Wicked in Winter

by Jennifer Bernard

  Gretel’s imagination reeled at what that kind of sponsorship could do for Jason. The difference between an athlete who made it and an athlete who languished could easily be the level of funding they enjoyed. Rich kids had an advantage in that respect, or kids who caught the eye of a wealthy patron. Here in Lost Harbor, Jason’s opportunities to catch someone’s eye were limited.

  With Lloyd Morrison’s support, there were no limits except Jason’s own talent and commitment.

  And from what she’d seen, he wasn’t lacking in either of those departments.

  “The catch?” she managed. Lloyd Morrison never gave anything away. There was always a quid pro quo. He always wanted his pound of flesh.

  “Don’t play dumb, Gretel. I want you to leave this insult of a marriage. My daughter, married to some blue-collar military dropout. It’s humiliating. You get a divorce, or better yet, an annulment, and you put Lost Harbor in your rear-view mirror. For good.”

  The phone threatened to slip through Gretel’s sweaty fingers. “What does that mean, for good? Bethany lives here.”

  “So she can come to Connecticut if she wants to see you.”

  “I’m not going back to—” she began heatedly.

  “Fine. No strings on what you do after you leave Lost Harbor. Two conditions only: you get that divorce right away and you leave Alaska.”

  She wetted her lips. “How long…” She didn’t quite have the heart to finish.

  “My guy tells me Jason has some big expenses coming up. There’s a state competition that his family will have to pay for. If I want to get the ball rolling in time for that, I’ll need an immediate decision if you want to help Jason.”

  She swallowed hard. Her throat ached from tension. Her purpose for “marriage” with Zander had been to help the family. How could she say no to something that would help them so greatly?

  “Gretel?”

  “Let me think about it,” she croaked, and hung up the phone.

  She leaned back against the shelving and gripped the unfinished edge of one wooden shelf. A splinter tore into her palm. Shoddy workmanship.

  Zander would never build shelves with splinters sticking out of them.

  She pulled her hand away and gazed at the wound. It brought back a quick memory of Zander helping Petey with a splinter he’d gotten from picking up a log. Petey had hollered like someone undergoing surgery with no anesthesia, but Zander had been so patient with the tweezers she brought him from her makeup kit.

  Afterwards, she’d sanitized the bloody tweezers and left them in the bathroom. At least there would be something there of hers after she left.

  Tears rolled down her face, but only partly because of the pain in her palm. She’d married Zander to help the family. How could she justify staying married to him when it would hurt the family?

  It wasn’t just the sponsorship. It was the other veiled threats about Zander’s debt. Lloyd Morrison had no moral qualms about interfering with things like that. She didn’t know if it was possible for him to call in whatever loan Zander had taken out. But if she didn’t agree to his offer, he might try. If that didn’t work, something else would. Her father could be vindictive and vengeful when he didn’t get his way.

  Just look at how he’d cut Gretel off in order to hurt Bethany. Everyone knew that Bethany was a responsible, caring person who would never abandon her younger sister. Just like that, Gretel had been dumped onto Bethany. Which was one more reason why Gretel had worked so hard to become self-sufficient. She didn’t want to be a burden to her beloved older sister.

  Now her choices were down to two: do as her father wanted and skip town, after dumping Zander. Or stay and cost Jason a ski sponsorship and possibly plunge Zander into financial peril.

  The thought of leaving made her heart ache. She didn’t want to leave, but staying would be selfish. Or she could be unselfish and leave. Wasn’t that the lesson she was trying to learn? How to put other people first?

  Face it. Her father had won, as he always did. She had only one real choice.

  The only question was how to do it quickly and cleanly while causing the least amount of hurt possible to Zander and Petey and Jason. Jason would be fine—better than fine because he’d be getting an exciting new ski sponsorship very soon. Petey was such a cool kid, such a one-of-a-kind, funny, curious-about-the-world kind of boy. He’d be fine, too.

