“Hurt me?” He shook his head. “You saved my life.”
My cookies caused your accident. She kept that information to herself, for the moment anyway.
“Your coat is ruined,” she noted. The depth of snow and the damp ground had smudged the black cashmere. A few dead leaves and twigs were stuck to his collar.
“I can always purchase another coat,” he said. “I can’t buy another life.” His tone was gravelly, but grateful.
“I’m betting you’ll need a new car, too,” she said, honestly. Best he knew the truth. “The hood appeared totaled from what I could tell.”
She tugged off her mittens, noticing a hole over her little finger. Her fingernails had turned blue. She shook out her hands to restore their circulation. “I couldn’t reach emergency services, but I did manage to leave a text message with our local mechanic before I lost all cell communication. His name is Shane Griffin and he works at Grady’s Garage. He has a tow truck and can dig out your Mercedes once the storm passes.”
His brow creased. “How long will the blizzard last?” he asked, concerned.
“A day or two, possibly three,” she said, feeling confident. “I thought about driving you back to town to a hotel, but the road south was impassable. I live up here on the mountain. It was the closest place to bring you so you could thaw out, since we’re already snowed in. Plows clear the main streets first. I’m the last to be dug out.”
He frowned in frustration. “I wanted to be home tonight.”
“Home is where?”
“Philadelphia.”
“I’m afraid you’re stuck here for the duration of the snowstorm,” she said.
His expression darkened. “I hate breaking promises,” he said, more to himself than to her. “Especially when someone needs me.”
Abby wondered who needed him. His family? A girlfriend? His wife? He wasn’t wearing a wedding band, she noticed, but men didn’t always follow tradition. He could well be married.
He squinted. “Why is it so dark in here?’
“The electricity’s out,” she said. “I was about to light a fire when you came to again.”
“A fire . . .” He clutched his coat to his chest, trying to get warm. There was no warmth in the damp cashmere. Dry clothes were a necessity. She didn’t want him getting sick.
She rose and shrugged out of her jacket. What could she offer him to wear? “You’re freezing,” she said. “I have a pair of sweats you can borrow, but the sweatshirt will be tight across your shoulders and the pants too short. I’ve got extra thick socks.”
He nodded. “That works for me, but what about you?”
“Long underwear, a fresh sweater and jeans, UGG slippers, and I’ll be fine, too,” she told him. She winced. And a bandage for her big toe.
He slowly stood, drawing in a deep breath to steady himself. He emptied his coat pockets, tossed his wallet and cell phone on the coffee table. “Where can I change?” he asked.
“The bathroom is down the hall, third door on the right,” she told him. Rising, she crossed the room to a bookshelf with knickknacks, novels, and lanterns. She stepped only on the heel of her right foot in an attempt to keep the pressure off her toes. Standing before the shelf, she selected two Coleman camping lanterns.
She returned to him. “Battery-operated,” she said, flicking both switches, then handing him one. They soon stood within a circle of light as bright as a Christmas star.
“This way.” She motioned to him. “You’ll find towels in the cupboard. I’ll get your sweats and pass them to you. Then we can hang up your clothes. They’ll dry quickly by the fire.”
He followed her down the hall. “You’re limping,” he said at her back. “What’s wrong?”
The man was observant. “I stubbed my toe,” she told him, appreciating his concern. She didn’t mention that she’d fallen, slid, and slammed feetfirst into the tire on his car. What he didn’t know only hurt her. “I’ll be fine.”
She didn’t look fine, Lander thought. The hallway was narrow and dark and he wished he could see her better. His angel of mercy. He held his lantern high, the light catching her in profile. A deep crease cut across her forehead and her eyebrows were drawn tightly together. She tried to hide her pain, but he’d seen her wince. Twice.
Abby came to a stop before the bathroom; she pushed the door open. The hinges creaked. No doubt the cabin was as old as the mountain.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, continuing down the hallway.
Lander crossed the threshold. He set his lantern on the polished wood vanity and took a quick look around. The bathroom was small, clean, and tidy with handicap bars by the toilet and the tub. He wondered if Abby needed the bars for a chronic foot problem.
