Snowbound Snuggles

by T. F. Walsh

  “The whole point is I can’t see clearly, and it’s been at least fifteen minutes, Mr. Edward Everett Kirk.” She couldn’t help the edge to her voice, more anxiety than heat. “Shouldn’t we have been there by now?”

  “We’re traveling much slower than I anticipated. It threw off my sense of timing. But it can’t be much farther.”

  Her eyes hurt from squinting into the driving white. Nothing, no houses, no signs, nothing but trees. She couldn’t even see the mountain peaks. Until . . .

  For an instant the swirling snow parted. She glimpsed a log cabin.

  “Everett, stop!”

  He hit the brakes. The whole car shuddered as the anti-lock brake system kicked in. “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s a cabin back there, near the road.”

  “Not mine. Mine isn’t near the road.” He started the car forward.

  “Can’t we pull off, maybe wait out the storm?”

  “You see how the snow is piling up. Our best bet is to continue to my summer house.”

  “But Everett,” Edie began, just as the car began to slide.

  With remarkable calm, Everett steered into the skid. The road was narrow, no shoulder and no margin for error, but he was good. Correcting with competent hands and clenched jaw he managed to get them almost straightened out.

  A huge gust of wind hit them broadside. The light sports car, caught too near the edge, was pushed off the sloped road.

  The car slid, spinning slightly, for what seemed like an eternity, soundless but for the rasping of Edie’s breath. Then it ground to a halt nose first in a mountain of white.

  • • •

  Time snapped forward. The sudden stop was enough to jar Edie but not enough to trigger the airbags. They’d plowed into deeper snow, not really a mountain, but getting back on the road wasn’t an option.

  Still, she had to hand it to Kirk—he tried. He put the car in reverse and tried to power out. He put the car in gear and tried to power out. He tried rocking between reverse and first. But the snow was too deep. Even cat litter in the trunk wouldn’t have helped—though she rather doubted Kirk would dirty his expensive sports car with a bag of common clay.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I have satellite navigation. We can locate my house and hike there when there’s a break in the storm.”

  Edie gaped at him. “You’ve had GPS this whole time and you haven’t bothered to turn it on?” Philip Sedgwick would never have waited until now to mention the GPS. Of course, Philip would never have gotten them into this mess in the first place. He had a truck, big and seriously kitted out—although not to the point that it screamed compensation. Much.

  “I didn’t need directions. The house is nearby. Now we’ll find out how close.” Calmly, Kirk keyed the GPS on.

  Nothing happened.

  “What’s wrong?” Besides being stranded in the snow with no idea of where they were, no silver-haired mentor hovered conveniently nearby.

  “The system appears to be broken. Maybe it never worked.” He shrugged. “I haven’t ever used it.”

  Of course he hadn’t. “You’re such a guy.”

  He raised a brow. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

  “No. If I called you an executive, that’d be an insult.”

  “Well, thank goodness for your restraint. We’re not out of options yet.” Kirk extracted a slim phone from his breast pocket and thumbed 911. Frowned. “Damn.”

  “Please don’t swear. What’s the matter?”

  “No signal.”

  Edie tried her own phone with the same results. “Okay then. If high-tech solutions don’t work, go low-tech.” She zipped her jacket and popped the door. Snow pelted her as she scrabbled out.

  “What are you doing?” Kirk grabbed her jacket and hauled her back in.

  She landed half-sprawled on the seat. “Hey.” She pushed his hand off, trying not to notice how big and capable it was. “I’m hiking to that cabin I saw. It won’t take long.”

  “Oh no you don’t. You’ll get lost.”

  “Says Mr. Two Rights and a Left.”

  “Point. All right, but I’ll come with you.”

  Point? He’d acknowledged she was right? She hid her surprise. “In those shoes?”

  He glanced down at his loafers. “You’re wearing running shoes.”

  “I have boots in the trunk.”

  “Right again. Good for you.” Exasperation and amusement laced his tone. “I’m still coming with you.”

