Stranded: A Winter Romance Duet

by Samantha Chase

  She walked across to it, opened the nylon cover, and grabbed three logs, which was as much as she could carry. Then she headed back into the house.

  She’d almost reached the door when David appeared in front of her, glaring at her with obvious annoyance.

  “Why didn’t you wait and let me do that?”

  “Why should I? I’m perfectly capable of carrying a few logs.”

  He tried to take them away from her, but she jerked away from him, wincing when she twisted her ankle in the process.

  “Damn it, Rachel,” he muttered.

  She didn’t reply, carrying the logs back into the house.

  He grabbed an armful himself and was bringing them in as she went back for more.

  He didn’t object any further, which was good. The carport roof kept out the sleet, but it was still too cold and windy to waste time arguing.

  When they’d brought in enough for the night, David shut the door hard.

  He dropped his coat back to the floor and looked like he was going to say something.

  She spoke before he could. “I’m not a child or an invalid or a spoiled princess, and I don’t appreciate being treated like one.”

  “I’m not treating you like any of those things. And, if you weren’t so ludicrously determined to act invincible so that no one ever thinks you’re a spoiled princess, you wouldn’t refuse even the most reasonable offers of help.”

  She stiffened with a flash of hot anger. “I accept help when I need it and from people I trust. I don’t need help from you.”

  “Well, you’re stuck with my help, whether you like it or not.”

  “What is it about these words that you don’t understand? I don’t need any help. You can stay here because you can’t possibly leave, but that doesn’t mean I have to consent to your pushing your way into my business and bossing me around. I’m not helpless. I live by myself all the time. And I don’t now—and I never will—need some big, strong man to come rescue me.”

  She was so angry she shook with it. She’d managed to get her coat off, so she hung it up on its hook. Then she picked up David’s coat and hung it up too.

  He stood watching her—she could feel him watching her—as she slid off her mom’s snow boots and walked back into the kitchen.

  As quickly as it had risen, her anger drained away. She was suddenly exhausted and defeated and ridiculously close to crying.

  Her ankle throbbed. Her head was starting to hurt. She was stranded in this big drafty house. It was getting darker and colder by the minute. She was going to have to figure out something for dinner, and then she was going to have to sleep near the fireplace, since it would be the only warm place in the whole house.

  There would be no way to get away from David.

  Whom she still wanted. No matter how deeply she knew she should never want him again.

  She went to her bedroom, since it was the only privacy she could find.

  She sat down on the bed and pulled her left leg out to inspect her ankle.

  It was hurting now worse than ever.

  She heard a tap on the door. “What do you want?” she asked, more resigned than angry.

  “I’ve come with a peace offering.”

  There was no peace he could offer that would mend the rift between them. They were both stuck here for the night, however, and it was foolish for them to keep fighting.

  “The door is opened.”

  He opened the door and came in, carrying a gel-filled icepack in a soft blue cover that he must have found in the freezer.

  “That’s supposed to be a peace offering? It looks more like covert bossing.”

  “This isn’t the peace offering,” he replied, sitting on the edge of her bed and pulling her ankle onto his lap.

  She should pull away, but she just didn’t have the energy.

  He started unwrapping the bandage she’d wrapped after her shower. “This is a necessity.”

  She made an impatient face, but that was the extent of her response. When he’d unwrapped the bandage, he gently folded the icepack around her throbbing ankle. Then he handed her ibuprofen and a bottle of water he’d stuck in his shirt pocket.

  She took the pills. Then leaned back and closed her eyes. “Thanks.”

  “That wasn’t the peace offering either.”

  She gave him a silent, questioning look.

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face. “I’m sorry if I was too pushy. When I get worried, I have a bad habit of taking over—but I didn’t mean to bulldoze you.”

  He sounded sincere. But then he’d sounded sincere when he was nineteen and he’d told her she was prettiest, sweetest girl he’d ever known.

  She took a breath that was only slightly shaky. “Thanks. I’m sorry if I was too stubborn. I get that way when I’m bulldozed.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched in that irresistible way he had. “That I know.”

  She should be mad at him. For so many things. But he looked like he was really trying to be nice—at least so they could get through the night—and she didn’t have the energy for more fighting right now anyway.

  She realized her mouth was wobbling slightly, almost answering his smile.

  He moved her foot back onto the bed carefully and stood up. “I’m going to make a fire in the fireplace. You should keep the icepack on your ankle for at least ten minutes.”

  She arched her eyebrows.

  “Only if you want to, of course, but I’m sure you’re smart enough to know you need to do it.”

  She huffed—half in amusement and half in indignation. She wasn’t sure which feeling had the upper hand.

  She stayed on her bed with the icepack on her ankle, however. It was actually starting to feel a little better.

  She began to get chilly, since the radiator in her room was no longer putting out heat, so she pulled a crocheted afghan over her. It was growing darker in the room, which made her feel drowsy.

  Before she realized what was happening, she’d actually dozed off.

