Wild Ice

by Rachelle Vaughn

  * * *

  The big yellow dog trotted behind them and Lauren took small comfort in him being nearby. She didn’t know what the dog’s relationship was with the man, but she was grateful he’d found him and brought him to her. Even if the guy did seem bent out of shape about it.

  When the man turned into the clearing, Buddy darted around them and ran full speed ahead to the mansion. The man followed in his wake and paused at the back sliding glass door to fumble for the latch.

  “You live here?” she asked, unable to hide her surprise.

  He sighed as if answering the asinine question would be too much of an inconvenience for him.

  Lauren started to tell him she’d be fine on the nearby patio chair, but before she could form the words, he whisked her inside.

  It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the dark interior. When they did, she was surprised at the elegant furnishings. Well, not surprised because they matched the house, but surprised because they didn’t match him in the slightest.

  “You’ll have to wait outside,” she craned her neck to tell Buddy.

  The yellow dog pushed by them and barreled into the house.

  Oh no. The man probably didn’t want dusty dog prints all over his beautiful home. As it was, he probably didn’t even want her inside his home, but in Lauren’s defense, he was the one who carried her inside.

  “I’m sorry,” Lauren sputtered. “He’s not mine. I don’t know who he belongs to.”

  “He’s mine,” the man told her.

  “Oh. Well that explains a lot,” she said. “He’s a great dog,” she added, happy to find some common ground.

  The man grunted and slid the door shut behind them. Thanks to that great dog, he was playing “rescue the damsel in distress” and he didn’t like it one bit.

  “Your dog is very smart,” Lauren commented. “I’d probably still be out there hobbling along if it wasn’t for him. What’s his name?”

  “Mel.”

  It seemed like a particularly ordinary name for a perfectly extraordinary animal.

  “Just Mel, huh?”

  “It’s short for Mellow.”

  She smiled. “I’ve been calling him Buddy. Real original, I know.” If not creative, it was an accurate name.

  The man carried her into a massive living room and deposited her onto a plush overstuffed sofa next to a beautiful credenza.

  The first thing Lauren noticed about the room was that the heavy drapes were pulled shut. What a pity to hide such a spectacular view! The only light came from the TV flickering in the corner. A portable putting green sat off to the side. The TV was switched on to a golf tournament, the lush greens stretched across the high definition screen. So, the guy liked golf.

  Buddy, er, Mel rested his chin on Lauren’s knee and looked up at her with concerned brown eyes. No wonder Mel was always so happy to see her on the trail. He lived with a cold fish in a dark house.

  The man cast one last scowl at Mel before bending down and examining Lauren’s foot. Using more tenderness than she expected from the man, he slid off her shoe and gently rolled off her sock. The action sent shivers up and down her spine. She’d just met this man and already he was on his knees in front of her. She chided herself for thinking such an inappropriate thing. Her overactive imagination must have been the product of spending so much alone time in the cottage.

  It had been a long time since a man had undressed her. And her ex was usually too busy worried about what was behind his zipper to pay much attention to her feet.

  Once again, the man’s big hands were warm on her skin. Lauren watched his hands move over her ankle and noticed the shiny gold wedding band on his left hand. Of course he was married. No single man in his right mind, of his age and level of attractiveness would live alone out in the middle of nowhere on purpose.

  Mel sniffed at his owner’s hand, obviously curious as to why he had his hands on another woman. The man gestured for Mel to go lay down. Obediently, Mel walked over to the dog bed in the corner, circled it twice and finally lay down with a huff.

  The man pressed various places on her ankle and asked, “Does this hurt?”

  “No,” she answered, her voice husky. She cleared her throat and immediately felt silly for reacting so immaturely to his touch.

  “How ‘bout this?”

  She flinched, the trance broken. “A little.”

  He stood up and she marveled at his height. He really was one tall drink of water. Even when he wasn’t looming over people on nature trails.

