The freezing cold shower did nothing to help her day get started. Neither did the break-of-dawn bucket of day old coffee she reheated and drank because there was no other choice.
Trudging from the chicken coop to the goat pen, she took care of the early chores while keeping a wary eye on the thickening cloud cover. By the time she lugged and arranged enough logs to over-stack the porch pile, her arms were on fire, and her stomach was growling. And it was only nine in the morning.
Stomping the dirt off her boots at the back door, Kelly rubbed ice-cold hands briskly on her jeans-covered thighs, hoping to generate some heat. Shaking off the old denim jacket big enough that she wore a bulky sweatshirt beneath, she was hanging it on a peg at the door when the phone rang. The jarring, unexpected sound made her jump.
Nobody ever called, so it had to be Sam or Ginny. Hurrying to the phone on the wall, she yanked it against her ear and barked an unintentionally unfriendly hello.
“Oh dear,” a concerned voice murmured. “Should I assume from your tone that last night didn’t go as planned?”
It was Ginny. Kelly heaved a pained sigh. What would she do without the older woman’s calm gentleness? She counted on it more than she probably should.
“I should have stayed home, that’s how much good going into town was.” Throwing a bit of steel into her voice, she immediately declared perhaps a bit too forcefully, “Men ruin everything.”
Ginny snicker laughed. “Boys will be boys, I suppose. Does your morning grumble have anything to do with the brawl that broke out at Shorty’s? Sam called just now. Said the first thing on everyone’s mind this morning was the beer soaked fracas. Did you start a fight, honey?”
“What? No! Not a single punch got thrown while I was there. What are you talking about?” Her mind broke into a fast sprint gathering every impression from last night searching for who or what might trigger a slugfest.
A long, awkward pause ended when Ginny asked, “What aren’t you saying, dear?”
Two things, separate and distinct from each other, stood out in her mind.
“The Dulbs are losing their shit. That idiot Burt tried to school me. Apparently, and I quote him here, I’m messing with the wrong people.” Her snorting dismissal showed what she thought of the whole thing.
“They’re threatening you now? What the blue blazes is wrong with Drew for egging Burt on? This is ridiculous.”
Kelly couldn’t agree more. “I’m not disagreeing,” she scoffed.
“And?” Ginny quietly inquired.
“How do you know there’s an ‘and’?”
“Because you can handle Burton Dulb in your sleep.”
“Oh,” she murmured, chuckling softly. “You have a point. Yes, well. Um…”
“Kelly?”
“There was a stranger.”
“What kind of stranger?”
What kind? Sheesh. Kelly shivered remembering. The kind of stranger who was big and dangerous. The kind of stranger who talked and looked all citified. The kind of stranger who made her boots shake from how bad her legs quivered when he was near. The kind of stranger who…
“He knew my name, Ginny. My full name,” she said with emphasis.
Everything in her life shifted at that exact moment. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she felt the fluctuation when it happened due to the abrupt change in Ginny’s tone and demeanor.
In a no-nonsense voice, Ginny demanded, “What name exactly?”
A warning bell clanged inside her head. That was an odd question, right?
“Uh,” she stammered. “My name. You know. Kelly Anne. Kelly Anne James.”
An anxiety bomb exploded in her stomach when Ginny’s unmistakable sigh of relief came through the phone line. Something wasn’t right. She was sure of it when her proxy granny spat out questions, strange questions, in short, clipped bursts.
“Did he approach you?”
“Did you see him before he spoke?”
“What was he wearing?”
Kelly blinked at each interrogative question. Sensing the importance to Ginny’s line of inquiry she answered straight away.
“He appeared out of nowhere at the exact moment Burt slithered away. Called him a dick. And no, until he was in my face I wasn’t aware of him. He was wearing black. Lots of black. Why?”
“Have a bad feeling about this,” Ginny muttered.
“Look, I knew something wasn’t right. Told him from the start to go away. He’s the persistent type if you know what I mean.”
“Go on.”
“Well, he didn’t. Go away. And then he um,” she hesitated while her mind recreated the encounter. “Then he introduced himself. I told him to fuck off. That’s when he said my name.”
“So a man you didn’t know fell from the sky, and you basically gave him the finger. Something he ignores. When you don’t play, he throws down with your full name. Have I got this right?”
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“And what did you do?”
