by Lindy Zart
And she couldn’t stay at Harrison’s. It was a familiarity they should not share. Beth had to leave. There was no other option.
Beth shook her head. “I have to go.”
Harrison reached around her, grabbing his own jacket. “Let’s get you home then.”
She looked away before he could catch the protestation on her face, but Beth knew he sensed it anyway. Harrison was intuitive, and she was sure he’d had lots of practice garnering peoples’ true thoughts even while they didn’t voice them.
“Get over it,” was all he said.
Exhaling slowly, Beth nodded. She would.
FIVE
PROPERLY ATTIRED, SHE stepped out and into what felt like a blizzard. Her legs were covered midway up to her calves in snow as she lumbered through the thick coldness. What am I doing? The wind whipped the strands of her hair not anchored down by her stocking cap up and in her face. She could see her breaths, and her nose and cheeks were instantly assaulted. It literally hurt to be outside. Beth zipped up the jacket to her chin, the material rubbing against her sensitive skin.
Harrison met her eyes, a question in his.
Beth shrugged and turned to the vehicle.
Small tremors ran through her body as she pried open the door of the Blazer. The metal was stuck together by ice, and it took multiple tries, her fingers aching by the time she got the door to cooperate. Snow tumbled down the side of the vehicle, landing inside the car and on her. The Abominable Snowman was not on her list of things to be today. Beth allowed herself a moment to calm down as she brushed aside the snow, but she was still stiff-jawed and irate as she went about retracting the scraper from the backseat.
When she straightened, her eyes unconsciously looked for Harrison. “Harrison?” The wind caught Beth’s voice and sent away the word like she had never spoken.
She closed the door and turned, seeing the outlines of trees in the valleys below the hill line. Beth faced the house. It was hard to see more than a few feet in front of her, and when she didn’t find Harrison, Beth’s pulse tripled its beat, and she hurried as fast as she could through the snow to the other side of the vehicle. She opened her mouth to call out again when she heard a scraping sound. Beth angled her head to the side and picked out a dark figure at the front of the Blazer, his form bent over at the waist and hard to distinguish.
“What are you doing?” she demanded as she stopped near him.
Harrison paused with a shovel in his hand and looked up. His eyes matched the shade of the night sky, his skin reddened by the below zero temperatures and powerful wind gusts. “I’m shoveling.”
“I know that,” she huffed, feeling silly.
He inclined his head and went back to work.
Beth started clearing off the Blazer, but as quickly as the snow was removed, it was substituted for more. After about twenty minutes, she admitted defeat, chucking the scraper to the ground. Her fingers and toes were numb, and her face ached from being so cold. She gazed down the driveway, and all she saw was white. She looked up, and all she saw was more white. Beth turned her gaze to Harrison, seeing a man framed by white. Gripping the handlebar, he rested his chin on his gloved hands and waited, his eyebrows lifted.
“This is pointless.”
“It is,” he agreed.
“But you knew I had to find that out on my own, didn’t you?”
He didn’t reply, shoveling a path to the house. She couldn’t fault his logic. People generally needed to see things for themselves in order to believe them. Beth picked up the scraper and put it back in the vehicle as Harrison finished up, meeting him at the side door to the garage. He was breathing hard, and even with the limited visibility, she could tell all the color was gone from his face.
“How are you doing?” she asked, examining his features.
His mouth twisted at the inquiry, but he spoke evenly as he said, “Well enough.”
“Look at you, answering questions and stuff.”
Harrison’s eyes narrowed.
Smiling to herself, Beth stepped forward too fast and slid on ice hidden by snow, her arms shooting up and her legs flying out from under her. With a grunt leaving her, she landed on her back, her head thumping against the shoveled part of the ground. The air rushed from her lungs in a painful gasp. It didn’t take long for the snow to chill her entire body. As she ascertained she was not seriously hurt, Beth stared up at the swirling snow, thinking it deceptive as the snowflakes swayed and swirled like mini, frozen tornadoes. It was beautiful to look at, but that’s as far as the exquisiteness went.
