by Ruth Wind
This was one of those times. Just below the second turn, a gigantic tree, along with two good-size boulders, a couple thousand gallons of snow and half the mountain, had fallen across the road, clear to the edge of the guardrail. A reddish slash of newly bared earth showed where the tree had once stood, forty feet above the road. Obviously the wind had knocked it down.
Two things crossed her mind. The first was a sick sense of relief. She had been on this road only a little while ago. The avalanche might have buried her.
The second was a sense of panic. How was she going to get back to town? The road was completely blocked. On one side was the sheer, dizzying drop to the valley a thousand feet below. On the other was a steep mountain that looked none too stable. Anna didn't fancy starting a second avalanche.
Going over the top of the mess was impossible, though she seriously considered it for a moment. The tree's broken, spiky branches, combined with the treacherously unsettled earth and snow, would make it a dangerous undertaking. One she wasn't willing to risk.
She had no choice. Taking a deep breath, she turned around and began to walk up the hill, trying hard not to imagine the reception she would receive from the prickly Tyler.
* * *
Chapter 2
« ^ »
Tyler felt restless. Each year on the anniversary of Kara's death he made arrangements to be alone, and this year was no different.
Except for Anna's invasion. Unsettled and uneasy after she left, he prowled the cabin end to end, over and over, trying to dislodge the disturbance she'd left behind.
He scowled. Damn his mother. She was prodigiously meddlesome and undeniably canny. Each time he met the little museum curator, Tyler had been surprised by his attraction to her, and somehow, Louise had noticed that.
Desire had become an almost alien emotion to him the past few years, but if he was honest with himself, he had to admit that Anna kindled something. It was an odd sensation. Kara was the only woman he'd ever loved, the only woman he'd ever made love to, the only woman he'd ever even looked at. It was old-fashioned, and his brothers had teased him unmercifully about it, but Tyler was a one-woman man, and when that woman died, he had had no interest in finding another.
But something about Anna had caught his attention the first time he met her, at his mother's house for a Fourth of July celebration last summer. He'd never met a woman made of such vivid colors. Curly black hair as glossy as Chinese lacquer, cherry-red lips, dancing black eyes. There seemed to be a field of snapping energy around her, so much so that it was a surprise to look at her and see that she was actually rather small.
Whenever she appeared, he found his reluctant gaze drawn back to her, to those colors and that vividness, and felt stirrings of—
Need. Pure, simple, animal lust. It was as if his body had a will of its own and it wasn't about to listen to any rational, logical or moral reason a man didn't have to have sex. He saw Anna and every nerve in his body went on alert.
But Tyler felt bound to remain celibate. Love and sex were sacred treasures, and he could not betray what he'd had with Kara, or be a good example to his son, by indulging in a casual fling. Love was out of the question, so celibate he would remain.
Until Anna appeared, there had been no conflict. Now he had to fight this struggle he didn't want and hadn't asked for, the old fight a man faced between his body and his mind. If he hadn't been so lonely these past months, the struggle wouldn't have seemed so intense, but watching both of his brothers fall in love and get married in the past year had been hard on him. Their happiness reminded him of everything he'd lost.
Annoyed with his thoughts and his restlessness, Tyler threw on a coat and went outside. On the porch, he halted, surprised at the increasing ferocity of the storm. This particular spot was protected from the wind, but he could see whirlwinds of blinding snow over the trees. The sheer volume was incredible, even for the mountains. In the hour since he saw Anna off, another foot had fallen.
With a frown, he glanced down the road, wondering if she had made it safely to town, and if Curtis would have his teddy bear. Worried, he flipped open the cellular phone and tried to get a line, but it was as dead as it had been the last three times he tried.
There was no help for it. His mother had known Anna was coming. She'd also known his line was dead, or Anna wouldn't have had to drive all the way up here for the bear. If Anna didn't come down off the mountain in a reasonable amount of time, Louise would send a search party out for her.
