by K Larsen
“Sun’s out,” he said. Tristan returned to the stove and flipped a few frying eggs.
“Does that mean something for us?” She asked him as best she could with the obstruction in her mouth.
“Means I’m going to do a test run to check the density of the snow. I’ll have to take you down the mountain on a sled, because it’s way too soon for you to try to walk.”
He probably couldn’t wait to see her gone, so he could go back to his recluse life and not have to deal with her problems. But she felt conflicted, first because she was sad to leave the cabin life and secondly because she was even sadder to leave Tristan. Admittedly, she was also nervous about the trip. The one up to the cabin hadn’t exactly gone as planned, so she didn’t fully trust this wilderness not to test her prowess again.
“Is one of those eggs for me?”
“Thought I’d eat it all in front of you.”
“Do you have chickens?” Tristan laughed. “Oh, look. You laugh. What a nice sound.” She took the plate he handed her. She dove into her food with gusto. Tristan watched her eat and smiled at her enthusiasm.
“When we get to town, I’ll take you out to dinner.”
“If we get to town, you’re going straight to the hospital.”
“Yes, boss. Can you carry me to the bathroom after I finish my breakfast?”
Her temperature was normal. Tristan high-fived her after he’d read it. It pretty much confirmed that he wasn’t a sadistic lunatic and instead an expert survivalist, who might have just saved her life a second time. She owed him—seriously owed him big time.
She washed her face, which was still uncharacteristically red and wind-chapped, changed into the long underwear shirt Tristan had given her which hit her mid-thigh like a dress. She scrubbed her underwear in the basin of water he’d set in the sink and hung it on the towel rack to dry. Her pants were so stiff after being dried on the woodstove, they felt like shredded wheat. She opted to just go with her long underwear. When she hobbled back into the living room on the crutches he made, Tristan was already donning his snow-pants to brave the bright sunny cold.
Maybe Tristan wasn’t feeling the same buzz that she was. The one that made her want to leap into his arms and tear all of those layers off. But still, he looked at her in a way that spoke something different. Was he holding back because she wasn’t being clear about her feelings?
And what about the kiss? She’d meant everything she communicated with her body. But the man had the willpower of a bull and the restraint of a saint. Why couldn’t he just ravage her already and make love to her on the rug in front of the woodstove. Wouldn’t that be sexy, ten toes or nine? She was clean now, and she’d brushed her teeth, and her underwear were on the drying rack.
Twenty-Two
Tristan
He watched her from the corner of his eye as she hobbled into the living room while he pulled on his ski boots.
“It’ll only be a couple minutes. When I’m done, I can whip up some hot chocolate and put on a movie.”
Meghan shot him her megawatt smile before he slid out the front door.
The snow was deep. Tristan tossed his skis to the foot-trodden path in front of him and stepped into the bindings one leg at a time. Pulling his poles from the bank next to him, he pushed off. He only needed to go a short distance to know if the snow cover would support him pulling a sled with a full-grown woman on it. As he pushed through the snow, he sunk slightly. The trip wasn’t a downhill ski trail. He had no real speed to start with to keep him moving forward. Not for at least half a mile where the terrain steepened downward for the remainder of the trip. He’d never make it with a sled and Meghan’s weight. He pushed forward hoping for a better outcome, but once the shed was just out of sight, and the conditions the same, he knew.
Tristan turned back trying to figure out the best way to tell her the news. He thought of her lips and the inevitable pout that would grace them when he told her. That plump bottom one just begging to be nibbled on. He wasn’t certain she was flirting with him in that way and he knew he needed to be damn sure. What a mess it would be if he made an unwanted move. Rebuffed and stuck together in a tiny cabin until help could arrive. The thought terrified him, almost as much as the feelings he was having about her in the first place.
On the path from the shed to the cabin he slid to a stop, popped his bindings and stepped out of the skis. He stacked them together and jabbed them into a steep snow bank followed by his poles. He unclipped the boot straps and clomped up the steps and into the cabin.
“Welcome home,” Meghan called out. Tristan wrangled himself from the ski boots at the door before shrugging out of his parka and hanging it.
“Good news or bad?” he asked as he rounded the corner.
Meghan looked different. Not just showered but her hair was swept back and tamed and it looked like she’d pinched color into her cheeks. The closer he got to her, the more the scent of vanilla invaded his senses.
“Did you bake something?” he asked.
She smiled shyly and shook her head. “It’s my version of perfume. A dab of vanilla extract on the wrists.”
“It’s nice. Makes the whole place smell good.”
Meghan patted the couch beside her. A small stack of books with a pillow on top elevated her foot over the coffee table. Tristan sat.
“There’s bad news?” Meghan asked.
“It’s all in the perspective, I guess.”
She cleared her throat and shot him a look that only mothers can do. It made his chest heave in amusement.
“We can’t make the trip together. There’s no way I can tow a sled in this snow.” There, it was out.
Meghan looked contemplative. “What’s the good news?”
He braced himself for her rejection and said, “Tomorrow morning after breakfast, I’m going to ski to town. Without you.” Her tiny frame seized up, rigid and a vein in her neck pulsed noticeably. “Don’t get all mad. There’s good reason.”
