by Fiona West
“Does it help?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes people just want to be angry.”
“I’m sure it’s a process.” She dusted off her hands. “You know the upside of all this?”
“No, but I think you’re going to tell me . . .”
“We’re safe from the zombie apocalypse in here.”
“Yes,” said Kyle, his voice somber. “I think we are.” She remembered my stupid joke. Now he needed to kiss her again, more than food or shelter or anything else. It had just become a matter of survival. He pitched forward a little, testing the waters of closeness, trying to see if she could read his intention . . .
“Oh! I just remembered.” Ainsley scrambled up from her concrete seat and dug around in the back by the bucket of nails. Kyle held back a sigh; they were not on the same page here, but she’d piqued his curiosity now.
“What’re you doing?”
“Ah-ha!” She held a deck of cards and a plastic bag full of white, red, and blue chips above her head, triumphant.
“Why is that here?”
She slid the cards out of the box. “My dad likes to play poker with the guys afterward in the house. They don’t want their wives to know, so they keep their stuff in here.”
Kyle shook his head, smiling. “Your dad’s funny.” Too bad he doesn’t like me. And this mishap is probably not going to win points in my favor.
Ainsley shrugged. “I know, especially because my mom already knows, but she lets him think she doesn’t, because it makes him happy. They’re weird.”
“So. Strip poker?”
Ainsley gasped. “Dr. Durand, how dare you? Besides, you see enough naked bodies as it is. It’s Texas Hold ’Em, of course, the best kind of poker.”
“I’d probably do better at Go Fish.”
“I will abide no such foolishness,” she said in her best Southern belle impression, dealing the cards. In an inexplicable string of luck, he won the first four games, and he could tell Ainsley was suspicious that he hadn’t been honest with her. So he made sure he let her win the next two. She had just dealt the cards for the seventh game when the flashlight flickered. They looked at each other, wide-eyed. Ainsley twisted behind her and grabbed for something; Kyle lunged for the ten-gallon bucket he’d noticed nearby, then they were plunged into complete darkness.
“Well. I guess the game’s over,” she said. “What did you grab for?”
“An empty bucket.”
“You gonna throw up?”
“No . . . but eventually, one of us is going to need a toilet.”
“I’ll hold it.”
“Don’t hurt yourself. I’m a doctor, I’ve seen worse. Also, I can’t see anything right now anyway.”
“I do not abide a transient toilet situation!”
“Suit yourself. What did you grab?”
“Painting drop cloth. It should do something to help me keep warm.”
He moved toward her, feeling his way hesitantly over the plywood floor in the dark.
“Yeah, I wanted to say something earlier, but I wasn’t sure how to bring it up . . . We should probably sleep close together for heat.”
“Right,” she said, and he could hear the grin in her voice. “For heat.”
“I’m serious. This thing isn’t insulated, and it’s supposed to get down to forty degrees tonight. I know this looks bad,” he babbled, “since I trapped you in here to kiss you, but . . .”
“Kyle, honey, it’s fine. You didn’t trap me; I was a very willing participant. Don’t worry about it. We’ll be two spoons in a drawer, two peas in a pod. I think there’s more space by the door.” He listened to her moving in the dark toward the entryway, trying to process the nickname bomb she’d just dropped on him. With a few muttered curses, Kyle made his way next to her and lay down behind her, pulling the drop cloth over both of them. She squirmed around on her side, probably trying to get comfortable. Her backside, which he had admired from afar many times, was pressed tight against him . . . and it was having unintended consequences. He tried to tell his hormones to take five, but they were most interested in singing about said backside and its fantastic qualities.
“Ainsley,” he growled. “Stop moving around.”
“I can’t get comfy . . .” She wigged again, and his eyes nearly rolled back into his head.
“I’m not joking. Stop. Moving.” Please. Please, please, please. “Please.”
“Maybe if I just . . .” She tried to shift her legs farther back, but they just tangled with his and pressed her backside more firmly against him. Kyle grunted softly.