He frowned. If worse came to worst, he'd try the ham radio later on.
For now, a good stint of wood-chopping would do a lot to improve his mood. He was used to being alone, used to being trapped on the mountain—sometimes for weeks at a stretch. It was just the storm and the unexpected appearance of the museum curator, combined with the anniversary of Kara's death, that was making him feel so unsettled. Hard physical exercise would ease that.
He'd cut a quarter cord when Charley started barking fiercely in warning of an intruder. Tyler straightened, brushing snow from his face, and turned to see a bright figure emerging from the storm. Anna, as bright and startling against the uniformly gray-and-white world of the mountains as a toucan. He straightened, feeling a strange, thick dread at her appearance. Carefully he put the ax aside and waited for her.
Judging by the crimson of her nose and forehead, she'd been walking a long time, and genuine concern overrode his dismay. He stepped forward. "God, Anna, are you okay?"
"Oh, I'm fine." The words, given coppery edges by her New York accent, were breathless. "I had to park the Jeep and start walking to town, but then a tree caused an avalanche down below that nasty turn—you know the one right beyond that grove of aspens?—and I couldn't get over it." She paused to catch her breath, and clasped her hands in front of her nervously. "I didn't know what else to do but come back here."
Shards of some strong emotion needled through his lungs. A mixture of things—regret and worry and anger. "So now you're stuck here," he said harshly.
She bowed her head. "I didn't do it on purpose. Even if you had followed me, it wouldn't have made any difference. No one could have gotten by that mess. A whole tree, and half the mountain, came down." She brushed snow from the front of her thighs. "I'm sorry."
"You may as well come inside," he said gruffly. He couldn't let her freeze to death. "Let's get something hot into you."
"Thank you," she said softly. "I know you wanted to be alone, and I swear I won't be a bother. I'll just keep to myself and not talk at all, and I'll even cook for you, if you want. I just feel terrible about imposing like this."
Tyler halted and turned. "Do you always talk this much?"
She widened her eyes. "Mostly," she said despairingly. "It's worse when I'm nervous, and now I'm kind of pumped from the walk. It was really beautiful, but I'm tired and cold, and I know you didn't want anybody around and that's why you took Curtis to his grandmother's." She seemed to realize what she was doing, and closed her mouth. Then: "I promise I'll try to be quiet."
Snow caught in her hair, sparkling against the blackness. One fat flake drifted down to light upon her mouth, and Tyler found himself watching it melt into a silvery bead upon her rose-red lip. A vivid image of his tongue against that bead and the plump flesh below sent dancing heat over his nerves. Before he could halt it, the vision expanded, showing him the slick taste of the inside of that mouth, a mouth a man would gladly plunder for hours at a time.
She stared at him, waiting for his reply. Furiously, Tyler turned away. "Try harder," he said.
* * *
Inside, Anna shed her parka and boots and gloves, putting them by the door so that they would dry. Discomfort prowled her spine, making her want to chatter. It was her usual response, but this time, she bit down her words with effort.
Tyler moved around the kitchen area smoothly, lighting a small kerosene camp stove on the counter, and drawing water from an old-fashioned pump at the sink. She touched it, charmed, and wante
d to ask questions about the way the water got to the cabin, and if there were any other niceties of modern life—like electricity or gas—but she didn't. She simply settled on a stool at a high counter and folded her hands as if she were in Sunday school.
As she watched him, admiring the shine of his hair and the breadth of his shoulders below blue corduroy, the full scope of the situation sank in. She was stuck, alone, with a man she'd been having fantasies about for months, and just sitting in his kitchen, looking at him, made her thighs tingle. The whole cabin smelled of him, too, although she had not known before what gave him that earthy scent. He smelled of wood smoke from his fires, and pine from his mountains, and herbs from the fragrant tea he gave her.
"There's sugar in the dish over there. A spoon in the drawer."
"It smells heavenly."
"Ramona makes it—she told me what it was, but I don't remember. Lemon something. Maybe some chamomile."
