. I don’t live on Snob’s Hill with pricey security systems and personal guards. I have to get this door fixed.”

  Kirk’s lips tightened. “If we get hit by snow—”

  “Not going to happen. And this’ll just take a minute.” Edie put in a call to a neighbor who did repairs for her. While she waited for him to arrive, she breezed into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee.

  • • •

  Six hours later, Edie and Kirk were on the road. Tentatively, she said, “That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

  Kirk’s jaw was clenched so hard, a small chin scar stood out against the white skin. “Not too bad?” His voice was exquisitely controlled and at first Edie thought she was imagining the anger radiating from him. But the teeth-grinding sound was rather distinctive. “Your fix-it man shows up after an hour. Then he takes off with your money, to ‘get a door.’ But when he returns—almost two hours later—his beer breath says he made a few other stops along the way. After all that it took him another two hours to hang a simple door.” Kirk made a noise of supreme disgust. “I could have done it in half the time, for fuck’s sake.”

  “Please don’t swear. You, hang a door?” Edie tried to imagine Kirk’s snow-white sweater smudged with dirt, his neat chestnut hair mussed with effort. Started to smile and mentally smacked herself. “Really?”

  “Yes, me, really. But what tops it all, we took the slacker to lunch!”

  “You agreed.” Edie’s temper flared. “You said we needed to eat anyway.”

  “I expected a drive-through, not slow-bake deep dish pizza.”

  “It’s a long trip. I thought we needed a good meal before we left.”

  “You can’t be serious. You barely ate anything.”

  “I found out I wasn’t hungry.” Should have known better than to try to eat with big bad Kirk looming next to her, radiating heat and strength and subtle cedar scent . . . shoot her.

  “But now we’re so late that, if the snowstorm veers, we’re in serious trouble.” His knuckles whitened on the wheel.

  “The storm is stalled over Idaho. I checked the weather online before we left. When it does move, it’ll head east.”

  “It had better.” The words were dark, ominous. “Because if my car gets stuck in the mountains, it’ll be thanks to you.”

  “That’s not fair. I volunteered to take my Saab. You insisted on driving your sports sled.” Although the snazzy car was comfortable. And the engine’s deep thrum was very sexy.

  “My ‘sled’ has all-wheel drive.”

  “Whatever. Point is, if there’s a storm and if we get caught in it, two very big ‘ifs’, we’d have stood a far better chance in my car. It’s bigger and heavier.”

  Everett raised a brow at her. “The wonderful classic Saab put in storage by your uncle Jake before he moved to the ashram in India? How old is it, again?”

  “It’s in excellent condition.” She flushed, wishing she’d never babbled those details. But she’d had to fill the time waiting for the door somehow. “Front-wheel drive and great snow tires—”

  “And ancient. My sports car is less than a year old.”

  “With barely enough room in the trunk for a handkerchief.”

  “A bit of an exaggeration, since we got all our luggage in there—”

  “We had to stuff the laptops behind the seats.”

  “May I finish a sentence?”

  “If it’s short.”

  His lips quirked, like a suppressed smile. “We managed to fit everything.”

  Darn him for being reasonable. “I hate it when you’re right.”

  The smile broke free, his dimple slaying her. “Thank you. Edie, my car has modern safety equipment. It’s far safer than yours.”

  He had an answer for everything, naturally. She crossed her arms and stared out the window. “What about Project Pleiades? That’s due next Friday, and without me around to manage it . . . oh no. You didn’t give it to her, did you?”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you. Jack will head it in your absence. Bethany will only get involved if he has questions.” He paused. “I got the original deadline reinstated.”

  “Wow. That’s good. Thanks.” How had he managed that miracle? Better not ask. He’d probably done something super heroic and it would only go to his head.

  Miles passed in comfortable silence. But when a couple flakes of snow hit the windshield, Kirk’s knuckles whitened again. Then the sky turned leaden with sullen pregnant clouds. Kirk’s jaw tightened. He didn’t say anything but his tension screamed your fault.

  Or maybe she just had a guilty conscience.

  But she didn’t see how she could’ve done things differently. She replayed the morning in her mind. It wasn’t her fault she needed to replace her door. Not her fault he refused her car.

  She was not at fault. And even if she was, a teeny-tiny bit, Kirk should have apologized for his part in it, breaking the door. But no. Company presidents blamed the help.

  Whatever had possessed him to break down her door anyway? Come to think of it, what had possessed him to insist on driving her today? They did nothing but argue. She wasn’t on Everett Kirk’s bucket list, yet he’d saddled himself with her for four days total. Inexplicable, inconceivable.

  Maybe he was going to lecture her. She was confined. Aside from sticking her fingers in her ears and singing the verses she wasn’t supposed to know from Barnacle Bill, she couldn’t stop him.

