“He’s my brother’s best friend. I guess I always thought he didn’t know I was alive, much less want to go out with me.”
“You should have asked him. I can see by the way he acts around you, the way he looks at you, that this isn’t something new for him.”
Gen just stared at her counter top, not saying another word. Allen would be putting two and two together soon, and the result of that equation was going to be one humiliated Genevieve.
“Wait. So, let me get this straight. You’ve always had a thing for Wallace, and — oh.” His face got a little red. “Now I get it. Your fantasies. They had nothing to do with Braveheart, did they?”
Gen covered her face with both hands and then splayed her fingers to peek through. “No. I’m so sorry.”
He looked a little bit stunned. Gen imagined that no one who looked and dressed like Allen would ever think he could wind up being second best. “You know, a few people in town have told me I resemble Wallace. I don’t see it at all. But I obviously remind you of him, don’t I?”
“Maybe a little,” Gen lied. “At first I was happy with you. I thought we could make a go of it. But once it hit me, once I realized what I’d done, I knew we wouldn’t work anymore. And it wasn’t fair to you.”
“You’re right, but you have a way of making a guy lose sight of reason.” He smiled. “So you think Trisha has a thing for me?”
“More than a thing. It might even be love,” Gen said.
“Then I think it might be worth a chance.”
“I know it is.” Gen came around from behind the counter and gave Allen a hug. “Don’t ever settle. You deserve someone who will be as crazy about you as you are about them. And I know you’re going to find that someday soon.”
After Allen left, Gen went in the back to start the cake for Ed’s wife. It hadn’t felt the same near her ovens since the afternoon when Wallace pushed her up against the wall and kissed her as if he couldn’t get enough of her. Like maybe Joe was right, and Wallace had been shocked at how well they fit together. She’d known all along they would, but then again she was a woman and always a bit ahead of a man when it came to matters of the heart.
Because this wasn’t just magnetic attraction and sexual gratification. She and Wallace had a connection. A long time ago, she’d had an infatuation. Then she’d tried to talk herself out of it, but the more she repressed her feelings the more they bounced back stronger. Somewhere along the line she’d fallen hard for him. Tried to talk herself out of it again, since he didn’t know she was alive. Married another man. Nothing worked. She loved Wallace Turlock as certainly as she could cook.
Time to make this cake. As usual, she always started with the finest ingredients. Finely refined unbleached flour, sifted thoroughly, sugar, real vanilla (never imitation), and eggs from the organic farm Brooke’s mother ran. She knew this recipe by heart. It cured all ills and sufferings on days when she thought for certain she’d never be happy and in love.
She’d made this cake for Wallace every year for his birthday, and every year he’d said it was the best one he’d ever tasted. She’d wanted to tell him then: I love you. But it seemed like everyone believed those feelings were only the silly stirrings of a young girl’s heart, and maybe all she really loved was making the cake for him and watching his face when he ate it.
No, she loved Wallace then and now. Although the way she’d told him hadn’t been the way she’s always pictured it. It shouldn’t have been part of an argument, begging him not to go. Pathetic. She’d had plans to tell him while dressed to the nines after a fantastic dinner she’d cooked for him. Then he would have turned to her joyously and declared, “I love you too, darling!”
Except that she forgot Wallace didn’t talk like that. He was a man of few words, but the ones he said counted.
Well, if the mountain wouldn’t come to her, then she’d go to the damn mountain.
Chapter 11
Day 7.
It occurred to him that he’d never marked time off this way, in relation to how long he’d been there and not how long before he had to be back. He didn’t really need an entire month alone to get his head straight. That had probably been selfish of him, too, and amazing that his family let him get away with it. Even his foreman knew better than to call him about a job unless it was a drop dead emergency.
It seemed like everything and everyone in his life functioned well if he was simply plucked out of the equation. That never used to bother him before, but it did now. Was he really that forgettable? Why didn’t anyone protest his leaving for this long?
