Last time he’d been out here was to repair some fence for Cy because the old man had been forced to let his help go. Had to be about five years ago when Jesse had come home on leave. Back then the shack was better stocked and he’d stayed on a couple days after the job was finished just to be alone. His family never knew. They would’ve been hurt.
With his jeans half-open, he picked up the lantern and moved it around. Peering into the dark corners where a broken camping chair and empty crates had been shoved. The soft glow was better than nothing, but not by much.
“Is something wrong?”
“Just having a look.”
“You want the flashlight?”
“Yeah, that might be better.” He found a hook near the cot and hung the lantern from it.
She’d taken off a glove and was holding out the flashlight. Her skin was red, mostly her fingers. They were trembling but that wasn’t what had him worried.
“Let’s see.” He stuck the flashlight under his arm, took her hand and probed her palm and knuckle area. “Can you feel this?”
“Yes.”
“No numbness?”
She pulled away. “It actually hurts a little so I know I don’t have frostbite.”
“I didn’t think so but it can happen faster than you think. Now your feet.”
One boot was off. Her red striped socks didn’t look wet. She wiggled her toes. “Cold but fine. I was sitting on Candy Cane most of the time.” Her gaze lowered to his boots. “We should be worried about you.”
He retrieved the flashlight and flipped the switch. The beam landed on the metal bucket, which reminded him... “First I need to go outside again,” he said, grabbing the bucket.
“Why?”
“Collect some snow.”
She frowned briefly, then nodded. “Need help?”
“I got it.” He glanced over his shoulder toward the cot. “If you find another bucket or pot that I missed, let me know.”
Clearly no one had used the place in a long time and hadn’t bothered to leave it ready for an emergency. Sometimes high school kids used the abandoned shacks to party, but they obviously hadn’t found this one or the whiskey would be gone.
Like many other small ranchers trapped in the poor economy, the Hebers had ended up selling most of their herd shortly after Jesse had returned to duty. And since Cy had given up booze, the place likely had been forgotten.
After zipping his fly, he prepared himself for the cold outside. He bowed his head to block the icy wind from stinging his face and scooped snow into the bucket. The small shack was chock-full of memories, most of them good, some not. He’d been going through a tough time five years ago, confused about his future and the lack of direction in his life. Staying out here alone had been peaceful, but he’d returned to the Sundance without answers.
Before going inside he stopped to check on the mare. The door opened and Shea poked her head out.
“Is Candy Cane all right?” she asked.
“She’s fine.” He stroked the bay’s neck. “I see you found a pot.”
Shea glanced down. “Oh, yes, here.” He took it before she walked out into the snow in her stocking feet. “Are you sure she’s okay?”
“Yes. You’re letting heat escape.” He forced her to back up by setting the bucket down just inside, and noted the glint of suspicion in her eye as he pulled the door closed.
He hadn’t lied. She was a city girl. To her animals were pampered pets. The mare was just fine for now, whereas he and Shea couldn’t afford to lose heat. The old stove was efficient but unable to sustain a comfortable temperature without enough logs. They were hurting in that department. He’d have to feed the fire slowly, keep it just warm enough that they didn’t freeze. No telling when the weather would let up.
After filling the pot, he stomped the snow off his boots and went back inside. She’d moved closer to the stove. Her other glove and socks were off but she still had her jeans on. Jesse sighed. She was never going to get warm.
“I don’t know what you want me to do with the bucket,” she said, watching him place the pot on the fire as she rubbed her toes.
“Your job is to keep the blood flowing.” He ignored her eye-roll and moved the bucket to the other side of the stove. He left his jacket there to dry, then sat down to unlace his sturdy air-force-issue boots. Normally he wore cowboy boots but not when he flew, especially in winter.
Good thing. His socks were still dry. He left them on, then stood to unzip his fly. Again, her head came up. He wasn’t shy or even modest, but Jesus.
“You really wanna watch?” he asked, and then could only chuckle when it looked as if she were debating the matter.
“Are you wearing thermal underwear?” she asked with a casual curiosity that surprised him.
“Yep, but those are coming off, too. Turn your head if you want.”
She studied him for a long, drawn-out moment, then bowed her head and massaged her other foot.
He stripped off his jeans, dragged the cot closer to the stove and hung the Levi’s off the end. Then he peeled down his cotton thermals and hung them, too, leaving room for her things. It felt good to be free of the wet clinging material. Luckily for everyone, his brown boxers were bone-dry.
Shea sighed loudly.
He looked up and found her gaze focused on his fly. Not his cock precisely, but the same vicinity.
“What?” he asked slowly, heat stirring low in his belly. Another few seconds and she’d figure out exactly what was on his mind.
“You’re just being sensible.”
Did she sound disappointed, or was it wishful thinking on his part? “As opposed to...” He drew out the words, then waited, not happy that his body continued to tense. The last thing he wanted to do was scare her. He casually walked around the other side of the cot to get to his seat.
“I’m being stupid.” She rose and let the blanket slide down her back and onto the stool.