“What’s wrong?”
He cleared his throat. “What?”
“You made a hmph.”
He had two choices: coming clean or lying his pants off. Though not his preference, lying was probably better in this case, because the other option might lead to taking his pants off. And he didn’t know how he felt about that just yet, as much as he liked her. It seemed like a good way to ruin things early on. So he lied.
“There’s a wrench or something in my side, what do you want from me?”
“Really? I thought I cleared everything around here...”
“Well, you didn’t,” he growled, as she felt under them to try to remove the offending item, and he gave up his ruse lest she touch lower by accident and discover what’d happened. “Fine, there’s no wrench, I just can’t have you so . . . close to me.” Distract her! Quick! “Here, lift your head.”
She did, and he slid his fleece-covered arm under it. It should cushion her head and neck nicely.
“Better?” His voice had softened, like butter left out.
“Yes,” she whispered. Under the drop cloth, he let his left hand rest on her hip.
“Isn’t this going to hurt your arm?” Her concern was thoughtful but unnecessary. He was fairly sure he’d have it amputated if that’s what she needed. Maybe that’s just the way it felt.
“I’ll survive.”
“Are you sure we can’t sleep on that roll of insulation?”
“And get cancer from breathing in fiberglass all night? No, thank you.”
He could hear the smile in her voice. “Such a pessimist.”
“Optimism doesn’t pay the bills, Sunshine.” He’d never called her that out loud, and he felt a furious blush take his cheeks. God bless the darkness. What was happening to him? How were his private thoughts and nicknames suddenly pouring out of him like this?
“I see why everyone loves your bedside manner so much.”
He snorted, recovering from his embarrassment. “I may not coddle them, but I take very good care of them. I tell them exactly what they need to hear.”
She rolled over to face him, and her cookie-scented breath warmed his face. He could just see the outline of her.
“I like that about you. But I wouldn’t want you to tell me I had cancer.”
“I don’t think I could treat you anyway.” He pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
“No?”
“No. I’d be . . . biased. Distracted.”
“You find me distracting?”
He nodded, curling her closer to him. “Very.” Kyle kissed her quietly, breathing a happy sigh, finally getting what he wanted. “I find a lot of things about you distracting, though. Your body’s only part of it.”
“My genius with pipe cleaners is pretty impressive.”
“How can you say that like it’s a joke?” He knew he sounded incensed, but he kind of was.
“Isn’t it? My job is definitely a joke compared to yours.”
“What? That’s garbage. I could never do your job. I have no idea how you handle thirty squirrely kids five days a week. Abe Lincoln would approve, especially given how you put up with my nephew.”
“He’s a sweet kid,” she said, pushing at his chest. “I love Cooper.” He loved him, too, but he had to disagree with her on the first part.
“‘Sweet’ is a stretch. He’s just like Philip as a kid. A handful.”
/> “I’d say he turned out okay.”
Kyle nodded. He didn’t want to talk about his brother; he took her chin gently in his hand and kissed her again. Their caresses were lazy, languid; she shivered, and he hoped it was because she was as affected as he was, and not because she was cold. He certainly wasn’t cold; every touch of her tongue to his had him feeling like he was on fire. She was a good kisser, and he tried not to hate whoever she’d practiced with. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew she was looking at him, and he wished he could see her pretty blue eyes. He couldn’t believe he had Ainsley Buchanan in the dark, all to himself . . . and he violently wished the circumstances were different. His mind started supplying a lot of ways this could be better—a lot better.
“Kyle?”
“Ains?” There he went with nicknames again. They should kiss some more; that would keep personal things from popping out of his mouth.
“What are you thinking about?”
“When a man is holding the woman of his dreams in the dark,” he said slowly, “that doesn’t seem like an entirely fair question.”
“Do you plead the fifth?”
He laughed softly, then kissed her. “Yes.” He kissed her again, his tongue sneaking into her mouth, making her groan. “Effervescent. I stand by it.”