He took off his coat. The accident had beaten him up. His face was cut and bruised. His skin was clammy and his head hurt where he’d hit the steering wheel. Not to mention that his body ached all over when he moved too fast. He’d never been so cold.
He’d unbuttoned his shirt and pulled his belt through the pant loops by the time Abby returned. She wasn’t kidding when she said he was in bad shape when she’d found him. His chest was covered with bruises. It hurt to take a deep breath. It was quite possible he’d cracked or broken a rib.
Seconds later, she knocked on the door frame. “Your socks and sweats,” she said, handing him a neatly folded pile of clothes in a pastel hue that had him raising one eyebrow.
“Lavender?” he asked, wishing they were gray.
“It was that or hot pink.” Her expression was apologetic.
“The color’s fine.” At least he had something dry to wear. “The socks have matching purple butterflies,” he noted.
“They’re the warmest pair I own.”
He held up one hand. “No complaints here.”
“I’ll meet you back in the living room when you’re dressed,” she said, and closed the door behind her.
He bent, untied, and slipped off his Italian wingtips. His shoes were ruined. He peeled down his ice-cold socks. His feet looked blue in the lantern light.
His shirt came next, followed by his pants. He wore no underwear. His testicles had retracted and his penis had shrunk. He needed to warm up and fast.
He crossed to the cupboard. Inside, he found a stack of towels and a folded-up walker. The walker was old and used. One roller was twisted out of alignment. Now he was puzzled. He hoped Abby didn’t have a serious physical ailment.
Selecting a fluffy blue towel, he briskly dried himself off. That was better, much better. His circulation began to return, in most parts of his body. His penis still felt like an icicle. Not surprising. He was drained and his emotions were spent. He felt numb inside. It was doubtful he’d thaw out anytime soon.
He hung the towel on a wooden bar, then tugged on the sweatpants. The drawstring stretched to fit around his waist. The length hit him just below the knee.
The sweatshirt came next. It hurt to raise his arms too high, and he had difficulty slipping it over his head. The neck hole was small and he felt strangled. The top fit as tightly as a straitjacket. He could barely move his arms without stretching the material. He’d manage for the time being. His own clothes would dry quickly by the fire.
He tugged on the wool socks. His toes were scrunched, and the tops rose to mid-calf. He glanced in the mirror over the sink. Purple matched his bruises. He could live with the sweats until his clothes dried.
He combed his hair with his fingers. His mouth felt gritty. A tube of toothpaste lay on the counter. He unscrewed the cap and squeezed a small amount on to his forefinger. He scrubbed his teeth, careful of his swollen lower lip. He turned the handle for the cold water, and a trickle came from the spout. He cupped his palm, caught the remaining drips, and rinsed his mouth. He assumed this was the last of the water until the electricity was restored and the pump kicked on.
He wondered if Abby kept a supply of bottled water in case of bad weather. He hoped so. A low-flow toilet could be manuall
y flushed by adding water.
He picked up his clothes, shoes, and lantern, then returned to the living room. His gaze widened at the transformation. Abby had been busy. She’d changed clothes in record time, and then set about adjusting the lighting and warming the room.
A dozen camp lanterns illuminated his path back to the sofa. It looked so inviting to his aching body. The couch was draped with warm wool blankets and a homemade quilt. He watched as she set the iron grate aside, then struck and dropped the long stick match on rolled newspaper. The stacked logs immediately caught fire in the stone fireplace. Light blazed and danced. In that moment, he got his first real look at the woman and her home.
Abby was blond, full-figured, and curvy. Having shaken off the snowflakes, she was now bundled in a blue knit sweater, worn jeans, and shearling slippers. She was pretty and desirable. In another time, another place, she was the type of woman every guy would like to cuddle up next to by the fire.
Their eyes met, and her smile was tentative. “Warming up?” she asked, coming toward him.
The burning logs had heated the room in a short time. He rubbed his hands together. “I’m feeling much better.”