Except for Gen.
If he was trying to get her out of his system, he’d done a lousy job of it. He’d been about to call and ask if she could close the shop for a couple of days and come up. But then he’d heard about the snow storm expected today and he didn’t want her driving in those conditions. So he was stuck here. He’d already prepped the wood pile, and was in the middle of venting some of his frustrations on another poor log, when the thought he’d been pressing down for so long rose to the surface.
She’s not for you.
Maybe it was too much of a risk to take with Gen. They’d been friends first, and he couldn’t lose that. Their break up would leave the entire landscape changed. Their friendship would be lost, and so would his and Joe’s. Forever. But nothing was as horrible as the thought that he might hurt Gen. He’d never be able to live with that.
He continued hacking the log way past the need. Now the log of wood was kindling. Good thing, because he needed some.
He grabbed his ax and hauled the pieces back upstairs. His phone was ringing. The land line. No one ever called him on the land line. Something was wrong. He rushed up the rest of the stairs and reached for the phone, nearly knocking it down.
“Wallace Turlock.”
“Hello, Mr. Turlock. It’s Sam Hunter over at the ranger station near Pinecrest Lake.”
“What’s wrong?” His heart rate approached lift off.
“There was a small accident. Now don’t worry, she’s okay.”
She? Oh, crap—
“Her car went off into a ditch.” The ranger whispered into the phone. “It’s these out-of-towners. No chains, of course.”
“No chains?” He nearly shouted into the phone. “Is she a redhead? About five-foot- nothing?”
“Yessir. She says she knows you. Now what she’s doing up here near Pinecrest when you’re in Miwuk I have no clue.” He spoke off the phone for a minute. “Oh, right. She says she got lost.”
Wallace let out a groan. When he saw Gen, he would either hug her or kill her. Maybe hug her first, then kill her. “I’ll come get her.”
“No, you won’t. The front is coming in and I’ll bring her to you. We’ll worry about her car later. I’m calling a tow truck company to get it dug out but with the snow fall it could take a while.”
“Thanks.” Wallace hung up the phone and paced. He stoked the fire and straightened up the kitchen.
Twenty minutes later he heard a car door slam and looked outside to see Gen trudging in the snow, carrying a bag, smiling and chatting with the ranger as if she were at a park in the middle of spring talking about how lovely it was at this time of the year. The ranger carried several boxes.
Wallace rushed out to meet them, took the boxes from the ranger and the bag from Gen. He thanked the man for his trouble and watched him drive off.
Inside, Wallace turned to Gen. “What did you bring?”
“Lots of food. I was worried you’d starve up here.”
“You didn’t need to do that. I’ve got plenty of supplies. I can take care of myself.” He set the bag down by the door, and boxes in the kitchen. “I fed you, didn’t I?”
“You did.” Gen studied him. “You fed me, made love to me, and left me.”
He snorted. “You knew I was coming back. What are you doing here? Don’t you realize there’s a storm front coming in? And why the hell didn’t you bring chains?”
�
�I didn’t check the weather report.” She removed a threadbare coat that looked a size too big.
Completely unacceptable for this kind of weather. “Is that your coat?”
“Don’t give me that look. I live in Napa Valley. You try finding snow clothes in January in the valley. Good luck with it. Desiree lent me some stuff.”
He dragged a hand through his hair. “I didn’t want you driving in these conditions. You shouldn’t have come.”
“Sorry. Do you want me to leave?”
Yes. No. He pulled her into a hug. “You can’t leave now, but don’t ever do that again. You scared me. You could have been hurt. Did you think about that?”
“I’m sorry. I wanted to see you. And I worry about you, up here all alone.” She clung to him.
“You worry about me? Don’t be ridi—” He stopped himself. “I mean, I’m fine.”
“Yes, you are,” she said, tugging on his beard. “This is a nice touch. Makes you look like a mountain man.”