A blast of wind rattled the windows. She glanced out the frosted panes above the sink and despite being inside felt the arctic chill. The full body quiver moving from head to toe, however, had everything to do with the stranger and nothing at all to do with the weather.
“I uh…ran. When go away didn’t work, I chose the low road.”
“You ran as in mid-sentence booked for the door?”
“Uh, yeah. Again. Pretty much.”
“Oh Kelly,” Ginny groaned.
“What? What did I do? Ginny, I mean shoot! A stranger walks up to me in Shorty’s. A stranger in Providence. Like that’s not weird enough. He got what they all get. Not interested and a direct back the eff off. I knew the second my name came out of his mouth I had to get out of there. So I did. End of story.”
Kelly had a new understanding of the word unsettled. The way Ginny was reacting made the hair on her neck stand up. She knew her imagination was operating in overdrive when the only thing she could come up with was a witness protection arrangement because she was sure of one thing. Ginny knew something that Kelly didn’t. And whatever that thing was, well, it was mighty important.
“Look. I’ve got a dozen things to do before the weather turns and I’m sure you didn’t call to chat about strangers. Is Matty okay? Are you bringing him home?”
“Actually dear,” Ginny murmured. Kelly could hear the concern in her voice but now was not the time for a heart-to-heart. Life in the woods didn’t wait while folks worked through their issues. “We thought keeping him here was best. The storm is going to slam hard. Sam only went into town this morning so people could get their supplies ready. They say we might be on our own for days.”
“I know. Dumb luck, huh? Like we need a foot of snow. Send it to California.”
“Is that okay with you? One less thing to worry about for you, and you know Matty and Sam. They’ll turn it into a fireplace campout.”
As much as she needed Matty close by for her own selfish, fearful reasons, Ginny was right. He’d be better off with them. They had a fancy generator and could easily ride out a storm. Unlike her. The stack of logs she hauled earlier made the argument for her. If the storm got really bad, it’d be a far sight easier and safer to have just herself to worry about.
“Can I talk to him?”
“I hope that’s a yes to him staying.”
“Of course it is. We love you guys. You’re family—you and Sam. Matty likes being spoiled, so thanks. But I want to talk to him.”
“Oh, of course, dear! Of course. He’s anxious to tell you about last night. He and Sam made a Lego castle. He’s obsessed with building a castle for Kiki. But he’s out back with Sam. They’re marching along the back fence in the yard as we speak,” she chuckled. “That’s why I called now. A little adult talk minus the three-year-old.”
“Almost four,” she chided softly. “Whatever ya’ do, don’t call him a three-year-old!”
They laughed together and her heart filled with joy. She and Matty weren’t the isolated loners they started life as. If nothing else, they had Sam and Ginny.
Arrangements made for an early evening call, they hung up, and she instantly switched to high gear. Her eyes ticked methodically around the kitchen and living room. Everything was in place to ride out a heavy snowfall. There were even two sturdy shovels propped right next to the door for her to dig a path to the animals. It really was a help to have Matty safely cared for. One less thing to worry about.
A quickly thrown together overstuffed bologna sandwich went down smooth with a half glass of ice cold milk. She had just enough time to trudge along the crooked path up behind the house to a spot where she was sure to find a small animal wandering her woods. A quick hunt she could use to restock the meat supply would keep her busy if the storm hung on.
Stuffed once again into the denim jacket, she wound a scarf around her neck, crammed a pair of heavy gloves into a pocket, slid a paper sack with an oatcake and some raisins inside the jacket, and headed out. Stopping at the Blue Bandit, she pulled open the passenger door and took a rifle off the gun rack. Spying a red wool cap on the seat, she pulled it on and impatiently shoved stray hair under the rim. She already had her hunting knife strapped on. The backpack stuffed behind the cab’s bench seat had everything else she’d need.
Setting off, she made the arduous hike in fast time. With any luck, she’d bag something small and be home before the storm hit.
Three hours later she had some quail strung together. What started as a light freezing drizzle turned to a steady snow shower by the time she was ready to head out. Impatient and tired as can be, she hurried when she should’ve been cautious. A foolish move but she knew every tree and rock in the woods and counted on that knowledge to see her through.
