“Hello! How was the drive?” Owen turned on all his charm for the scout leaders as they unloaded the vans, learning names and history with the sort of ease Quill had expected. Watching him work was a weird sort of pleasure, the way he effortlessly helped kids with their snowshoes and fielded rapid-fire questions. And he was good at directing Quill in subtle ways, involving him in the flurry of activities but not requiring him to be at the center of the action the way Owen was.
“Okay. Now, who here thinks that snow can be dangerous?” Owen finished his presentation on the history and topography of the area, giving Quill the opening they’d discussed to talk about avalanches and other dangers. He stayed involved, repeating softly spoken questions and calling on kids by name, and generally making Quill’s job that much easier. Indeed, it was actually an enjoyable few hours, watching the kids explore and Owen in his element around people.
“We make a good team,” Owen declared as they stowed the snowmachines back in the equipment shed after saying goodbye to the group and doing a fast patrol.
“We do.” Even if he didn’t want to give Owen’s ego more fodder, he had to admit that they had worked together seamlessly, him filling in the gaps in Owen’s knowledge and experience and Owen balancing out his more limited social skills. “I might use you for more presentations. If that’s okay?”
“Please do. But...” Owen paused near the door, mischievous grin unfurling on his face. Damn. Those dimples undoubtedly meant he was up to no good, and still Quill took the bait.
“But?”
“I mean if I’m doing you a favor, I think I should get a little something in return.”
“Of course. I can help with trash—”
“No, not trash.” Eyes sparkling in the rapidly dimming afternoon light, Owen laughed. “More like I was angling for a kiss. That was hard work today and all.”
“That so?” Quill needed to remind him that they needed to be professional, at least when not in their quarters, but somehow what came out was far flirtier. His feet stepped closer to Owen, not waiting for permission from his brain. They were both bundled up in thick winter gear, and it wasn’t like Owen was proposing a quickie next to the snowmachines. “Guess one could be arranged.”
“Really?” Owen’s head tilted like he’d been expecting a fast rebuff. Perversely, that made Quill more determined to prove that he wasn’t always so predictable and boring.
“Sure.” Quill pulled him close, their parkas bumping together before he dipped his head and claimed Owen’s mouth in a soft but thorough kiss. It was usually Owen stealing kisses late at night so this felt strangely new—daylight, outdoors, him initiating. But then Owen took over like he always did, deepening the kiss to own Quill’s mouth with his determined tongue, and it was as familiar as his favorite boots, warming him through despite the chilly air.
“Race you upstairs?” Breathing hard, Owen broke away. “I think you need another lesson before dinner.”
“Less—oh. You want to...before we eat?”
“Uh-huh. And how.” Owen grabbed his hand, pulling him through the door.
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Quill muttered, not nearly as put out as he was acting. “We really do need to get you a hobby other than...you know.”
“You can say sex, Quill, and the world won’t stop turning. No one here but us and the wind.” Owen set a brisk pace back to their building. “And I’ve been thinking on that. I’m not really the type to take up knitting or poetry or other hobbies like that.”
“What did you used to do as a bored kid?” Quill was genuinely curious, pausing to remove his snow-covered boots at the bottom of the stairs. They’d talked a fair bit about Quill’s childhood, the unhappy bits and the happier memories of various hunting and camping trips with his grandfather, but Quill didn’t have the best sense of Owen as a kid other than as an energetic younger sibling tagging along with the older kids.
“Hmm. Good question. My mom was always trying to get me to read, but books didn’t often keep my attention. I loved comics, but my parents didn’t think they counted as real reading. Of course, now graphic novels are everywhere, and Mom gets them for the grandkids, but back then they both gave me a hard time about liking comics. I used to make my own, sold them to my friends and stuff before we discovered dating and going out places.”
“I can totally see you selling comics to your friends. Always enterprising.” Laughing, he followed Owen up the stairs. “And you should try that again if you get super bored. Better that than you starting to talk to trees.”
