by Norah Wilson
Ocean bit her lip. She was so going to face an inquisition from her mother when she finally got home. She could hear it now. Are you still carrying a torch for that young man?
“I’m sorry I overreacted about the flare,” she said.
“It’s okay.”
She rubbed suddenly damp palms on her jeans. “Glad to know I won’t have to be looking over my shoulder for a posse.”
He glanced at her, then back at the horizon. “As long as I stay in touch with Scott and he believes we’re all right, there’ll be no posse. But if we fall out of touch, you can bet this mountain will be crawling with ground search and rescue from the surrounding counties. Maybe even some reinforcements from the military base.”
How embarrassing would that be? “Let’s not do that, okay?”
Their gazes met. “Agreed.”
Something about the way he said that one word made her look closer. It sounded almost like he didn’t mind being stuck up here with her. Could that be true?
He moved a step closer.
Heart pounding, Ocean held her ground. Held her breath.
Then a light flashed in the sky—white again—as another flare went up from somewhere in the distance.
It broke whatever spell had seized Titus. He took a step back. “That’s Scott. We can go back in now.”
She let her breath out, not sure whether it was relief or disappointment she felt as she went back inside. He followed her in and closed the door. After standing under the big dome of night sky, the interior of the cabin felt very tiny and enclosing.
“So the return flare…that’s an acknowledgement of your signal?”
“Yup. It also tells me about his location. Judging from where it originated, he’s gotta be at the truck still. He’ll be there all night, unless I miss my bet, just in case he’s needed. And he was also letting me know all is well with him.”
“And signing off for the night?”
“Exactly. Unless there were an emergency of some sort, in which case he’d call my satellite phone. But I doubt that’s going to happen. I know he’s spoken to Ember already and she’s camped down for the night.”
Ember? Dread filled her. “Is she out wandering the mountain, looking for me too?” Despite her determination to do whatever she had to do to face White Crow and finish this, she had no desire to put out Ember Standish.
“No.” He shook his head. “There was another call downriver. Someone needed some medical attention. Nothing serious, but you know Ember.”
His eyes had roamed her face as he’d talked, and she was again conscious of the closeness of the tiny cabin. And at the look in his eyes. It was almost as though he’d picked up on her awareness. Her mouth went dry. If she were to move closer...
Her stomach fluttered at the idea. Despite her show of bravado back there on the trail, she couldn’t be as blasé about the idea of intimacy with him as she’d given him to believe when she’d kissed him.
“Ember,” she found herself saying. “Did she…uh…ever finish medical school?”
He lifted an eyebrow, but went on to give her a serious answer. “Yeah, she did. Her internship too, or residency, or whatever they call it these days. Now it’s just a matter of choosing where to practice.”
“Offers on the table?”
“Many of them. Time will tell where she goes.” His voice seemed to tighten, as did the rest of him.
Interesting reaction.
Titus stripped off his coat and went to deal with starting a fire in the stove. She decided she could happily watch him work all day. Even beneath the fleece hoodie he wore, she could see the way his muscles bunched and relaxed. When the wood was arranged to his satisfaction, he dug a lighter out of his pocket, lit a piece of cardboard and held the flame to the base of his creation. The kindling caught fire quickly and he closed the door to the stove, and fiddled with the draft.
“So do you use other colors?” she asked, as he stood and pocketed the lighter.
He grinned. “Of lighters?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of flares, smart ass. Tell me about your color system.”
His face sobered. “White, as I said, means all’s cool and goodnight. Red, as you might guess, means get help. And then there’s green.”
“So what’s green mean?”
Even by the dim lighting of the lantern, she could see the glint in his eyes. “Green means bring more wine.”
“More wine?” She frowned. “But why would...?”
He smiled.
Chapter 12
FLIRTING WITH Ocean was unexpectedly fun, but Titus had work to do, namely seeing to replenishing their water supply. Taking one of the flashlights, he went out to the reservoir, which was kept reasonably fresh thanks to the near constant influx from a spring, and brought back a bucket of water. With Ocean watching curiously, he poured it through the charcoal filtration system he kept there, then put the clarified water in a stainless steel canning pot on top of the old cook stove. When it had boiled long enough to kill any disease-causing microorganisms that might be lurking in it, he set it aside to cool. There was plenty enough for their needs tonight, and they could refill their drinking bottles with it in the morning.
By the time he’d finished, she announced that dinner was served. He looked at the two sparse plates. She’d split an apple—presumably their appetizer—and laid out some beef jerky and cheese for their main meal, and a bit of his dried fruit and cashews for dessert.
“Looks good, but how about Mrs. Budaker’s homemade gingersnaps and a cup of tea to round that out?”
Ocean drew her breath in. “Oh, I would kill for a gingersnap cookie! But where are they? I didn’t find them in your bag. Though I would have looked harder had I known you were packing.”
He angled her a get real look. “You think I’d keep them anywhere but on my person?”
“Good point.”
He went to his coat which hung on a peg close enough to the stove for warming but not close enough to pose a fire hazard and came back with a foil-wrapped packet. He handed it to her, then saw to making the tea with a dipper full of the recently boiled water.