She took his coat and clothes and laid them over a makeshift indoor clothesline near the fire. She cocked her head, as if counting the items of clothing. He noticed her cheeks reddened. She now knew he didn’t wear underwear.
She released a soft breath that sounded like a sigh, then turned back to him. “How’s your head?” Her concern was evident in the furrowing of her brow.
“I could use an aspirin,” he said, feeling the bump on his forehead. His head continued to throb.
She nodded, then crossed to the kitchen, opened two separate cupboards, and returned with a small bottle of water and an unopened container of Extra Strength Tylenol. He broke the seal on the box, popped two Tylenol onto his palm, then into his mouth. He drank deeply of the water.
“Thanks,” he said, lowering himself onto the sofa.
She lightly touched his brow, and he couldn’t hold back a low, painful moan. “Let me get you an ice bag,” she said. “That bump looks bad.”
She walked back to the kitchen, located the bag in a drawer, and filled it with ice. She threaded the stopper, then brought it to him. He gently pressed it to his brow and felt immediate relief course through him. His entire body relaxed.
“Are you hungry?” she asked next.
On cue, his stomach growled.
They both laughed. He had to admit she was even prettier when she laughed. Still, he hadn’t thought of food since he’d opened the box of erotic gingerbread men. “I could eat, but don’t go to any trouble.”
“I’m ready for dinner myself,” she said. “I have a pantry filled with canned goods, but we need to start with the food in the refrigerator so it doesn’t spoil. How about grilled cheese sandwiches and hot dogs?”
“Fine by me,” he agreed. When was the last time he’d had real comfort food? He couldn’t remember. “How will you manage the sandwiches without a stove?”
“I have utensils for hearth cooking,” she told him. “A long-handled skewer for the hot dogs and a cast iron skillet for the grilled cheese. It’s like we’re camping out.”
That piqued Lander’s interest. He’d never spent time in the woods as a kid. He’d preferred the country club pool and tennis courts to tents and hiking. “What can I do?” he offered.
“Sit and relax,” said Abby. “I’ve got it covered.”
“What about your toe?” he asked, concerned. “Should you be standing?”
She wiggled her foot. “It feels better since I took off my boots. My slippers are comfy.”
Then why was she still limping? He caught her walking on her right heel on her way to the kitchen. He wasn’t used to a woman taking charge and caring for him. The ladies in his life depended on his direction and guidance. They were often needy. Much of the time he did their thinking for them.
Abby was self-sufficient. She moved amid the shadows, her presence like the soft glow of a candle in the darkness, collecting the items for their dinner. She then made several trips from the kitchen to the fireplace, carrying food, plates, and cooking utensils. She drew a wide wooden side table close to the stone hearth and set up a workstation.
He watched, curious, as she slipped on a pair of black, elbow-length oven mitts before placing the large round skillet onto the logs. She buttered the pan and the grilled cheese sandwiches soon sizzled. Next, she skewered four hot dogs and held them over the fire. She laughed when one fell off the stick and the flames ate it.
Lander leaned more deeply into the sofa and smiled, too. He liked her laugh; it was deep, yet feminine. He didn’t know one thing about this woman who had pulled him from his car, then driven him up the mountain to her home. Yet he felt close to her in a way he didn’t understand. Oftentimes invisible bonds were formed in tragic situations. She had saved his life.
She’d also mentioned being at the community center when he’d stopped for directions. All he could recall from his quick stop was that the main room had been packed with people. He was a man who favored blondes, but he hadn’t noticed her in the crowd. He’d been short on time and running late.
Rolling his shoulders, he reached for a quilt, one patterned with colorful squares. Two of the borders were raw-edged, unfinished. That didn’t matter to him. He draped it across his lap. His groin remained chilled. It was a slow thaw for his boys. They still pulled tight against his body.
He took a moment and studied his surroundings. The rustic A-frame log cabin was cozy. He liked the open-beam cathedral ceiling. Snow pelted the large triangular-shaped window and ribbons of frost patterned the glass pane. The furniture was solid and overstuffed. Braided rugs covered the hardwood floor. A big wicker basket cornered the couch, filled with skeins of yarn and knitting needles.