He was joking, but underneath the teasing was the lingering worry that Owen wouldn’t finish the winter, that Quill wouldn’t be distraction enough to keep him.
“Maybe.” Owen kicked the door shut. “But right now, only hobby I care about is getting you out of the rest of this gear.”
“Let me stoke the fire, and then, yes.” And maybe Quill wouldn’t—couldn’t—be enough to keep Owen, but he could darn sure do better at keeping him happy while he had him. And if that meant letting him make a fuss over Thanksgiving and making sure he had his daily quota of orgasms, then Quill was all for it.
Chapter Sixteen
“We’ve got a problem.” Quill came into the equipment shed with Owen’s least-favorite sentence. Owen had been gassing up his snowmobile for a check of the public-use areas. Thanksgiving had dawned clear and cold, and he’d more or less invited himself along on Quill’s midmorning patrol. They’d had a steady stream of traffic all week, and as the tourist numbers rose so did Owen’s spirits. He’d had some great conversations with skiers and snowshoers the past few days, and even if it meant longer hours and more work for him, he’d happily take this level of busy.
But not problems. Problems meant getting to use his critical thinking skills, but they also invariably meant a cranky Quill.
“Generator again?” He braced himself for another frigid night. Stupid thing wasn’t doing the best job as it was.
“No, not that. Got a call about an SUV down at the lower lot with a bad flat tire. Screw straight through the tread. I went to check it out, and I’m not sure they’ll get a tow truck up here on a holiday weekend. I could use a hand. You said back at the training that you knew cars. Ever seen frozen lug nuts?”
“No, but I’m game. And I’ve changed tires before. Do they have a jack or should we bring one down?”
“We’ll bring ours just in case.” Quill grabbed one from a shelf in the shed, stowed it on his snowmobile. “They’ve got those beefy tires, which makes it more of challenge. Luckily, they say they have a spare. And uh...the family’s rather high-strung. Crying kids.”
“Ah. Now we get to the real reason you came for me.” He couldn’t help the warmth that spread out from his chest. Quill needed him. And maybe it was only his people skills and tolerance of kids, but Quill had come for him, and that made him unreasonably pleased. “Give me three minutes to run upstairs and grab some candy, and then we can roll.”
“Candy?” Quill frowned.
“For the kids. I found a bunch of it when I was organizing one of the stockrooms. Still good. Trust me.”
“Okay. I need to collect some hot water as well anyway.”
Once they had the supplies they’d need, they headed off on the snowmobiles. They were greeted by a large family with five redheaded kids of varying small sizes—baby to about ten, Owen would guess. Possibly two sets of twins. One worried-looking blonde mom who had a puffy face from crying, and oh hey, pleasant surprise, a second mom or aunt with long dark hair and a calmer demeanor. Owen wasn’t going to make assumptions, but he gave them all a broad smile. The oldest kid was out with the women while the others fussed in car seats.
“You came back,” the blonde said to Quill. “Thank God. You were right. No luck getting a tow truck up here. And our friends aren’t answering. They left before us because we had to change a diaper. We
didn’t notice the flat until after that. They’re probably already back in Anchorage. And—”
“Breathe,” Owen told her. “We’re here now. We’ll get you on the road fast.”
“Thank you.”
“All part of the job.” Quill crouched low, examining the tire. “You ran the heater for a while like I suggested? Hopefully that warmed up the bolts a little.”
“Warmed up the kids too,” the other woman chimed in. “Sorry they’re so fussy. Getting on to both lunch and nap time.”
“Do they have allergies?” Owen asked the women, still not sure which one was the mom. “I brought them some lollipops.”
“Bless you.” The dark-haired woman took the suckers from him and passed them out while he bent next to Quill.
“So what’s your plan?” he asked, trying to do better at not taking over and running things.
“Mine?” Quill smiled at him—still a rare event, but less so recently. More smiles and more joking, at unexpected moments too. “Figured you’d have a ten-point plan of attack by now.”