  “Suit yourself.” She scrambled out of the car, then grabbed her purse from the seat well and slung it across her chest. Big wet flakes splattered all over her. “Hope your snappy outfit’s washable.”

  “Smug is not your style,” he called out after her.

  She smiled, though it was lost in the howling white. When he wasn’t doing his it’s-good-to-be-king thing he was pretty cute . . . oh, not thinking that.

  He popped the trunk. As she pulled out her boots he joined her, adjusting the computers over his shoulders.

  She exchanged footwear and zipped up. “I think it’s being on the other end of smug that’s not your style, Kirk.”

  “Company time, Edie. Mr. Kirk, please. Are you certain there’s a cabin back there?” He was standing so close she could feel the steam rise off his rapidly dampening body.

  “Yes.” She shivered, blamed it on the cold. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were insisting on the ‘mister’ to distract me from being worried.”

  “Would I do that?” He frowned at the car, embedded in white. “That’s not going anywhere. Let’s take our luggage. Anyway, if you insist on being familiar, I’d prefer Everett to Kirk.”

  “You believe that I saw a cabin?” she asked. He trusted her?

  He looked at her in surprise. “Of course. Why would you lie about it?”

  Of course. Why would she? It was her frozen butt on the line too.

  He pulled out his suitcases and her bag, slammed the trunk shut and slogged off. Cases and bag in hand, double-slung with computer bags, he looked like a luggage rack (albeit a strong, lithe one). She was amazed he could even move, festooned with cases like that. Yet he tramped through the snow briskly, surprisingly sure-footed. Maybe she’d underestimated him.

  Nah, probably just couldn’t conceive mere snow would dare trip a man of his importance. Like nature cared about pay grade. He’d slip and fall, breaking a dozen or so bones.

  Which would be a crying shame, marring that strong, lithe body . . . lock her in Warehouse 13. His falling would be bad because they were stranded and she’d be the one who’d have to care for him. She ran after him and grabbed her bag and laptop. With her boots and lighter weight, she quickly took the lead, Kirk lumbering behind her. “Say, are those designer suitcases?” she shouted back.

  “Could you enjoy this a bit less obviously?”

  She grinned, knowing he wouldn’t see it but betting he could feel it. “Feet frozen yet?”

  “I’m moving. Can’t get frostbite while moving. Damn!” A man-sized thud preempted the howling wind.

  Her stomach dropped. She spun. He’d fallen to his knees. She started to run back to him.

  He surged to his feet, easily, without even releasing his hold on the cases. “How far to that cabin?”

  She stopped, blinking. The man had hidden strength. “Not much farther. I could carry your computer.”

  His hot glare cut through the snow. “I can manage my own luggage, thank you.”

  “Right.” Striking out again, she nearly missed the dark blur of the cabin she’d seen from the road. “This way.”

  “I don’t see anything. I hope you know where you’re—”

  “Here it is.” She traipsed up three stairs to the porch, too relieved to give him the smugness he deserved. She set down her bag and tried the knob. “Batter-fried phooey. It’s locked.”

  He set his luggage next to hers. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Not on your life. We need this doo
r to protect us from the snow and wind.”

  “I don’t habitually break down doors.” Kirk dug around in his computer case, eventually producing what looked like the illegitimate offspring of a Swiss Army knife and a mad dentist.

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing.” He pulled a slim rod from the back of the knife, selected one of the probe tools, bent to the keyhole, and jiggered it. Within minutes, a snap cut through the wind. Kirk pushed the door open. “After you.”

  “Now who’s being smug? Where’d you get the lock picks?” Crossing the threshold, Edie plunged into darkness.

  “A misspent youth. Is it warm?”

  “Deliciously toasty.” She set down her computer and hunted for a light switch. The empty cabin was actually quite cold, but at least she was out of the wind. Her fingers stuttered over a row of hanger-wire coat hooks, finally landing on a heavy plastic switch. She flipped it and breathed thanks when yellow light flooded the room.

  Kirk dragged in the rest of the luggage and shut the door. The howling sliced off. “First things first. Heat.” His smooth baritone dropped loudly into the silence left by the wind.