“I grow it every January when I come up here.” Not that anyone else would know that fact. He let her go, tempting though she was. “Did you close down your shop?”
“No, I hired Sophia part-time for the counter. And Mrs. Lewis always loves a chance to come back and bake in her old shop. I might even be able to stay for a couple of days.”
“You’ll have to stay now, until the storm passes.” He stoked the fire again and noticed her eyes flitting about his cabin, taking everything in. “Do you want a tour?”
“Yes, please.”
He showed her the cabin, beginning with the state of the art kitchen with granite counter tops that housed the best stove-oven combination on the market.
“Where have you been all my life?” Gen touched the stovetop reverently, then turned to him. “I’ve wanted one of these for years.”
She followed him to the living room with the floor to ceiling windows and breathtaking view, to the bedrooms— three of them. He only needed the one bedroom, but a contractor never built anything without the end result in mind. He might need to sell someday.
She gaped at the master bedroom bathroom with the large sunken tub. Then she studied him. “You are a romantic.”
He slid her a look. “Or maybe I built the kind of cabin that would sell.”
She nodded. “So interesting that you built the kitchen for someone who loves to cook.”
He coughed. “Always a nice touch.”
“Of course,” she answered and if he wasn’t mistaken she didn’t buy it. “I’m going to cook for you tonight.”
“What a nice surprise.” He felt a smile tugging at his lips.
She slapped his shoulder. “Smartass.”
Gen shouldn’t have driven up the mountain, and while her usual risk taking nature worried him he couldn’t bring himself to regret that she was here. He’d missed the hell out of her, and tonight he’d show her just how much.
*****
Genevieve had been rescued from certain death by the ranger man. The snow had started to come down and she’d drifted off the shoulder of the road. Naturally, her cell phone battery had died. After a couple of hours, she’d been found by the ranger who had given her a ride to the station and then called Wallace for her.
And now she stood in front of January-Wallace, and he seriously looked better than all the other months combined. He had grown a beard which did all kinds of hot Alpha man stuff for him. The kind of Alpha stuff she didn’t mind at all. He looked like a hot stud— the man you’d want with you if there ever were a Zombie apocalypse.
A man who would wield a bow and arrow, an ax and a knife. The only problem was he was wearing too many clothes. Something maybe she could remedy later. And tonight she would cook him dinner in a kitchen he had to have built with her in mind. Well, maybe not her specifically, but she liked to think so.
She got busy in her dream kitchen, chopped garlic, and stirred it in with her tomato sauces. Comfort food. She’d make spaghetti tonight, and the sauce needed time to simmer. This time she wouldn’t forget.
Her overnight bag still sat near the front door. He hadn’t brought it into his bedroom, or any other one for that matter. Should she? Oh, she was going to sleep with him— or not sleep with him. One way or another, she’d be in his bed. But she did have reason to worry. He hadn’t kissed her yet, even if he’d hugged her once. He had a strange unfathomable look in his green eyes— an almost wary one.
That’s because he’d had a week to talk himself out of their relationship. But she now had some time to reverse that course. And she’d use every minute to her advantage.
Her mountain man kept stoking the fire and gazing out the full length window, eyebrows knotted in concern. “It’s coming down out there. Good thing you came up when you did. We’re going to be stuck here for a bit.”
Oh darn. She’d be stuck in this love shack with the sexiest man alive. Good thing People magazine didn’t know about him, or they’d want to come out for a photo shoot.
“Good thing.” Gen smiled and stirred the sauce.
Out of the corner of her eye she watched as he went towards her bag, picked it up and— carried it into his bedroom. Yes! He came back to the fire and stood staring at it, as if it could reveal the mysteries of the universe. She wanted to ask what he was thinking but instead put her spoon down, came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist.
He didn’t say anything for a minute, then turned to face her. She’d never seen this Wallace before. His intensity scared her a little bit. He lifted her up on the balls of her feet.