Lifting the hem of her jacket so she could see what she was doing, she unsnapped her jeans and drew down the zipper, without hesitation, as if it were perfectly normal for her to undress in front of him. She wiggled as she forced the wet denim past her hips. Leaving on the beige thermals she wore underneath, she then sat to finish pulling off the jeans.
And he’d been worried about the kiss, or that he’d scared her? She hadn’t even tried to hide behind the stove or asked him to turn around. In fact, she was treating him like he was one of her girlfriends.
Irritated, he sat down again and watched, waiting for her to chuck the thermals.
This time her fingers hesitated at the waistband. She fixed him with a stare as frigid as the outside temperature. “You really wanna watch?” she asked, throwing his words back at him.
“You really want an answer?” He let out a laugh, gladly suffering her steely gaze. “All right.” He swung around and gave her his back.
“When do you think we’ll be able to leave?”
“Hard to say. If the snow doesn’t let up overnight, I’ll go to the plane at first light and use the radio.”
“On foot?” She’d moved away, judging by the muffled tone of her voice. Probably hanging up her jeans.
“Depends how deep the snow is.”
She stayed silent long enough that he was about to turn around when she said, “How will radioing help us? Or is it simply a matter of reporting in?”
“The wind seems to be dying down some. I’ll let Cole know how it looks out here and he’ll come get us.”
“How?”
“Snowmobiles, if necessary.” He sensed her tension and wanted to see what she was up to. The stool’s legs scraped the wood floor. “The truth is he’ll show up no matter what, so no need to worry. Can I turn around now?”
“Yes,” she said so softly, the crackle of the fire nearly drowned her out.
He didn’t need to see the slump of her shoulders to know her mood had shifted. She’d rewrapped the blanket around her body and stared idly at the stove
. “We’re not in trouble,” he said. “If I thought we were, that would’ve trumped the risk of someone coming after us. I knew we’d find shelter.”
She stretched her bare legs out in front of her, toward the stove. Her thighs were covered by the blanket, but not her pale shapely calves and slim ankles. He tried not to stare. He’d hate for her to think that his judgment call had been motivated by a personal agenda. The storm had hit quickly, its ferocity unexpected, and for sure his brothers had their hands full back at the Sundance. To have unnecessarily brought them out in this mess would have been irresponsible.
“I feel so horribly guilty,” she said after a while. “I should’ve listened to Annie. She didn’t want me to go after Caleb. She was distracted and I took advantage of the situation.”
He’d wondered what had happened. Didn’t make sense that Annie would let Shea run off like she had. “Look, we’re okay. Everyone’s been notified. They know you’re with me, so they won’t worry.”
“No, they just all think I’m a total idiot. Probably won’t trust me with the animals anymore.”
“I suspect they think you’re a very kind and compassionate woman who was concerned about a horse.”
She glanced at him, then seemed to concentrate on her toes, curling them toward the stove. “What about you?”
“I definitely don’t think you’re an idiot.”
Her lips lifted in a faint smile. “I was referring to you being collateral damage. You’re stuck here because of me.”
Jesse sucked in a breath. That was true because he never would’ve landed on that field if he hadn’t seen her. But he sure wasn’t going to admit it. “There’s another way to look at the situation. Maybe I was meant to fly over at that particular moment and spot you.”
“So we’d end up here...stranded...together.”
He shrugged a shoulder. Sounded weird put that way.
“You’re talking about fate.”
“Whatever.”
“I don’t believe in that.”
He didn’t, either. “You hungry?”
“No.” She drew her legs up until they disappeared under the blanket. Hugging her knees, she continued to stare at the stove as if she could see the fire. “I can’t even think about food.”
“You’ll have to eat sometime.”
“What?” She made a face. “That canned stuff in the corner?”
“I doubt it’ll come to that. I have jerky, trail mix and dried fruit in my bag.”
That seemed to spark her attention. She looked over at him. “Do you think Candy Cane would eat the dried fruit?”
He snorted. “If I know Annie, that mare was well fed this morning. I suspect she had a full belly when you left. Mine not so much.”
“I meant I’d give her my share.”
“Do you know how much a horse eats?” he asked, and she blushed. “We’ll have to conserve our food. Water we’ll have plenty of.”
“And whiskey,” she murmured.
He’d almost forgotten. “You want a drink?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know why I brought it up.”
“I’m having a shot.” He stood and was reminded he wore only boxers when she darted a glance at him, then quickly looked away.
“I don’t suppose there’s any coffee fit to drink.” She twisted around to study the shelved cans, giving him another tempting view of bare legs.
“I’ll look.” First, he checked on the progress of his thermals. They normally dried quickly but he was asking for too much. Still damp. “There should be a pair of tin cups around here somewhere.”
The wind had died down, at least it had stopped rattling the shack’s old frame, and just maybe the place would still be standing by the time they got out of here. Nah, he really wasn’t worried about the place. Though carpentry had never been his or Cole’s strong suit. And certainly not when they’d been eighteen and nineteen.
But when he’d spent those two days by himself he’d reinforced the door frame, repaired a few loose boards and patched three places on the roof. He’d already figured by then the shack wouldn’t be used much, but he’d been driven to use his hands. His overtaxed brain had needed the distraction.