Mother Nature, however, either had on her bitch panties or was having a bit of a giggle at her expense. That’s the way she rationalized the Olympic effort it took to stay on her feet. The deepening snow covered dangerous ice patches, and she found herself with flailing arms and wobbly legs as she skated along unable to gain any traction. A bumpy ice covered mound was her undoing.
With gravity and shitty luck in control, she launched off the mound, tumbling awkwardly to the other side only to skate down the steep hill on her butt. She tried to dig in and stop her fall, but the layer of hard ice beneath the white blanket made that impossible.
Once or twice she slowed down and was able to make the icy descent more controlled.
At a dip wide enough to stop her downward roll, Kelly caught her breath. Shaking her head vigorously to get rid of the snow clinging to her cap, she didn’t pause for long. Every minute that went by made the conditions worse. Getting her bumped and probably bruised ass safely home was priority one.
Climbing out of the ditch wasn’t easy, but somehow she managed to slide, roll to her knees and then get up by clinging to a tree. Picking her way with slow, careful steps she stayed upright, propelling from tree to tree all the way down the last part of the rolling hill to a treacherous spot just a few hundred yards from the bend behind the house.
Tossing her backpack and the chain holding the birds over an embankment onto the snow-covered dirt road, she was making good progress inching her way around the embankment when she lost her footing.
Figuring it was easier to go with the fall and hope she could roll out of it, the last thing Kelly expected was the sound of brakes locking up and the unexpected shine of headlights glowing through the heavy snowfall.
A dull thud hit her elbow and hip. The energy from this contact sent her flying over the road into a mound of snow-laden bushes and ground cover.
Dull pain shot through her when she tried to move. On her back, she looked up at the gray sky and waterfall of snow. Flakes clung to her eyelashes and cheeks.
In this grey-white tableau, a face appeared, looming over her. A dark scowl contradicted the concern she found in the eyes boring into hers.
“Are you all right?”
The voice barking in her face sounded familiar but laying on her back in a snow pile was a more immediate concern.
A hand touched her shoulder and slid down the arm of her jacket until instant reflex made her kick out and whomp her foot on his calf.
“Get your hands off me,” she growled. He didn’t, so she angrily swatted at his insistent fingers as they touched her everywhere. Determined to put up a fight she got heated and struggled twice as hard to haul herself off the ground.
Standing up on unsteady feet, she swiped snow from her face and glared at the do-gooding trespasser. Prepared to rip him a new one, her words died when she realized why the voice sounded familiar.
No.
Oh god, no.
Roman Bishop.
Mumbling dark oaths as he drove at a snail’s pace through the thick snowfall, Roman questioned his sanity for doing this when the weather reports preached caution. He just figured they always blew stuff up for ratings.
“Why does this have to be the one time the weather guys are right?”
The wipers arced back and forth at intervals, pushing snow around the windshield. He was pretty much guessing where the road was from the trees lining each side. Harrowing didn’t come close to describing the situation in which he found himself.
Unsettled by what he’d learned so far, he abruptly abandoned his original go slow and earn her trust plan. Fuck that. In his mind, things were more critical than he or Liam imagined. Discovering she lived alone, and with a kid to take care of, changed everything. The land feud and asshole threats simply topped off this recipe for problems.
One thing he was sure of though was that she had no idea that for all intents and purposes she was going to end up with quite a pile of money someday. Knowing that day loomed sooner than later, he felt the push to get this thing done before Adam Ward died. Not for her so much, but for Liam.
Peering intently through the snowy windshield, he kept a close eye out for the road bend leading to the James farm. A gust of icy wind slammed his truck. Gripping the wheel tighter, he squinted at the roadway when movement on his right caught Roman’s attention. All of a sudden a boulder of snow hurtled toward a ledge next to the road.
Standing on the brakes, he heard the anti-lock systems engage as the vehicle came to a lurching, sliding stop. The chunk of snow hit the fender and bounced across the road. Rolling his window down, he peered through the curtain of white and froze.
Holy fuck. Giant chunks of snow do not wear red hats. Reacting instantly, he pushed open the truck door and slip-slid across the road to the fallen snowball.
A body lay motionless in a pile of white along the side of the narrow road. He bent to get a closer look and nearly shit his pants.
Oh god, no. It was her, and she was groaning slightly.
In a voice that sounded unnecessarily harsh, he barked, “Are you alright?”
