He’d skipped breakfast as well as lunch yesterday to make it to the airport on time, and then because he’d been in a hurry to get the rental car and drive out here before the storm got too bad.
The little bit of soup he’d had for dinner served to warm his insides but didn’t come close to satisfying his hunger.
It went against every set of manners his mother had instilled in him to rummage through someone else’s cupboards for food, but sleep was a long shot and food a necessity.
Throwing back the quilt, Will clamped a hand on top of the dresser next to the bed and hauled himself upright.
His muscles froze for a moment, but with gritted teeth, he forced his way across the guest room and peeked outside the door. Not a creature was stirring.
His body finally adjusting, he tiptoed in the direction he hoped was the kitchen. The pitch darkness of the house was blinding, but he didn’t dare turn on a light.
Feeling for the wall, he sucked in a breath when his toe connected with a piece of furniture—maybe an end table?—he’d forgotten about.
He leaned against the wall and bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to yell the four-letter words that threatened.
When the throbbing subsided, he limped the rest of the way, thankful when he finally found the edge of the counter with his fingers.
He opened the fridge and squinted at the bright light that blasted his eyes, then blinked to adjust his vision. A bag of sliced turkey caught his eye. Didn’t turkey have stuff in it that made you sleepy? Jackpot.
He grabbed the mustard and mayonnaise and set them with the turkey on the island before closing the fridge. The room settled into darkness again.
Now for the bread. A bread box maybe? He started to feel his way around the counters, his fingers meeting a large stand-up mixer, a butcher block of knives, then a cutting boa—
His hand stilled on the wooden board when the kitchen stairs started to creak. The sound was so soft, maybe he imagined it. But then it came again. And again.
His heart kicked up speed. Someone was coming downstairs.
Hide. He had to hide before they saw him. Hanna had always teased about the guns her dad kept around for hunting and possible burglars and how he wasn’t afraid to use them.
Not a gun guy himself, Will would rather not be acquainted with Jim’s rifle anytime soon, and definitely not by way of a bullet in his body.
Turning, Will put his hands forward and felt for the island. The jar of mayo met his hand. He grabbed the sandwich makings, tucked them under his arm, and turned to tiptoe back to his room.
On the third step, he collided with a petite body, the contents in his arms crashing to the floor, replaced by a shrieking woman.
CHAPTER FOUR
A man. In her kitchen.
A hand. Covering her mouth.
Something mushy. Squishing between her bare toes.
Hanna gripped the shoulders of the intruder, debating whether to use the knee to the groin technique or the fingernails in the eyeballs.
Before she could decide between the two, the man wrapped an arm around her and lifted her to sit on the island. A voice whispered in her ear, sending warm tingles down her neck when she recognized it. “Hanna, it’s me. Please don’t scream again, or you’ll wake up your dad.”
Fat chance. Her dad could sleep through a pack of wild wolves invading the house and howling all the while. The man wouldn’t wake up until 6:00 a.m. on the dot, no alarm clock needed. Still, the voice offered relief. Her brain fuzzy from sleep, she’d almost forgotten Will was here.
But what was he doing in their kitchen in the middle of the night? And what was all over her feet? “Light. Turn on a light, Will.”
The hands that still held her hesitated. “Where’s the switch?”
“Left corner, behind the table.”
He left her, and a minute later, the fluorescent bulb flickered overhead.
The floor was littered with a broken jar of mayonnaise, a bottle of mustard, thankfully contained, and sandwich meat.
Hanna wiggled her toes, which she could now see were covered in creamy mayo. How her feet escaped the shards of glass sprinkled into the white substance, she wasn’t sure.
Will walked back, still tiptoeing.
“You don’t have to tiptoe. Dad can’t hear a thing when he sleeps.”
He shot her a glance, a crooked smile appearing on his broad lips, the ones she used to think were terribly kissable. “I’m more worried about bloodying my feet. These socks are thick, but not that thick.”
Good point. “What were you doing up this late anyway?”