He should’ve been on top of the world at the time. Everyone else thought so. And they were right. Twenty-six years old, a pilot in the United States Air Force, months away from being made captain. Most guys who’d been through all the training and jumped all the hurdles to sit in an air force cockpit were lifers. Flying in the military wasn’t something you did on a whim. It was a passion, a calling. Even though he hadn’t been among the hotshots and flyboys, he’d been necessary in the scheme of things. He did a job that mattered and that had felt damn good. But most of the other pilots also called the military their home. They didn’t have the Sundance waiting for them on the other side of the world. If only that feeling of being needed, being an integral part of something bigger, was as true at the ranch as it had been in the air.... But that wasn’t how it had worked out.
“Look at me sitting here,” Shea said. “I should be helping.”
He jerked, realizing that he’d been staring at the row of canned goods. “Nah.” He shook off the haze and gestured for her to stay seated. “I don’t need help.” He raked a hand through his short hair. “There might be some coffee in this canister,” he said, a flicker of memory bringing him to a crouch as he picked up the aluminum container. “It’ll probably be stale but we might be desperate enough.”
She’d already gotten to her feet. “I’m assuming you know how to brew over an open fire. I can at least add more logs.”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“You get the coffee ready.”
“Shea, wait.”
Juggling three logs that she’d already gathered, she slowly straightened.
He was hoping to avoid this conversation. “One log at a time, okay?”
Her gaze went first to the pair of logs he removed from the cradle of her arms, and then to the small reserve pile. “Oh, we don’t have enough wood.”
“We need to go easy on how much we use, that’s all.”
“I should’ve realized...” She shook her head. “Let’s forget the coffee,” she said, returning the log to the stack.
Jesse blew out a stream of air. He could still see his breath but the shack was warmer. “We have to be sensible, but that doesn’t rule out coffee.”
“I vote for the whiskey,” she said, struggling with the sagging blanket.
“Hopefully we’ll have both.”
He went to work, feeding one of the logs to the fire then assessing the coffee situation. There was about a cup’s worth of grounds. No doubt old, but he was willing to give it a shot. Not all the snow he’d collected had melted yet, but there was enough to get a pot brewing.
Shea had found the tin cups and was dubiously inspecting the insides when he turned around.
“Just blow out the dust,” he said, picking up the bottle of Jim Beam. “Think of all the crap we ate off the floor as babies.”
“True.” She peeked into the bucket. “But since we’re in no short supply of snow, I think I’ll go a step further.”
He watched with amusement as she daintily used her fingers to scoop snow into each cup, then swished it around. Once she’d scrubbed the cups to her satisfaction, she scanned the room, her gaze hesitating on some rags they’d found, before she set down the still-damp cups.
He unscrewed the cap on the whiskey and reached for one.
“I’m not done with them.” She’d left the blanket in a heap on the stool and was unzipping her jacket.
There he went again, staring at her legs. Man, he had to get a grip on himself. He’d been lucky she’d let the kiss slide.
When she picked up a cup and lifted the hem of her shirt, exposing skimpy bikini panties, Jesse tipped the entire bottle to his lips.
10
DESPITE THE MISTAKES she’d made since this morning, Shea had been able to compartmentalize so that
everything had seemed manageable. Until this moment.
Because Jesse was standing right there in his boxers...and he had a hard-on....
She didn’t dare look again.
Taking a deep, even breath, she focused on wiping out the cups, making sure she didn’t leave any lint behind. Now her hem was damp. So what, it would dry soon enough. She pulled the black flannel shirt down and smoothed it over her belly, the whole time keeping her eyes downcast.
She’d lived with a man for nearly two years, after all, so she was familiar with erections, for goodness’ sake. Admittedly, though, Jesse’s was quite impressive.
Good grief, she could not look there again.
Keeping her gaze averted, she slowly lifted her chin. Then chanced a peek.
Jesse used the back of his sleeve to wipe his mouth. She was relieved when his eyes didn’t meet hers...except...where was he looking? God.
In spite of her best intention, her gaze dropped to his fly. She tried to swallow but couldn’t summon enough saliva. Oh, this was a problem. A very big problem.
“Shea?”
“I decided against the coffee,” she said, instinctively squeezing her thighs together. “I think I’ll try to get some sleep instead.” Oh, she so wanted to snatch up that blanket and wrap it around herself, but it wasn’t fair to him. It was his turn.
“Here, have some of this.” He poured the whiskey into the cup and passed it to her. “I know you’re not much of a drinker, take your time, sip on it for a while and—”
She downed the entire contents. Before she could finish swallowing, she started to cough. Not a small polite cough, but a horrible, out-of-control wheezing shudder that shook her whole body.
Embarrassed, she covered her face with her hands.
“Hey.” Jesse pried her fingers away and pushed the cold tin cup against her palm. “Try this.”
“No, I’m never ever going to—” She coughed again.
“It’s water. Melted snow. It won’t kill you.”
“How do you know?” she murmured, completely miserable.
He smiled. “Guess you’ll have to trust me.”
On a Snowy Christmas Night Page 10