“Well, I do have some ideas,” Owen admitted.
“Knew it.” Quill’s look was almost affectionate before turning serious again. “We should get the spare out first, make sure it’s properly inflated.”
“F—crap. We’re going to have unload. It’s under the floorboard in the back.” The blonde looked on the verge of tears again.
“It’s no problem,” Owen said before he saw the massive assortment of winter gear, baby supplies, and luggage in the rear of the SUV. It took a bit of doing for them to unload everything and free the tire. Some other tourists on skis stopped by to see if they could help, and one family had snacks they shared with the kids. The cold made everything more of a challenge, and Owen and Quill both had to keep rotating gloves on and gloves off to complete tasks, but other than that, helping the women was almost fun.
As he always did, Owen got most of their story as they worked. They were sisters-in-law, not a couple, one with a deployed military husband and the other with an oil-rig-working husband, and they’d come to the area with friends for the holiday for a little fun in the snow to take their minds off not having their men home. They seemed like a lovely family, and Owen liked being able to save the day for them. His shoulder blades loosened, some long-held tension falling away as he felt more needed than he had in a long time. Knowing he was able to do this made him vital and alive, like sex or a good workout, but the helping part satisfied some deeper need he hadn’t even been aware of having.
Eventually they got the women back on the road, and he and Quill continued on patrol until the early sunset chased the tourists away. Quill did pull the whole big, bad ranger you-can’t-camp-here lecture for a group of older, inadequately dressed teens. Owen’s own inner teen in search of a heartthrob did a swoon at Quill’s stern voice and commanding presence. He was fast coming to love Quill’s contrasts—large, hulking ranger capable of handling any crisis and shy, almost wounded man who struggled with opening up and letting go.
Which was why Owen treasured his little jokes and smiles that much more, stored them away as evidence of Quill’s gradual thaw.
“You did good out there. With the kids especially.” Quill let him go ahead of him on the stairs back up to their quarters. “But I probably kept you out too late for that pie and roast we planned, didn’t I?”
“Wrong.” Turning, Owen preened down at Quill before opening the door at the top of the stairs. “I made the pie this morning, right after you headed out. And I put the roast in that slow cooker Hattie left behind. A quick call to my mom helped with the seasonings and cook time.”
“You? Needed advice on something?” Quill shook his head as he peeled off his outerwear, another of those rare teasing smiles widening further.
“Well, it was also an excuse to call home,” Owen admitted, hanging up his coat and the rest of his gear, leaving him down to two long-sleeved T-shirts and stretchy fleece pants. Something about this week and all the tourist families had had him a little nostalgic for his own.
His mom had advised a ginger-garlic-chili combo that Owen probably could have come up with on his own, but sometimes a guy just wanted to call his mom. However, he also knew that Quill didn’t have that, which made his hands itch. He’d like to shake Quill’s family for not seeing what a great guy they’d had in their midst. And not surprisingly, he’d spent far too much of the tinny-reception call sharing Quill stories and dodging questions about what he’d be doing after his volunteer stint was done. He honestly wasn’t sure, which wasn’t going to be the answer his planner-loving family wanted to hear. But he hadn’t pulled out his list in weeks, hadn’t been able to summon enthusiasm for deciding what came next. He missed the people more than the chaos of city life. Sure, takeout was great and he missed regular internet, but otherwise his stir-crazy cabin fever had markedly decreased the past few weeks.
“It smells good.” Quill headed to the kitchen area.
And yeah, Quill was absolutely responsible for Owen’s newfound commitment to living in the here and now and not making future plans. Because future meant no Quill, and Owen didn’t want to dwell on everything he’d be leaving behind, not when there was still so much he wanted to experience here.
“I’ll check the roast, make sure it’s done.” Owen padded over to the slow cooker, hoping the electricity hadn’t crapped out on them again.
“You do that. I’ll make a packet of potatoes to go with it.”