“Reason doesn’t mean jack shit. You can’t leave me here. What if you don’t make it back? We’ll just wait till more snow melts.”
“Meghan, look, I don’t want to leave you here. But I can make the trip in under an hour, talk to the ranger and get a rescue team up on snowmobiles and be back in four hours or less. You need medical attention. You need a real doctor to look at that.” He glanced at her bandaged foot and watched as her eyes followed his and realization sunk in.
“So, you won’t be gone overnight?”
“No. Just three or four hours.”
“And you think tomorrow is best?” She arched a brow at him.
“I think if I had time right now, it’d be best. You’re still at serious risk for infection and God knows I’m no surgeon. If anything can be helped, I want it to be, but it’s mostly up to time at this point. We don’t have time to wait for the snow to melt down. I only have eight more Ibuprofen left.”
He reached out, spread his palm over her thigh and squeezed and her body visibly relaxed, like his touch took all the stubborn wind from her sails.
She leaned into his side and let her head rest against his shoulder. Instinct from another time in his life took over, he turned his head to kiss the top of hers but caught himself before he laid lips on her. That’s what love did. It blinded people. Made them do ridiculous things. And don’t even get him started on lust. If love made people act ridiculously, lust just made them plain stupid.
“What movie do you want to watch?”
“Are you sure we should? I don’t want to drain the battery.”
“This is our last night together. I think an indulgence is worth it. The solar panel will see sun soon enough anyway.”
She stood in the doorway, searing heat at her back, wind chill from hell at her front. “Get back inside,” he barked toward the cabin door.
“It’s so beautiful. I can’t believe you’ve been hiding me away from all this.”
Tristan laughed causing a loose log to topple from the
pile he was carrying. He waited for Meghan to hobble out of his way to unload the logs before snagging a blanket from the couch and joining her on the front step. Sunset was always stunning from his vantage point in the winter. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. It nearly reached the tops of her feet. She sighed and leaned back against his chest.
“I get it.”
“Get what?”
“How this could be addicting. Living here. It’s all so fresh, peaceful. It’s stunning. No constant noise buzzing around or that rat race mentality.”
Tristan grinned and set his chin on the top of her head. “It really is. But honestly, having someone else around to share it with hasn’t exactly been terrible. I would love for you to see the summer sunsets.”
“I’d like to.” Meghan pressed herself into him and all the blood rushed between his legs.
“Let’s go back inside. You need to get off your foot.”
She sighed but nodded. Foregoing the crutches, Tristan scooped her up into his arms, pleased with her laugh. “This’ll be quicker.”
He was shocked when Meghan’s face lit up when he’d put Rummy King on the coffee table. He was even more shocked when she kicked his ass three times over. They shared a simple dinner, a single candle on the table between them and each read for an hour or so, sprawled on the couch with Meghan’s legs strewn over his lap.
“It’s getting late. I think I’m going to turn in.”
Meghan’s eyes lifted from the page of the book to his. “Okay. I’m pretty tired too.” She hoisted her feet from him and set them gently on the floor. Grabbing one of the crutches she made an attempt to stand.
“Whoa, where are you going?” he asked.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought. I don’t I want to sleep alone out here tonight. I’ve seen your bed, and the mattress looks much more comfortable.” Her expression held in a way that made him think she was about to burst out laughing.
“You want to sleep in my bed?” he asked, straight-faced.
“Yes.” she said, voice cracking slightly.
He rubbed his head. Okay. What was one night on the couch? She deserved a bed to sleep in. “Sure.”
“Okay,” her voice shook but she held herself together as she hobbled to the bedroom.
Tristan didn’t understand what was going on, but then again, he didn’t know many women anymore. He unfolded the sheet first and spread it over the couch before making the rest of it up. He took the two heaviest blankets into the bedroom for Meghan.
She was already lying on his side, curled up. The sight damn near made his heart hiccup in his chest. “I brought you warmer blankets.”
“Me?”
“Yeah.” Tristan scrubbed his chin and beard. “What’s going on?”
“Were you really going to give up your bed for me?”
“I thought I already did.”
“That’s so chivalrous,” she breathed.
“It is? I’m confused. I thought that was what you wanted,” he asked as he snapped a blanket in the air and let it float down over her.
“Earlier, I said I don’t want to sleep alone. And then, I said, I don’t want to sleep in the living room. I’m not sure how much more clear I can be Tristan, but I want to spend our last night together.”
Tristan coughed. The idea wasn’t novel, just foreign to him and it caught him off guard.
“We don’t have to do anything. I just want to be close to you.”
“Are you sure?” Three words that would surely kill a boner. Are you sure? Jesus, he really needed to get out more.
She patted the bed. “I’m sure.”
Tristan pulled his sweater over his head and tossed it on the floor. He pulled off his belt followed by his pants until he was only in long johns. Meghan’s eyes lingered on his torso the entire time. He lifted a corner of the blanket and slid into bed. Rolling on his side he faced her. The moonlight from the small window above his bed lit half her face in the dark.
“I’m sort of sad to go, I think.”
