Chapter Twenty-Four

Calla

“Argh!!!” I yelled when the door slammed shut.

I couldn’t believe it. It was unfathomable. I had told the man one of my deepest, darkest secrets and he got mad. Who the hell did that? It made no sense. He was mad because I miscarried, nearly died and now I couldn’t have children. That was some narcissistic shit right there.

“How dare he,” I seethed, running the mop over the floor.

The snowy mess was a great way to distract myself. My mind was racing as I thought about his reaction. We had parted ways that morning without exchanging numbers. It had been terribly awkward and neither of us was doing much talking. I had been humiliated and knew I had acted like a wild woman. It had been completely out of character for me and although I had a great time, I had been a little ashamed of myself.

I thought back to that morning and remembered I had felt a little sore between my legs, which had been a constant reminder of my night of unbridled passion spent with a complete stranger. It had been a game. I had gone out that night to get laid and honestly, had been very satisfied with the way things worked out.

Smiling, I remembered hailing a taxi while anticipating telling my friends. As it turned out, I had been the only one to score that night. And, because I scored a military man, I felt like I had really outdone myself. As expected, the girls had all been crazy jealous. They asked me the dirty details and while I gave them plenty of information to drool over, I kept some parts to myself. Those were the memories I cherished and relied upon frequently over the years.

Obviously, finding out I was pregnant had put a bit of a damper on things, but I still treasured that night. The panic and terror I had felt when the third pregnancy test came up positive was not something I would ever forget. I had told my mother, expecting condemnation, but she had been very supportive. When the worst happened, she had been there, holding my hand, and praying for healing and recovery.

The moment I learned I was barren, I had been crushed.

“And he’s mad!” I scoffed again, putting my anger into the mopping. “How dare he! I lost a baby. I lost my fucking uterus, and he’s mad?”

After furiously cleaning the floor, I realized I was starving. It was midmorning, and I wasn’t the kind of girl who skipped breakfast. I remembered where I had seen him grab the oatmeal from and dug it out. I couldn’t wait to get back to civilization and eat a big breakfast with bacon, eggs, French toast and whatever else I could pile on my plate. The anger seemed to have fueled my hunger. Like so many people, when I was mad or sad, I found myself starving and it was always for breakfast foods.

I sat down and tried to enjoy the bland oatmeal. It was definitely not what I wanted, and did little to satisfy my craving for sweet and delicious.

“Gross,” I mumbled, taking another bite of the goop.

I hadn’t made it all that well, either. It was too thick, didn’t have enough water and I dared not use milk from the fridge. It was likely spoiled by now. I didn’t need that disaster on top of everything else that was going on. I should get dressed, like really dressed. I had picked up my bra and panties when I cleaned the floor, but now it was time to get them on and prepare for my real rescue.

Just then I heard the door open and gently close. Casper ambled over to see what I was doing.

“Hey, buddy. Did you have a good time in the snow?”

The dog wagged his tail a few times before heading for the couch to plop down. I ignored the dog’s owner. I had no idea what he had been doing out there and didn’t care. I was furious at him for being mad at me. It was ridiculous, I knew that, but I didn’t care.

“Roads are about clear. The ice is melting some. The search and rescue team should be able to make it soon,” his deep voice cut through the silence of the cabin.

Ignoring him seemed like the thing to do. I was both happy and disappointed about my impending rescue. He had ruined what had been a perfect morning.

“I radioed Gabe who was working directly with the coordinator. He should get back to me soon and let me know a time. I imagine within the next couple of hours. There is another storm coming in, but it shouldn’t be too bad,” he explained.

I focused my eyes on the bowl of disgusting, lumpy oatmeal. I didn’t even want to look at him. It was too risky. Despite my anger, when I looked at him, I just wanted to crawl on top of him and fuck him like a mad woman. That was off the table. Even being this close to him was dangerous.

“Fine,” I said, letting him know I was still pissed.

I ignored him as he hung up his coat and placed his boots by the fire. When he disappeared into his bedroom, I breathed a sigh of relief. The tension between us was palpable. I felt like we were circling each other. One of us would pounce if we didn’t keep our distance.

My relief was short-lived. He came back into the living area with a fresh pair of sweats on and a black t-shirt that stretched across his chest.

“What?” he said, looking at me strangely.

It was then that I realized I was looking at him as if he were behind the glass of my favorite bakery. He was too damn good looking.

“Nothing!” I spat out, returning my focus to my mushy oatmeal.