  “Are you a doctor?” she asked. He sure seemed to know his way around her ankle.

  “No, but I’ve seen plenty of broken bones in my life.”

  “It’s broken?” she gasped. It didn’t feel broken. Just sort of throbby and sore. She didn’t want to deal with a broken ankle. That would mean she couldn’t walk on the trail for weeks. The weaver chicks would be out of the nest by then…

  “No. I think you just twisted it. It’s not swelling very much.”

  “Are you sure you’re not a doctor?” she asked again. It was the only way to explain how he could afford a place like this. The furniture alone must have cost a fortune.

  “I’m sure,” he answered and actually sounded a little amused. “I used to play hockey. I can take you to a doctor if you want.”

  “No, it’ll be fine. It doesn’t feel broken. I think I just twisted it,” she repeated his diagnosis back to him.

  “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

  Before she could ask where he was going, he left the room on long strides of those long legs. In the corner, Mel stretched out on his side and grunted, obviously exhausted after his ordeal on the trail.

  Lauren used the opportunity to look around the room while the man was gone. The house didn’t really match him at all. It was sort of pretentious in a way and much too big for just two people to live in. No expense had been spared when building this masterpiece. The cathedral ceilings were amazing and the light fixtures were gorgeous. The furniture was antique, but the interior looked like it had been extensively updated. If she leaned forward and craned her neck, she could see a modern, stainless steel kitchen around the corner.

  When the man returned, he brought back some pain reliever, a glass of water, and an ice pack. He placed two pills on her palm and Lauren blinked. Well, that sure was nice of him. While she drank the ice cold water and swallowed the pills, he wrapped an elastic bandage around her ankle.

  “Keep this on for the first 24 hours,” he instructed her. “Ice it for twenty minutes, a few times a day, and try to keep it elevated.”

  He positioned the pack over her ankle and she winced at how cold it was.

  “This will help keep the swelling down.”

  “Thank you.” What now? she wondered. She was stranded with a bum ankle in a house with a miserable man and a conked out pooch. “And thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said softly. She gave him what she hoped was an endearing half smile.

  He leaned back on his heels and looked her straight in the eye for the first time. His eyes were a deep azure blue; the color of a Western scrub jay’s feathers. His eyes were probably pretty when they weren’t so dark with displeasure. Lauren saw something there that unnerved her and excited her at the same time.

  “What were you doing way out there anyway?” he asked abruptly.

  Suddenly, Lauren felt sixteen again like she was being grilled by her parents about her curfew. Her defense prickled and she launched into an explanation. “I was going down to the creek to take pictures of the egret.”

  His brows knit together with confusion.

  “It’s a bird,” she happily explained. “The great egret. There’s a spot on the bank by a little waterfall that they like to fish from. They’re beautiful birds. Haven’t you ever seen one? They’re very common in this area. I’m sure you’ve seen one,” she insisted.

  He shrugged. It either meant he hadn’t seen one or he was indifferent.

  “You‘ve probably
seen one and you just didn’t know it. They’re solid white, with long feathers. Most people confuse them with storks.”

  He nodded in acknowledgement and she accepted that was all she would get from him was a series of nods, shrugs and grunts.

  “It’s a funny name for such a magnificent creature,” she admitted. “There are two all-white species actually. The great egret and the snowy egret. One has black feet and a yellow bill and the other has a black bill and yellow feet. They both have yellow eyes. They aren’t storks though. That’s a common misconception. They’re actually in the Ardeidae family with herons and bitterns. Generally, the name heron is used for the darker plumaged birds, white the white species are called egrets…” She was babbling and she knew it and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Once her nerves took over and the floodgate opened it was all over.

  “Here, I’ll show you the difference.” She reached for her backpack to get her field guide to show him a picture and knocked the ice pack from her ankle. He leaned over to replace it and she leaned over to show him the photo at the same time. They bumped heads, her floppy hat knocked into him and he grunted.