She blinked but didn’t react. Emergency triage being just one of his many unique skills, he began a swift physical assessment. When he touched her shoulder and moved his hand down her arm, she reacted like an outraged royal virgin being manhandled by a servant.
Grunting when she landed a vicious kick to his leg, he ignored the pushback and continued his assessment.
Her voice was thick and husky when she angrily growled, “Get your hands off me.”
There was a frantic quality to the way she avoided being touched. As she struggled to her feet, he stepped back and admired her grit. This girl wasn’t going to take anyone’s shit. Not even his.
She wobbled and swayed like a flag at the mercy of a windstorm. When her shoulders went back and she defiantly pushed snow off her face Roman was seized with an attack of primal lust so hot and heavy that he let out an involuntary grunt.
The withering glare she shot his way instantly died when they were face-to-face. He saw the recognition light up in her eyes. Whatever verbal shot she was preparing to fire got lodged in the chamber when their eyes met.
“Aw, shit.”
He shared her reaction.
Sensing she was undoubtedly going to be one hundred percent resistant to an offer of help, he sidestepped the whole thing and simply took control. And besides, he could see she was in distress. They didn’t have time for any of her fuck off and die nonsense.
“It’s good to see you again too,” he snarled between gritted teeth. Crowding her with his body, he forced her to go where he wanted. “Now get in the truck. Gotta keep moving or we’ll be stuck right here.”
She didn’t resist and she didn’t comply. He stared down into her shocked face and willed some of the fierce scowl he was sure he wore to soften.
“You can trust me,” he said softly.
Her caustic snort revealed what she thought of his unsolicited declaration. “Yeah, whatever.”
Shifting away from him she walked away and began kicking the snow behind the truck.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m not going anywhere without my stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Ah, here we go,” she declared from twenty feet away. Cradling her elbow, she bent and grabbed hold of something.
“Don’t just stand there, fancy man. Lend me a hand would you? Sheesh.”
I don’t believe I’ve ever been called a fancy man before, he mused as he snapped to attention and did as she demanded. Handing him an old backpack, she wrapped her fist around a chain and pulled a chain of quail out of the bushes.
He couldn’t tell if she was hurt or not. At times she favored one arm but it wasn’t consistent.
She was peering intently through the heavily falling snow at the hilly tier of woods that she fell from rising above the road. Suddenly turning away, he heard a softly muttered oath, “Balls.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she replied with brusque coolness.
He was irked by the undisguised annoyance directed at him. His jaw clenched tighter. She turned away and swept past him as if he was invisible, marched to the rear of the truck and flung the dead birds onto the snow-covered bed.
For whatever reason he didn’t move at all, just stood there holding the ratty old backpack as thick snow clung to his clothing, and stared at her.
Yanking on the passenger door, she pulled it open and then whirled back to glare at him with a mocking look that triggered a very unwelcome sexual response.
“Okay, look,” she sneered with cold impatience. “You’re not trespassing on a private road that put you in spitting distance of where I live for no reason. So cut the astonished act. I’m not buying it. Hill folk ain’t stupid,” she drawled.
Time out, time out, his brain hollered. Pay attention man because there was a mega-tonnage of information and clues in what just came out of her mouth. That last part? The sarcastic dig about mountain folk? Yeah. Totally a twangy approximation of the local drawl. But everything else? Absolutely no accent whatsoever. As a matter of fact, her speech resembled the patois of a New Englander.
His face remained blank but inwardly his eyebrows were arched high enough to blend into his hairline. Fascinating.
“You want something. From me. Bad call by the way, but hey, that’s on you. Now unless I’m missing something,” she continued with a heavy dose of sarcasm, “you just ran me over with your vehicle. A moving violation, yes? And a blizzard has settled overhead so either get in this truck and take me home or throw it in reverse and drive your unwelcome ass outta here.” She glanced at the sky. “But put up or shut up, mister. I don’t have all day.”
Kelly Anne James was, in actuality, cleverly disguised kryptonite. Had to be. That’s the only way to explain the burst of raunchy vignettes crowding his mind. Shit. For half a nanosecond he considered ripping her jeans off and throwing her onto her ass in a snowdrift so he could fuck her into oblivion.
No. Seriously. That just happened.