“Whatever,” he said, walking into the kitchen.

I watched him opening cupboards and pulling out cans.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

He held up a can. “Heating some chili.”

“Three cans?”

“Two cans. One is a salsa mixture. It adds a little flavor and kick,” he explained, actually smiling at me.

I glared back, earning a glare from him.

He loudly dug a pot out of the drawer beneath the oven before manually opening each of the cans. I watched him move around the kitchen from my place at the table. I had to fight back the urge to wrap my arms around his waist and lay my face against that wide back of his. I watched the muscles work as he turned the can opener. I was pissed as hell, but I still wanted him.

“It won’t take long to heat,” he said, slapping the pot on the woodstove and removing the coffee pot. He carried it back and poured two cups before adding a shot of whiskey to each.

He delivered the cup to me and sat in the chair opposite the table.

“Thanks,” I grumbled, not able to be completely disrespectful.

I sipped the hot liquid and let it roll down my throat. The coffee was strong and masked the fiery liquor. We sat there in silence, the tension still there. I wanted to say so much, but it felt pointless. I would be leaving shortly, and we would never have to see or talk to one another again. It didn’t make sense to try and hash out something that would never be addressed again.

“It’s pretty cold out there. I doubt the lodge has power.”

I shrugged. “I’m sure they have generators they run constantly to keep their guests comfortable,” I quipped.

My remark had hit my target.

He raised an eyebrow. “Paying guests are usually treated well.”

Zing!

I smirked. “Point taken. Don’t worry, Jake. I’ll be out of your hair in no time. You can go right back to sitting here by yourself reading your books in your quaint little cabin with no one to bother you.”

“Good.”

“No one to fuck either, but I guess that won’t bother you.”

His nostrils flared, and I looked at him, daring him to say something. I could see the inner struggle on his face and knew he wanted to come back with a response, so I gave him plenty of time. But when he said nothing, I got up from the table, taking my bowl of shitty oatmeal with me. I quickly scraped the leftovers into the trash before adding some water to the bowl.

“I guess I better get dressed. I don’t want my rescuers suspecting I was up here banging the mountain man,” I said, purposely bending over in his line of sight to pick up my discarded bra and panties.

“Wouldn’t want anyone knowing you’re a wildcat and a sex fiend,” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.

I spun around and held up my undergarments and glared at him before stomping into the bathroom. With the door closed, I took several deep breaths before I stripped out of the clothes I had on. I would miss his t-shirt, but I needed to be ready to go as soon as those search guys pulled up. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make it appear somewhat tidy, but it was no use. It needed a good shampoo followed by several rounds of conditioner. I couldn’t get that here with the lack of water.

With nothing more I could do about my appearance, I went back to sit at the table. He was looking me over, making me feel a little self-conscious, but I refused to squirm.

“I guess that means you are ready to go?”

I gave him a look that said exactly what I felt. Duh. He nodded his head before jumping up from the table and checking the chili. I watched as he filled a couple of bowls and stuck a slice of bread in each.

“I think we both know it’s time for me to go. This was fun while it lasted. At least I had some fun,” I said with resignation.

“Calla,” he started, but I held up a hand. I didn’t want to hear an apology or more on why he should get to feel mad.

“It’s over. We both said our piece. I don’t want to talk about it another minute. We are never going to agree on the matter, so no point in making the last few hours I’m here completely miserable for both of us.”

He slapped a hand on the kitchen counter. “Fine. Whatever. You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met.”

“Good.”

He carried the bowls to the table and set one in front of me. “I know it isn’t gourmet, but it has to be better than the shit you were trying to choke down earlier.”

“Anything would be better than that,” I grumbled.

I heard him scoff, but didn’t look up from my bowl. The chili was actually really good or maybe it was because I was starving. It didn’t matter. It gave me something to focus on. We ate in silence, each of us taking occasional drinks from our spiked coffee. When I noticed my cup was empty, I got up, grabbed the pot and the bottle of whiskey and filled his cup then mine. I poured in generous amounts of alcohol, hoping the dull the tension in the room.

I wasn’t ready to not be mad at him. If I didn’t hold on to the anger, I knew I would feel sad. I was leaving soon. The last twenty-fours with the man hadn’t been all bad. The memories we made in his little cabin would comfort me on those cold, lonely nights in my future. I looked up from my bowl to see him looking at me. It was a soft, sorrowful look; one I knew well, because it was what I saw when I looked in the mirror earlier.