Harrison dropped to his knees next to her, concern pinching the sides of his mouth. She shifted her eyes to him. His irises looked like two black coals in the dark. He touched her shoulder and immediately removed his gloved hand as if scorched. “Can you move?”
It took her a moment to catch her breath, her mouth ineffectively opening and closing. “S-stupid…s-snow,” she got out around chattering teeth.
The skin around Harrison’s eyes crinkled as he showed her how a full smile looked upon his face. Both corners lifted, and there were teeth. She lost her breath again. His eyes softened, light dancing in the black. “You should write winter a very stern letter, listing all your complaints against it.”
“Number one…would be the stupid snow,” she told him, smiling back.
His head tilted back as he laughed, dropping his gaze to her face. The mirth lingered on his features with sharp, masculine charm. All Harrison had to do was smile and laugh and Beth forgot all sense. Good thing it didn’t seem to happen often. “Let’s get you up before you turn into a life-sized Popsicle.”
The process was slow and awkward, mainly because each time Beth went to use Harrison as an anchor, he moved away. She was on her knees with him crouched next to her, gazing at him in exasperation when she finally said, “Are you afraid to touch me?”
He looked away. “I know you’d rather I didn’t.”
“You’re wrong,” Beth told him, conviction strident in her tone. “You told me to get over it and I’m over it. All of it. I wouldn’t have asked to hug you if I wasn’t.”
Doubt lingered in his expression. “Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that.” She nodded.
“Why?” he asked faintly.
“Why, what?”
“Why did you want to hug me?”
Her body flooded with warmth, and Beth felt her heart reach toward the man beside her. It wanted to designate all the hurting parts of him as hers, and heal them. “Because I think you needed one, and maybe I just wanted a hug.”
He dropped his attention to the ground, the weight of a million invisible bricks resting on his shoulders.
For Harrison’s benefit, Beth changed the subject. “Can we please do this already? I’m really, really cold.”
Harrison swallowed thickly, giving a short nod.
It was much faster to get her to stand after that. With an arm around her waist, he helped her to the door. Beth leaned into him, enjoying his heat, and the firmness of his body on hers. She was lightheaded, and it wasn’t from the fall. Harrison entered the garage and turned on a light. Beth stepped in after him, shutting the door on the seasonal chaos. Her body convulsed in tiny tremors; her face was numb and her lips felt dry and cracked. A hot bath, fluffy pajamas, food, and a bed were all she wanted.
“What time were you supposed to be at work?”
The room was stark white, two shelves set up along the farthest wall to house tools and other items Beth couldn’t name, but that she knew were mandatory to men. A sleek black Ford truck stood tall and proud, its monetary worth clear with a glance at its shiny exterior.
She focused on Harrison, her cheeks burning as their gazes clashed. “Eight.”
He nodded, removing his stocking cap to reveal untidy hair. It gave him a hint of boyishness that made it hard for her to swallow. “You should call them. I’ll get you some more dry clothes.”
“Can I…would it be okay if I took a
bath? And, um, do you have a long-sleeved shirt I can wear to…to bed? I get cold easily.” Beth shifted her feet as his eyes bored into hers. Her innocent questions somehow sounded like propositions to her ears and she hoped he didn’t hear the same. She didn’t even know where her bed would be.
“Yes,” he said slowly, careful to keep his attention from her as he answered. “Of course. I’ll fix us something to eat as well—if you’re hungry?”
“Yes. I am. Thank you.”
Once he disappeared through the attached door to the house, Beth tugged off her gloves and fumbled about in her pocket, searching for her forgotten cell phone. She stared at the screen, knowing if she called in to work under false pretenses, the culpability would hover over her for weeks. But if she called in to work with the truth, it would be worse. If she asked her friend and coworker, Jennifer Travis, to work for her, she probably would, but then Ozzy would wonder what was going on and try to investigate.
Phone clenched tightly in her hand, Beth weighed her options before coming to what she felt was the best decision.
