* * *
This was not the quiet solitude that she’d imagined.
Serena busied herself in the kitchen, trying to put together dinner. But all the while, her thoughts were on Jackson. He was not what she’d expected. He was more down-to-earth. And his eyes, they were—dare she say it—dreamy. She could get lost in them. And his laugh, it was deep and rich like dark French roast coffee.
Realizing that she was in dangerous territory, she halted her thoughts. Maybe she had fantasized about him being the perfect man one too many times while watching his morning show. And now that he was here in her cabin, she was having a hard time separating fantasy from reality.
And her reality right now was preparing an acceptable dinner. For someone who spent very little time in the kitchen because of a constant string of diets, she was pretty pleased with the appearance of dinner. Even Jackson couldn’t complain. She hoped...
She glanced down at his tray to make sure she hadn’t missed anything. There was a freshly warmed bowl of chili straight out of the can. A spoon and napkin. A glass of water because she didn’t know what he liked to drink. But there was something missing. A man his size that had been through so much that day would have a big appetite. Should she add a salad? Nah, it would take too long. And then she decided to add some buttered bread.
When it was all arranged on the tray, she turned toward the door. She just hoped he still had his leg propped up on a pillow. If she could get him moved to the bedroom, she wouldn’t have to trip over him in the living room. And maybe then she’d be able to get back to the quiet time so she could do some more work on her screenplay.
Since she’d arrived in Austria, the words had been flowing. Well, maybe not flowing, but they’d been coming in spurts. Sometimes those spurts consisted of an entire scene or two. But other times, she struggled to write a sentence, much less a paragraph. She wondered if that was how it worked for all writers or if it was just because this was her first script.
Serena paused at the doorway. Recalling her monthly indulgence of visiting the local drive-through for a bowl of chili, she realized they would top the bowl with diced onion and cheese. Perhaps she should do the same. The chili did look a little blah. Serena returned to the kitchen island.
By the time she chopped up the onion, her eyes were misty. Maybe the onion wasn’t the best idea, but she wasn’t wasting it, so she tossed it on. And then she topped it off with a handful of sharp cheddar. She returned the remaining onion and cheese to the fridge. It was then she noticed some fresh parsley.
Gizmo strolled into the kitchen. He came right up to her. He still had a sleepy look on his face.
She knelt down to fuss over him. Her fingers ran over his downy soft fur. “Hey, sleepyhead, you finally woke up.”
“Arff!”
She loved the fact that he spoke to her as though he actually understood what she was saying to him. Sometimes she wondered if he understood more than they said dogs could understand. It was almost as though he could read her mind.
Serena washed her hands before rinsing off the parsley. Then she began to chop it up. She glanced over to find Gizmo lying in front of the stove with his head tilted to the side and staring at her.
“What are you looking at?”
“Arff! Arff!”
“I’m not making a big deal out of this. I would do this for anyone who was injured and needed my help.” It didn’t matter that Jackson was drop-dead gorgeous and when he laughed, he made her stomach dip like she was on a roller coaster.
She assured herself that she wasn’t going out of her way to impress Jackson. She wouldn’t do that. After all, she was Serena Winston. Daughter of two Hollywood legends. Heiress to the Winston fortune and an award-winning actress. She didn’t need to work to impress any man.
Except that Jackson didn’t have a clue who she was. That should be a relief, but it made her wonder if she wasn’t pretty without her normal layer of makeup. Or perhaps the strawberry blonde hair didn’t work for her. Maybe it was true what they said about blondes having more fun.
What was she doing? She yanked her thoughts to a stop.
Now, because she liked the looks of the parsley and not because she was trying to impress the influential reporter, she sprinkled it over the bowl.
She caught Gizmo continuing to stare at her with those dark brown eyes. “Would you stop looking at me like that?”
Gizmo whined, stretched out on the rug and put his head down. That was better.
Serena again grabbed the tray and headed for the door. Time to go wait on Jackson. She assured herself that no matter if he smiled at her or not, she would drop off the food and leave. After all, he was enemy number one—the press.
CHAPTER SIX
HE WAS SO COMFORTABLE—so relaxed.
And, best of all, he was no longer alone.
Mae was right there, next to him. So close. So temptingly close that he could smell her sexy and flirty perfume. It was the perfect mix of spice and floral scents. As though it had cast a spell over him, he gazed deep into her eyes.
He reached out, pulling her toward him. He ached to feel her lips pressed to his. There was just something about her—about her strawberry blonde hair that turned him on.
“Jackson,” she called out to him.
He loved the way she said his name. It was all soft and sultry. He moaned in eager anticipation of where this evening was going to go.
“Jackson.”
“Mae.” He couldn’t bring himself to say more. Why waste time on words when he could show her exactly how he was feeling—
Suddenly, he was jostled.
“Hey, Jackson. Wake up.”
