CHAPTER NINE
The quiet was the first thing Wes noticed. The wind had finally stopped sounding like a freight train hurling toward the cabin. Next came the chill. He’d been up several times during the night to check on the fire, add a log, even check on Chloe. More than once he’d had to pull the cover over her foot. Seems the woman liked sleeping with her right foot out of the covers.
Slipping out of his make-shift bed on the couch, he pulled on his jeans and grabbed the sweater he’d tossed during the night. He added two logs to the fire, stirring the embers and making sure there was room for air to circulate. Since he was up for the day and could keep an eye on it, it was time for a bigger fire to warm up the cabin. A glance over at the wood stacked near the fireplace reassured him he had enough for today, but depending on the snow level outside, he’d need to make a trip to his outdoor woodpile if they were going to be stranded here long.
In the bathroom, he tested the light. Not working. Just as he figured. The weight of the snow had probably knocked down the power lines feeding this area. It wasn’t surprising, given the size of the storm. A normal snowfall took out the power at least once every winter. He was going to have to get his emergency generator going, too. Lighting the candle he kept in a small lantern on the vanity, he had enough light to get his business done in the bathroom.
Finished, he opened the door and stopped halfway out of the bathroom at the sight before him. Chloe stood a foot away—short dark hair tousled from sleep, his red and black flannel shirt hitting her just mid-thigh, bunched wool socks on her feet—looking way too sexy for either of their own good.
“Morning,” he said, stepping out of the way.
“Mmm, hmm,” she mumbled, making her way past him and shutting the door firmly behind her.
“Ookaaay. Definitely not a morning person,” he said with a chuckle and headed for his coat hanging by the door. “Best get the generator working or her caffeine addiction is going to make her like being trapped inside with a bear.”
Once he had his coat, hat and gloves on, he grabbed the shovel out of the hall closet. After one winter of being trapped in the cabin due to drifts piled in front of the doors, he’d started keeping the shovel inside in case he had to shovel his way out again.
It took about thirty minutes of hard shoveling, but he finally walked back inside the warm cabin, his arms filled with firewood. Lights in the kitchen and the aroma of coffee filled the air, letting him know the generator was working just fine. Good thing he always kept it well maintained and near the house. Chloe, dressed in jeans and a turtleneck with a thick sweater overtop that he recognized as one of his, sat cross-legged on the couch in front of the fire.
“See you got the coffee maker going,” he said as she took a sip from the mug in her hand.
She nodded as she swallowed. “Funny, I never figured you’d be into small one-cup servings of coffee. Figured you’d be more of a metal pot over the open fire kind of guy.”
“Have an old pot under the sink. I believe in using the right equipment for the right job. I also believe in efficiency.” He dumped the extra firewood into the holder on the hearth. Shucking out of his coat and hat, he hung them by the door once more. Returning to the fireplace once more, he laid his gloves on the hearth to dry out and picked up the poker. He moved the logs, sending the flames a little higher, the crackle of sparks and the scent of the burning wood wafting over the room.
“And you’ve decided a single cup brew system is the right size for you?”
“Got it a week ago. Still trying to get used to it. Most mornings, that’s all I have time for. So having a pot of coffee getting cold in the cabin while I’m gone all day seemed like a waste.” He rose, brushed off his hands and headed into the kitchen. Retrieving the pan from beneath the oven, he turned on the burner beneath it then pulled bacon and the box of eggs out of the fridge.
Chloe joined him in the kitchen, setting her mug down on the counter and pulling out the boxes of coffee. “I bet I can guess which kind you like.”
“Really?” he asked as he layered strips of bacon into the pan. “You think I’m that easy to read?”
“Sure. Big, alpha man isn’t going to drink anything too fru-fru. So chocolate donut and cinnamon bun are out,” she said, lifting those two and setting them aside. “And I’m pretty sure the Chai-latte is out.”
“And why is that?” he asked with one brow lifted her direction.
“You’re a man who isn’t into flashy fads.”
She was right, he didn’t need to impress people by following the newest trends. Never had. But he wasn’t going to give in to her that easily. He reached for a bowl and began breaking half a dozen eggs into them. “And what makes you think that?”
Waving her hand around the room, she shrugged. “You live out here. A nice functional cabin, but out of the way. No neighbors close for you to impress. You drive an SUV, but not one that stands out in a crowd with all the newest gizmos. It’s a few years old, but well-maintained. You drive it for function.”
Wes focused on scrambling the eggs, adding milk, salt and pepper to the bowl. He had to admit she was pretty good at reading him. Although she was wrong about his vehicle. It had gizmos, such as bullet proof windows and heavily layered steel frame, special issue to protect the riders inside.
“This one,” she said, pulling out the Green Mountain Dark Magic cup.
“Pretty spot on.” He turned the half-cooked bacon and pulled out another pan. Sliding a little butter into it, he set it on another burner. “Why that one?”
“Deep, dark, intense.” She read the label’s description to him then slipped the cup into the coffee maker. “Sounds like it’s right up your alley.”