Ramona was his sister-in-law, the town doctor, who had the biggest herb garden in the county. Anna nodded. "Thank you." She added sugar and drank the tea gratefully, letting it warm her frozen insides. Her hands ached and her nose tingled as feeling came back to them, but her toes were still little blocks of ice. "Do you mind if I sit by the fire to drink this? My feet are frozen."
A trace of concern broke through his stoic expression. "Do you think you might have been frostbitten? Maybe I should see your toes."
"No, I didn't mean literally frozen, you know."
"How about your hands?"
"Tyler, I'm fine. I swear."
But Tyler took her free hand and examined the tips of her fingers carefully. "It wouldn't have taken much longer. Didn't anyone tell you leather doesn't keep you dry?"
A flush of heat rose in her cheeks. Stiffly she pulled her hand back. "They have rabbit-fur lining."
"Which also gets wet."
"I didn't really intend to be cross-country hiking today."
"Well, you should know you have to be prepared for anything up here."
Anna, stung, lowered her eyes. "I do try."
"Damn, I'm being an idiot," he said suddenly. "I'm sorry. But you really might have been killed in this storm, and it would have been my fault for letting you leave here by yourself. I knew better."
"But I did fine!" She'd been so proud of herself for getting back here, for making the right decision. "Except my gloves, maybe. I would even have been okay if I'd had to build a snow fort."
The faintest gleam of amusement lit those gray eyes. "Is that right?"
"Yes. I learned how at a winter survival class last fall. You have to find a sheltered place, and build the cave with the door facing away from the wind, and you can sleep on pine boughs."
This time, he almost smiled. She saw the quirk of his lips before he caught them, and the knowledge warmed her.
"You're right, Miss Anna. I'm very impressed. Will you still let me look at your toes to make sure they aren't frostbitten?"
She sighed and put her tea on the counter beside her. What would it hurt, after all? "Fine," she said, and stripped off her sock before she remembered her nail polish.
He grabbed her foot. "Interesting color choice," he commented mildly.
Anna blushed. It was purple, with gold glitter. Way too obnoxious for everyday wear on her nails, but the garishness pleased the little girl inside. "My mother always said I have gypsy blood."
"And do you?"
He still held her foot, and when he raised his eyes, Anna was a little overwhelmed by his nearness. For a moment, she thought she saw something like heat, way back in the depths of those crystal-colored irises, and against her arch, his hand tightened the faintest bit. It was oddly arousing to have him touch her bare foot like that.
For one long moment, she contemplated the forbidden fantasy of leaning forward to kiss those perfect lips, to put her hands on his princely jaw and pull him into her. A ripple of imagined pleasure rushed up her spine, and she lowered her eyes hastily, afraid he would see too much. "Maybe."
He let her foot go. "I think the toes are fine. Are you hungry?" He stirred something in a heavy black kettle on top of the potbellied stove in the corner. "I've got stew for dinner. I'd planned to eat at dark, but if you're hungry, you can have some now."
Anna shook her head. "I can wait."
"All right." He picked up his coat. "I want to make sure there is plenty of wood. This storm might take a day or two to blew itself out."
"Okay. Do you want me to do something?"
"No. There are things to read over there on the shelf."
As he put on his coat, Anna realized there was one more thing she required. "Tyler, I hate ask, but do you maybe have some sweats or something that I could wear? My jeans are soaked."
The cool gaze flickered over her body, and without a word, he crossed the room to a bureau against the wall, tugged open a drawer and pulled out the requested sweats, a shirt and a pair of socks. He put them on top of the dresser without looking at her, and before Anna could even frame her thanks, he was out the door.
Left in the silence, with only the howl of the wind and the crackling of the fire, Anna let out her breath. She carried her tea over to a small, low table made of unvarnished pine that sat nearby the fireplace. Her jeans, heavily wet, made her thighs feel clammy, and she carried the neat pile of clothes into the small bedroom she'd glimpsed earlier. Gratefully, she peeled off the wet jeans and damp sweater. A low fire burned in a second potbellied stove, and she stood in front of it for a moment, warming her cold legs and hands.