“Tell me.” That breathy voice was not helping him rein in his thoughts.
“Tell you . . . what I’m thinking about?” His voice sounded as uncertain as he felt. Kyle kept his mouth busy with more kisses while he considered her question; he was greedy for more. “That’s not going to happen. I’m going to have to be content with thinking for tonight, and telling you all about it probably isn’t going to . . .” He trailed off, distracted again. Those many thoughts were back again. “God, Ainsley,” he whispered. “You have no idea how much I want you.”
“I want you, too,” she whispered. Call the coroner. He was now dead.
He groaned. “Don’t. We can’t.” For a lot of reasons.
“I know,” she said quickly. “I just wanted you to know.”
“God, you’re sweet. You put every sweet thing to shame, Ainsley Rose.”
“I’m not always sweet.” That teasing lilt—it was wicked. Pure naughtiness.
“I don’t know what you’re planning, but don’t,” he said with a waver in his voice. He cleared his throat, then made his voice firm. “Don’t.” If she made a move on him now, he didn’t know if he could find the strength to make her stop.
“If you think your stern doctor voice is going to make me comply, then you’re underestimating how much I love hearing it . . .” He felt a warm hand slide softly down his torso toward his beltline, but he caught her wrist just in time.
“Ainsley . . .” The tremor was back. “I’m trying to be a good guy here. We haven’t even been on a date yet.” Kyle kissed her hard; the heat was back. His body clearly thought his brain lacked ambition.
“Cards and cookies in a trailer don’t count?”
He released her wrist and let his hand slide up her side, then he cursed as he drew back. “We’re going to take this slow . . .” He was talking to himself as much as to her.
“You asked me when I’d last been kissed. You didn’t ask when I’d last been—”
“Nope.” He covered her mouth with one finger, his voice steely. Kyle could not hear that information; it would break his resolve for sure. If she hadn’t had a boyfriend all this time, she probably wanted physical contact of that nature quite badly, and he already found it difficult to deny her things she wanted. He loved making her happy, but he wasn’t losing his virginity in a tool trailer in the freezing cold. “Not another word. I’m serious.”
“Doctor voice,” she moaned.
“Fine,” he kissed her sweetly, slowly. “No more talking, then. Let’s just go to sleep.” He pulled at her, encouraging her to roll over again. Ainsley resisted for a minute, then sighed. He listened to her breathing even out, felt her body relax into his, the heat ricocheting between them. Yeah, he couldn’t imagine that sleep was in the cards for him anytime soon . . . but at least he’d avoided disaster. For the moment, anyway.
AINSLEY WAS ALREADY awake when she heard her father’s truck early the next morning. She’d been watching Kyle’s sleeping face, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath her cheek, enjoying the warmth of his body next to hers. Rather, she would’ve been enjoying it if she hadn’t needed to pee like a mother of four needs coffee. She’d eyed the bucket at length, trying to decide if there was any way she could do it without Kyle waking up. But it was irrelevant now; she was getting out of here.
“Kyle,” she whispered. “Wake up.” He didn’t even flinch. She rubbed a hand over his flat belly, and he smiled, his lids fluttering open, then frowned.
“Ainsley?” Kyle rubbed his eyes with one hand. “Oh, right. Ainsley. In the trailer. I’m trapped in the trailer with Ainsley.” They could hear the lock outside being removed, and a moment later, one door opened and the trailer was flooded with light.
“What the—” her father exclaimed.
“It’s just me, Dad.” There was a long pause, and she used it to stand up and stretch her very sore back muscles.
“Oh, no—sweetheart, I am so sorry.” He covered his face with his hands, then pulled them down his beard. “I forgot you’d come with the doc, I didn’t see your car. I thought you’d forgotten to lock up the trailer when you left. Why didn’t you say anything when I did the lock?”
Her face burned. “We were . . . busy. I didn’t realize until it was too late. And I left my phone in the house.”
“We?” Her father’s chagrin changed abruptly to cold realization as her all-night snuggle buddy stepped into view. “Doc? Wait—so you two were locked in together?”