Beth sent Ozzy a text saying she’d hurt her back and couldn’t easily move and asked him to work her shift for her. It was a short one—only four hours—and hopefully, it wouldn’t interfere with his plans for the night. She felt the pause in his response, but he agreed. Another text came, asking if she needed anything or wanted him to stop by later and check on her.
Beth swallowed down a sick sensation and told him thanks, but she was going to rest and wouldn’t need anything. It was a partial truth, at least. Only the knowledge that she was protecting Harrison’s identity helped salvage the guilt as it slashed down her back like sharp, menacing nails.
She was falsifying information to one man to keep another’s secret.
Harrison waited in the large entryway, disengaging from the shadows as she entered the house. “Get everything taken care of?”
“I found someone to fill in for me, yes.” Beth didn’t meet his eyes, feeling unnaturally shy about staying over.
After a tense-filled minute, Harrison said, “There are clothes and toiletries in the bathroom I showed you earlier. Take your time.”
When she reached the bathroom, her eyes went to the cleaning spray, sitting where Harrison had left it. The disease couldn’t be spread by using the same restroom as someone with it. There were all kinds of ways it could not be spread that fear made people forget—made her forget. Beth shoved the bottle back to its spot in the cupboard and went about filling the tub. Lavender scented bubble bath was set out for her, and she smiled as she sniffed it, adding it to the water.
The room turned into a steam room as heat rose from the hot water, and Beth lingered in the relaxing bubble bath until the water turned cold and her fingers and toes were wrinkled. She was tired, and her lower back was sore from where she hit it as she landed. Beth fought to keep her eyes open as she dressed in velvety smooth gray and black plaid pajamas. There was a packaged red toothbrush sitting on the counter for her to use before bed. She carefully brushed her hair with the comb she found in a drawer, wiping a circle in the mirror to view her blurry face. With Beth as exhausted as she was, she imagined Harrison had to be doubly so.
Tracking down the sounds of movement, Beth walked through the hallway and veered to the right. Harrison was at the kitchen counter, clad in another set of clothes, his copper hair damp and curling up in spots. His back was to her as he prepared something to eat. She smelled the distinct scent of tuna fish and her stomach contracted with hunger, making a rude rumble in the quiet. Beth set her wet clothes on the edge of the counter.
“Hungry?”
“Yes,” she told him. There was no point in denying it.
“Do you like tuna fish? Onions, lettuce, pickles, tomatoes?”
“I’m not picky. I like everything.”
Harrison glanced over his shoulder, the smallest of smiles evident.
She didn’t look away, not able to break eye contact. Harrison did, his gaze dropping to her garments and quickly sliding away. Beth took a deep breath, telling herself that whatever she was feeling for Harrison, she needed to restrain it. Sometimes when she looked at him, all she saw was the disease. Other times all she saw was the man. Both were detrimental, but for different reasons.
“Avocados?”
“Yes,” she answered.
“Beets?”
“Of course.”
Harrison met her eyes. “Liver.”
Beth brushed hair from her eyes and shook her head, fighting a smile. “You got me. No to the liver.”
“I’m the same,” he said. “No to the liver.”
Without asking, she opened the refrigerator and perused its contents. It was surprisingly well-stocked with fruits, vegetables, cheeses, and yogurt. She chose orange juice for her, looking over the refrigerator door toward Harrison. “What do you want to drink?”
“Whatever you’re having is fine.”
“Glasses?” She put the container of orange juice on the counter. Following the direction of Harrison’s finger, she found a set of clear glasses. She poured orange juice in each and refrigerated the container.
Beth took her damp clothes from the counter and carried them to the laundry room. The dryer was already running, and unsure what she was to do with hers, she stood in the center of the room and looked around. She turned, and not expecting to see Harrison, gasped as her pulse tripped.
Lightning scorched the pupils of his eyes as they came to hers. In the semi-dark, Harrison’s countenance turned dangerous. Graceful, lupine. His hungry gaze stripped away her clothes and looked at her naked flesh. It was an illusion of the night, but her body felt the singe of his gaze upon her like handprints. There were at least half a dozen feet from him to her, but it felt like nothing separated them. Nothing but all the ugliness of the world.