  She didn’t sleep long or very deeply because she woke when she felt something shift on her foot.

  David had come back in, taken the icepack off her ankle, and was wrapping it up again.

  She blinked up at him groggily, slightly disoriented.

  She was even more disoriented by the strangely soft look in his eyes. “It’s getting cold in here,” he murmured. “Do you want to come to the living room? I’ve got the fire going good.”

  She nodded, since she was definitely getting cold, and managed to push herself up to a sitting position.

  He reached down to help her to her feet.

  “You shouldn’t put weight on your ankle. I’d carry you, but I have a feeling that generous offer would be rejected.”

  “It would definitely be rejected.” She did lean on him a little, and she couldn’t help but like how lean, solid, and warm his body was, even through his clothes.

  “Your loss.”

  His voice sounded strange—with more texture than it normally had—so she looked up to search his face.

  She froze when she saw the expression in his eyes. Her lips parted, and she couldn’t look away.

  It looked like warmth, laughter, fondness, tenderness, all mingled in his eyes as he gazed down at her.

  She wanted it. Needed it. It was what she’d always wanted. She stretched up toward him without any conscious thought.

  He bent his head down. Then he was kissing her.

  And she was kissing him back.

  His arm around her waist tightened, pressing her more snugly against his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck as his lips moved against hers—first gently, carefully, as if he were learning her responses.

  Pleasure and excitement roared in her ears as her body softened against his. When she felt his tongue tease between her lips, she opened for him eagerly.

  His tongue caressed the underside of each lip and then tangled with hers. It felt so good she moaned s
oftly and moved one hand up to grab his head and hold it in place.

  His lips briefly parted from hers, but only to readjust his head. “Rachel,” she heard him breathe. “Rachel.”

  She whimpered a response when he deepened the kiss once more. Her whole body pulsed in response, and arousal tightened achingly between her legs.

  Then she readjusted her weight and felt a sudden jolt of pain from her ankle.

  She broke the kiss abruptly with a muffled sound.

  “Okay?” he asked, his embrace immediately becoming supportive rather than passionate.

  “Yeah. Just my ankle.” Her cheeks were already flushed, but they flushed even more as she realized what she’d been doing.

  Kissing David Harris. As if he was any other attractive man.

  As if he weren’t the man who’d so callously broken her heart.

  He must think she was the easiest mark in the world, falling for him not once but twice.

  The realization hurt more than she’d thought it could, but she wasn’t about to let him know.

  She might be an idiot, but she wasn’t weak.

  When she looked up again, he seemed to be leaning down into another kiss, that same hot tenderness smoldering in his eyes.

  She put a hand on his chest to push him away slowly. “I hope the apology was the peace offering and not the kiss,” she said, pleased her voice was light and breezy, like kissing him was a fun diversion but nothing important. “Because the kiss is definitely not going to work.”

  Three

  For just a moment, David looked like he’d been sucker-punched.

  The expression was so inexplicable and so brief that Rachel assumed she must have imagined it. She still felt awkward and kind of sick, though, as she left her bedroom and limped to the kitchen.

  She couldn’t believe she’d been stupid enough to kiss David, after everything that had happened. She must be some sort of secret masochist, just asking for more pain.

  She did her best to shake off the feeling. There was no escape—at least for tonight—and she had to somehow make it through the next twelve hours.

  The fire David had built in the double-sided fireplace was blazing nicely, warming both the kitchen and the living room. She stood in front of it for a minute, warming up and listening to the cozy crackling sound.

  “I guess we should find something for dinner,” David said, coming into the kitchen to join her. He looked perfectly normal—calm, matter-of-fact, in control.

  Rachel wished desperately that she was as controlled as he always was.

  “Yeah,” she agreed. “I can’t believe it’s already so late. The stove should work since it’s gas. We can just light the eye manually. I’m sure there’s canned soup in the pantry.”

  They both went to investigate the large, well-stocked pantry, and Rachel handed David a couple of cans of expensive beef and vegetable soup. “Can you get this going? I’ll make us some sandwiches too.”

  She followed him back into the kitchen with a loaf of crusty bread, and, while he worked on lighting the eye, she opened the refrigerator.

  Her mother’s kitchen was always stocked with food. She went grocery shopping almost every day, and she never bought anything cheap or on sale. She’d never used a coupon in her life. So the deli meat, cheese, and condiments Rachel gathered were all as gourmet as was possible to find in the rural county.

  It was only after Rachel had started living on her own that she realized how expensive such items could be.

  “It’s still cold in the refrigerator,” she said, taking her haul to the big kitchen table. She was mostly just making conversation. “Hopefully, the power will come on before my mom loses all of this food.”

  “We could always just move it outside.” David’s voice was light and dry, and his focus was on stirring the pot of soup.

  Feeling the need for extra fortification, she went over to the bar and poured herself a glass from an opened bottle of red wine. “Do you want a beer?” she asked over her shoulder.

  “Whatever you have there is fine.”

