by Amy Brent
“Dammit!” she cursed.
I fought back a smile. She was feisty.
Walking back, I reached out my hand to assist her to her feet once again. The snow was making it difficult to move with any speed. I could have made it on my own just fine, but with her short stature and inexperience trudging through the snow, everything was three times as hard.
“Here,” I said, stopping to take off my snow shoes. “Put these on so we can get out of this damn weather.”
“I don’t need them,” she shot back.
“Yes, you do, unless you enjoy face-planting in the snow. I want to get home. I don’t want to sit out here with you all night,” I shot back, not in the mood to argue with someone dumb enough to head into the woods so ill-prepared.
I dropped down onto one knee in the snow in front of her, waiting for her to lift her booted foot so I could put the snowshoes on her.
She stood there, unmoving.
“Lift your foot,” I growled.
The moment she did, she fell backwards.
“Dammit!” I shouted in frustration. She had to be the clumsiest woman on the planet.
I stood up, grabbed her hand and yanked her up.
“Put your hand on me to steady yourself. Lift!”
She lifted her boot a few inches off the ground, teetering on one leg with one hand on my shoulder. I quickly put the shoe under her foot and fastened her small boot onto the shoe before doing the next foot.
“I don’t know how to walk in these,” she complained, standing there with her arms wide.
“I don’t know that you know how to walk in general,” I muttered under my breath.
“What?”
“Nothing. Lift one foot and then the other. High knees. You’ll figure it out,” I demanded, pissed that I was forced to walk in the cold, wet snow without my snowshoes. I imagined my coffee was ice-cold by now. My plans for the evening had been ruined by this woman and I wanted her to know I wasn’t pleased.
We started to move forward again, her speed a little better, but nothing to write home about. I considered just picking her up and carrying her, but took another look and thought better of it. I was big, but she wasn’t exactly a tiny woman. I couldn’t risk falling and getting hurt myself.
As we got closer to my cabin, I picked up the pace, pushing her to move faster if she wanted to keep up with me. All I could think about was getting out of my wet gear and getting warm by the fire.
“Come on, Casper!” I shouted. I knew he was close by, he always was.
“Who?” I heard her ask, but ignored her.
I walked up the front steps of the porch, stomped my feet a few more times to kick off the snow and pushed the door open.
She was standing at the bottom of the steps, staring at them.
“Uh,” she said, waving a hand at her feet.
I realized she couldn’t navigate the steps with the snowshoes on and now frustrated to the max, made a sound that was a cross between a growl and a roar.
Stomping back down, I quickly unfastened the shoes and took them with me as I headed inside. I could hear her stomping her feet behind me. I hoped it was because she was knocking the snow off and not because she was throwing a mini tantrum.
Once I made it through the doorway, I untied the laces of my boots and headed for the woodstove, peeling off my coat as I walked. I hung my wet coat off one of the hooks behind the stove and stripped off my snow pants, leaving them in a crumpled heap in front of the stove.
I turned to find her standing in the doorway, and marched back across the room, stepping on cold chunks of snow as I went. The cold, wet slush only incited my frustration with the woman. I gently pushed her backwards onto the porch and quickly and rather forcefully wiped the snow from her coat and pants. My hands rubbed over her ass and my earlier suspicions were confirmed. She was all meat and little bone.
There was a grunting noise as I roughly wiped the snow from her back and shoulders. I had a feeling she wasn’t pleased with my rough handling, but she didn’t seem to have enough sense to do it herself. I didn’t know if it was hypothermia setting in or if she was dimwitted. No matter the cause of her lack of concern about being cold and wet, her life was in my hands.
Once finished, I grabbed my radio.
“We’re at my cabin,” I announced on the channel we were all using.
I waited to hear how long it would take for them to pick her up.
There were a few seconds of static and I could hear the mumble of other voices. “You’re going to have to keep her overnight,” Gabe’s voice came over the radio.
“Negative,” I shot back.
“Is she in need of medical attention?” Tom’s voice cut through the silence of the cabin.
I looked up to check her out. She was still standing in my open doorway. The cabin was dark, the glow from the glass in the door of the woodstove was the only light. Maybe she was afraid of strangers.
She should be.
“Shut the door,” I demanded in a rough voice, looking directly at her, before returning my focus to the radio in my hand. “Negative,” I repeated.
“Visibility is zero. Nobody is going anywhere. It’s too dangerous. We’ll send a team over in the morning when we can see. She’s with you tonight,” Tom answered.
“Fuck,” I said aloud, forgetting all about the woman standing in my doorway, eying me as if I might attack her at any moment.
I ripped my beanie hat off and threw it on the small table next to the couch.
“Ten-four,” I confirmed over the radio. There was no point in arguing. I knew it was the best, safest option. It was too risky to send anyone out in what had turned into a blizzard.
“What did they say?” I heard her soft voice squeak out.
Shaking my head, I tried to figure out how to tell the woman she was stuck with me overnight, all the while trying to figure out what I was going to do with her. I wasn’t one for overnight stays in my cabin. It was my domain and I didn’t care for people to be in it.