“It did her no good,” Kyle said, squinting into the bright morning light as he tried to dust off his pants, and Ainsley winced at his matter-of-fact expression. Read the room, honey. “Good morning, sir. My phone was dead, too. Flashlight problem.”
Gary folded his arms across his barrel-like chest. “And just what were you doing in the trailer with my daughter, Doc?”
“Dad! He was helping me clean up.” She shot Kyle a pleading look, but he clearly wasn’t rushing to offer any explanations, so Ainsley stuttered, “N-nothing happened!” Besides some very hot kissing, stroking and cuddling? Right, Ainsley.
“I guess that’s none of my business, but . . .” Gary sighed deeply. “All right. What’s done is done. Come on, kids, let me buy you an apology breakfast and a hot cup of coffee. Let’s go.” Gary gathered Ainsley into a tight hug, but she didn’t miss the way he glared at Kyle.
“First things first, Dad,” she said as she hurried toward the port-a-potty. “Then we’ll talk about what happened to your Oreos.”
“Wait,” he called after her. “What happened to my Oreos?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
MONDAY NIGHT WAS AN odd time to have a social gathering in Kyle’s opinion. But Monday was the only day that worked for everyone for the inaugural Sibling Night, per Maggie’s suggestion. She did look very pleased with herself, munching popcorn on his suede leather couch. Kyle had opted to sit on the floor in order to not have crunching in his ear. No one gave him a hard time about it.
“So what’s new?” Philip asked. Claire had made excuses, saying she’d had a tough day with Hannah . . . Kyle still wanted her to see the lactation consultant, and he decided to bring it up again the next time he saw her. Something wasn’t right there, and he despised a medical mystery. Also, Hannah was his niece; he was obligated to take care of her, small and smelly though she may be. He was glad to be past that stage with Coop.
“Why don’t you ask Kyle? I heard he had an interesting night on Saturday,” Daniel suggested innocently, cutting the pepperoni and red pepper pizza Kyle had made earlier. Kyle narrowed his gaze, giving his brother a little head shake, but Daniel just smirked at him.
“Oh, come on. I see Kyle every day,” Philip said, oblivious.
“Every weekday,” Kyle corrected, taking a sip of his ice water.
Philip ignored him. “I want to hear what’s new with the rest of you. Mags, you go first.”
“I finished a painting. An acrylic.”
Kyle sat up straighter. He had one of her earliest works hanging in his bedroom upstairs: an oil painting of Mt. Jefferson. It was fairly basic, and she’d begged and pleaded for him to get rid of it, but he didn’t want to. It was like the trading cards: it made his room right. It was the perfect balance of interesting and calming, minimalist though it was.
“You want to propose a trade?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not this time, Grumpy.”
“Can we see it, at least?” Winnie asked, bumping her shoulder against Maggie’s. Maggie shyly pulled out her phone and brought up a picture, which they then passed around. He pinched the image to make it bigger on the screen. It was a forest of aspens in black and gold and white, and he could practically hear the wind rustling through the delicate leaves and feel the sun on his face.
“I like this one.”
“You like all of them,” she said, grabbing her phone back.
“What’s wrong with that?” he asked, grabbing a slice of pizza.
“Nothing,” Philip affirmed. “I like it, too. You should sell it on Etsy or something.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Because something doesn’t have value unless you get paid to do it, right?”
Kyle sat back, watching the soccer game on the TV. There was no point in arguing with her, but that didn’t stop Daniel and Philip.
“Philip, would you be willing to look at a car for me?” Kyle asked.
Philip sipped his Coke. “Sure. You looking to buy a new one?”
Kyle shook his head. “This one belongs to Ainsley. Her door doesn’t close correctly.”
“What make and model is it?”
Kyle didn’t know that was essential information; he looked to Daniel.
“It’s a Ford truck of some kind, older,” his brother supplied.
“Sure, I mean, I can at least look at it.”