“I’ve been thinking about you.”
She clung to his neck. “Me too.”
“But I doubt we’ve been thinking the same things.” Now his mouth was within inches of hers.
“I’m not so sure.”
He kissed her hard and then broke the kiss. “I’m sure.”
“Why? What have you been thinking?” Gen teased. Details. She wanted details.
“How I’d like to bend you over this couch.”
“Wallace!” She let out a nervous giggle.
His reaction was to spin her around and move her towards the couch, his arms pinning her there. Oh crap, he wasn’t kidding.
“But you’re wearing too many clothes.” He remedied this by pulling down her jeans and panties in one swoop.
She could feel him hard against her.
“Is this what you had in mind?” He said against her hair.
Her answer was a moan. She couldn’t say any more after that because he stole the breath from her as he pushed inside her, hard and deliberate. A few minutes later he growled his release, and pulled them both down to the floor. She lay on top of him, breathing hard.
“Too rough?” he asked, nuzzling her hair. “I missed you, Gen. Sorry if I hurt you.”
“You didn’t.” Shocked as she’d been, her body had been ready for him. Probably had been since she’d first laid eyes on him with that beard.
“Liar.” He sat her up and removed the rest of her clothes, kissing as he went. He kissed her ankles when he removed her pants the rest of the way, her stomach as he took off her sweater, her breasts when he unhooked her bra, her arms, shoulders, moving up to her neck where he lingered.
He placed kisses along the column of her neck, and she shivered.
“Is that better?” he asked.
“Hmmm.” It was so much better she’d forgotten how to breathe. But she still sensed something else emanating off him in waves. And lingering in his eyes. Regret? “You’ve been thinking too much.”
Bingo. The quiet gaze said yes, ma’am. “We’ll talk about that later.”
“But—”
He silenced her with a deep kiss, and pushed her arms up over her head, threading his fingers through hers. She forgot everything except the way he made her feel.
And this time it felt a lot more like making love.
*****
A while later, Gen lay between Wallace’s legs and in front of the roaring f
ire, her head on his chest, their arms entwined.
“I’m sure the sauce is ready now,” she said. “I should get up and boil the pasta.”
Wallace kissed her forehead. “You do that. I have to get more wood anyway.”
Neither one of them moved.
“I really am going to get up now.”
“Uh-huh,” Wallace said.
She found the strength to pull herself out of his arms somehow, and put on his white undershirt. It came down to her thighs. She tiptoed into the kitchen, and found a pan to boil the pasta.
Wallace eventually rose and put on his jeans, but kept his shirt off (thank you, God) when he went downstairs and came back up with more wood. Within a few minutes they were both back in front of the fireplace eating her spaghetti straight out of the pan. Much more romantic this way.
“Was it good?” She asked later, as side by side they cleaned up in the kitchen.
“You know it was.”
“A woman likes to hear it,” she said with a shrug. Would it kill him to talk more?
He studied her again. “It was delicious.”
She couldn’t shake the feeling that he wanted to say more, and she waited. Nothing. “And?”
“And you’re a great cook.” He turned to her and tucked a stray hair behind her ear.
“And?” she pressed.
“And let’s go to bed.” He grinned, his tousled hair falling a little over his right eye.
“Yes.” She liked that idea. Her womb nearly exploded in agreement.
The snow had continued falling into the evening, turning the outdoors into a winter wonderland.
He killed the fire, then took her hand and led her into his bedroom. Definitely a man’s room, filled with every shade of brown and the smell of leather. This was Wallace’s bedroom, the place where he laid his head every night while at the cabin, and dreamt of— what? She didn’t know. Did he ever dream of her?
There were landscape portraits on every wall of snowy mountain scenes and cabins.
He caught her staring. “Local art.”
“Pretty.” She joined him by the bed, where he was turning down the covers.
Until There Was You (Book 3) Page 11