His eyes flew open. The bright light from the lamp on the end table caused him to blink. Wait. What was she doing standing there with a tray of food? They had just been snuggled together on the couch.
He blinked, trying to make sense of everything. And then it all came crashing in on him. He’d dozed off again. Fragmented images of his dream came rushing back to him. Not only had he been dreaming, but he’d been dreaming about Mae. He uttered a groan.
A worried look came over her face. “What’s the matter? Is it your ankle?”
He hurried to subdue his frustration. What was wrong with him? He had absolutely no interest in Mae. None whatsoever!
He glanced up at her. The look on her face said that with each passing moment she was becoming more concerned about him. What did he say? His still half-asleep mind struggled to find the right words.
“Um... I just moved the wrong way. It’s no big deal.”
She consulted the clock on the mantel. “You can have some more painkillers. I’ll go get you a couple.”
Mae set the tray down on the coffee table and rushed out of the room. He didn’t argue, because he needed a moment or two to pull himself together. He shifted until he was sitting sideways on the couch, keeping his foot propped up. Realizing he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, he reached for the plate of bread.
At that moment, there was a shuffling sound. And then a fuzzy head popped up over the edge of the couch. Without invitation, Gizmo hopped up on the couch. This time he didn’t immediately settle down for a nap. His tail swished back and forth.
So the little guy wanted to make friends? Jackson smiled. It’d been a long time since he’d briefly had a dog. And nowadays, his life wasn’t conducive to keeping a pet. But that didn’t mean he and Gizmo couldn’t be friends.
He sat still as the dog paused and sniffed the bandage on his leg. And then the pup continued up the edge of the couch. Jackson was all ready to pet him when the dog became distracted by the food. Before Jackson could move the plate, Gizmo snatched a slice of buttered bread. For a dog with short legs, he sure could move swiftly.
“Hey. Stop.”
Gizmo didn’t
slow down. He jumped off the couch. Just as Mae returned, Gizmo rushed past her. The dog was a blur of gray-and-white fur.
A frown settled on Mae’s face. “What did you do to Gizmo?”
“Me?” Jackson pressed a hand to his chest. “Why do you think I did anything?”
“Because I know you don’t really like him.”
He didn’t like Gizmo? Was that really how he came across? Maybe that was why the dog chose the bread over him. The thought didn’t sit well with Jackson. He would have to try harder with the little guy—even if he was a bread thief.
Mae crossed her arms, waiting for an answer to her question.
Jackson’s gaze met her accusing stare. “I promise you that I didn’t do anything to him.”
“Then why was he running out of here?”
Obviously she’d missed the piece of bread hanging from the little guy’s mouth. Well, who was he to rat Gizmo out? It wasn’t like it was going to score him any points with his very protective owner.
“I don’t know. Maybe he heard something.” Jackson shrugged. And then he held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
Her stance eased. “You were a Boy Scout?”
“I was.” He studied her, surprised by the glint of approval in her eyes. “I take it you approve?”
“I... I guess. I’m just surprised, is all.”
For that moment, he wanted to gain her approval. “I was in the Scouts for a number of years.”
“You must have enjoyed it.”
“I don’t know about that. Some of it, sure. But as I got older, I wasn’t that into it. But my mother, she insisted I remain a member.”
“Your mother? But why?” And then Mae pressed her lips together as though she hadn’t meant to utter that question. “Sorry. You don’t have to answer that.”
He didn’t normally open up to people about his past. He glossed over the important parts and left everything else unsaid. But for some reason, he felt like he could open up to Mae. “I was just six when my parents divorced. My father moved on, remarried and had another family. And so he wasn’t around much. My mother felt that I needed a male role model. She worried that she wasn’t enough for me. And so she enrolled me in Scouts so I could learn to whittle wood and make campfires. You know, all of the stuff that turns a boy into a strong, responsible adult.” Now, it was time to turn the tables on her. “And were you a Girl Scout?”
She shook her head. “My, um, parents, they weren’t much into me taking part in group functions.”
He arched a brow. “I thought all parents wanted their kids to interact with others.”
Mae glanced down. “They...they were overprotective.”
“Oh. I see. Well, it appears you didn’t miss out on anything by not learning how to build a fire. And think of all the calories you saved by not eating all those s’mores and roasted marshmallows.”
He was attempting to make her smile, but she was still avoiding his gaze and she definitely wasn’t smiling. There was more to her childhood than she was willing to share. Something told him she hadn’t had it easy—even if this luxury log home said otherwise.
“You better eat before it’s cold,” Mae said.
“What about you? Where’s your food?”
“Oh, I’ll eat in the kitchen.” Her gaze strayed across the plate on his lap. “I see you already ate some of the bread.”
“I guess I was hungrier than I thought. Thanks for this.”
“It’s no big deal. I’m sure your wife did things like this for you all of the time.”
“Actually, she didn’t. She came from old money and never learned to cook. By the time we met, she had her life the way she wanted it, and so for us to work, I had to fit into her life.”