This snip of a girl with an attitude begging to be tamed overrode decades of the practiced control he was known for. He glared at her, frowning. This was an assignment. She was Liam’s sister. And way too fucking young and unworldly for the likes of him. None of those thoughts belonged in the same narrative but there ya’ have it. If he could be any more uncomfortable, it’d be a first.
“Get in the fucking truck,” he snapped in an angry snarl.
His brain was in chaos. Bewildered by his reaction he stomped up to the driver’s door, the one he left open allowing snow to blow inside, stowed her pack in the extended cab and then wiped the layer of white off his seat with an indignant huff.
She all but melted into the passenger seat in an apparent effort to stay as far from him as she could so they drove in silence until, with an impatient hand gesture, she pointed out where to turn. After that, it was a few more minutes of ear-splitting dead air before the small house came into view.
“Don’t block bandit,” she grumbled as he maneuvered the bumpy drive.
Assuming bandit was the name of her truck, he didn’t just pull alongside but went through the process of backing in. “Make it easier to get moving once the snow stops.”
His words bounced off her like a basketball hitting the rim. When it came to completely ignoring him, she was the winner by a mile. Not only didn’t she give any indication whatsoever that he spoke, the cold-shoulder defensive strategy he had to kind of, sort of admire, left him tongue-tied.
So instead of talking, he observed.
She was on the small side. Not overly so, but next to his size and brawn the size difference between them was glaringly obvious.
When he’d seen her at Shorty’s, the atmosphere had been what you’d expect from a bar. The lighting sucked, half of everyone there openly smoked like chimneys, and he wasn’t just referring to cigarettes. The hazy and dim view from that night didn’t prepare him for how beautiful she was up close. With the red knit hat covering her hair he could only see her face but holy hell what a face.
Her naturally arched dark brows drew attention to her eyes. Not unlike Liam’s, they were an unusual color, misty gray with touches of deep blue framed by thick, dark eyelashes. The family resemblance was strong.
Annoyance popped and snapped inside him as cherry bombs went off in his conscience. She’s Liam’s sister. Get your fucking priorities straight.
About to say he was sorry they were meeting under such bizarre circumstances, he sucked the words back into his throat when the passenger door was furiously kicked open and she slid out.
So much for taking a stab at civility. Dismissing him like an overcharging cab driver, she marched to the truck bed, retrieved her birds and then continued a tight ass march away from the truck toward the tiny house. He quickly exited the vehicle but remained where he was.
She stomped her feet and kicked snow off the steps leading to the front door. At the last second, she looked straight at him. Her expression charted midway between scathing and withering.
The thunder-jolt of primitive, crude lust landing in his groin made Roman tighten. It was a wonder his jeans didn’t combust and melt right off him. What the hell was it about this girl’s snide dismissal that got him so unusually riled up?
Was it his natural instinct for taming her fire?
Or was it a more disturbing impulse? Something deeper, more elemental. A response that went lightyears beyond simple, biological sexual urges.
“If you’re coming, bring my pack. If you’re leaving, and please don’t let me stop you, drop it next to the path.”
Dismissal achieved, she shrugged and then disappeared into the house.
He glanced around. The amount of snowfall was intense. For once the Weather Channel wouldn’t be exaggerating if they were calling this the blizzard of the century.
By rote, his mind attacked the situation. Shit in the form of uncontrollable Mother Nature was about to get real.
Grasping the straps of her pack, he pulled it from the cab, shut the door and pocketed the keys. While it was still light and he was able to see at least a short distance, he surveyed the physical surroundings around his vehicle, noting where the snow-covered access road broke through the thick trees. It’s always good to keep your bearings. Situational awareness was practically his middle name.
Tromping through the building accumulation he slowed, giving the house a quick inspection as he approached the small porch. Though quite small, the one story dwelling had a portico covering the front door with two windows to the right. A chimney rose from the shingled roof. Barely visible from this angle and even more obscured by limited visibility, he spied a satellite dish behind the chimney.
Kicking snow off his boots, he stepped onto the small porch beneath the peaked portico. Though the house was obviously old, he could see the siding had been recently painted. And the little porch. New wood. Nicely done too. The front door was also new. A multi-colored curtain covered the glass center pane.
For no reason whatsoever, a sleeping demon he kept on a short chain deep inside him woke up and started to growl. New porch. Fresh paint. A front door perfectly hung. He breathed heavily, his senses on high alert. All these things indicated the presence of a man.
