by Lisa Jackson
“I tried mine upstairs,” he said. “And, yeah, nothing.” He squeezed her shoulder. “All they have to do is turn on the news and they’ll know you’re snowed in. Most everyone in town is aware that we were catering this wedding; they’ll figure it out.”
“I hope so.” She looked so dejected that it got to him. Christmas was a time for family, at least if you had one.
He guided her back to the sectional, tugged off his boots, and propped his feet on the coffee table. “You were looking forward to it, huh?”
“Not really.”
“No?” He tilted his head in surprise.
“I love my family, but they’re stressful. Very judgy.”
“Of you? Why? You’re a lawyer, a successful business owner, beloved by your community.” Hell, she was the poster child for high achiever. “Your personality, on the other hand, could use some work. Is that why they judge you?”
She poked him in the arm. “My personality is just fine. They don’t understand why I’m no longer practicing law and they definitely don’t get the bakery.”
“Do they know about Oprah?” He tried to suppress a grin. That Oprah shit had gotten her more mileage than Gunny’s old GMC pickup truck.
She hitched her shoulders. “Yes, but it’s not Trial Lawyer of the Year.” She pointed at the fire. “You hear that?”
“What?”
“Exactly. No smoke alarm anymore.”
Well, I’ll be damned. He’d been so caught up with this new revelation about Miss Perfect Rachel Johnson that he hadn’t even noticed. “What does Trial Lawyer of the Year have to do with anything?”
“It’s nothing.” She waved him off. “Are you hungry? We have enough food to feed an army and it’s all going to spoil if the power doesn’t come on soon.”
“I doubt it, not in this cold. But yeah, I could eat.”
They made their way to the kitchen, where Rachel opened the fridge and began lining up various dishes on the counter.
“I wish I had a way to heat some of this stuff, but there are cheeses and veggies and . . . wedding cake.” She turned to him and grimaced. “Do we dare eat it?”
“Let me see.” He came up behind her and took a peek over her shoulder. “What the hell kind of wedding cake is that? It looks like it came off that tree in the driveway.”
She twisted around, her face level to his chest, and he had an urge to dip down and sample those pretty red lips of hers. He’d bet they were better than cake.
“It’s a bûche de noël.” When he stared at her blankly, she said, “You know, a Yule log.”
“Never heard of it. Is it a wedding-holiday thing?”
“It’s a French Christmas cake.”
“Well, there you go. I’m American.”
She shoved his chest. “They sell ’em at Safeway, you jackass.”
“Is that where you got this one?” For some stupid reason, he loved seeing her riled up. Maybe it was the way her breasts heaved, giving him a nice view of her cleavage.
“Just for that, you’re not getting any.” She licked a speck of chocolate off her finger and he felt his groin tighten. Then she thrust a bag of baby carrots at him. “You can have those.”
“You know what these”—he held up the bag—“go good with?”
“Feel free to enlighten me.”
“Beer.” He pushed away from the fridge, wandered onto the porch where his bar was set up, and returned a few minutes later with two pints of pale ale.
“Should we eat here or by the fire?”
“Fire,” he said. The kitchen had turned as cold as an icebox.
She made quick work of arranging cold cuts and cheeses on a big wooden board, filling a basket with crackers, and putting together a crudité platter. Together, they carried everything into the great room. Boden put another log on the fire.
“Should we risk shutting the door?”
“Sure, let’s live dangerously.” He winked and met her on the couch.
“Dig in.” She handed him a plate and a napkin and made sure to put his beer on a coaster before wrapping herself in the blanket again.
“You cold?”
“Aren’t you?”
“Nah, you heat me up, Rachel.”
“You’re an idiot, but since you’re good at building fires, I’ll let you stay.” She swiped a cherry tomato from the veggie assortment and popped it into her mouth.
He filled a plate and took a slug of beer. “Where were we? Oh yeah, you were telling me about why your parents disapprove of you.”