“Folk architecture?” he asked her over the crackle of the fire.
She seemed surprised he recognized the design. “My great-great-grandfather Alden rescued and restored the cabin. The logs are eastern white pine.”
“Hand-hewn with dovetail corners,” he noted, observing them with a keen eye. The logs were two feet in diameter and flat on the sides. Alden had taken his time and given great care to the restoration. Lander valued fine craftsmanship.
“How long have you lived here?” he asked, curious.
There was a softening at the corners of her eyes. “I’m from Pine Mountain,” she said.
“Do you live alone?”
She shook her head. “I have . . . someone.”
He wondered who that someone might be, but didn’t push the subject. She was entitled to her privacy, though he was a bit perplexed the person hadn’t made an appearance.
“Dinner’s served,” she said a moment later. She crossed to him, only to slow her steps when she spotted the quilt across his lap. She stared at his groin overly long, a wistful look in her eyes. Under normal circumstances he’d get a hard-on. Not now. He sensed that whatever she saw, whatever she was thinking, had nothing to do with him as a man, and everything to do with the quilt.
“You okay?” he asked, meaning it.
She blinked, but a hint of sadness lingered in her eyes. “I’m fine,” she assured him. She leaned closer, and he felt her body heat. Her cheeks were flushed from standing so near the fire. Her oven mitts warmed his hands as she passed him his dinner. She took his ice bag and set it on a worn dish towel to absorb the condensation.
She looked pretty, he thought. The bright blaze at her back cast her in a halo of light. The scents of wool, pine logs, and woman collected around him. If he had to be snowbound, here was as good a place as any. The cabin was homey. Abby made him feel comfortable.
He looked down on his plate. The grilled cheese sandwich was perfectly toasted. The two hot dogs were slightly charred at one end. He didn’t care. He was starving. While his manners dictated he wait for her to take the first bite, his stomach demanded he dig in. The sandwich melted i
n his mouth.
“This tastes good, Abby.”
She smiled, pleased with his compliment. She returned to the overstuffed chair across from him and set her plate down on the coffee table between them. “What would you like to drink?” she asked. “I have water, milk, or apple juice.”
Lander didn’t drink a lot of milk, but neither did he want it to spoil. He had no idea how long they’d be snowed in here without electricity. “Small glass of milk,” he decided.
She went to the refrigerator, poured out two paper cups, then returned. She was a little wobbly on her feet, which worried him. She sighed heavily when she settled in her chair. He’d like to take a look at her toe after dinner, if she’d let him. To see how badly she was hurt.
They ate in silence with the crackle of the fire a perfect accompaniment to the meal. He stole the occasional glance at Abby. She’d cut up her hot dog with a plastic fork and took small bites. She looked vibrant, healthy, and her physical strength still amazed him. He couldn’t fathom how she’d managed to drag him up a snowy ravine. He was six-two and weighed two-ten. Not only was she strong, but good-hearted. She’d given him a change of clothes and cooked his dinner. She was generous and kind. And had saved his life.
He had no misconceptions about his fate following the accident.
He would’ve frozen to death in his car overnight if she hadn’t found him.
“Would you care for another sandwich or hot dog?” Abby asked, taking her last bite of grilled cheese. She flicked her tongue and licked a bit of melted cheese from one finger. Her innocent gesture caught him off guard. Her flick caused his dick to stir. Heat collared his neck. He was as embarrassed as he was relieved. His penis had returned to the living. He shifted the quilt to better cover the slight tenting in his sweatpants.
He debated having seconds. He was a big man and could have easily eaten another sandwich, but he passed. He didn’t want Abby standing on her foot any longer than was absolutely necessary. Instead, he patted his stomach. “I’m full, thanks.”
She raised an eyebrow, not believing him. “Dessert then?” she suggested.
It was the holidays. He enjoyed the occasional sweet. He nodded. “What do you have?”
The Sugar Cookie Sweetheart Swap Page 14