  She poured him wine too and then took the glasses and bottle over to the table.

  She made sandwiches quickly. Since the soup wasn’t quite hot yet, she killed time by checking her smartphone for email and the forecast.

  “They’re saying it’s supposed to stop around midnight and then warm up tomorrow, so hopefully it shouldn’t be bad for long.”

  “Good.”

  She felt uncomfortable and strangely shy—and she hated feeling that way—so she kept going through email and texting back a couple of friends as David brought the soup over to the table in two big bowls.

  “Anything going on?” he asked, nodding toward her phone.

  She shook her head. “Just looking at work email.”

  She put the phone away as they ate. Her mother had taught her manners, and that would just be rude. It was a safety net anyway, and she’d rather be strong enough to get through this meal without artificial security.

  “How do you like your job?” he asked before taking a bite of his sandwich.

  It was a perfectly innocuous question. The kind of casual inquiry anyone might make to be polite. She and David weren’t casual, though, and they weren’t innocuous.

  They weren’t anything.

  She forced down the swell of defensive resentment and made herself answer. “It’s fine.”

  “Your mom said you got another promotion this year.”

  “I did.” She took a slow sip of wine, mostly to pause and collect her thoughts. There was no reason for it to be a problem, but it bothered her that her mother had been talking to David about her job. “My philosophy is that if you show up on time and do all your work without causing any problems, you’re probably doing better than most other people and they’ll eventually promote you.”

  “You don’t think you’re good at what you do?”

  “Oh, sure. I think I do a decent job. But I’m not a marketing guru or anything.”

  His dark eyes, almost black in the glow of the firelight, were focused on her for real, not looking just past her the way he’d been doing since they’d entered the kitchen. “Do you enjoy it?”

  “Sure. It’s like any other job. Sometimes it’s good and sometimes it drives you crazy.”

  “You used to want to run a flower shop in town.”

  She put down the spoon she’d just been raising to her mouth and stared at him. “Are you serious?”

  “Isn’t that what you wanted to do? You said you wanted to be surrounded by flowers.”

  “I was twelve!”

  “You said something similar when you were older.” He shrugged. “I thought you were serious.”

  She swallowed hard. She couldn’t believe David remembered such a random, foolish detail, and it bothered her unduly. “Kids are serious about a lot of silly things. This community could never support a flower shop.”

  “A lot of people die and get married and have anniversaries in this county and want something better than grocery store flowers. With your marketing background, I’m sure you could—”

  “Would you stop?” she interrupted, sounding sharper than she’d intended. “I’ve already got a good job.”

  “Do you like living in Richmond?”

  She raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Sure. It just gets some getting used to.”

  “You still come here a lot to visit. Do you miss it?”

  He knew far too much about her life, and he was asking too many questions. It was none of his business if she missed her home town—which she did—or if she would be happier doing something different than she was.

  “Why am I the one getting the interrogation? What about you? Didn’t you want to make furniture when you were younger?”

  She asked it in a tone that implied it was a very vague memory, but she knew very well it had been his dream for years.

  He met her eyes evenly. “I do make furniture.”

  “On the side, maybe. But
you can’t have a lot of extra time with all your business.”

  He just shrugged, much as she had earlier.

  “Do you like what you do?”

  “I’m good at it, and people need a trustworthy contractor.”

  “I know that, but it’s not what I asked. Wouldn’t you rather just be doing carpentry?”

  He’d finished his sandwich, but he still looked down at his empty plate. Finally, his eyes lifted to hers again. “We all grow up.”

  She understood him. She understood him perfectly. She’d gone through the same experience. In the real world, you couldn’t always do what made you most happy. You made do. You adjusted. You let go.

  She’d held his gaze for too long, and she felt her cheeks warming as she glanced down, flustered and confused.

  She finished her soup without talking.

  When they’d washed up, she picked up a flashlight and said, “I guess I’ll find something to read. Or something.”

  David nodded. “I’m going to check outside and make sure everything’s okay with the house.”

  It was pitch black outside and sounded awful, but she didn’t object. He was a grown man. If he wanted to go outside in this weather and be idiotic, then he was allowed to do so.

  She went to the bathroom and then decided she might as well get ready for bed. She changed into a pair of fitted fleece pajamas—the warmest she had—and pulled the sweatshirt on over them. She found a book, poured herself another glass of wine, and got the ice pack for her ankle. She was stretched out on the big couch in front of the fire when David came back in.

  Ice was falling off him in little clicks as he moved.

  “How is everything?”

  “Looks okay. You’ve lost a few branches but none of the trees. And the roof is holding up well.”

  “Good.”

  Since she’d brought the bottle and his empty glass into the living room, he poured himself the last of the bottle.

  She was trying to occupy herself with her book, but she couldn’t help but look over at him.

  He was as scrumptiously masculine as always, his five-o’clock shadow even darker and his skin flushed slightly from the wind and cold. But he also looked uncomfortable in his boots and jeans.