“I believe we were done talking about that and had moved on to why you don’t keep in touch with your mother, the woman who gave you life.”
That’s what he got for dueling with an attorney. But the truth was he was enjoying himself. “That’s about all she did for me. But if you must know, she’s the one who moved and didn’t leave a forwarding address.”
She put her beer down, a stunned expression on her face. “Your mother doesn’t want you to know where she is?”
“I doubt it was that deliberate, since she never gave me much thought at all. She was what you would call an absentee parent.”
Rachel turned to face him. “Was she a druggie?”
He laughed, because how did someone automatically jump to that conclusion? “She wasn’t an addict if that’s what you mean, but she liked to party.” And men. She liked them better than caring for her son. “It’s not a big deal. I had Gunny and he was all I needed.”
She didn’t say anything, which made Boden uncomfortable. “You’re not feeling sorry for me, are you? Because I turned out just fine. A successful businessman, pillar of the community, champion fire builder, and I’m Mr. January.”
“Don’t get carried away. That calendar is a joke. I know Rita Tucker means well, but let’s face it, half the time the pictures are out of focus and the costumes she has you wear . . . uh, there are no words.”
He laughed. “We raised twenty grand for the volunteer fire department with that pervy calendar of the mayor’s, so zip it.”
“That’s because all the women buy it to look at Win Garner.”
“Win?” He pretended to choke. “I don’t like to brag but . . .” He stared down at his crotch. “I’m sure Win’s got other assets, though.”
“That’s your problem, Boden; you’re a little too high on yourself.” She patted his leg and again he felt his groin tighten.
“Nothing wrong with a healthy self-esteem.” He got up and closed the skylights. “Looks like we’re okay with the smoke for now.”
“I think the wind from up there was actually blowing hot air.” She cracked a smile. “Or maybe that was you.”
“Hey, you’re the lawyer.” He came back, plucked a cracker off her plate, and took a bite. “Why don’t your parents like the bakery?”
“It’s not the bakery they don’t like; it’s the fact that I ditched being an attorney to open it.”
“Ah.” He leaned his head back on the couch. “Why did you take down your shingle?” He’d always wondered. She’d probably banked six figures a year as a lawyer for half the work of running a bakery. He knew she got to Tart Me Up before the sun rose every day and spent her nights catering.
“It wasn’t making me happy; it’s as simple as that.”
He held her gaze. “And Tart Me Up does?”
Her expression turned serene and her face glowed. “Yes,” she said, and for a second her countenance blinded him. She really was quite beautiful.
“That’s good. Same with me and Old Glory.”
“And the brewery?” She took off her snow boots and propped her feet next to his. With the fire blazing, the stockings hanging off the mantel, and the big Christmas tree in the corner it felt cozy. Too cozy.
“A dream and my homage to Gunny.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel guilty?” She watched him over the rim of her beer glass.
He tapped his against hers until it made a clinking sound. “As I said before, may the bes
t person win.”
“What will you do if it’s me?”
She knew damned well there weren’t any other available buildings in Glory Junction big enough for a brewery. The fact was there was a shortage of commercial space, period. Named one of the best ski resort towns in California by nearly every major publication, the town had outgrown itself. That’s why timing was crucial. If he waited too long one of the big dogs would come in and he’d be forced out by the competition.
“I’ll cross that bridge when I get there,” he said. “How about you?”
“I don’t plan to lose.”
She began stacking their empty plates. Her hands were delicate, not what he would’ve expected from someone who kneaded dough all day. Then again, they probably had machines for that. Her fingers were long and slender and for a beat he let himself think about what they’d be like on his skin, in his hair.
“What?” She caught him staring.
“You’re a very attractive woman, Rachel Johnson.”
She snorted. “Seriously? Does that work for you at Old Glory?”
“Pretty much.” He laced his hands behind his head. “But I never say anything I don’t mean.”