I turned to look at her again and for an instant, I was excited. I quickly brushed that feeling aside and focused on getting her warmed up. This was going to be awkward for both of us.
“Looks like you’re stuck with me tonight.”
“No!” she gasped.
“Sorry, princess, no one else needs to risk their life to keep you comfortable and happy. You’ll be fine here. I don’t bite,” I said, my back to her as I stoked the fire.
I heard the cabin door close—finally. The woman didn’t have a whole lot of common sense I feared. It was going to make for a long night. Maybe I could convince her to pass out. I’d spend the rest of the evening in my bedroom reading. Anything to avoid having to make conversation with her.
Chapter Four
Calla
There was rude and then there was just plain being an asshole. The man squatting in front of the woodstove was the latter, I decided. I would like to talk to whomever was in charge of my rescue and give him a little piece of my mind about leaving me overnight with a complete stranger. It wasn’t smart.
The man ignored me, which told me the night was going to be long. I wasn’t sure what he wanted or expected of me. I decided to do what he did, and strip off my cold, wet pants and jacket. I walked towards the stove, ignoring the trail of sludge I was leaving in my wake. In the back of my mind, I could hear my mother’s voice scolding me for walking through the house with my boots on.
“Should I hang my stuff here?” I asked.
There was a grunt that I assumed was a yes. I knew he could speak English, but clearly the man didn’t like to use his words. He didn’t even bother turning to look at me before walking out of the room.
“Rude,” I whispered under my breath.
The man was infuriating. I could feel his anger in the room like a toxic chemical. It wasn’t as if I meant to get myself lost.
“Crap!” I muttered.
What if the man had a woman here? Or what if he had plans with
a woman and my rescue mission had interfered? Too damn bad. My life was more important than him getting laid.
I dropped my jacket in front of the stove, knowing it would dry quickly because of the material. I felt a little guilty for not hanging it and did my best to spread it out somewhat neatly. I hung my pants off the spare hook next to his coat. My socks were soaked. I pulled them off and placed them on the floor next to my jacket. I inspected my toes, noting the red nail polish chipping due to the prolonged wetness.
“Damn,” I mumbled, looking at my white, shriveled toes. I hoped he didn’t look at my feet. The black leggings I had worn under my snow pants were a little damp, but I knew they would dry quickly. I hadn’t planned on stripping off the outerwear in public.
The leggings exposed more than I would have preferred in mixed company, but there was nothing to be done about it. He was going to have to get over the rather unflattering look I was sporting. Men these days had this idea that women didn’t eat. My figure resembled the pin-up girls from the fifties. I had long lamented that I was born in the wrong decade. My curves would have been acceptable back then, but by today’s standards, I was plump.
I liked food. No man was worth my passing up a brownie. Deal with it.
My large Viking rescuer emerged from the room he had disappeared into wearing a pair of gray sweat pants. I turned away, looking at the small living room, and shook my head. This cabin wasn’t big enough for the both of us. It was very tense, like the kind of tension you can quite literally feel in the air. I was too embarrassed to look at him for a multitude of reasons. I felt somewhat naked in my current attire, and being trapped in this tiny space felt very intimate.
I felt the rush of cold air when he opened the door. I spun around to see what he was doing, but quickly figured it out.
A large, yellowish dog ambled in and raced straight for the woodstove where it gave a good shake, spraying water and snow all over the room. I watched in horror as he sniffed my coat, spun around a few times and settled right on top of it.
“Uh,” I groaned out, hoping my obvious frustration would inspire the man to tell the dog to lay down elsewhere.
I looked at the man to protest, but froze. The cold had clearly done a lot more damage to my brain than I suspected. I was seeing things. I had to be.
“No, fucking way!” I screeched. “Jake? Jake Thelwis?” I said, nearly choking the name out.
My brain was spinning and pulling up images that had been tucked away for more than a decade. I felt my head shaking, but couldn’t seem to stop it. The movement was completely involuntary. I was trying to deny what my eyes told me I was seeing.
The man grinned, rubbed his long blonde beard and then chuckled. “Calla. I knew there were no two sets of parents that would name their kid Calla. I couldn’t believe there were two Callas in Maine, or the damn country for that matter.”
My mind felt like it was in a hamster wheel. It just kept spinning, rewinding and replaying the night we had spent together eleven years ago.
“What the hell,” I murmured, not actually expecting an answer. “Jake?” I repeated.
I was too focused on taking in the man that had given me the best sex of my twenty-nine years. I could see the young man I knew, hidden behind the beard. He was far more muscular, but it was him. I would recognize those blue eyes anywhere. I guess that solved my problem about staying overnight with a stranger.
He was not a stranger by technical standards, but he was far more dangerous. He knew my body better than I did. He had made me do things no proper woman should. No, he didn’t make me do anything. I had pushed the boundaries on my own free will. The man had given me power over myself and I didn’t have to worry about society’s standards about what was proper in the bedroom. The thought of the things we had done that night made my flesh heat.
“Hi, Calla,” his voice was like smooth silk, washing over my body.
I shook my head and body as if to slough it off. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening. I squeezed my eyes shut, counted to three in my head and then opened them again. He was still standing there.