Mae’s mouth gaped and then as though catching herself, she quickly forced her jaw closed.
“I see I surprised you with that admission.” He sighed. “I guess I surprised myself in a way. My mother was a lot like my late wife. She had her life and I had to fit into it—but I didn’t do a very good job. I always thought when I grew up that I would end up with someone who was the exact opposite of my mother. And I convinced myself that June was different. After all, she had money. She didn’t need mine. And she was cultured. My mother was anything but cultured.” Why was he rambling on? He never opened up about his private life with anyone. “But you don’t want to hear all of that.”
“Actually, it’s nice to know that my life isn’t the only one that isn’t picture-perfect.”
So he was right. She had skeletons in her closet. He wondered what they might be, but he didn’t venture to ask. They’d shared enough for one evening.
His steady gaze met hers. “You’ve been great. I don’t know what I’d have done without you. I won’t forget it.”
Her cheeks filled with color. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“I promise that I’ll find a way to pay you back.” When she went to protest, he said, “I was thinking that once I’m mobile I could treat you to dinner in the village.”
This time her gaze did meet his. “I... I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
Okay. He may have been out of the dating scene for a number of years, but he was pretty sure that wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to have gone. Perhaps he hadn’t stated it properly.
“I know this place is really nice, but you can’t spend all of your time here alone. And I’ll be staying in the area until after Christmas, so I’d like to pay you back in some manner. I just thought a friendly dinner might be nice. If you change your mind before I leave tomorrow, I’ll give you my phone number.”
There, that was much clearer. Surely she wouldn’t object now. Would she?
“Thank you.” She sent him a small smile. “That’s a really nice offer, but you don’t have to feel like you owe me anything. After all, if it wasn’t for Gizmo, we wouldn’t be here.”
She did have a point, but he had a feeling she was just using that as an excuse. Did she really find him that repulsive? He wasn’t used to a woman rejecting his offer for dinner—not that he dated, but he did have business dinners and he was never without female companionship for those.
Mae was different. Very different. And that made him all the more curious about her. If only they had phone reception, he’d do an internet search on her. After all, he was a reporter. Research was a part of his daily routine. Sure, he had people to do it, but he liked to do a lot of his own research. He liked learning all sorts of new things.
There was only one problem. He didn’t know her last name. Was that just an oversight on her part? Or had she purposely withheld it?
“Well, I’ll let you eat. I need to go check on Gizmo. He’s being suspiciously quiet.” She turned to walk away.
“Hey, you never said what your last name is.”
“I didn’t, huh?” And with that she continued toward the kitchen.
He was staying with a mystery woman who had no lack of funds but guarded her privacy above all else. What had happened to make her so secretive? Or had she always been that way?
* * *
The bed started to vibrate.
Serena’s eyes opened to find that morning was upon them. But for the life of her, she couldn’t figure out what was causing the vibration and it was getting stronger. Was it an earthquake?
Gizmo started to whine. She couldn’t blame him. She was used to earthquakes, or rather she was as used to them as you could be when you were a California native. The truth was they always put her on edge. But she hadn’t expected to encounter them in Austria. Unless this was something else entirely. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t good.
She hugged Gizmo close. “It’s okay, buddy. We’ll be okay.”
Serena scrambled out of bed. She threw on her fuzzy purple robe and headed out
the door. Her feet barely touched the staircase.
By the time she reached the first floor, the vibration had stopped. She found Jackson out of bed. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, giving her an ample view of his bare back with his broad shoulders and tapered waist. A pair of navy pajama bottoms completed the sexy look. She mentally urged him to turn around.
Instead, he remained with his back to her. His hand was gripped firmly to his makeshift cane as he gazed out the window next to the front door.
Perhaps he hadn’t heard her enter the room. “What was that?”
He at last turned, giving her a full view of his muscular chest with a splattering of hair. “I’m not sure, but I’d hazard a guess that it was an avalanche.”
Realizing that she was staring at his impressive six-pack abs, she forced her gaze to meet his. “That...that was way too close for my comfort.”
“Mine, too,” Jackson said matter-of-factly.
She was impressed that he was willing to make such a confession. In her experience, men never admitted to a weakness—least of all her ex-boyfriend. Men were all about putting on a show of how macho they were.
And somehow she’d imagined Jackson, with his bigger-than-life personality, to be full of bravado. Instead, she found him relatable. In that moment, she liked him a little bit more—probably more than was wise considering his means of making a living.
“How far away do you think it was?” she asked, trying to keep her attention on something besides Jackson’s temping, naked chest.
“I don’t know. The power is out, too.”
“Don’t worry, we have a generator. The realty people showed me how it works.”
He glanced down at his leg. “I’d like to get out there and take a look around, but I’m not as mobile as I’d like to be.”
“Speaking of which, you should be in that bed, resting your leg.”
Snowbound with an Heiress Page 5