Kitty woke up to the total silence of the world. The wind, which had been ever-present in the night, had gone quiet. Dim light edged the curtains shutting out the world, which meant it was at least after seven.

She yawned and stretched. Her face ached, and she remembered Logan hitting her in the night.

Logan.

Sitting bolt upright, she scanned the room but knew already that she was alone. Damn it. Scrambling out of the covers, she went straight to her suitcase and pulled on thick socks, as the air was still a bit chilly.

As an afterthought, she donned a sweatshirt that proclaimed the superiority of cats. A trip to the bathroom revealed a bruise on her cheek that just missed making it a black eye. She used the facilities and gave herself a quick face wash and some moisturizer. Then she was ready to find her man.

The kitchen was empty, as was the living room, but the fire had been built back up, with the fire screen set carefully across it.

Curious now, she padded down the hallway to the second bedroom. Found him sprawled across a bed far too small for him, and her heart ached. She closed the door. He was sleeping soundly, and she didn’t know him well enough to disturb him. Time for her to leave. He wouldn’t miss her, after all.

She padded to the front door, just to check on the world outside. After opening the locks, she pulled the door open. To her surprise, the snow piled up to her waist, and an arctic blast of air pulsed across her and into the room behind her. Snow was still falling in a thick curtain of white.

Shoving the door closed, she set the locks again and cursed. It had just become obvious that she wasn’t going anywhere.

Had he known? She snorted. Of course he did. He’d referenced days, not a day, last night. He’d known. Undoubtedly she’d been fucked the minute she stopped here the night before. Remembering the way the wind had howled around the house, and how Logan had called it a blizzard but she’d ignored it, now she slapped her forehead.

Fine. They’d do this dance, for however long she was trapped here in the woods with him.

Her friends would wonder where she was. They might even call the cops to file a missing persons report. So until the time the snowplows dug them out, she may as well deal. Right?

Her stomach growled, and she laughed at herself for such dramatic thoughts. “That means food. Food, I can do.”

After a thorough check of his fridge and cupboards, she pulled out a potato, some eggs, ham, onion and cheese. Omelets, plus some hash browns with onions for flavor.

She chopped, shredded, scrambled. Found a round loaf of sourdough bread, and took out a couple slices for toast.

After everything was in progress, she remembered the coffee. Found where he stashed his beans and grinder, and soon had a pot of coffee brewing, filling the kitchen with that seductive aroma.

Once the omelet was done, the toast buttered, and the coffee waiting, she went to the bedroom where Logan slept and opened the door.

He hadn’t moved from the last time she saw him. Moving cautiously, she sat on the side of the bed that he had his back to. Moved her hand gently down his back.

“Logan? Breakfast is ready if you are.”

He stirred. Rolled over, and she stood in a panic, in case his fists started flying again. He opened his eyes, finally fixed on her in the dim room.

“Breakfast?”

“Yeah. Omelet. Potatoes. Toast. Coffee. You know. Breakfast.”

He studied her for a moment. “How’s the snow?”

She grimaced, couldn’t help herself. “You’ve got yourself a roommate for the duration. The snow is at least three feet against the front door, and still falling.”

He stretched. Yawned. Looked at her with lust in his eyes. “I’m okay with a roommate, if that roommate is you.” He sat up. “Breakfast, you said?”

“In the kitchen.” She stepped back when he got out of bed. “I’ll just dish everything up.” And she fled.

Nervous, she scooped eggs and potatoes onto plates, set the toast and bacon on smaller plates. Poured the coffee and put utensils out. Stupid to run from him. He wouldn’t ever hit her when he was awake, but the fact that he’d left her sometime in the night after he had hit her told her volumes.

It had happened before. He hated that it had, and had removed himself from her presence to protect her.

His concern over lawsuits now made a little more sense, though he said he’d been talking about his friend. Though who in their right mind would ever sue this man? This sweet, talented, intelligent man? Okay, so he could be grumpy as fuck. But still.

She wouldn’t judge. Not them, whoever they were. Not him. There were obviously pieces of his life that she was missing, and she was probably jumping to all sorts of wrong conclusions.

At the last minute, she found some frozen orange juice and made that, pouring them each a glass just as he came into the kitchen, yawning.

“This looks amazing. Thank you, Kitty.” He kissed her cheek and sat, waited for her to sit beside him before he dug in. “Mmm. Fabulous.”