  The signs of civilization slipped away. She eyed Everett surreptitiously. Maybe he wasn’t just going to lecture her. Maybe he meant to teach her a lesson physically. He was a foot taller and probably outweighed her by fifty pounds plus, so she couldn’t stop him if he decided she needed a lesson in obedience . . . ooh, obedience. Bad girl. And Kirk in black leather an
d studs . . . well, he did know those wicked knots . . . her eyes flew open. For shizzle’s sake, he was her boss. Kinky sex with Kirk was like deep-fried pizza, just wrong. Hot and juicy and oh-so tasty . . . but wrong.

  Mile after silent mile passed, not nearly so comfortable now. Traffic thinned under angry clouds spitting flurries. Soon Kirk’s car seemed to be the only one on the road. Even road signs were few and far between. As night approached, Edie shifted in her seat. The scattered snow didn’t bother her; Kirk’s intentions did. Her nerves frayed more with each passing mile. After an hour, she was concerned enough to broach the uncomfortable silence. “Um, so what are your driving plans?”

  He glanced at her, his eyes silver mirrors hiding his thoughts, his intentions. “I-70 to Highway 15.”

  “No, I mean stops. Where are we eating dinner? Where are we—spending the night?”

  Silver flicked back to the road. “Don’t worry. It’s going on the company credit card.”

  “That wasn’t what was bothering me.”

  He cut her a startled look. “Edie, I’m a professional. You don’t have to worry that I’ll do anything untoward.”

  She relaxed, immensely relieved that he didn’t intent to paddle her or worse . . . or better . . . his reply registered. He’d thought she’d meant . . . “Oh, that wasn’t it either!” Mostly.

  “Glad to hear it,” he said dryly. “We have two room reservations in Cedar City. We should get there around ten thirty, if there are no delays.” He paused. “As a fall back, I have a summer place in the mountains.”

  “Good.” Not. Alone in a mountain hideaway, with Everett Kirk and his wicked knots? Even if he were totally professional, what if she overslept again? Would he break down her bedroom door? Scoop her up effortlessly and dump her in the shower? Kirk’s big hand, peeling back her robe as he blasted her with the shower, his eyes molten silver as when they coursed down her near-naked body—

  Not oversleeping. “Uh, I think I’ll take a little nap.”

  Everett nodded. “Glad you trust me. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

  “Great.” Edie closed her eyes. Finding surprisingly that she did trust him, she drifted off to sleep.

  • • •

  She dreamed. The flurries and her insane hours at HHE got mixed up with working late at her first job at Broad Vistas Computer Consultants, and getting stranded in the snow.

  January. Working hard, newbie Edie never registered the blizzard scale goes from flurries to oh crap. At 7 P.M. she packed up and exited the building.

  And stood, astonished at the blanched empty parking lot. Behind her, the security door clicked shut.

  She spun, knowing she’d pulled a Homer; she hadn’t gotten her keycard yet and couldn’t get back in. She patted mittened hands against the glass, tugged ineffectively at the locked door.

  Panic’s infinite loop broke when she remembered she had a car, borrowed from her roommate until she could afford her own. She trotted eagerly to where she’d left it.

  Snow and sleet whipped across the desolate asphalt, skittering noisily like a plague of tap dancing locusts. Only one other vehicle was in the lot, a pickup truck crusted with white. She had no idea if someone was still in the building or if the owner had simply bailed.

  Her borrowed car was an old rear-wheel-drive hatch that her roommate called “vintage” and Edie called “wreckage.” She fumbled the key into the lock, clumsy in mittens and shivers. When the door finally opened, she fell into the car, tripped by a gust. Shutting the door barely muffled the wind’s scream.

  A push of gas, a turn of key, a heartfelt prayer, and sweat-strewn moments later she was rewarded with a deep-throated vroom. Saved! The worst was over. She put the car in gear and fed gas.

  And promptly spun out. The lot was an ice rink. Her boots’ tread had kept her from skating, but bald tires had as much grip as skis. It took all her driving expertise to get the thing sliding in a straight line toward the exit.

  Which was uphill.

  The incline wasn’t steep, but ice made it slick. Like a cat running on a freshly waxed floor, the car slipped sideways. After several tries she stopped, temporarily beaten.

  By now she was panting, tiny white puffs of air. She took inventory. Cell phone, out of juice, no car charger. Some cash, but as a newbie she didn’t know what, if any, stores were within walking distance or if they were even open. Maybe something helpful was in the trunk. She started to turn off the engine.

  No, it had taken three miracles and a beatification to start it. Leaving it running, she popped the trunk and got out. Her roommate’s emergency supplies were a cracked shovel and a torn bag of cat litter draining into the spare tire well.