The meal tasted better than it had any business doing, and he knew it was Ocean’s company.
When she finished her dried fruit and nuts, she reached for one of the cookies. She took a bite of it and groaned. “This is so good. Is Mrs. B selling them at the market now?”
“Nope.”
“Then how’d you get these?”
“She’s been bringing them every Monday for this past year, ever since I saved her Westie from choking last Thanksgiving.”
“Winnie? I can’t believe that dog is still around.”
“Yeah, it’s still kicking, no thanks to the cat toy it tried to swallow. The vet was out of town, and Mrs. B called the search and rescue line in a panic. Naturally, I was just sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner, but I leapt up and raced over there. Mrs. B met me on the lawn where I performed my first—and so far only—canine Heimlich maneuver.”
“That’s wild!” Her eyes shone, making him feel like a hero. “The cat toy just popped out and Winnie was okay?”
“Basically. But like you say, she’s an old dog. Just to be sure, I drove the two of them into Lockhart Falls so the vet there could check her over.”
“And you missed out on Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Nothing wrong with a reheated turkey plate,” he said, “especially considering the number of cookies I’ve munched my way through since.”
He finished his tea first and got up to deal with their dishes.
“I can wash up,” she volunteered, but he’d seen how cautiously she’d been moving earlier.
He glanced at the assorted packets of food sitting at the end of the table. “Why don’t you portion out the rest of that stuff? I’ve got some Zip-Loc bags around here somewhere.” He went over to the cupboard and located them with a minimum of searching and brought them back to her.
“How many bags shall I do u
p?”
He shrugged. “As far as it’ll go. Just do similar quantities to what we had here tonight. We can supplement with the energy bars, and I’ll refill our water bottles when the water cools.”
It didn’t take long to do the washing up with a bit of warm water and a drop or two of detergent. He put their dishes away and went back to the table to find Ocean zipping closed the last of six bags.
“Is this enough?”
They weren’t full bags, by any means, but each would make a meal in a pinch. It should more than do them out. If he’d thought otherwise, he could have broken out the big guns—three days’ worth of emergency ration packs hidden beneath the floorboards in a chew-proof metal locker. He’d taken inventory just six weeks ago when he’d hiked up here. It was all still good.
“That’ll be plenty.” He gave her three of the packets and took three for himself. “Better tuck them inside your hat or something and zip them into your bag. We’ve never had much of a problem with mice, but that’s because we don’t leave anything for them.”
She blanched. “Mice.”
He grinned and went to stash his share of the rations in his bag. “Nothing to worry about. I’m pretty sure you won’t see any.”
She snorted. “That’s supposed to reassure me?” She looked around the cabin’s dimly lit interior. “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t see a freaking full grown raccoon in some of those corners.”
“You caught that, did you?” He sat down at the table across from Ocean. “I was hoping you’d take it to mean there were no mice to be seen.”
“Hey, I had foster brothers. I learned how to decode that kind of thing.”
“I bet.”
He grinned and she smiled back at him. Damn, but it lit up her face. He was struck again by what a beautiful woman skinny little Ocean Siliker had become. Which led his thoughts right back to where he’d been desperately trying to keep them from going—to the two of them sharing a bed.
He got up and went to check the fire, tossing a good sized chunk of hardwood onto the glowing bed of embers.
“So, is that wine drinkable?” Ocean said.
“What wine?” He generally only brought as much as he intended to consume. If he’d accidentally left some here, it would almost certainly have frozen at some point or other. If the bottle hadn’t cracked, the expansion would have loosened the cork and ruined the wine inside.
“The stuff I saw in that lower cupboard, on the right side, when I was looking for plates.”
He bent and opened the cupboard she indicated, but it wasn’t wine inside. It was a bottle of his homemade apple brandy. He pulled it out. How long had it been here? He honestly couldn’t remember bringing it.
“Wine? This, my girl, is apple brandy.” He turned and waggled the bottle. “Care to sample it?”
“I’d love to. But isn’t brandy a distilled liquor? As in produced with a still?”
He smiled, uncorking the brandy and pouring them each a glass. Or rather a small measure in a mason jar, which was the closest thing he could find to a wine glass in the cupboard.
He tasted his to make sure it wasn’t foul, then handed her the other jar.
“Thanks.”
She took a cautious drink. “Wow, not bad. Your bootlegging family’s recipe?”
“Nah. Just something I found on the Internet years ago. I’ve refined it a bit.”
She took another sip. “It’s actually…pretty good.”
“After the first glass, it’s damned good.”
She laughed. “This one glass will be enough for me. I’ll be popping an ibuprofen before I go to bed.”
God, yes. Her fall. “How’re you feeling? Getting stiff?”
She rolled her shoulders. “A little. Nothing that’ll keep me awake, though. Seriously. I just want to head off inflammation, be as limber as possible for tomorrow.”
He nodded and took another sip of the brandy. Unfortunately, it wasn’t helping with the sudden restless, jumpy energy he was feeling. He wished he had a few more tents to erect. No, a freakin’ tent city. Or maybe a trench to dig. He tossed the rest of the brandy back and put his empty jar on the table. “Listen, I’m going to go fetch another armful of wood, okay?”