He ran a hand through his frazzled dark hair. Usually he kept it manicured, a little long shag in the front, but clean-cut. This bed-head look definitely suited him. “Your dad said to make myself at home, and I hadn’t eaten all day.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “And the soup?”
He shook his head. “Let me rephrase. The soup was the only thing I’ve eaten in the last twenty-four hours. And while it was good, my growling stomach wouldn’t let me sleep. What about you? Why are you up so late?”
The evening before rushed through her mind—seeing Will in her house, invading her space, reminding her of the future she used to think they’d have together—and her anger stirred again. “Same thing. If you’ll remember, I didn’t get to finish my dinner.”
He slung his hands on his hips. “Since it was my fault, how about I make us both a sandwich?”
The sight of him in red flannel pajamas and thermal socks almost made a smile creep up on her lips and would have if she didn’t have the urge to jump off the island and pummel him. Hanna started to hop off, but he rushed to her. “No you don’t. Can’t have you cutting those cute toes of yours.”
Cute toes? The memory of his charm invaded her good sense. He always was one for open flattery, a fact she used to love about him. And she’d never admit it to a soul, but the compliment made her heart skip a beat. Or maybe just half a beat.
He picked her up by the waist as if she were a child and carried her a few feet away from the wreckage before setting her safely onto the vinyl floor. “Go sit at the table.”
She scowled. Did he really have the gall to order her around?
Well, he deserved to have to serve her anyway. She held her chin up and marched to the table, knowing she looked like a drama queen but not caring in the least. A good hostess would make the sandwich for him, clean up the mess, and insist he take a load off, especially since his muscles had to still ache from their freeze. She, however, was determined to be the worst hostess ever and make him pay. If he hurt, served him right.
An invisible finger tapped a warning on her heart. If Jesus were present, He would probably have an eyebrow raised in her direction.
But she shrugged off the reminder. Seventy times seven, blah, blah, blah. It’s what her dad tried to tell her earlier, and she hadn’t listened then either. Didn’t a girl have a right to be mad and get a teeny bit of revenge first?
The guilt continued to crowd in around her, though, as much as she tried to ignore it.
She turned to see Will, on his knees, cleaning up the floor.
Okay, fine. He seemed to be trying anyway. Walking gently on her heels, she made it to the sink and grabbed a rag to wash the mayo off her toes. When her feet were mostly clean, she eyed the bread box. It wouldn’t hurt to at least get the bread out. And maybe it would appease God a little, too.
Two freshly made sandwiches with potato chips sat on paper plates at the table by the time Will stood from the floor. She’d need to take a good mop over it in the morning, but at least he’d tried.
He looked at the sandwiches and frowned. “I told you I’d get that.”
Had he not even noticed her working around him for the last five minutes? Men could be so oblivious. “I was hungry and tired of waiting.” No use having him think he was out of the doghouse quite yet. Because he so, completely, was not.
He nodded and headed
to a spot at the table.
“Actually, that one’s mine.” She bit the side of her lip at his puzzled expression. “I like pickles; you don’t.”
A flicker of desire flashed across his face, but it disappeared just as fast. “Okay. Thanks.”
She should have piled his sandwich full of pickles.
They ate in silence, Hanna examining every inch of the familiar kitchen table her dad had made out of wood from their property. Anything to avoid glancing at the man next to her.
“Hanna?”
She finally peeked at him and saw that he’d only eaten a few bites of his food while she was almost done. “Hm?”
“I’m sorry.”
Her heart constricted at the words she should be grateful for. She popped a chip into her mouth and chewed for a moment then swallowed. It would be the right thing to say, “I forgive you,” and be done with the matter. Three simple words. But the pain that warred inside her heart couldn’t allow it. She just wasn’t ready. “You should be.”
“I didn’t mean—”
Fire burst in her veins, and her fist slammed against the table. “Don’t you dare.” For the first time since he arrived, she looked him in the eyes—the deep brown depths that less than a year ago she swooned at the sight of and wanted to stare into forever. “Don’t you even dare tell me that you didn’t mean what you said.”