“Well, this is unexpected,” I said, once I realized fate had plopped me into a very strange situation.
“I’ll get some coffee started,” he said, walking past me into the small kitchen.
I watched as he flipped on a light and filled the pot with water. I shouldn’t have stared, but couldn’t stop it. I drank in the sight of him. He was as tall as I remembered, but so much bigger. Maybe it was all the hair, I silently mused.
“You do have electricity,” I stated, feeling completely stupid, only then noticing the switch on the wall. I had assumed when he didn’t turn on the lights the second he walked through the door, that he lived without the luxuries of modern day society.
He shrugged a shoulder. “Sometimes.”
“What do—” I’d started to ask what he meant by sometimes, but I wasn’t curious any longer.
The light he had just turned on went dark.
I heard him make a sound that I thought was a snort, but it could have been a grunt. Was it a laugh? The soft glow from the woodstove was barely enough to outline his large form. I could see him moving down the short hall. I panicked. Where was he going? I didn’t particularly want to be alone in the dark.
“Jake?” I squeaked out his name. “Uh, hello?” I said, not moving from where I stood in the room.
“There,” he said, in a gruff voice and the room began to glow with a soft, orange light. “Relax. The power goes out all the time. You get used to it.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I happen to like electricity. And light.”
Another scoff.
I watched as the candle seemingly floated into the room before he put it on the kitchen counter. He lit a few more candles and suddenly the room was awash in soft candlelight. It was beautiful. If only I hadn’t been there with Jake. I could see this as being a very romantic retreat with the right man and could think of several interesting ways to pass the time that didn’t require electricity.
“I guess you lose power often?” I asked, trying to keep my thoughts out of the gutter.
“Yes.”
I moved forward and stepped on a chunk of snow with my bare feet. I yelped.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice full of concern.
“Nothing. Just cold snow.”
“Hold on,” he grumbled, putting the coffee pot on the stove and disappearing down the hall again.
He was back a second later, holding something out. I reached out and felt coarse wool.
“What’s this?” I asked, not sure what I was supposed to do with whatever it was he was giving me.
“Put them on. They’re wool socks. Here’s a sweater. Take off anything wet,” he instructed.
“I’m fine,” I said, taking the socks and sweater and heading for the couch. I plopped down and pulled one sock on. It was huge and stretched well over my knee. I felt ridiculous, but the socks were warm. I put the other one on and rubbed my feet together, relishing the warmth.
“Don’t be an idiot. Take off the shirt and anything else that is wet,” he ordered.
“Fine. Where’s the bathroom? Please tell me you have an indoor bathroom?” I said, fearing I would have to trek outside to some disgusting outhouse.
“I have a bathroom. Down the hall on the right.”
I started that way and realized it was very dark. I turned around. “Can I use one of these candles?” I asked sheepishly.
He thrust one of the jar candles at me. I took it and headed back down the hall. Once inside the bathroom, I stripped off the wet shirt only to discover my bra was wet as well.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” I muttered, pulling off the undergarment. I grabbed a towel that was neatly folded on the back of the toilet and dried off as best I could. Once the warm sweater was on, I instantly felt better. I pulled off the leggings that were already starting to dry and quickly yanked off my panties. The wet satin dr
opped into a ball on the floor. If I were home, I would have no problem lounging as I was, but I was not alone.
I tucked my wet panties and bra in my shirt and headed back to the living room.
“Feel better?” he asked, and I suddenly felt as if he knew I was bare underneath.
“Yes, much, thank you,” I said, tucking my wet items under the sleeve of my jacket. The damn dog wasn’t about to move.
I stared at the dancing flames in the stove, getting a little lost in the moment. My eyes drifted down to the floor where the dog was curled up and softly snoring. The scene was stunning. I glanced around the rest of the cabin and saw no real signs of human habitation, but it felt homey. A small table with two chairs divided the kitchen and living space. The kitchen was small and I didn’t see any fancy appliances taking up space on the counters.
I had to write the scene.
“Uh, Jake, do you have a pen and paper by chance?” I asked, wishing like hell I had my laptop.
“Probably, why?”
“May I have a couple sheets please?”
I heard a drawer opening and rifling around.
“Here,” he said, thrusting a notebook and a pen at me.
“Thank you!” I said with glee.
It had been a long time since I had put pen to paper, but I felt I had to write down what I was seeing. It was all very romantic. I wasn’t quite sure how the moment was going to play into my next book, but I just knew it was too good to pass up.
With the pen in hand, I began to write. All my focus was on my writing. I blocked out my discomfort and chilled bones and focused on recreating the scene on paper.
“Here,” his voice cut through my concentration. “Drink this. I’ll see if I can scrounge up some soup or something. You need to get warm.”
I mumbled something I knew was indecipherable, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t lose my train of thought. My unwilling host would have to wait.
Chapter Five
Jake
Damn, never in a million years would I have imagined Calla Fanning would be in my rather humble abode. It was one of those one in a million chance happenings. It was surreal to see her sitting on my couch, in my little cabin in the middle of nowhere.