  “And a phone?”

  “Why don’t you look for that while I bump the thermostat up from icicle?”

  “Okay.” They were in a single great room, one side decorated as a living room, the other as a kitchen. In back, a narrow hallway indicated more cabin. Two facing doors and a curtained opening were hopefully comfortable bedrooms and a bathroom.

  Edie felt herself relaxing. The cabin reminded her of vacationing as a girl with her grandparents. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. It might even be nice. Maybe Kirk could also relax in this remote, intimate setting. Maybe a reasonable man lurked under that corporate mask. Her eyes automatically sought him out.

  Kirk prowled the room like a loose-limbed lion, hunting the elusive thermostat. Escaped strands of chestnut hair framed his strong cheeks. Expensive wet clothes clung to a large, well-shaped frame. He’d tossed the scarf, revealing a muscular throat.

  She shook herself. Phone, phone . . . An old-fashioned landline cable threaded the back wall. She traced it to a chunky phone atop a stack of milk crates.

  “Ah. Here it is.” He was examining a simple dial-style thermostat. She was distracted a moment by his capable hands resetting it.

  A furnace kicked in. He grinned at her, the boyish pride shining on his face sending a jolt to her gut. He said, “Oh, you found the phone. Great. Call the office. I’ll have them send us a helicopter. We’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Edie’s fingers convulsed on the handset. He couldn’t stand the idea of being stuck with her a moment longer than he absolutely had to.

  Well, what did she expect, with all the bickering they did? Did she really think that he’d see this place as a haven too? That he’d relax, toss the corporate manners along with the scarf? “It’s Saturday night. Who’ll be there?”

  “My secretary.”

  “Figures,” Edie said under her breath. Fine, get it over with. She put the handset to her ear and—no dial tone. She frowned at Kirk. “It’s off.”

  He strode across the room, grabbed the phone from her and listened intently. “You’re right.”

  “I’m too technologically challenged to know a disconnected phone when I hear one?” Edie stripped off her wet jacket.

  “Of course not. Don’t be so touchy.” He cradled the handset. “It’s possible the phone isn’t disconnected, but that the line is down.”

  “So? Out of order is out of order.”

  “After the storm’s over, a broken line will be repaired. If it is, I can call Ms. Dooley.”

  Of course he could. “It’s Saturday night. Tomorrow’s Sunday, for schnitzel’s sake. However long it takes, your faithful secretary will be there to answer?” Woof, she thought.

  “She forwards calls to her cell on weekends. Since we’re going to be here a while, why don’t you see if there’s food? I’m going to check the back.” He strode into the hallway.

  “Get out of those wet clothes first.” Edie hung her jacket on a wall hook. The sound of spitting air came from the back of the cabin. Lucking fovely, there was another thing she’d have to fix, after finding food. Certainly citizen Pentus Houseus Kirkus would be no help coping with anything rustic. Although he had worker’s hands. She liked his hands. “At least hang up your coat to dry.”

  “Not yet.” He emerged from the curtained opening. “I need to go back outside.”

  “Why?”

  “The water pump is off. And the utility line for the furnace comes in behind that curtain. According to the gauge, we’re almost out of oil.”

  Edie’s cheeks tingled with vestiges of cold. “We’ll freeze.”

  “In a mountain full of trees? I don’t think so.” Kirk pointed to the living room, where a comfortable potbellied stove stood in the corner.

  She perked up instantly. “There’s a pile of logs outside. I’ll get some.”

  “Those logs need to be cut and split, useless unless we find an ax. I saw some dead trees. There’ll be brush and broken branches we can use.”

  “But you’re wet. You’ll catch cold.” She felt the strangest urge to protect him.

  “Exactly. I’m wet already. I won’t get wetter.”

  “But I have boots.”

  “Edie.” He clasped her shoulders, the heat from his hands fiery in the still-cool room. “Learn to delegate.”

  For once, Edie couldn’t think of a thing to say. She let him walk out, the imprint of his hands burning her shoulders.