He closed his eyes and lowered his head. “I wasn’t going to—”
Her anger launched with as much power as a NASA space shuttle. “Do you know what I had to go through, Will? Do you? The stares? The whispers? The guys who suddenly had interest in me for all the very wrong reasons?” She jumped to her feet and paced the floor, her arms hugging her middle. “You knew how important it was for me to keep my values intact. We’d even talked about it on the show. And what did you go and do? You tell the whole world how great I was in bed. Which, if you recall, you wouldn’t even know as you never actually got me there.”
“Hanna, I—”
“No. You don’t get an out on this one, William. ‘Amazing. Definitely.’ I believe those were your exact words. I’m sure you figured I would be flattered or something.”
He stood up and tried to grab her hand, but she snatched it back. “The name of the show is pretty accurate. The Price of Love. Well, I paid a price for it, all right, and it wasn’t worth even a penny. I’m sorry if you thought you could waltz back in here, give me your apology, and everything would magically be okay, but it’s not going to happen.”
His pink cheeks told her he’d thought just that. “Collin egged me on, but it’s no excuse. I was an idiot. I want to make it right, Hanna. I don’t know how, but I will.”
Hanna grabbed her paper plate and tossed it into the trash. She walked over to the stairs and stood for a moment, her fingers gripping the wooden stair rail. Could she forgive him? Just like that? Is that really what God was asking of her?
She dug deep into her heart but found no will, no desire to do so. All that lay there was the scarred remains of her heart. Turning back, she saw Will staring at her, a raw, pleading look in his eyes that slammed against her conscience.
“Please, Hanna. Let me try.”
“You’re seven months too late, Will.” The words burned like sandpaper against skin as she spat them out.
His shoulders slumped, and Hanna forced herself to turn and go up the stairs, ignoring the shards of guilt stabbing at her.
Maybe, with any luck and a few extra prayers, he’d be gone in the morning, and she could start the process of getting him out of her mind—and heart—for the second time.
The next morning, after glancing out her window and seeing the backyard covered in at least two feet of snow, she heard male voices coming from the kitchen. Evidently, neither God nor Dad was joining her on the get-rid-of-Will bandwagon.
She paused at the top of the stairs. Maybe she could just go back to bed.
“I hear you up there, sunshine. Get on down here. Pancakes are on.” Her dad’s voice was like fingernails pinching her last nerve. How could he betray her and make friends with the enemy? And how dare said enemy intrude on her Saturday morning pancake ritual with her father?
A whiff of fried bacon taunted her nose and lured her to ground level despite her gut reaction to run back to bed and hide out for the rest of the day.
She stopped short at the sight of Will in her frilly pink apron, manning the skillet. He flashed his famous smile, dimples and all. “Bacon’s hot. Take a seat.”
She’d rather dump the sizzling bacon grease down his pants. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Her dad flipped another pancake, sending the circle flying high in the air. “Nope, you just sit down and relax.”
The traitor. She hoped it smacked him in the face.
Instead, it landed perfectly on the pan, like always. Darn.
She moved to disobey and get plates, but the table caught her eye. Three sets of dishes already graced the table, complete with silverware and goblets her mother had always saved for special occasions.
How she wished Mom was still here. Momma had no tolerance for stupid men, and Will would have been put in his place long ago.
“Mom’s special glasses? What for?”
Her dad shrugged as he flipped another cake. “We haven’t used them in a long time. Thought this morning was as good as any.”
The man was a bona fide liar. Mom would have served Will his breakfast on a napkin if he were lucky. “At least let me pour drinks.”
Despite traitor-dee and traitor-dum’s insistence that she take a seat, she poured orange juice into each glass. By the time she finished, pancakes sat on a huge platter in the middle of the table, and bacon and eggs were heaped in a bowl.