She looked at him as if she was gauging whether he was telling the truth, then said, “Help me with the dishes.” She grabbed the cold cut board and headed for the kitchen.
The light from the fire illuminated the room, but it was getting difficult to see in the rest of the house. He followed her with a pile of dishes in one hand and a flashlight in the other. “You don’t believe you’re attractive?”
“The question isn’t whether I’m attractive; it’s whether you’re trying to get inside my pants.”
“Oh, I’m definitely trying to do that.”
She surprised him by laughing. “You’re more honest than most; I’ll give you that.”
He helped her load the dishwasher, even though they couldn’t turn it on. They were close enough that he could smell her perfume, something feminine and arousing. “So, what do you think?”
She turned so they were face-to-face, a smile playing on her lips. “About sleeping with the enemy?”
His lips twitched and he gazed around the dark room. “We’ve got nothing else to do, right?” He’d had sex for dumber reasons. But his nonchalance with her was a bit of an act. Maybe he liked the challenge she posed. Or maybe he just liked her, even if she was out of his league. “Think of it as a Christmas present to ourselves.”
In a surprise move, she went up on tiptoes, brushed a soft kiss against his lips, and winked. “I don’t think you need me to while away the hours. From the looks of things, you’ve got this all on your own.”
“Huh?” he asked, and followed her gaze south of his belt.
“Something in your pants is vibrating.”
CHAPTER 7
Rachel watched Boden fish his phone out of his pocket.
“Looks like we’ve got cell reception,” he said while reading a text. “Kristi says she couldn’t get anyone to come about the tree, that all of Glory Junction is without power, roads are closed . . . blah, blah, blah.”
“What does she say about the wedding?”
He gave her a look. “Are you kidding? No wedding, at least not today. She says we should stay safe and warm.”
“Can you text her back and ask about the generator?”
“I can try. But what can she do about it from there?”
Good point, and they’d managed without it thus far. Rachel figured they could go a little longer.
She pulled her phone from her tote bag to see if she, too, had reception. No bars. “You must have a different carrier than I do,” she said as she tried to send a text to her parents, but it wouldn’t go through. “May I use yours?”
“Sure.” He tossed it to her and she dashed off a quick message to tell them that she likely wouldn’t be able to make it tomorrow.
“Did it go through?” Boden asked.
“It says ‘sent.’ ” She showed him the screen.
He quickly tapped out his own text, which Rachel presumed was to someone at Old Glory. The thought that he didn’t talk to his mother made her sad. As far as she knew, he didn’t have anyone else. The phone vibrated again.
“Your parents say to call them as soon as you can. In the meantime, they don’t want you to drive.” He cracked a smile. “Now I know where you get your bossiness from.”
She ignored the comment. “I’m glad they got the text. One less thing to worry about. How ’bout you?”
“Ingrid said they closed the bar and everyone made it home okay.”
“That’s good, though I guess you were counting on the income.”
He shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“Oh, I should send a text to Sam, make sure everything is okay at the bakery.”
He handed her his phone again. “See if you can get a call out this time.”
She dialed, but nothing happened. “Nope. I hope I can still text.” She sent a short message to Samantha but didn’t receive anything back. “Looks like reception is dead again.”
“We can try later.”
She nodded, wondering if he was going to return to their earlier conversation. The man was certainly sure of himself. As if she’d actually agree to a brief affair with him. First off, she didn’t do casual hookups. And second, if she did, he’d be the last man with whom she’d get involved. Sleeping with the enemy, indeed.
She finished cleaning up the best she could, which wasn’t easy in the dark. They’d lost whatever daylight they’d had from the storm.
“I should probably get more firewood,” Boden said as she rubbed her arms from the cold. “There’s no telling when the heat will come back on, and if it gets any worse it won’t be a good idea to go outside.”
“Let’s do it,” she said, thankful that she wasn’t here alone. Under normal circumstances, she was pretty self-sufficient, but in a situation like this, two heads were better than one.