  And Zander…well, he’d never said that he loved her. He looked at her with passion in his eyes, and he touched her as if he truly cherished her. But he’d never said any words of love—neither of them had. It wasn’t part of their deal. He’d be okay, especially when all his financial worries vanished. Maybe this was the best thing that could happen to the Ross family.

  As for herself? That was a lost cause. Her heart was already breaking.

  She drew in a deep breath and called her father back.

  “Let’s negotiate,” she said, thankful that her voice sounded relatively steady.

  “You want to negotiate with me?” His amusement made her stiffen. Don’t let him roll you, Gretel. Get more out of him.

  “Yes. I’ll do what you want if you sweeten the deal. That life insurance policy you mentioned? Make sure they get that money. It’s theirs, after all.”

  “How would I—?”

  “I don’t care!” she interrupted. “You’re Lloyd Morrison. You can make it happen. That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”

  A pause, then, “We have a deal.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Gretel was in a mood that Zander had never seen before. Skittish, almost edgy, nervous. When he picked up one of her palms to check, he found it sweaty and worse than that, injured. “Sweetheart, this is going to get infected. Look at how it’s swelling.”

  “It’s fine.” She snatched her hand away from him. “It’s just a splinter.”

  “You’re not getting gangrene from a splinter on my watch.” He made her sit down under a bright light while he extracted the last remains of the splinter. When he finished, he was shocked by the tears shining on her face, because she hadn’t made a single sound while he was working.

  “Did I hurt you?” he asked, gently brushing the moisture from her cheek.

  She shook her head, but he didn’t quite believe her. So he lifted her in his arms and carried her to his bedroom and tried to distract her with all the tools at his disposal. Mostly his tongue, which went on a mission to find the most sensitive spots on her body. The inner crook of her elbow. Her right nipple. The exquisitely soft curve of her inner thigh. And of course the biggest prize, the ripe plum of her clit.

  By the time she came in wild, thrashing spasms, he felt pretty good about himself. But her tears were still flowing.

  Maybe instead of an orgasm, she needed some comfort. Just in case, he wrapped her in his arms, tucked his long legs around her slim ones, and murmured sweet words in her ear—how beautiful she was, how wild and at the same time, candy-sweet.

  But the only thing that stopped her tears was sleep.

  The next morning, Zander woke up to the sound of his alarm. Unusual, because he generally woke earlier than that, already running down his checklist of tasks for the day. Blame all the sex.

  He flung his arm over to Gretel’s side of the bed, but she was already gone.

  Also unusual, since she was more of the sleep-in type. But then he remembered that she had an early shift at the Wicked Brew. She must have tiptoed out of the room so as not to disturb him.

  His hand touched her pillow. He rolled over and buried his face in it, inhaling the faint whiff of her scent. If he couldn’t have Gretel first thing in the morning, he’d have to make do with her fragrance.

  Outside the window, thick snowflakes were falling through the pristine sapphire light of the winter dawn. He swung his legs out of the bed, feet touching the cold floor. Hopefully Gretel had taken his rig instead of that old Frontier of the Noonans’. He didn’t trust that thing in new snow.

  Just in case Gretel hadn�
��t left yet, he decided to send her a text. His phone told him it was after eight. That meant Petey had already been picked up for school. Gretel had handled the whole morning routine.

  Hope you took the Tacoma, sweetcheeks. It’s better in the snow.

  He got no answer, which probably meant that she was already driving. One of the conditions of their agreement was that she never text while driving—he’d thrown that in there for safety’s sake.

  Someone had to look out for her.

  Out in the living room, a robust fire was crackling in the woodstove. Gretel had really gotten the hang of fire starting, he’d give her that.

  And not just the literal kind.

  Chuckling, he crouched down to close the damper so the house wouldn’t get too hot. The scent of coffee stole through the air—Gretel must have already made a pot, and left some for him.