Just one look at the food and she could sense her scale prepping for her weight gain. “I don’t understand why we couldn’t just do good old oatmeal this morning. We need to get out and shovel the driveway before we’re completely snowed in.”
Dad served himself four pancakes and a heap of scrambled eggs. “No need. Will and I took care of it this morning.”
Oh, joy. The guy was trying to work his way into her good graces. No way was that going to happen. “Have you seen about Will’s car yet?”
“Nope. Figured we’d ride out there after breakfast and see if we can get it out ourselves since the snow seems to have tapered off for now.”
“Good luck with that. It was stuck pretty good last night.”
Hanna sat the rest of the meal in silence while the men exchanged manly small talk about cars and the latest politics. She only barely restrained herself from plugging her ears and singing la-la-la-la at the top of her lungs.
Childish? Yes. But did she care? No. She did, after all, have a degree in elementary education. She was skilled in all things childish.
It didn’t help that Will looked ridiculously handsome now that he’d gotten rid of the flannel pajamas and was no longer wearing the pink apron. He’d tamed his short brown hair and changed into a flannel button-down shirt that looked like one of her dad’s old ones, prior to his belly having developed a paunch these past few years. While it wasn’t Will’s normal Armani dress shirt, he still looked annoyingly handsome.
“…took off for two weeks.”
Will’s words perked Hanna’s previously tuned-out ears. “What about two weeks?”
Her dad frowned at her. “Will, here, was saying he’s taken two weeks’ vacation, so he’s in no hurry to go home. Told him while he’s stuck here, I might initiate him into some ice fishing.”
Oh, golly gee. What luck. “But, Will, surely you want to leave as soon as possible. Embarrass is a far cry from what you’re used to in Nashville.” If he didn’t leave, she would. Carly would let her sleep on her couch. Heck, she’d get a hotel room if she had to.
Two weeks cooped up with Will? Not happening.
He shrugged, his eyes focused on the pancake doused in syrup he was cutting. “Never been ice fishing before. Thought it mig
ht be kind of fun.” He lifted a bite to his mouth, glanced at her, then winked.
Big. Honking. Jerk. She squinted her eyes at him and gave him the dirtiest look she could muster.
He just wiggled his eyebrows and bit a piece of bacon.
Her dad cleared his throat and glared at both of them. “Now listen, you two. We’re adults here. No need to act like two-year-olds.”
Hanna slammed her fork down. This had gone too far. Her father was supposed to be on her side. “Dad, you know what he—”
“Hanna.” The harsh reply from her father startled her. Her dad never yelled. “Will is a guest in our home. I understand the bad blood between you two. But God has dropped him in our lap, and we have to make the best of it. For the moment, I think a little reconciliation would do both of you some good. I’m not expecting you two to get all kissy-kissy in the next five minutes. In fact, if you do, I’ll throw you both out in the snow and lock the doors. But flinging knives with your eyes isn’t going to solve a thing. Apologize. Now.”
Apologize? She closed her eyes, but in her heart, she knew her dad was right. She’d gone too far. Even if the jerk did deserve it. “Fine. Sorry, Will. You’re welcome as long as you need.”
He nodded. “Forgiven.”
That was just peachy. He was forgiving her. How did things get turned around so fast?
Her father put a napkin on the table and stood. “Will, if you’re ready, we’ll go take a look at that car of yours while there’s a break in the snow.”
Will stood, still a little stiff if Hanna read his jerky movements correctly. His body was probably screaming at him from his freeze the day before, not to mention if he really helped shovel snow this morning.
She should offer him some pain meds but, instead, gave him a limp smile and wave. “Well, you both enjoy. I’ll just clean up here.”
The men left, and she watched through the kitchen window as Will hobbled to the truck.
She sighed. Okay, so withholding meds from a guy in pain wasn’t her finest moment. What had gotten into her?
She’d give him some when he got back.
Hanna gathered the dishes and filled the sink with water. Nothing like hot, soapy water to help clear a girl’s head.
The Engagement Plot Page 3