Snowbound Snuggles

by T. F. Walsh

  “We’ll have water in a bit. I found a well and switched on the pump.”

  “Good. Thanks.” She was surprised, assuming she’d be the expert during this little crisis. Maybe he’d be useful after all.

  “You’re welcome. We’ll have heat from the wood burner, so let’s save the oil.” Everett spun off the thermostat while Edie stuffed wood into the stove. “All right, let’s see how good that pump is.” In the kitchen, he twisted on the tap. Air and water spat in equal measure. “Should have primed it, damn it.”

  “Please don’t swear.” She picked up the long lighter from on top of the stove, clicked it on and stuck it into the depths of the wood.

  “Why? What’s wrong with swearing?”

  The wood refused to light. “My grandparents taught me swearing is a crutch for the verbally unimaginative. Stupid wet wood.” She looked up. “Speaking of, you should change.”

  “Soon. That’s not how you stack wood.” He stopped playing with the sink to come and kneel next to her.

  A pleasant scent enveloped her, cedar and pine and warm male. The lighter trembled in her hand. She released the trigger. “Change, Kirk. You must have something dry in that trousseau of yours.”

  “Brides have trousseaux. I have luggage. And it’s Everett. Here, let me.” He grabbed a branch and yanked it out of the stove. Wood tumbled onto the floor.

  Edie sprang to her feet, pleasant scent driven from her mind. “Now see what you’ve done.”

  “It’s okay. You had too much packed in there. Start a fire small.”

  “I’ve made fires before.” Camp and bonfires, but wood was wood.

  He started diligently snapping off twigs and peeling bark. “Did you check that the flue was open? That’s that lever there.”

  She scowled, pulled it. The pipe shuddered with a sharp kawang. “Kirk, I was making the fire fine.”

  “Everett.” He stuck his head into the stove. “And you were doing it wrong.”

  “Why are you always telling me I’m wrong?” She smacked the stove. It rang satisfyingly around his head.

  “Ouch.” He pulled abruptly out. “I’m not always telling you you’re wrong.”

  “See, you just did it again. You’re telling me I’m wrong that you’re always telling me I’m wrong.”

  Everett pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why are you always questioning my abilities?”

  “I’m not questioning your abilities. I’m questioning your authority.”

  “All right, I’ll bite.” His eyes gleamed almost silver in soot-dusted skin. His voice was annoyingly level. “Why do you question my authority?”

  “Because being company president doesn’t automatically make you an authority on everything. You’re not VP of Wood Burning Stoves. An MBA from UCLA doesn’t make you . . . ”

  “Edie, my MBA’s from Harvard. Are we having the same discussion?”

  “I meant Harvard.” Edie turned away. Had she been arguing with President Everett about making a fire—or with VP Philip over a pregnant woman?

  • • •

  From the day Philip Sedgwick rescued Edie, he was her hero. He, in turn, patiently tutored her in all aspects of humane management. She idolized him, lifting him to just one notch below her beloved grandparents.

  And then he sucker-punched her. All over Aurora Thode.

  Aurora wasn’t part of Edie’s team, but she was a colleague, a fellow programmer. Another little guy. No one knew Aurora was sleeping with the boss until her third trimester.

  Then it was rather obvious.

  Rumors flew about the father’s identity, possibilities ranging from the comptroller to the CEO. The one thing the rumors agreed on was that the father was an executive, and that he’d refused to marry Aurora. Edie didn’t listen to rumors, but she couldn’t help hearing Aurora shouting in the shuttered conference room, or the low patronizing voice answering. Edie couldn’t make out words until Aurora unleashed her ultimatum. “You’d better marry me or I’ll reveal your identity to the whole company!”

  She got fired instead.

  Everybody went about their business afterward like nothing happened, except they were hushed and their eyes were wide.

  Except Edie. She marched righteously into the company president’s office. “Employees have rights!” Mentally, her grandparents were cheering.

  The president, Martin Leaderman, was a silver corporatosaur. Philip called him “Leadbottom” behind his back.