  She must be feeling better. He hoped so, though he still had no idea what had been bothering her last night. She’d fallen into a deep sleep and hadn’t stirred even when he’d shifted her head onto her own pillow and adjusted the covers around her. He’d stroked her hair for a while, those silky tinted strands sliding through his fingers like water. Then he’d dropped a kiss on her temple.

  “Dream sweet, my love,” he’d murmured. The word “love” had slipped off his tongue so naturally, so easily, so perfectly.

  He got to his feet and strode into the kitchen. He had so much to do today. He wanted to reorganize his workshop to make space for a new project—a tiny house a young couple wanted some help with. He was on after-school carpool duty. He was also working on a present for Petey’s birthday—a treasure chest for all his games. It was best to work on it while he was in school so there was no chance he’d burst in and ruin the surprise.

  In the kitchen, he reached onto the shelf and pulled down his favorite mug, the one he used every day. Jason had given it to him on that first terrible Christmas after the accident. Its handle was in the shape of a wolf’s head. Clever design, really.

  But today something was different. A piece of paper was curled inside. He pulled it out and read it while he filled the mug with coffee.

  “Dear Zander. I’m invoking the escape hatch. I can’t explain why, just please know that it’s for the best. Maybe it’s just the way I am—always the wanderer. I’m sorry. I want you to know that it’s nothing that you did. You were a wonderful “husband” and I will never forget you, or any of you wild Ross brothers. I left a note for Petey too, but he might still be sad. Give him lots of hugs from me. He needs hugs. Jason too, if he’ll let you, but I’m not worried about him. I put the divorce paperwork in the silverware drawer so Niko wouldn’t eat it.”

  For a long moment, Zander didn’t move. His feet were rooted to the floor, his entire body in suspended animation. It wasn’t until he felt Niko’s cold nose snuffling at his hand that he broke out of his stupor.

  Mechanically, he filled Niko’s food bowl and splashed some water in his dish.

  Gretel was gone.

  Now that he’d read her note, he noticed other things. Her knitting project, which she always left on the armchair right next to the woodstove, was gone. In the arctic entry, there were empty hooks where her coats had hung. Her zebra-print boots were gone, and so where the more sensible snow boots. Even the air felt different. Empty. Flat.

  Her snowshoes still hung on the rack he’d built. Wherever she was going, she didn’t intend to snowshoe.

  He strode into the bedroom and yanked open the closet. Most of her clothes were gone, but not all of them. Maybe she hadn’t had enough time to pack everything while he was sleeping. Maybe she was traveling light.

  Traveling light was her specialty, after all. She’d taken charge of all their packing for Hawaii and they’d managed the trip with nothing but carry-ons.

  A deep lance of pain hit him right in the gut. He gripped the edge of the bureau and doubled over.

  The bureau. He’d taken Gretel from behind right here in the dark. The hot images swam back to him, taunting him with their erotic edge. Gretel was gone, and they’d never be naked and wild together again. Last night had been the last time, ever.

  And then it hit him.

  She’d known that she was leaving. Of course she had—that was why she’d been crying last night. He’d thought he could comfort her with sex, or with cuddling—what a fool he’d been. She’d never had any intention of staying. This was all a game to her. An adventure. A whim.

  That escape hatch was something she’d planned to use from the very beginning.

  A rush of cold fury replaced the pain. That felt better than the hurt. Anger, he could handle. He pulled on some clothes, barely aware of what he was putting on his body. She couldn’t have gotten far yet, and she wasn’t going to get away with this. Sneaking off while he was sleeping. Not giving him a chance to say anything. Fuck that.

  He slammed the door behind him as he stalked to his Tacoma truck. She’d driven the Noonans’ truck after all. At least she hadn’t stolen his rig for her hit-and-run.

  Stop this. Gretel isn’t a thief.

  But his anger shouted over his common sense. He was going to catch up with her and he was going to tell her to her face what he thought of her actions.

  Despite his anger, he kept a careful eye on the woods alongside the road. The plow truck hadn’t been up here yet and the light covering of new snow made the road surface slippery. He might be pissed at Gretel, but he didn’t want her to drive off the road.