  “Oh, my goodness. I’m so sorry!” Her hand flew up to rub her forehead and she accidentally smacked him in the face. He pulled back and she put her hands on his arms. Partly to steady herself, but mostly so she wouldn’t inadvertently hit him again. The muscles in his arms were corded and rippled with sinew.

  The man looked down at her hands and stepped back. The cold, piercing look he gave her chilled her to the bone like a full body-sized ice pack. He checked his forehead for blood—luckily there was none—before shoving his hands into his pockets.

  Mel scrambled up from his bed and rushed over to see what the fuss was about.

  “I’m really sorry. I should go.” Lauren shoved the field guide back into her pack and zipped her fingernail inside the zipper. “Ouch!” She shook her finger and examined the torn fingernail. Great. One more injury to tack on to the running tally.

  “Thanks for your help,” she said again. Forgetting about her injury—the ankle one—she stood up and put all her weight on her foot. Instead of making the grand exit she envisioned in her head, she collapsed in pain.

  Before she realized what was happening, he scooped her up again and carried her toward the door. “I’ll give you a ride home,” he grunted.

  “You don’t have to do that,” she protested stubbornly. Then she clamped her mouth shut. How else was she going to get home? Ride over to the cottage on Mel’s back?

  “Where do you live?” he asked, carrying her through the kitchen. He already knew the answer, but she didn’t need to know that.

  Mel forgot about his snooze and was hot on his master’s heels.

  Lauren sighed and accepted the idea of him carrying her, yet again. “The cottage next door,” she mumbled.

  In the garage, he deposited her into the passenger seat of his fancy black SUV. The same one she’d seen that first day by the mailbox. The same one that drove by her kicking up a trail of dust in its wake. Of course it was. It made perfect sense that he was the one who couldn’t be bothered to slow down or wave back to her.

  “You stay here,” he told Mel.

  Lauren interpreted it as, “You’ve already caused enough trouble already.”

  Mel whined, but obediently sat on his haunches and looked heartbroken as they pulled out of the garage.

  Lauren bit down on her tongue so she wouldn’t be tempted to fill the silence during the short ride to the cottage.

  After parking next to her car, he picked her up again and carried her inside. She tried not to notice how his body heat seeped through his shirt. She’d never had a man carry her before—certainly not three times in one day. It was something a groom did on his wedding day, but unfortunately she had never gotten to the walking down the aisle part.

  The man deposited her on the couch and stepped back as if he needed to keep a safe distance between them. His presence made the cottage seem extra small and crowded, especially after being inside the sprawling mansion. It was a Goldilocks conundrum. The mansion was much too big and the cottage was much too small.

  He stood in the middle of the small living room looking not entirely sure of himself or his surroundings. For the first time since they’d met, Lauren felt like she had the upper hand.

  On the trail, she’d been too flustered to notice exactly how handsome he was and inside his house the lighting was severely lacking. But now that she knew he was her neighbor, Lauren allowed herself the opportunity of looking at him objectively.

  His dark brown hair was a little too long and had rake marks like he’d been running his fingers through it—in frustration most likely. Her first impressions of him being scowly were dead-on but there was something else that called for a second glance. Something distant or sad about him—or both. For being so tall, he had the weight of the world on his shoulders and it seemed to drag him down. Lauren couldn’t help but wonder what awful things could have happened to make him so gloomy. It wasn’t his living arrangement that was for sure. Anyone would have given their right arm to live in a mansion bordering the wetlands. At least she would anyway. Well, maybe not an entire appendage, but something of equal value such as cable TV perhaps.

  So, if it wasn’t his living arrangements that had him down then it must be something deeper. Something had to have caused the deep creases in his forehead and the darkness in his eyes. Whatever it was, it seemed to be right below the surface as he made no effort to hide his unhappiness. Yet somehow, the fact that he was closed off and distant added to his allure.