  Chapter Four

  To: ED@mythicmail.com

  From: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com

  Subject: Re: Re: About me

  Ha! I’m a wonderful person :) You said it and you can’t take it back. My self-worth is restored.

  And you’re an E.E. like me! I think you must have a balanced head on your shoulders.

  Can I ask you a question? A serious question, about a problem at work.

  —Prez

  Scratching up wood and searching for the well gave Everett too much time to think.

  Being stranded wasn’t going to do his career any favors. Bad enough he was out of the office for a week and couldn’t counter the nasty rumors in person. He’d counted on his smartphone, computer, and Ms. Dooley to head off any power plays. Now his faithful secretary stood alone. She was an outstanding assistant but no bastion to weather the deadly storm of corporate infighting.

  Too bad it wasn’t Edie standing for him in Denver. She was bastion and offensive battalion all rolled into one.

  If Edie were on his side. His mind started down a darker path.

  She’d taken getting stranded rather well. Almost happy when the phone didn’t work. Even more damning, she’d delayed them so long that their stranding seemed almost inevitable.

  Was it planned?

  Someone was trying to drive him out of HHE. He’d thought it was Howell Junior.

  But now Everett wondered.

  It made uncomfortable sense. She was the company’s best manager. But he worked half his week just trying to keep her out of trouble. She fought him constantly, opposing his decisions and even his right to make them where the employees were concerned. She always seemed to inject her personal brand of mayhem just when it would damage him the most.

  Coincidence? Or did her unerring sense of timing display a deeper knowledge of the squabbling and infighting of HHE and its ultra-conservative board?

  Then Everett laughed. Edie, a corporate shark? No way. She was too honest, her face too open, for her to deceive him that way. Besides, the Edie he knew would never kill a man’s career with suspicion and innuendo.

  So who? Everett dropped a load of brush near the cabin and ran a hand through his semi-frozen hair. The latest abuse had happened just this morning.

  Everett was getting ready to pick up Edie, trying to decide between a silk set that was snappy and a wool set that was smart. Neither was terribly comforta
ble, but for some reason he’d wanted to impress her.

  Ms. Dooley called. “Problem, Mr. Kirk. The board is not pleased with the state of the finances.”

  “Why? The preliminary fourth quarter figures show a profit.”

  “The revised reports posted on the company intranet show a loss.”

  “What? Where did those come from?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I’m only repeating what Mr. Howell said. The son, not the father.”

  Junior. There was a prime candidate for Everett’s unknown tormentor. When Howell Senior handed Everett the presidency, Junior had stalked out and never forgiven either of them.

  Everett stomped his frozen feet, wincing at a sick crackling sound. Hopefully not his toes. Time to stop worrying about corporate survival and concentrate on physical survival. Edie was counting on him. That was enough wood. The well next. Although they could always drink melted snow, he’d rather be able to flush the toilet. He located the well under the roof of what appeared to be a chicken house and activated the pump.

  Then he trudged back to the cabin and picked up a load of wood, crackling the whole way. Not his toes, his shoes. Five hundred dollars of Italian leather down the drain.

  Crap.

  Then he thought of Edie’s short red curls dusted with snow, her cheeks flushed from the cold, her eyes bright. Waiting for him inside.

  Maybe things weren’t so bad, after all.

  • • •

  “You’re melting all over that wood, Kirk. It’ll never burn that way. Don’t you know anything about fires?” Edie pulled the brush out of Kirk’s dripping arms. She was yelling at him about the wood because shrieking “You’ve been gone too long!” would sound like maybe she’d been worried about him. Which she hadn’t. Though he’d had the nerve to stagger in, face pinched and body half ice like a Kirkcicle. Was the man trying to get sick?

  “Being wet is not by choice, Edie. And it’s Everett, remember?”

  “Right.” Thought she believed in equality between staff and management, calling Mr. President Kirk by his first name seemed so . . . intimate. “I checked the cabin for supplies while you were gone.” Way too long. Not shrieking. “Little food. No water. And . . . ” Talk about intimate. “Only one bedroom.”