  Leaderman sat behind a gargantuan cherrywood desk in the middle of a cavernous office. His ergonomic calfskin chair cost more than Edie’s secondhand car.

  “It’s none of your business, Ms. Rowan.” Leaderman didn’t even bother looking up from his paperwork.

  Edie crossed the room in three angry strides and slapped her hand over his papers. “What you did to Aurora is inexcusable. I’ll report it.”

  “Oh?” Leaderman’s cold eyes finally rose to meet hers. “To whom?”

  That stopped her. She’d only thought in terms of confronting Leaderman, not what she’d do if he refused to listen. Who could she report this to? A good trial lawyer. And the Department of Labor . . . maybe even the Supreme Court. But first, especially, Philip. “Everyone I can. You’re in trouble now, Leadbottom.”

  “What did you call me?” Leaderman suffused an angry red. “Get the hell out.”

  Edie stalked out. With Philip Sedgwick to support her, she’d right this injustice.

  But Philip laughed at her.

  “You’re an ass, Edie. Calling him Leadbottom to his face? Dumber than a bag of hammers.”

  She chewed her lip. “But you call him that.”

  “Not where he can hear me, you fucking idiot.”

  Words failed her. Philip always praised her. He was her mentor, her idol. Now she felt two years old. Finally she stuttered, “But what about Aurora? She’s due soon and won’t have health insurance.”

  In a cold tone she’d never forget, Philip said, “It was her own damn fault. Stupid bitch.”

  “Edie?” Everett’s deep voice cut through her thoughts. “Edie, I wasn’t trying to insult your abilities. But I did a stint in Serenity Rangers International and learned some survival tricks overseas. Watching you stuff that wood in like cartoon dynamite was giving me a headache. So could I build the fire—please?”

  Please? Edward Everett Kirk, president and CEO, had said please? She rubbed her eyes and turned.

  He stood there in his sodden, expensive clothes that were curiously comic, his silver-blue eyes curiously kind, the tiny scar on his chin making him curiously vulnerable.

  She waved in the direction of the stove. “All right.”

  He unleashed the killer dimple. While she reeled, he stacked kindling and lit it. Within minutes he had a crackling fire in the stove, feeding bigger pieces in until heat poured into the room.

  Edie did not tell him she was impressed.

  • • •

  “And now I’m going to get out of this wet clothing.” Everett disappeared into the back hallway.

  Finally. “Good.”

  He returned with a bucket. “And take a bath.”

  Edie stared at him. “Are you nuts? Everett, you may be able to build fires, but you have no concept of roughing it. We don’t even have running water yet.” To show him how overly optimistic he was being, she turned on the kitchen tap. Spitting air combined with a thin trickle. She stuck a finger in. “Brr. Even the air coming out is cold. The water’s liquid ice.”

  “No problem.” He opened the front door.

  “You think you’ll find water littering the ground outside?”

  Everett turned, one of his fine chestnut eyebrows raised. “You’re kidding, right?” Cashmere clinging damply to his big frame, he let himself out.

  “The man’s insane,” Edie muttered. “His brain froze and cracked in half.”

  The door whacked open and Everett trudged in with a bucket of snow. She followed him to the bathroom. “Kirk, stop. Think. You’re pneumon
ia waiting to happen and yet you’re taking a snow bath?”

  “It’s Everett.” He dumped snow into the tub. “You could boil some snow into hot water.” He dazzled her with a hopeful smile, and strode back out.

  “He’s swinging on his logic gates.” She found a couple pots and when he dragged in another bucket semaphored them at him: s-t-o-p. Apparently he didn’t read semaphore because he swept by her. Or maybe it was her accent. “At least change into dry clothes to go outside.” She trotted after him.

  “They’ll just get wet too.” He dumped the snow into the tub.

  “Everett, please.”

  “Aw. You said Everett.” He grinned, hitting her full-on with the dimple, and then escaped while she flailed like a stupid deer.

  “Grr.” She dug out two pots of snow, slapped them onto the stove. The door opened. She spun, determined to stop him.

  He smiled as he came through, dimple set on stun.