  But he saw no signs of anything amiss—no abandoned rigs or tire tracks heading for the woods.

  So he allowed his anger to take full rein. Gretel had used him. She’d breezed into his life and made him fall for her, then breezed right out again without even the courtesy of a face-to-face conversation. Even worse, she’d walked away from his little brothers after showering them with affection and attention. It would have been better if she’d never come here.

  No, it wouldn’t. Again, he blotted out any hint of common sense. Jaw set, knuckles white, fury coursing through him, he reached the intersection with the main road. From here, he could either drive through town or take a bypass route that would take him to the highway heading away from Lost Harbor. Which way had Gretel gone?

  She wouldn’t leave without stopping in at the Wicked Brew.

  Swinging the wheel hard, he took the turn toward town. Yup, there was that old Nissan Frontier, parked outside the Wicked Brew. Adrenaline raced through him. She was still here. He was going to see her one more time. And man, was he going to let her have it.

  He jerked his Tacoma to a stop right outside the front door. Even the sight of that stupid cup with those stupid creatures carved into the steam pissed him off. Gretel had considered it important to say goodbye to this cafe, but not to him? That was just fucked up.

  Chapter Thirty

  Ignoring the “Closed” sign, he stormed into the Wicked Brew, then stopped in his tracks. Something weird was going on. First of all, the place was empty. Why would the Wicked Brew be closed at this hour? Second, the only light came from the back hallway.

  He stood still for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dimness. “Gretel?” he called. “Is anyone here?”

  A crashing sound came from the back, then Gretel appeared in the archway that led to the area where the storage room and bathroom were located.

  He scrutinized her closely in the low light. She had a strange look about her—almost shaken. Maybe she was surprised to see him. Of course she was surprised to see him.

  “Zander.” Her voice came out low and unsteady. “What are you doing here? Did you get my note?”

  “Yes, I got your note. Nice touch, leaving it in my favorite mug. ‘Would you like a breakup with that coffee?’”

  She wetted her lips with her tongue—the gesture that always drove him mad. “I’m sorry. But it’s for the best.”

  “What happened to the whipped cream?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Whipped cream! We�
�re supposed to discuss important things and agree on them. It’s right there in our ironclad prenup.”

  “Okay. Fine. We’ll discuss it. Let’s make an appointment maybe later this afternoon or—”

  “Fuck no. How do I know you won’t just hit the road? You obviously don’t respect our agreement. You would be halfway to Grandview by now if you hadn’t stopped to actually say goodbye, in person, to the Wicked Brew.”

  “Zander, please.” She put her hands together in a prayer position. “I do respect our agreement. You’re my husband and I…I love you. Only you. You’re the only man I love. The only one.” Her voice rose to a louder pitch as she went on.

  Thunderstruck, he glared at her. “What the fuck, Gretel? One minute you’re leaving, the next you’re—” He scrubbed both hands through his hair. “You’re just playing games. All of this is like…a comedy sketch to you. Like it’s not real. But I’m real. So is Petey. And Jason. And you’re just walking away like it doesn’t matter. Fuck that, Gretel.”

  Her eyes gleamed with tears. Fake tears, probably. How could he trust them? How could he trust anything she said?

  “Just go, Zander. Please. I’ll text you later.” She jerked her head toward the door, her eyes wide and pleading.

  He should go. What was the point of staying? But…

  Something didn’t feel right. Gretel wasn’t acting like herself. He’d seen many sides of Gretel since he’d met her, but he’d never seen her so skittish. Her eyes kept darting away from his and she kept wiping her hands on her apron.

  Nervous. She was extremely nervous. And it wasn’t because of him. Something else was going on.

  Instead of leaving, he took a step forward. “Were you serious when you said you love me?”

  She flushed, which made him realize she hadn’t had any color in her face until just now. “Just go. It doesn’t matter now. Please, just leave.”