She looked surprised, her eyes flicking to the almost-full wood box. But she just nodded. “Okay, yeah. Sounds good.”
She barely said the words when he was out the door. The cool evening air was bracing. Just what he needed. It was too cozy in there. Too intimate and close. He felt better already, just being outside. After he saw her settled, he’d crawl into the tent and crash.
He returned five minutes later with his arms laden. Taking his time, he arranged the firewood in the overflowing wood box. When he turned back around to the table, he saw Ocean was fiddling with a candle. It was one of those emergency type candles she must have found on a shelf or in a drawer. She’d lit it and was dripping wax into a tin ashtray. When she figured she had a big enough puddle, she turned the fat candle upright and planted it firmly in the warm wax base.
He’d intended to say goodnight and head out to the tent, but he couldn’t seem to make himself do it. Not yet. Not before he’d burned the image of her into his brain. With the candlelight playing over her features as she gazed into the flame, she was more than beautiful. She was totally alluring. The soft light flickered over her face, her lowered lashes, her lush lips. And oh, God, that mass of dark, tousled curls. He could imagine tangling a hand in that hair, gently tugging her head back...
She picked that moment to look up at him. And for the briefest moment, there was an answering blaze of awareness in her eyes.
Then she lowered her lashes. “This is good of you, Titus.”
“What? Sharing my rations with you?” He purposely kept his tone light, teasing. Because that unguarded few seconds of eye contact had rattled him more than the kiss back there had. The kiss had been about her refusing to be intimidated. That bolt of awareness that had just arced between them? Something else entirely. Something dangerously real.
“Well, that was some pretty mean beef jerky,” she conceded. “But I was talking about...all of it. You didn’t have to bring me up here. You didn’t have to make this easier. I know we have our—”
“Deal,” he said quickly. “Let’s call it a deal.”
“I was going to say difference of opinion regarding my determination to forge ahead.”
“That’s a mouthful.” Rather than make himself comfortable at the table again—because he was going to head out to that tent—he grabbed the chair he’d occupied earlier, flipped it around and straddled it, propping his arms on the back. “And besides, a deal is what it is.”
“How do you figure?”
“The deal is I keep you safe,” he said.
“And what do I do?”
“Stay safe. Seriously, Ocean, that’s all I ask.”
Lacey Douglas.
Titus didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that was exactly what she was thinking. Just as he was. They sat a moment in the silence. Titus leaned forward, snagged the brandy bottle off the table and poured himself another splash. He held the bottle up inquiringly. She shook her head, as he’d known she would. He didn’t really want more brandy himself, but he had to do something with his hands.
She toyed with her own jar, her fingers playing over the bumpy texture of the glass.
“You know, I always pictured you as more of a scotch drinker.”
“You think?”
“Oh, and you’d be a single malt man. Never blended. Am I wrong?”
“You’re right,” he admitted. “Scotch is my poison. And yeah, single malt’s the only way to go.” The more he said, the more she smiled, so he added. “I learned proper appreciation from my dad. We still share a glass once in a while. But there’s a time for scotch and a time for other beverages.”
“Such as?”
“There’s nothing like a cold Bud out in the shop while I kick back and admire my latest restoration. Or when I’
m watching the hockey game with the guys. But only when I’m not on call, of course.”
“Of course. And wine?” She held up her jar, swirling the contents.
“I think we’ve established that’s brandy.”
“Okay, poor use of a prop. But don’t dodge the question. What’s your position on wine?”
The chair creaked as he shifted in it, relaxed. “Wine’s different. You don’t nurse it like scotch. You don’t guzzle it like beer. It’s somewhere in between. Something to be appreciated. Savored.”
“So scotch for the men; beer for the boys. And wine for the ladies?”
He grinned. “That sounds about right.”
She glanced around the dim interior, made so much more intimate by the candlelight. “This place must come in handy.”
His grin faded as he watched emotions chase themselves across her face.
“I’ve never had a woman up here before.”
“Ever?” She looked pleased, but then her eyebrows drew together. “Oh, crap, I’m invading your space! Your sanctuary…your man cave.”
“I’m glad you’re here.” Without even thinking about it, he put a hand on hers in reassurance. But then he let it linger there for a moment, watching her unblinking eyes. When she lowered her gaze, Titus drew his hand away and cleared this throat. “Just so we’re clear. I didn’t want you to think you were imposing.”
She slanted him a look, but did not point out the obvious.
Not imposing? Okay, yeah, it had been a dumb thing to say. If she hadn’t gotten herself lost, he wouldn’t even be on this mountain tonight. And if she hadn’t refused to turn back, he’d likely be drinking one of those cold beers, digesting a strip loin steak and a baked potato done on the barbecue. This was pretty much the definition of imposing. But oddly he didn’t resent it.
Maybe because it meant deferring the talk with Scott and Ember.
He looked into Ocean’s eyes. Nope. It wasn’t just because of the reprieve from the talk.
She stood, her chair making a scraping sound on the rough wooden floor. She wiped her hands on the sides of her faded jeans, as if she was suddenly nervous, but her voice held no hint of nervousness when she spoke.