“So it looks like I’m here until the snow stops, and the plows come through.” She tapped on the table, thinking. “How often do the plows make it up here?”

“After a storm? As I’m at the top of the line, it takes them longer to get here. They have to plow everything below me, first, so maybe five days after the snow stops. Maybe. Sometimes it’s less. Sometimes it takes longer. Just depends.”

Kitty took a breath. “Last night, when you were spouting rules like they were candy and I should devour them whole from your mouth, I thought they were just for a few hours.”

Logan set his fork down.

She went on. “But you knew differently, didn’t you? You knew there was no chance, once I landed here, that I’d leave in the morning. You knew, but didn’t tell me.”

He studied her, picked up his fork again. “Would that have changed anything that had happened last night?”

Her heart stuttered. “No. But still.”

“But what? You would have been upset, perhaps driven away right into that blizzard. What would have been the point?”

Fuck it. She sighed. “You’re right. No point. And yeah, we had a great night.” Damn it. He was so fucking controlled.

He forked in some omelet. “You’re a good cook.”

She snorted. “I can cook eggs and potatoes. Chicken. Steak. Anything fancier I tend to really suck at. That pasta you made last night? I can’t do that.”

He eyed her. Finally shrugged. “It’s a skill, like anything else. How’s the cheekbone?”

“Fine.”

At his raised eyebrow, she scowled. “It hurts, but I’ll survive. No bones were broken. I didn’t bleed. I’m fine, Logan.”

“Well.”

She stood, took her plate to the sink. “No dishwasher, huh?”

“Don’t make enough of a mess up here with just me.”

She filled the sink with hot water, added soap, and did the dishes. “What’s on tap for today?”

“Snow’s still falling, but I need to beat a path to the workshop. Get started on the piece for Mr. Hennessey.”

“Of course. There are plenty of books to read here, so I’ll be fine.”

Logan took a breath. “Yes. That’s for the best.” He stood, brought his dishes to the counter near her. Brushed a kiss on the top of her head. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.”

He filled a thermos with coffee, draining the pot. “Good coffee, as usual. I’ll be back around noon. We’ll have lunch.”

“If you remember that you’re hungry,” she muttered.

He paused at the entryway. “If I don’t come back at lunchtime, come get me.” He left.

Kitty stared at the empty doorway. “Right.” She sighed. That wasn’t awkward, was it? She finished cleaning the kitchen, a growing misery settling in her belly.

He wanted honesty. She didn’t know how to be any other way. He, however, was keeping secrets. While that wasn’t dishonest, necessarily, it wasn’t, oh, what was the word?

Transparent.

Whatever was going on with him was like a barrier between them, and until that barrier was lifted, they would only ever be fuck buddies.

She snorted. “Not even that, since that all goes away the minute I get back to the real world. And now I’m talking to myself. Damn it.”

A bit mournful, she wandered in to the living room, where the fire crackled and warmed the room.

Quite suddenly, Kitty was sure reading was not in the plan for today. Sure, it was snowing, but if he could go out in it, beat a path to the workshop, then she could, too. Try to dig out her car, maybe. Or at least clear the snow from the front door.

Ten minutes later, she had dressed in her silk long johns and snowsuit, with snow boots on rather than her Merrills. She pulled on her cap, stuffed snow gloves in her pocket, and headed out to find a snow shovel.

Hopefully Logan had left it leaning against the workshop, and she could grab it without bothering him.

Her spirits high, Kitty went through the mudroom to the back door and opened it. Logan was there, in a bright blue snowsuit, still shoveling snow. He’d made it about half way to the workshop, but considering the amount of snow he had to move, that was impressive.

The snow hadn’t mounded as high here, as the wind had come at the cabin from the front, but there were fifty feet or so between the two buildings, and the snow came about two feet high.

She shut the door behind her and stood on the back porch, protected on three sides. She relished the bite of cold, and the sight of Logan working. The path he made was about two feet wide. He shoveled, then stamped down the snow with his feet. Shoveled and stamped.

“Hey Logan.”

He turned around at the sound of her voice. “Yeah?”

“Want me to help? Is there another shovel, or can I stamp it down, or something? I need the exercise.”

He considered her for a moment before nodding. “There’s another shovel in the shed, at the end of the porch. Grab it and come on out.”