“You can hang your clothes on the rack over there,” he said in a voice like sandpaper.
“Okay,” she answered faintly. Beth’s heartbeat pounded loudly in her ears. “Thanks.”
Harrison showed her his back and stepped away, into the dimly lit kitchen.
With careful movements, she set her jeans, shirt, and socks on a bar of the clothes rack, noticing the shakiness of her hands. Beth let her head fall forward and closed her eyes, her hair curtaining either side of her face. Her emotions and thoughts were a mess, going one way while fighting to go another. She felt sick, but it wasn’t an entirely bad feeling. That look he’d given her, she couldn’t get that look out of her head.
The scent of Harrison’s clothes was embedded in her skin, and she welcomed it. Beth was afraid, and it wasn’t because of Harrison—she was afraid of her response to him. He was compromised, and he was as exquisite as the deadliest flower. Intriguing to look at, detrimental to touch.
She strolled into the kitchen, pretending whatever just happened hadn’t happened. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning, after your driveway is plowed. I, uh, have to, um—I’ll be back in a minute.”
Beth didn’t look at him. She didn’t need to, to know where he was—she felt him. The room smelled of him, was alive with his warmth, shrunken with his presence. Beth hurried her footsteps, needing space from Harrison in order to properly breathe. She was overheated, nervous and edgy. She didn’t trust herself around him, something she’d never had to struggle with before. Beth felt out of control and wild.
“Beth.”
The pull of his voice, more an entreaty than a command, halted her. She waited, her back to him.
“Whatever romanticisms or fantasies your imaginative mind is coming up with, stop them all. You’ll only get hurt if you don’t.”
She pirouetted like a ballerina in slow motion.
Harrison stood near the sink, his jaw as taut as wire. It looked as if he physically fought an unseen foe, one who attacked him even as his eyes delved into hers. Was he fearful of her? Beth’s eyes narrowed. No, not of her, but of his reaction to her. She understood that all too well.
&nbs
p; “What did you just say?” she rasped, disbelief adding a breathless quality to the words.
“You’re attracted to the forbidden element of our association.” Harrison moved closer. “I’m your employer. I’m…unwell.” His eyes drilled into hers. “All reasons to stay away, and all obstacles that can be viewed as a challenge to some.”
“And you’re crazy,” she scoffed, even as her body hummed with awareness. She wasn’t a daredevil, or someone who chased danger. If she was attracted to any part of him, it would be his strength, or his mind. Not the state of his health or what it represented.
Fire crackled within the depths of his eyes and half of his mouth crooked in a sardonic grin. “Not yet.”
“I’m not like that.” Her voice sounded weak. Beth cleared her throat, trying to speak firmly and failing again. “I wouldn’t…wouldn’t do that. That isn’t—no.”
“Good.” Harrison stopped walking when there was an arm’s length between them. Close enough to touch, close enough to kiss. “I must have imagined the look I thought I saw in your eyes.”
Beth moved around him and grabbed one of the two plates housing a tuna fish sandwich, pretending like her skin wasn’t flushed or that her hands didn’t quiver. She sat down on a barstool at the island, taking a large bite of the sandwich. It was good; a lemon garlic taste smoothing the tuna fish flavor.
Swallowing, she said, “I must have imagined the same look I thought I saw in your eyes.”
AFTER THEY HAD eaten their light meal in silence, Beth helped clean up the mess and was shown a spare bedroom down the hall from Harrison’s. It was as far away as he could put her from his bedroom while having her remain on the same floor. The room held a single bed and a nightstand. Nothing flashy; everything was neutral-toned and plain. She spent the hours until she fell asleep reading the book about the boy who, motherless and alone, grew into a man great enough to rule countries. It was a story of unparalleled drive, showing how obstacles had to be taken down from within before they could be overcome on the outside.