  Lauren shelved her curiosity and thanked him again for helping her. There would be plenty of time to get to know her new neighbor later.

  “Can you close the door?” she asked. “I don’t want Marsh making a break for it.”

  He probably would, too. Most of the time the cat kept himself scarce, but at the first sign of freedom, he’d probably risk coming out into the open just to escape captivity. It seemed almost cruel to keep a cat indoors in a place where the marshlands surrounded it, but it would be even crueler—to the birds—to let him roam free outside.

  The man shut the door and looked around to see who this Marsh person was, but didn’t see anyone or anything.

  “Marsh is my Aunt Cora’s cat…er was,” Lauren explained. “I guess he’s mine now even though he’d rather not admit he belongs to anybody…” There she went. Rambling again. “We don’t exactly like each other but I like to think he respects that I’m where his food comes from.”

  The man nodded at her lengthy explanation. “Where do you keep your Tylenol?”

  “In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.”

  Lauren stifled an inward groan. His back was probably hurting from lugging her around. Poor guy. He might’ve been gruff and abrupt, but he was still just a flesh and blood man. This was probably his day off from not being a doctor and she’d gone and ruined it. If he was harboring a hockey injury she felt awful about it.

  A few seconds later, he came back with a bottle of pain reliever. He set the bottle down on the coffee table and straightened to his full height. “Take some of these in a few hours to help manage the pain and keep the swelling down. Remember to ice it and keep it elevated.”

  Lauren wanted to say, “yes doctor,” but didn’t. She only nodded for fear that she might start rambling again.

  He turned toward the door, hesitated and then turned back around to face her. “Here’s my number,” he said and scribbled it on the pad of paper by the door. “Call if you need anything.”

  Then he was gone.

  Lauren let out the breath she was holding and collapsed against the couch cushions. What a day! What had started out as a birding expedition had turned into a freak accident that caused her to inconvenience her mysterious neighbor. Where was his wife? There wasn’t another car in his garage, so maybe she was at work. Who commuted forty-five miles from the wetlands into the city for work?


  Nibbling on her torn fingernail, Lauren remembered how he said he was a hockey player. She wondered what would make him quit playing hockey. He looked much too young to be retired. Maybe he was hurt. No, he had carried her around like she weighed nothing so it probably wasn’t because of an injury. In fact, if anything, he looked like he was in the best shape of his life.

  Curiosity won out and against her better judgment, Lauren got up and hobbled over to the door. Scribbled on the paper was a phone number. No words, no name, just seven numbers.

  A phone number, a dog, a sprawling mansion and a wedding ring. These were all the things she knew about her mysterious neighbor. Now she had more questions than she knew what to do with.

  She didn’t even know his name.

  * * *

  The next day, JD paced the kitchen. Every time he looked out the window, he expected to see her walking down the trail. But she wouldn’t be. Not with that bum ankle.

  Mel followed for three laps and then gave up and went over to guard the sliding glass door.

  So that explained why he kept seeing her in his field. She was living in the cottage next door. She’d been out there every day, waking on the trail with his dog, looking for birds. Or more specifically the Great Edgar or whatever she said the bird’s name was.

  JD strode from the refrigerator to the stove and debated whether or not to go over to the cottage to check on…

  Dammit. He didn’t even know her name. Sheesh. What kind of human being was he? First he’d gone and hauled her around without offering her so much as a friendly smile. Then he’d plopped her down on her sofa and just left her there to fend for herself while she was injured. To top it all off, he didn’t even introduce himself. Had he been so far removed from civilization that he’d completely forgotten how to be a civilized human being? Apparently so.

  Some neighbor he was.

  Hey, it was just a sprained ankle, he reminded himself. It wasn’t like she was completely incapacitated. At least he left his phone number. That was noble enough, right?

  JD sighed. He couldn’t stop thinking about how she felt in his arms. She didn’t weigh much more than Mel. She certainly smelled better than the Golden Retriever.