Giddy at his acquiesce, she pulled on her gloves and went to the shed. The shovel she found had a shorter handle than the one he used, but considering their size difference that was a good thing.

He’d been tossing the snow to his right. When she joined him, she tossed snow to her left. Working in tandem, they cleared the rest of the path until they reached the doorway to the workshop, protected by a four-foot overhang.

The wind whipped up and the sky darkened.

“I’m headed back to the house. You have the design and the gems?”

Logan nodded, patted the breast of his snowsuit. “Right here.”

“Okay then.” She took a look at the snow falling. “You might want to keep the snow shovel. You may need it to get back.”

“Yeah. Hey, Kitty.”

“Hm?” She turned her face up to his, held his gaze. “Something else?”

He kissed her, hard, as she held onto the snow shovel and felt her world tilt toward him. He pulled back.

“Just wanted to say thanks.”

She smiled until her cheeks hurt, a little giddy. “Any time.” She headed back to the cabin.

“Hey Kitty?”

She turned. “Yeah?”

“Don’t wait for me for lunch. But I’ll be back before nightfall, and I’ll make you a spectacular dinner.”

“Deal.”

She returned the shovel to the shed and stamped her feet on the porch before going into the mudroom. She sat on the bench, removed her snow boots, and tucked them underneath. She took off her snowsuit, too, and hung it on a peg before going in to the main house, shivering.

A hot bath called to her. A bath, and a book. She planned to read until the water grew cold.

It was the only thing she could think of to do to keep her mind off Logan, his kiss, and how she fell a little more in love with him every hour they spent together.

In the workshop, Logan laid a fire in the cold fireplace. The workshop’s heater had kicked on, but he liked the scent of wood smoke, the crackle of flame. Touching match to kindling, the flame slowly spread until it burned brightly.

Kitty had shoveled snow with him. She made him breakfast. Damn, but if she wasn’t one of the most giving women he’d ever known.

She had never treated him like a bank account. He paid her a damn good wage, and she was grateful for it. He even set money aside each year for a retirement account in her name, and she protested it when she got the statement from the bank. She was almost too good to be true.

Kitty, with the sassy mouth, the perfect figure, and the heart of gold. He didn’t know what to do with all these messy things she made him feel. What had happened to his layer of ice? What had happened, damn it, to his impenetrable heart?

All the love inside him had drained away when he’d found Sela, dead by her own hand. The coroner had confirmed it, though at first suspicion had fallen on him.

He hadn’t been gone long. He had picked up her new glasses. Half an hour, forty minutes tops, because he’d also added gas to her car.

When he’d gotten home, her body hung from the second story balcony, dangled down into the living room.

He had nightmares of Sela coming to life, accusing him of driving her to suicide, and setting thugs with baseball bats on him.

Logan took a breath. Moved to where he’d left the thermos of coffee, and poured himself a cup. Mental illness in a loved one is never easy to deal with. He’d learned that the hard way. He’d tried to love her, tried to help. Lord knew he’d done his best.

But a part of him wondered if maybe he had been a part of what had pitched her over the balcony, a silk rope tight around her neck, the anti-psych meds already heavy in her system.

“Enough.” His voice echoed in the room, and he shook himself. There was work to do.

He went to the drafting board set up in the back third of the room, forcing his mind to focus on his work. The sooner he had a handle on what Hennessey wanted, the sooner he’d have a timetable to finish the work. Which meant the sooner he could get back to Kitty.

Damn woman. He could spend all day between her legs, and that was exactly why he shouldn’t. The nights, however…well. He wasn’t making any promises to himself about the nights.

He opened the envelope with Hennessey’s design ideas, and spread them out. Turned on the desk lamp, and studied them, pushing thoughts of his old love, and his new, um, attraction, to the back of his mind.

This is where he excelled. Making beautiful pieces of wearable art.

As he studied Hennessey’s drawings and notes, he lost himself in shape and color. Once he knew what the client wanted, but hadn’t quite managed to explain, he pulled out the velvet bag, and one of his trays lined with blue velvet. Poured the jewels out onto the velvet, and with jeweler’s tweezers he poked and prodded at them.

White sapphires, garnets, and smaller diamonds glittered up at him.

Hennessey wanted a necklace. There were also enough stones for him to create earrings, too, perhaps. The man had chosen well, as usual.

Setting the gems aside on the desk to his left, he pulled a sheet of drafting paper toward him and started to draw.