“Why don’t you start the toast? Bread’s in the box on the counter next to the toaster,” he said, pouring the scrambled egg mixture into the pan. “Just so you know, I like the Folger’s Caramel Drizzle coffee one, too.”
“You’re lying,” she said, popping bread into the toaster.
“Nope. But usually it’s on my day off when I’m still home and want a second cup.”
“So, on your work days you drink only one cup of coffee all day?” The shocked incredulity on her face almost made him laugh.
“I didn’t say that.” He moved the eggs around in the pan, keeping them from getting crispy brown on the bottom while they cooked.
“That’s what you just said. Most mornings, that’s all I have time for.” She repeated his words back to him exactly and in a lower tone, trying to sound like him. He had to remember she was a lawyer and she was used to using people’s words against them.
“Good imitation.” He scooped the eggs out into a clean bowl, then started fishing the bacon out onto a paper towel-lined plate. “What I didn’t say was that my next cup is usually at the Peaches ’N Cream with my breakfast. And since the coffee at the office is so bad, Lorna takes pity on me and gives me a thermos to go.” He pointed to the clean thermos cup sitting on the counter near the backdoor. “I bring it back each day and she refills it.”
Reaching for two more plates, he set them on the island counter behind them, along with napkins and silverware. Next he slid the plate and bowl of food between them. “Ketchup?”
“Yes. How’d you know?” she asked, setting the four pieces of buttered toast on the plate next to the bacon and scooting onto a barstool.
Walking behind her he reached over her shoulder, setting the bottle of ketchup next to her plate, his arm caressing hers as he moved back. “Bobby always eats it on her eggs. Since she raised you, figure you might, too.”
He grabbed his mug of coffee and joined her at the counter. No further conversation was needed as they tucked into their food. When he finished, he went over and brewed another cup of coffee, the caramel drizzle. “Want one?”
She grinned. “I’ll try the chocolate donut.”
“Thought you might like that one when I was picking them out last night,” he said, popping hers in when his was finished and slipped her mug in place to catch the brewed coffee.
“You pegged me as a fru-fru coffee drinker?” she asked, challenge lacing her voice.
“No. But I remember how much you liked chocolate the last time you were in town. Figured you might like it in your coffee.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “Exactly how did you know I like chocolate?”
He handed her the fresh mug of coffee. “Three slices of the groom’s cake at your sister’s wedding.”
“I had three slices?” she asked, holding the mug hallway to her mouth, her color a little pale.
He nodded and sat back on his stool. “Yes. But I confess, I sort of forced the third slice on you.”
“Why?”
“To counteract some of the alcohol you’d consumed.”
Setting the mug back on the counter, she wrapped her hands around it and stared out the kitchen window, licking her lips, biting the top one, then licking them again. “Exactly what happened that night?”
“What do you remember?” he countered.
Turning in her seat to face him. “I remember the wedding, the food afterwards—which was fantastic for potluck style—then there was dancing.” She paused. “But we didn’t dance. You were in a dark corner hogging a bottle of Jim Beam.”
“That’s right. You joined me for a few drinks.”
“How many?”
“Started with a full bottle. I had two.”
She ran a hand over her face. “And how many did you ply me with?”
He nodded at the bottle sitting on the counter with two tumblers beside it. It had less than a third of the bottle left. “Haven’t had a drink of it since.”
“You got me drunk. Brought me back her and took advantage of it. And kept the bottle as a trophy? You bastard!” She jumped out of her chair and swung a fist at him.
He caught her hand in his. “That’s not what happened.”
Eyes narrowed and lips pressed in a thin line, she jerked her hand out of his and stalked around the counter. “Do you deny helping me get pissed drunk?”
Ah, interrogation mode. The counselor has returned.
“No, I don’t.” Good witness. Only answer exactly what is asked.
“Do you deny driving me and my car back here that night?”
“No. You were in no shape to drive.”
She arched a brow at him as if to say and whose fault is that? “I woke up in your bed.”
“That’s correct.”
A delightful flush crept over her features. “So we spent the night together.”
“Yes. We did.” Technically.
She inhaled and slowly exhaled. “Did you use a condom?”
He shook his head.
“Oh, God.” Gripping the counter, she bent over her knees.
Time to put her out of her misery.
“I didn’t need one,” he said.
She popped up, anger tensing her body like a long, lean Amazon warrior ready to strike. “How can you say that? You don’t know me that well. I could’ve had some STD or not been on birth control. I would think you were smarter than that.”
“You’re right. I didn’t know you that well.” He picked up his mug and plate, taking them to the kitchen sink and rinsing them off. He put them in the sink and ran if full of hot soapy water before turning to her. “I didn’t need a condom, because nothing happened.”
“What do you mean nothing happened?” The skeptical lawyer was back.
“Despite what you think of me, I didn’t get you drunk just to bring you back here and take advantage of you. Not sure, but that would be close to date rape. Not into that.” Reaching around her, he stacked the other dirty dishes on top of each other, then leaned close to her. “I like my women, warm and willing, not drunk and asleep.”