Another male to contend with wasn’t something he’d taken into account. Jimmy made it pretty clear that even with a kid on the scene there wasn’t any evidence of Kelly having an involved baby daddy.
He didn’t like the idea of there being a rival of any sort. Not one bit.
With a final kick to clear his boots, he opened the front door and followed her inside. Making sure to step carefully onto the door mat, he wiped his feet, looked up, and stumbled to a halt.
My god. He’d stepped into an Americana exhibit. The interior of the modest home was tidy enough, he supposed. It was a little hard to tell though from the sheer preponderance of stuff the little place harbored. Every place he looked his gaze fell on something. There wasn’t an inch or a crannied nook left untouched.
For a neat freak like him, the overwhelming visual was both horrifying and sweetly endearing.
Noise across the small living room caught his attention. A kitchen table just inside the door sat at the end of an L-shaped kitchen. She stood at the sink. He watched her in profile. She knew he was there but continued to ignore him.
A fire crackled in the fireplace at the far side of the living room. The mantle was cluttered with mismatched knick-knacks and on the wall above it hung a cheaply framed painting depicting a lighthouse and cottage on a rocky coastline. Basic, blunt, colorful.
On the far wall, splitting the space evenly, was a darkened hallway.
Quirky and small, like its owner, the little house struck him in an entirely unexpected and sentimental way.
She moved around and threw him some not-at-all subtle shade before stomping out of the tiny kitchen. Curious where she went, he dropped the backpack on the table, took off his leather jacket, hung it on a chair to dry, and then tracked her path. He found her in a small cramped mud room behind the kitchen. A door leading to what he assumed was the backyard and an old washer and dryer took up most of the space. At a relatively new looking utility sink, the cheap kind the home improvement stores put on sale all the time, Kelly had her sleeves rolled up as she attacked a task her angle prevented him from seeing.
“Do you always stand around like there’s nothing to do?”
He almost smiled. Almost. There was defiance in her voice and a sneering challenge.
Challenges were cool with him. He responded to any contest whether physical or cerebral.
“Sorry,” he sniggered. “Thought I chipped a nail coming through the door. Stopped to check my manicure.”
She whipped around, tilted her chin defiantly, balled her fists, and placed them on her waist. The look on her face suggested she almost fell for his light tease. Almost.
She boldly met his gaze. He caught the slight movement when she swallowed, but mostly he just stared her down. Every second ticking by in which she didn’t capitulate fueled the inferno of his unfortunate desire.
He found the way she held fast to her ground humorous. The bluster delighted him. She was trying ridiculously hard to make it seem like she wore the pants in every situation. Oh my god, he thought with a laugh. There was no fucking way she’d ever known a man like him.
“While we wait for your pithy retort, how about you tell me what needs doing? I noticed the copper tub beside the fireplace only has two logs. Point me to the log pile.”
She sputtered, and color bloomed on her cheeks. It was all kinds of fun to meet her death rays with practiced indifference. Mostly due to the obvious fact that his laid-back vibe was driving her nuts.
He snapped his fingers twice. “Come on lady. I realize my fancy pants scramble your brain, but it’s like you said. Shit to do.”
If she could have gotten away with ripping his throat open she probably would have, at least that’s the story her eyes told. Using her words against her was a stroke of finger-poking brilliance.
He bared his teeth in a cheeky grin and topped things off with a wink. Her gray eyes turned stormy. Heaven help them if he ever forgot who he was. Who she was. Who they both were.
Showing all the prowess of an outmaneuvered battlefield commander, he marveled at the neat, clean way she shifted focus. Marshaling her defenses for a better time was a smart move.
His eyes narrowed as he viewed her anew. Kelly James country gal wasn’t at all who she was at the heart of things. It was an act. A performance born of experience, only he was certain she wouldn’t see it that way. He wondered what she’d be like in the real world. Imagining Kelly going toe-to-toe with her belligerent older brother triggered an involuntary bark of laughter to erupt from his mouth. This girl was trouble with a bold faced capital T.
She stiffened so fast and so rigidly his guffaw cut short mid-note. Uh oh. Roman recognized a hard limit when he saw one.