  Sure, the worst was over. The Great God of Gotcha was laughing his butt off. She dragged out the litter. By sprinkling some under the rear tires, inching forward, stopping and sprinkling more litter on the new patch, she was able to climb a good three feet up the slope in a half an hour.

  She was almost to the top when the car ran out of gas.

  “Da . . . gnation. Shi . . . zzle. Fu . . . zznuck.” She bonked her forehead on the steering wheel. She would have loved to vent with a good thick curse but her grandparents taught her swearing was verbal laziness and Rowans were never lazy.

  Something moved in her periphery. She jerked upright—Broad Vistas’s door had opened. She leaped out of the car with a shout. A gust of wind stole her cry. Snow blasted her eyes. By the time her vision cleared the door was shut.

  An eerie silence descended. Edie choked on a sob. Had she imagined the door opening?

  The roar of a powerful vehicle jumpstarted her heart. The veil of snow parted, revealing a riced-up 4x4.

  The truck ate its way to her side. The driver’s fogged window rolled down, revealing a silver-haired man with intelligent brown eyes magnified by gold-rimmed glasses. “Need some help?”

  That was how Edie met her mentor, Philip Sedgwick.

  Chapter Three

  To: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com

  From: ED@mythicmail.com

  Subject: Re: About me

  Dear Ev E.E. Hardass,

  You’re punny. A man (or woman) after my own heart. I like E.E. My college friends call me E.E. too. But I’ve gotten to think of you as Prez so I guess I’ll stick with that.

  You’re definitely not a Hardass. You brighten my day too, and I always look forward to your emails. Those jerks at your office do not appreciate the funny, wonderful person you are.

  Remember, if cars were computers, twice a day, for no reason at all, they’d crash.

  —ED

  Edie woke halfway when Kirk stopped at a rest area. She cast a bleary eye at the clock. Two hours had passed.

  He opened her door. Chilly air spilled in, waking her fast. They must be well into Utah by now. His hand lifted her out. She looked around. The grass was covered with snow but the air and the walkway were clear, so she didn’t think anything of it. After a five-minute break, they were on the road again.

  By now the sky was black, the kind that comes from laden clouds at night.

  Kirk drove with intense focus. Edie wasn’t sure why until she saw big white flakes smack into the window.

  “It’s snowing,” she said.

  He raised both brows. “I’m amazed at your powers of observation.”

  “I’m amazed at your powers of sarcasm, Kirk.”

  “Mr. Kirk.”

  “Then call me Ms. Rowan.”

  “That’s not company policy.”

  “It’s Saturday. We’re not on company time.”

  “This is a company function.”

  “You always have an answer, don’t you?” Worry made her sharp. She crossed her arms and glared at him. It bounced off his rock-hard profile. “Okay, if this is work, I get overtime.”

  Muscles in his jaw bunched. “Can we drop this for now? I have enough to deal with.”

  He had a point. The snow was coming fast and heavy, like driving into a kaleidoscope of long w
hite needles. “What happened?”

  “The impossible. The storm hooked south. It’s been doing this off and on for the last hour.”

  “The Great Gotcha laughs again.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. What do we do?”

  “Go to Plan B.” He exited north onto a two-lane crowned road, the kind humped high in the middle for drainage, with ditches on either side.

  “Your summer place?” The mountain hideaway, alone with him and his wicked knots? Edie’s anxiety notched up. “How far?”

  “About fifteen minutes, I think.”

  “You think? You’re not sure?”

  “It’s a recent purchase, and the signs are covered over with snow. But it’s two rights and a left. I’m sure.”

  “You’re sure.”

  “Try to hold down the sarcasm, please. It’s frosting the windows.”

  She waited but the window stayed frosted and the snow got worse. “Maybe we should ask for directions.”

  “Nobody around to ask. Anyway, it’s not necessary. I know where we are.”

  “You think.”

  “I know.” A pause. “I’m virtually certain.”

  “Is that like virtual reality? How about we turn around and find somewhere more populated to wait out the storm. Okay, Kirk?”

  “My summer house is no more than fifteen minutes away. And it’s Mr. Kirk.”

  “Yes sir, Mr. Kirk sir.”

  He glared at her—and suddenly they were slipping sideways.

  “Everett!” Edie grabbed the seat, hard.

  “I’ve got it.” His strong hands, gripping the wheel, eased the car out of its skid.

  She released the seat after a moment. “Nicely done.” She strained to see past the veil of white. “When was the last sign of civilization?”

  “Edie, we’ll be at my house in fifteen minutes. Don’t worry.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “Of course not.” His voice was gentle. “Why don’t you harangue me about employee rights?”

  “Somehow, Kirk, I don’t feel like it right now.” She peered into the driving snow, bracing herself for the next horrible skid.

  “Edie, if you could see your way clear to using Mr. Kirk—”