Owen had been thinking noodles, but he supposed potatoes were more Thanksgiving-y, and he was nothing if not open to compromise, especially when it came to making Quill happy. As Quill put the water on to boil for the potatoes, he paused by the stove, forehead furrowing.
“What?” Owen hoped he hadn’t just remembered a chore, because the last thing he wanted was to go back outside.
“Oh, nothing. A memory. Not exactly a bad one either.” Quill’s voice was thoughtful. “When my grandmother was alive, she always made people at Thanksgiving say what they were thankful for. JP’s family did the same thing, just without the arguments and hurt feelings that always seemed to happen at my house.”
“We could do that.” Maybe a tradition was exactly what Quill needed to make peace with his past, something he could use going forward.
“Nah. I’m not a speech maker. You know that. More like the memory made me realize that I don’t say thank you enough. Not simply for the help with the tire and stuff like that, but for...everything else.” Quill’s cheeks were shiny pink by the time he finished.
“You don’t have to thank me.” Heart swelling, Owen suddenly felt inadequate to hold in all the emotions coursing through him. Quill was grateful for him. It was humbling, and frankly, Owen wasn’t sure he deserved it. “I like doing stuff for you.”
“I’ve noticed.” Quill’s eyes went hooded and hot. Owen hadn’t meant sex stuff, but if Quill’s brain had headed straight for his like of jerking Quill off when they made out, he was happy to follow him to the sexy place, relieve them both from the sudden emotional turn the conversation had taken.
“You know...” He waggled his eyebrows at Quill. “If you’re really wanting to share gratitude, feel free to show me after dinner.”
“Just might do that.” Looking away, Quill blushed, it deepening as he added the packet of potatoes to the water.
“Good.” Owen gave his shoulder a fast squeeze before taking out the meat, which at least smelled decent. Probably spicier than Quill would have done on his own, but not overpowering.
Quill was a little too worried about the possibility of a late-night callout to drink with dinner, but the roast was good over the potatoes, spices covering the natural gaminess of the meat well.
“So... Thanksgiving with JP’s family. How’d that go over?” Owen figured he was cutting into his chances of getting lucky later by bringing up the college ex, but Quill
’s mention earlier had him all kinds of curious.
“Probably better than you’re imagining.” Quill’s voice was drier than the potato granules, but at least he didn’t leave the table. “His family was rich, large, and didn’t care who he fucked around with. I went as a friend, but it wasn’t some big drama-filled thing. Not like him visiting mine would have been.”
“Ah. Did you like his family?” As he asked, Owen pictured Quill around his own family, eating Owen’s mother’s cooking, getting overwhelmed at the chaos of the nieces and nephews and extended family. It was a sweet image, even if it was one that wasn’t ever meant to be.
“They weren’t the issue. I was.” Quill speared his last piece of meat with an angry jab. It was a nonanswer, one that made Owen that much more heartbroken for younger Quill.
“I didn’t know you at twenty, but I find that hard to believe. You’re a great guy.”
“Thanks.” Quill didn’t meet his eyes, but his tone softened. “People want different things. Drift apart. I wasn’t what he needed for his big shiny future. That’s all.”
“He’s an ass if he didn’t see you as a part of whatever future he had.”
“He wanted more for me. Wanted me to take a corporate job with his father’s software company or maybe get a master’s in environmental engineering. Had all these plans and hopes.”
“You would have been miserable.” Even Owen could see that. Quill was born to be outside, not behind a desk.
“Likely so. Anyway, it drove a wedge between us. But I guess it worked out in the end. He’s a plastic surgeon now in Seattle. Big practice. Married to the CFO of his dad’s company. And I’m here. Where I’m supposed to be.” He said the last bit defiantly, like Owen might be scheming to take him from this life, which couldn’t be further from the truth. It would be like trying to move a two-hundred-year-old spruce or reposition a river on a whim. Not happening and rather arrogant to assume it could.
Arctic Heat (Frozen Hearts) Page 15