A sharp head flick sent a ponytail of black hair over her shoulder. His warrior’s brain, trained to notice externals, deciphered the movement one way but his primitive testosterone driven brain read a different challenge in her gutsy insolence.
Recognizing the authoritative, home field advantage in her delivery, he gave her a gentlemanly pass with a brief nod.
“Don’t patronize me, Mr. Bishop.”
One eyebrow shot up without any help from him. He knew it was a mistake when her withering expression hardened.
“What? Surprised you’re not the only one with five dollar words?”
“Touché,” he replied with a barely concealed smirk.
There was a nearly indiscernible quiver at the corner of her mouth. She liked sparring with him! Holy shit. Ignoring every single warning bell clanging discordantly in his head, he pushed aside all reason, abandoned his fucking sanity and stepped into the game.
“Well shee-it, honey,” he drawled with mocking glee. “Being snowed in with a harpie didn’t hold much appeal.” His voice dropped a gazillion octaves until he found the smoky, innuendo-laden tone he wanted. “But a fast-paced volley of bourgeois taunts? Yeah. That’s what I’m talking about.”
She burst out laughing. Not what he expected, but hey. As long as she wasn’t thinking about neutering him with the menacing knife balancing on the edge of the utility tub, he was good.
“I can’t with you,” she scoffed after a thirty-second pause to catch her breath. “Just go out back and haul in some logs, okay? Fill the bucket and stack a few more to the side. Won’t be long now,” she muttered heavily with a dark glance at the overhead lights, “before the power goes out. Wet snow weighs down the lines. Best to be prepared.”
And then she dismissed him. Turning away, she went back to processing her birds. He marveled at the way she met the conditions life sent her way. He watched her wield the heavy knife. In that second the tremendous disparity between the life she led now and the one about to overtake her made him uneasy. It wasn’t always a good thing to interfere.
Liam and Roman existed in a world of five-star living. Though not exactly foodies in the classic sense, they shared an appreciation for a restaurant on the lower east side with a remarkable pheasant pate and a braised rabbit main that rivaled the chef’s award-winning bison steak in taste and originality.
He’d done a lot of stuff in his life, but hunting and dressing a bird meant for the dinner table? Not so much.
Suddenly her fancy man taunt wasn’t so funny.
Stepping into the backyard, he made quick work of moving two-dozen good size logs to the back door. He also managed to end up cold, wet and pissy. Outside the cocoon of Kelly’s tiny house, there was nothing but cold, treacherous white. Darkness had fallen. The dim bulb above the door flickered.
Picking up the pace, he got the wood arranged by the fireplace and was sweeping up the mess he made while glancing here and there to ascertain where the hell she was. And where the hell the kid was.
Sitting on booted feet, he rested his hands on his thighs and swept the room for clues. The coffee table next to him was cluttered with crap. An ancient Magic 8 ball became a paperweight on a stack of crossword puzzle pages that appeared ripped from magazines. Next to that was an old coffee mug with a broken handle holding assorted pens and pencils. Taught to notice extraneous detail, the logo of Cheers, the bar in Boston from the classic TV show stuck out.
A distinctly northeastern dialect, the lighthouse painting and now a souvenir mug.
Also on the table was a remote control with a length of duct tape wound around the bottom to keep the battery door in place. He looked across the tiny room to the out-of-place-looking flat screen television. Next to the television was a built-in with books haphazardly crammed onto four shelves.
Anne of Green Gables.
David Copperfield.
Joseph Campbell’s The Power of Myth.
Really? Now he was really intrigued.
The Alchemist by Paulo Coehlo. Wow. He wanted to curl up by the fire with a snifter of brandy and talk to her about the main character’s search for the meaning of life.
The faint but unmistakable sound of a toilet flushing solved the mystery of where she was hiding. Before he turned away from the shelves full of interesting reading materials, he noted that the bottom compartment was overflowing with kids’ books.
So there really was a kid. His gaze swept quickly around the entire space. A plastic bowl full of crayons teetered on the edge of a side table. A small plastic dinosaur was wedged between a recliner and the table beside it. On the pegs at the front door hung a child’s jacket and scarf.
Clues, yeah, but the lack of pictures mystified him. A small frame on the mantle held a picture of a harried-looking young woman awkwardly cradling a swaddled baby.
Deb Jenkins? Debbie James?
Everything made sense, and none of it made sense. How could that be?