The sweats were way too big, and the extra length pooled in a clump around her ankles, and the flannel shirt wasn't much better. She had to roll the sleeves up four times to find her wrists. Padding back out to the other room, she imagined how she must look, and grinned wryly. So much for the femme fatale.
Not that she had the qualifications, anyway.
Warmed by the fire and tea and dry clothes, she wandered over to the books to see if he might have something for her to read. A knot of anticipation or excitement or worry made it hard to concentrate. Alone with Tyler. For days, maybe. How would she avoid making a fool of herself?
For months she'd entertained vague, dreamy fantasies about him. About his long, gilded hair and his sensual mouth and even some other parts of him she wouldn't admit. Just being in the same room with him made her a little giddy, made little nerves on her legs and the inside of her arms lift in anticipation.
Classic crush. It happened. She'd seen her sisters go through it dozens of times.
Anna had thought herself immune. Both of her sisters had gone boy-crazy the minute they turned thirteen, and spoken of little else forever after except this boy and that boy, and who would take them to what function. Anna, the youngest in her family until her last brother was born, when she was ten, had watched them with more bewilderment than anything else. She'd dated sometimes, and gossiped with her girlfriends over the phone for hours, and dreamed of the perfect man, waiting out there for her, somewhere.
But mostly, her goal had been to escape to Colorado, and to do that, she'd known she had to have a good education and a skill that would provide her with employment when she got there. There had not been much time left for boys. Her only relationship—if you could even call it that—had been a man right after college, a director at the Metropolitan Museum. He'd been too demanding and snobbish about her desire to leave New York, and she'd let him go after a few months of dinner-and-show dates, with no regrets.
It was a surprise to find herself awash in a crush at the age of twenty-five. She didn't exactly know how to handle it, particularly when the object of that crush was about as attainable as a movie star.
It was just plain silly, a ridiculous fantasy born of too many fairy tales.
Practicality had never been her strong suit, but for this bit of time stranded in Tyler Forrest's cabin, Anna would try hard to employ it.
She bent her head sideways to read the titles of his books—and smiled. There
were several books on the Crusades, and serious historical examinations of European history, and the expected books on woodcraft and carving and renovation. As a carpenter, Tyler was unequaled, and he was much in demand for his handmade banisters and railings, for the hand-carved doors and window frames and baseboards he made in the old way. Louise said he could make a fortune if he charged what he was worth, but he didn't.
He also had children's books, no doubt for Curtis, and a collection of serious novels. Very serious novels—Hermann Hesse and Willa Cather and Jerzy Kosinski. Ugh. Not only serious literature, but very dark books, as well. Anna fingered Hesse's novel Narcissus and Goldmund, and remembered the tale of an aesthetic priest and a sensual artist with some fondness. She pursed her lips. Tyler had both in his nature, but she'd have bet a large sum that he fancied himself the aesthetic priest—while she had always identified with the sensual man.
Finally she found a row of paperback fantasy. Something readable, anyway, though most of it, too, was of serious nature. She doubted Tyler allowed himself anything frivolous. Choosing a retelling of the Tam Lin ballad from the shelf, she settled by the fire, covered up with a thick cotton throw, and settled in to read.
Charley, apparently pleased, padded over to lean against the couch next to her. She chuckled. "What a good companion," she said, scratching the pup's ears. Gratefully, he licked her wrist, then, as if to give her permission to ignore him, curled into a surprisingly compact ball and fell asleep.
* * *
Tyler had escaped outside more to put his thoughts in perspective than out of a need for wood. The cabin had no furnace, only the big fireplace, the potbellied stove in the kitchen and another in Curtis's room, so wood-chopping was something he didn't neglect. There was a small generator to augment the solar panels he had installed last summer, but they would still have to be very careful with lights until the storm was over.