Moving past her, he put the dishes in the hot, soapy water and began washing them.
“Dishtowels?” she asked a moment later.
He nodded to his left. “Bottom drawer.”
They worked together washing and drying the dishes, Chloe remembering where everything went.
“If we didn’t have sex,” she asked as he worked on the first of the frying pans, “what exactly did happen that night? Because I certainly woke up in your bed with hardly anything on.”
He handed her the pan, then put the second one in the water. “I’d hoped to get you just drunk enough to loosen up and give me details about who you might think is stalking you.”
“Did I?”
“Unfortunately, you are one of those rare drunks. You get quieter and quieter. When you wanted to drive yourself to the Inn, I took your keys and drove you here, where I could keep an eye on you.”
She took the second pan from him. “And my clothes?”
He shrugged as he let the water out of the sink and dried his hands on a paper towel. “Didn’t think you’d sleep well wrapped up in that red bridesmaid dress. I took it off you and pulled the covers up. That’s all.”
Finally, she put the pan away and hung up the dish towel on the door of the oven. Leaning one hip against the counter, she crossed her arms in front of her, pushing her breasts just a little higher. Wes tried to keep his gaze from moving south.
“You let me leave here believing we’d had sex that night,” she accused him.
“No. You left here assuming we did. You were in such a rush to get away from me, you didn’t give me a chance to set the record straight. You jumped to conclusions based on faulty evidence, counselor.” He lifted one brow at her, then went to retrieve his laptop.
* * * * *
Chloe stared after Wes’s retreating back. Relief coursing through her, irritation quickly on its heels.
He’d known exactly what she’d believed. “I really enjoyed last night, Chloe.” He’d said those words just before he kissed her. She should know. Her mind had played those words and that kiss over and over in the two weeks since.
Embarrassed, she glanced at the pea coat hanging on one of the pegs. His pea coat. The one he’d given her that day. The same one she’d worn every day since, like some stupid love-sick teenager wearing the football captain’s letter jacket. He was right. She’d drank too much to try and erase the fear surrounding her for weeks. And the next morning, she’d jumped to conclusions. Wrong conclusions, based on her feelings and not facts.
“Since we’re pretty much snowed in here, how about we use the time to figure out who’s stalking you,” Wes said, returning with a laptop and some round electronic gizmo. He set them on the counter and slipped onto one of the stools.
“What’s that?” she asked, taking the seat beside him.
“Laptop.” He gave her a duh look.
She wanted to slug him, but just lifted one no-duh eyebrow at him. “Really? I never would’ve guessed.” She pointed at the round piece. “I meant that.”
“A retinal scanner.” He proceeded to power up the laptop, connect the scanner device to the USB port and cupping it in his hand, he held it to his eyes. Immediately, the laptop screen changed.
“Impressive. But isn’t that a little excessive security? It’s not like you have government secrets in there, is it?” Chloe teased, stopping when she saw the seriousness on his face. She blinked then stared wide-eyed at him. “You’re telling me you do?”
He shrugged as he typed. “More like government-only access programs.”
She leaned in closer. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“It was a going-away gift from my former employers.”
“Wait, you mean to tell me you worked for the government before coming to this little backwater town to work as a deputy?”
He didn’t answer, just met her gaze with his own steady one.
“What were you? CIA?”
No answer.
“NSA?”
Again, just that steady stare.
“Dark ops?”
He blinked.
“Oh, my God.” She inhaled quickly, then blew the air of her mouth in a big O. Inhaling again, the air caught in her chest once more, this time slowly letting it out as realization dawned on her. He wasn’t kidding. She was snowed in with a man who had deep, dark secrets. And he’d just shared one with her.
“Oh, great. I just had to open my mouth and ask,” she muttered.
“What?” He tilted his head to one side in curiosity.
“You know the old saying in spy shows? If I tell you, then I have to kill you? Well, now you’ve told me. What happens next?”
He shook his head. “Counselor, you have a vivid imagination. I’m not going to hurt you. If I hadn’t wanted you to know about my special talents, I wouldn’t have let you see this or answered any of your questions.”
Still a little intimidated, but feeling safer, she wrapped her arms around herself. “So, you worked for some dark ops unit for a secret government group. Then you left to come here. Why?”
“I was given a mission that I didn’t feel should’ve been undertaken, for a target we didn’t really know much about, and the intel was faulty. It went south. Most of my team didn’t make it back.” He leaned one elbow on the counter, rubbing his hand over his face, anger and distress warring on his features and in his eyes. “I’d had enough. I just wanted some peace.”
“But when you left, they gave you special access to their systems? Why would they do that? You could leak that to anyone. Do anything to anyone.”
“I said, I left. It doesn’t mean they’ve let me go. I have access because there may come a time when they need me to come back to work. For now, I’m on my own.” As he typed, several screens came into play. Then he opened up a blank page. “Why don’t we start with anyone you think might be the obvious candidate for your stalker?”