  She raised sarcasm shields. “My dream bath. A mountain of snow dissolved in a few cups of hot water.”

  He reemerged from the bathroom, sans bucket and wrestling off his wet coat. “It’ll be fine. Better stir those. You can actually scorch water, you know.”

  “For skit’s sake. We’re lost in the mountains with no phone, you’re about to freeze your ask off, and you’re lecturing me on burnt water?” She waited while he hung the coat on a hook. But when he went back into the bathroom without responding, she trotted after him. “Don’t do this, please. You’ll catch your death! Everett, are you listening?”

  “I always listen. I just don’t always agree. All this hauling is actually making me quite hot.”

  “That’s not—”

  He stripped the sweater over his head. It revealed a wet tee molded to his muscled chest.

  Her eyes widened. Her mouth stayed open. No more words emerged.

  Under his conservative cover, Everett Kirk had savage Tarzan’s torso. Heavy pectorals stood out over a washboard belly, swept into brawny arms sparking with short golden hair. Bulges slid intriguingly as he tossed the cashmere over the sink.

  Edie snapped her mouth shut. She was not impressed. Not at all. She snatched up the sweater. “This needs to be blocked. Do you want it to pull out of shape?”

  “No.” Unbuckling his belt, he smiled. “Thanks.”

  She pressed a hand to her breastbone, her heart hammering underneath. This wasn’t fair. Pampered executives did not look like this. They were pale and doughy, or glowing with a cancerous tan and muscles courtesy of a toning class. Those powerful muscles said Everett worked for his physique, invested time and sweat in something other than money. He might be more than just a corporate shark.

  She heated dangerously at the thought.

  He stripped off the belt.

  Wrong, wrong, wrong. Just because he was nice to her occasionally, and could make a fire, just because he could say please and had a lovely smile and stunning chest . . . and below . . .

  He was unzipping.

  With a squeak, she fled.

  Chapter Five

  To: ThePrez@serenityrangers.com

  From: ED@mythicmail.com

  Subject: Last message

  You can ask me a serious question if you want—believe me, I know about the sinkhole called office politics. Sometimes just venting about your problem helps. I’ll listen. What are friends for?

  —ED

  After insulting Leadbottom, Edie joined Aurora Thode on the unemployment line. Months went by before she finally found a job. Desperate, she accepted a low-paying position at a sweatshop that cared nothing for her as an employee and even less for her as a person. She almost lost her idealism then, almost submitted to crawling despair. Then she’d gotten the phone call.

  “Edie, it’s Philip Sedgwick. I know you’re still upset, but please listen.”

  “What do you want, Philip?”

  “I have a new job, my dear. Vice president of finance for Houghton Howell Enterprises.”

  “Congratulations. And I should care, why?”

  “They’re looking for programmers. Interested?”

  She pretended not to be. “I’m a team leader where I am.”

  “Even better. HHE is team-based, and there’s an opening. Remember our discussions on management philosophy? I bet you’d be super.”

  “Is it a sweatshop?”

  “Not with me here, my dear.”

  Edie was working for HHE within a month. She forgave Philip, but she never quite trusted him the way she had.

  • • •

  Everett scrubbed clean in record time and dried himself so briskly he almost singed his body hair. Which, considering he was a mass of goose bumps, would’ve been an improvement. Still, once he was dry and wrapped in his kimono-style robe he was comfortable. The woodstove heated the cabin nicely.

  He emerged from the bathroom cautiously. Edie was prowling around the cabin, shooting little glances at him, pretending she didn’t want to argue. He found it . . . cute. Not safe to find a tiny tigress of a woman cute, but there it was. He flopped down in the single living room chair, kicked his bare feet onto the coffee table, picked up a magazine and casually flipped through it. That should get her started.

  “Did you enjoy your bath?”

  “Immensely,” he lied. He flipped another page. “You said you’d found food?”

  “A little.” She glanced at the cabinets, the thin line of her mouth telling him more than her words. “Let me know when you’re hungry and I’ll see what I can do with it.”

  Over the pages of his magazine, Everett watched her. It was obvious to him that she was starving, but this was Edie. No way she would let herself appear vulnerable.