He slid his hand along the mattress until he found her. His hand moved up her belly to her hip. Meghan didn’t flinch at his touch, instead she scooted closer to him.
“You have a life. Kids, who are probably losing their minds right now. Me, this cabin—just a shooting star in the night sky. But I’m sad to see you go too. You’ve been the best kind of surprise.”
Something in her eyes shifted at his words. She placed a hand over his on her hip and rolled, effectively ensuring he didn’t remove his hand as she settled her back into his chest, pulled his arm down over her waist and held his hand against her breast. Her heart beat against her chest plate rapidly, it almost matched his. She pushed her rear end into his groin. A muted groan bubbled out of him and he squeezed her to him more firmly. Pressed kisses against the back of her head—let himself really feel something for the first time in years.
They didn’t speak, didn’t even strip down bare for each other. They just, held each other. Felt one another’s heartbeat. Meghan fell asleep first, long before he was able to. He wanted to memorize the feel of her body in his bed, against him. The smell of her hair, the steadiness of her sleep-laden breaths. The soft skin of her arms as his thumb grazed back and forth. He especially liked the funny little eating noises she made in her sleep. He tried hard not to care, but it was like he already deeply missed her.
Twenty-Three
Meghan
The sun shone through the cabin windows with such intensity that Meghan could hardly see. Tristan had woken before her and snuck out of bed to make breakfast. There was no better way to wake up than with the smell of bacon and coffee. The meal had been quiet though, it felt like a funeral as if his leaving had them both mourning what could have been.
“What if you die out there and never come back? What should I do?”
“Wait until the snow thaws and use a compass to walk southeast about six miles. You’ll come to the highway. Hitchhike from there.”
How was it possible that this man made suspendered snow-pants look sexy?
“You want me to notify anybody? Is somebody going to miss you?”
He stopped fastening the suspenders and looked up at her curiously. His eyes were intense when he looked directly at her. She swallowed silently and clutched her hands.
“I will. I’ll miss you,” she said quickly. It wasn’t a lie. She was scared to be alone here without him.
There was still something unnerving about the man, something that didn’t sit quite right. Why would the most gorgeous, healthy, hardworking and capable man be isolating himself. Was he that apprehensive about other people, could social anxiety be that acute?
“Do you know how to make a fire?” He stepped across the floor toward her and she instinctively took a step backwards almost falling on her ass. The crutches were crude. Tristan was even taller in his snow boots.
“I was being facetious. You’ll come back. I mean you live here, right?”
He pulled enormous snowshoes off from the wall and began strapping into them. They were beautiful really, they looked like they could be handmade. She was terrified to let him walk out the door. What if this were all an illusion and once he was gone, she’d be alone again, adrift in the snow.
“What happened to my snowshoes? I mean, they weren’t nice like those. I ordered them from a catalog. Did someone make those for you?” She was rambling, like a nervous teenager, like a toddler with separation anxiety being dropped off at daycare.
“Your shoes are, unfortunately, still in the woods. The locals make them. I try to support them, however I can.”
“How come you don’t have anyone to miss you, besides me, Tristan?”
He tucked a hunting knife into a leather holder he slid over his forearm. She just about orgasmed on the spot as he re-buttoned his arm cuff to cover it.
“Did you ever read Lady Chatterley’s Lover, by D. H. Lawrence?” Maybe she’d have to be more overt with her flirting. She was definitely attracted to this m
an.
“Did you ever read The Shining, by Stephen King?”
Damn, the guy was just as quick as he was handsome.
He stepped to her, snaked one arm around her waist. A squeak of surprise left her as he pulled her flush against his chest.
“I’ll be back in time for a late lunch. Promise.” She couldn’t help herself. She smiled up at him like a lovesick school girl. He leaned in until his face was a mere centimeter from hers. Slowly, she let out the breath lodged in her lungs. His lips grazed hers, softly first and then with a heat like the blazing hot sun. Outside an owl hooted so loudly it startled them apart.
“Holy crap! He’s so loud. Sounds like it’s coming from inside?”
“We share clothes.” Meghan laughed.
“But you’re so much bigger than him.”
“He has the pants hemmed. I swear that owl has my back. I need to get a move on and you’re making it hard to leave.”
“Please come back.”
Twenty-Four
Meghan
She watched him walk away until he became nothing more than a speck and disappeared into the great pines that surrounded the clearing his property sat among. Her longing, it seemed, increased with each step he took, and her unease progressed the other way rising high in her throat.
The fever could come back, and with it the delirium. She could still die out here on the trail, her journey hadn’t yet come to a conclusion. She laid down on his bed, the one he’d made up after she’d gotten out of it. He knew how to turn down the sheets and tuck them tightly over the pillows. Impressive for a bachelor, she’d seen her sons’ dorms. So was the quilt he had on top, definitely homemade, maybe by his mother or maybe a grandmother. She supposed he could have purchased it an estate sale. There were yellows in his room, along with russets and deep browns. Everything he owned was tasteful, clean as well as functional—no clutter, no mess. It was surprising really, with a woodstove, garden, and country living that he could be so tidy.