They both bundled up and ventured outside, unprepared for how much worse it had gotten since the last time they fetched wood. Fighting the wind, alone, was a struggle. And with the whiteout situation, finding their way to the woodshed seemed like an exercise in futility. But Boden must’ve been an Eagle Scout or something, because he was undaunted by the extreme conditions and pushed forward. She held on to the tail of his jacket, fearful they’d get separated and she wouldn’t be able to find her way back to the house.
“You should go back,” he hollered over the howling wind.
“No way. I’ll never find it. I can barely see a foot in front of me. I think this was a really bad idea.”
“Better than running out of fuel for the fire. Just hang on to me.”
He pressed ahead, using his sheer size against the elements. She was sure that having to drag her along behind him wasn’t helping matters. But they were stuck now. The flashlight at least helped them see directly in front of them. Little by little they inched their way through the snow, which was thigh deep for Rachel in some places.
“Almost there,” he shouted.
She couldn’t tell how he knew that. Everything looked like a white blur to her. She could barely make out the trees. Her arms, fingers, and toes were numb. This was surely how people got hypothermia and died, she thought to herself. Even her lips felt frozen.
By the time they reached the wooden outbuilding, she was breathing hard. Regrettably, the shed didn’t provide much shelter. It was basically a three-sided pole barn.
“Stay here.” Boden maneuvered her between a stack of wood and one of the walls.
“Where are you going?” The idea of him leaving her didn’t sit well. They should stick together.
“To get that wheelbarrow.” He flashed the light at the side of the building, but she couldn’t make out anything that looked remotely like a wheelbarrow. Just a lot of white. “I saw it there earlier.”
Good thing, because she didn’t think she could carry wood and hang on to him at th
e same time. She’d never been a Brownie, let alone an Eagle Scout. But Boden seemed to have thought all this out ahead of time.
She shoved her hands in her pockets and clenched her teeth, so they wouldn’t chatter while she waited for Boden to return. It felt like an hour had passed before she heard him approach.
“Okay, let’s load her up.”
She tried to gather up a few logs, but her limbs didn’t want to work. The truth was she could barely feel them anymore.
“Come here.” Boden tugged her closer and began briskly rubbing her arms up and down. “Better.”
“N-o-o-o-o. S-o-o-o c-o-o-o-l-d.”
“We’ll be back soon; then you can sit by the fire.”
How come he could string a full sentence together when she could barely speak? He wrapped her in a bear hug and held her for a few seconds. The heat it generated made her feel better and she hung on probably a little longer than she should’ve.
“I’m gonna load the wood now,” he whispered next to her ear, and slowly broke away.
Together, they piled the wheelbarrow as high as they could with logs and started their return trek. It was only about thirty feet to the house, but it felt like a mile up a mountain. Boden did the heavy lifting, pushing the wheelbarrow through the snow. No easy feat. She hung on to his jacket for dear life.
“You okay?”
“I think I’ve lost a couple of toes.”
“Nah, it’s just the wind. It makes everything feel colder.” He forced the wheelbarrow the rest of the way, parking it right outside the mudroom door. “Go on in. Sit by the fire. I’m going to stack the wood up right here in the hallway.”
He must’ve been freezing, too; otherwise he would’ve placed the logs in the wood holder in the great room. She supposed the Canadells didn’t use the house often enough in wintertime to have stacked logs there already.
As soon as she got warm, she’d figure out how to boil water for tea in the fireplace. She stripped off her layers and set them in front of the fire to dry and stood with her legs pressed against the hearth and her hands stretched out as close to the flames as she could get them.
“Warmer?” Boden came in and immediately removed his jacket. His jeans were soaking wet, as were her yoga pants. “This time, we really need to get out of these wet clothes.” He nudged his head at the comforter lying on the couch. “Wrap yourself in that. I’ll take the other one.”