  He closed the magazine and rose. “I’m hungry. Show me what you found.”

  Fifteen minutes later, a disappointingly small assortment of non-perishables lay on the table. He picked up a can and frowned at it. “Peaches.” He set it down and rattled a wire-tied bag. “Brown rice.”

  She rolled a cardboard canister in her hands. “Oatmeal. A little of this and a little of that.”

  “And not much of anything.” He grunted. “Want some dry cereal?”

  An odd gleam lit her eyes. “Since you made the fire, why don’t I try my hand at dinner?”

  “The little woman cooks? Won’t that offend your ideas of equality?”

  “Really, Everett, must you be so disagreeable? It’s called sharing the workload. Go back to your magazine.” Her eyes fluttered down to his chest. The gleam intensified.

  His groin tightened. She’d looked that way at him when he’d stripped off the sweater. It gave him hope. He looked down at himself. His kimono had worked loose, the neck gaping to his abdomen.

  And she was interested in what she saw. He felt a smile bloom on his face.

  She looked away. She was blushing.

  He tucked his robe closed, smile broadening. She tried so hard to be invulnerable, but her redhead’s complexion gave her away every time. “Okay. But let me know if you need me.” Need me. He was gratified to see her blush deepen. Smiling to himself, he returned to the chair and picked up the business weekly, but he didn’t read it. Instead, he watched her.

  Her color returned to normal. She seemed oblivious to him, humming softly to herself as she picked up things on the table, set them down, drummed her fingers, then picked them up again. Evidently reaching a decision, she twisted the electric oven on and started dragging out pots and pans.

  The whys and wherefores of what she was doing were opaque to him, but Everett certainly admired how she dragged out those pots and pans. The way her slim backside wiggled as she tried to reach something in the back . . . he quickly crossed his legs, hiding his rising interest.

  Then she was up and poring over her ingredients, her face attractively flushed. He swallowed hard. She glanced his way. He immediately discovered a fascinating ad in the magazine. She considered him long enough for him to grow self-conscious.

  When she was safely absorbed
again measuring and stirring, he set down the magazine and leaned back. He admired her. So what? It wasn’t anything to be embarrassed over. She was one hell of a manager, strong in her convictions, not afraid to do what she thought was right. His admiration was thoroughly professional.

  She was stirring something thick. Her breasts swayed slightly as she worked. Everett admired that, too, how she put her whole self into what she did.

  Cool air brushed an unexpected part of his anatomy. He jerked a glance down. Professional admiration hell. He pushed his “admiration” between his crossed his legs and redraped his dressing gown. “Kirk, you’ve been without a woman way too long,” he muttered.

  “I beg your pardon?” Edie said.

  “Uh, I said, I’ve been without a, uh, nap, too long.” He lay his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. But it was a long, uncomfortable time before he got to sleep.

  • • •

  Everett woke to wonderful smells. His stomach rumbled appreciatively. “What’s for dinner?”

  “A little of this and a little of that.” Edie smiled. “Come and eat.”

  What that curving smile did to her full pink lips . . . He nearly said what he’d like to eat was her and made an ass of himself. Clamping his stupid mouth shut, he made his way to the table.

  He sat down to a veritable feast.

  Edie had taken rice, oatmeal and fruit, the little of this and the little of that, and put together a miracle. Spiced rice pilaf, asparagus in a lemon-yellow sauce topped with slivered almonds, and steaming biscuits. And for dessert, she’d baked peach cobbler swimming in thick, sweet milk.

  Everett surfaced from his food ten minutes later. “This is wonderful.”

  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Edie said dryly. “Do you always inhale your dinner?”

  Everett didn’t even slow down. “I was hungrier than I realized. And this is wonderful.”

  “You said that.”

  “Yes.” Everett delighted in the flavors mingling on his tongue. Most programmers he knew could barely find their way around the inside of the freezer. The hot biscuits and cobbler thawed something inside him. Anyone who made something this wonderful for him couldn’t be the dark soul trying to destroy his career. “Because it’s just so won—”