Undertow

by Jen Greyson

  Skirting the airport, he turned right at the final streetlight and wound through a curving maze of evergreens for what seemed like forever before stopping at what I hoped was a driveway somewhere beneath all that snow.

  He shifted and flipped a lever that lowered the snowplow on the front, then feathered the gas until we inched forward.

  I sat up straight in my seat. “Where are we going?”

  “Home.” Teague pressed closer to the windshield.

  His clipped tone and intensity didn’t fill me with any confidence. Without meaning to, I matched his posture, clamping both hands on the dashboard and peering through the swirling snow beyond the glass. “Are you sure this is the way?”

  “Mm.” The truck lurched once, and then the mound of snow in front of the plow slipped to the left and the truck started moving forward again. Up here, buffered by the wind, the flakes fell as if precisely measured, piling on top of each other like powdered sugar from a sieve. The only sounds were the crunch of the tires, the quiet slip of the snow sliding off the plow, and my tight breathing.

  The make-believe driveway twisted to the right, then left, then back to the right, before swinging in one final graceful left-hand sweep then the thick curtain of trees parted to reveal a big snow-covered circle in front of a giant house.

  I gasped at the tall windows, sloping roof, and what must be a sprawling floor plan with a footprint like that. Each log could have been hand-hewn. This was nearly a work of art, and nestled between the tall evergreens and blanketed by the fresh snow, it looked like a postcard.

  He pressed the garage door opener and pulled backward into a three-car garage, lowering the blade to the treated concrete floor, ready to plow our way out. “Home sweet home.”

  I gathered my bag and popped the door open, a whole lot surprised that he’d brought me here of all places. I figured he wanted me as far away as he could get me, especially if we were going to be stuck together until Wednesday. Maybe this was temporary for today.

  Teague waited beside a small set of steps at a tall hand-carved door that I assumed led into the glass and log house. I couldn’t deny the beauty of the building, but I struggled with the exploitation of all the artisans who’d probably never get credit for the masterpiece.

  Leaning out of the truck, I surveyed the floor and fast-growing puddles of ice water as the snow plopped and slid off the hood and tires of the truck. Bracing my hands against the door and feet on the ice-covered step, I took a giant leap. The hard concrete reverberated up my cold legs, and I felt like my toes snapped off and were about to go rolling across the floor. I grimaced and shoved the truck door closed.

  Teague led me through the door and gestured. “Sit.”

  Long benches, sanded and polished until every grain gleamed stretched along one wall of a mudroom. Matching cabinets hung overhead, and a row of hooks completed the overly organized room. Gray stones covered the floor, interlocked without grout, giving the room a manly yet homey feel. Warmth swirled around me as I perched on the edge of one bench, readied for my scathing lecture.

  I’d forgotten that I was supposed to be giving him one, and I was so exhausted that I just couldn’t muster the energy. All I wanted was a warm shower and a place to chill for a second and figure out a plan.

  Instead of berating me for my stupid stunt and taking out his aggression on me, Teague squatted and lifted my feet into his lap. He untied and unraveled the linen straps of my shoes, silently untangling the frozen, sodden mess from my feet.

  I stared at his head, the wet clumps interspersing with the dry. He should be worrying about getting out of his own wet clothes instead of fretting over me. Again, his niceness not only caught me off guard, it left me afloat in a wild storm of emotions I hadn’t seen coming.

  Pulling a fluffy towel from beneath the bench, he wrapped it around my feet and rubbed them with brisk strokes. As the feeling came back, the ache stole my breath.

  “It will only hurt for a minute, but if we don’t get the blood back to your toes, you’ll lose them.”

  “Oh!” Add that to the newfound snow knowledge I was accruing. He had every right to let my toes fall off one by one. I’d done nothing to return his generosity. “Thank you for not leaving me to freeze.”

  Without looking up, he massaged each of my toes. “Frozen bodies are just as hard to clean up as thawed ones. Seemed easier this way.”

  I wasn’t altogether certain he was kidding, so I clamped my lips together and resisted the urge to brush the frozen droplet off his sideburn.

  The blood surged to my feet and fingers, and the pain was excruciating. I rubbed my hands together but it did nothing to ease the hurt. To keep them away from Teague’s hair, I looked around instead of at his dark head bent over my legs in ministration. The mudroom bordered the garage wall on one side and, from what I could see through the next open doorway, led into a great room and kitchen. Soft light spilled into every room, reflecting off the moonlit snow and bouncing back into the house through floor-to-ceiling windows and overhead skylights.

  Setting my feet gently on the floor, Teague sat beside me and unlaced his own boots. He rubbed his hair dry with a fresh towel and draped it over his shoulders, cleaning his glasses with one end. Silence stretched the length of the room. I should say something, or offer to warm his frozen feet.

  Instead, he broke the silence first. “I don’t have a lot of clothing options for you, I’m afraid.”

  Of all the things I thought he was going to say, that wasn’t even near the list. I almost laughed from the nervous tension. I was still waiting on the lecture, cold shoulder, or banishment to the other end of the building. He’d completely surprised me by acting like I’d arrived for my spa treatment. I regretted our clandestine meeting and the circumstances that placed us forever at opposite ends of the environment.

  He stood and opened a pocket door at the far end of the room. I caught a glimpse of a washing machine. When he returned, he held a folded stack of blue sweats and matching sweatshirt. “My housekeeper left these the last time she came.”

  I reached up and took the offered clothes, loathe to take my feet out of the fluffy towel cocoon he’d created for them. “Thank you, again.” Glancing at the clothes, I twisted one of the ties around my finger. “For everything. I guess I made quite a mess for you today.” I lifted my gaze to his. “I’m sorry.”

  “We’ll figure it out.” He shrugged. Sliding the towel from his shoulders, he hung it on one of the hooks.

  “Where, um, where can I change?”

  “This way.” He paused next to the laundry room and opened another door to reveal a brightly lit powder room.

  I stepped past, careful not to brush against him. He pulled the door closed and I waited until his footsteps faded to let out a giant sigh. Now I was stuck in a stranger’s house for who knew how many days. Granted, Teague had proven to be a gentleman so far, so I didn’t have to worry about a midnight mauling or anything creepy, but our stilted conversations and awkward pauses for days on end might drive me batty. Never mind that I wasn’t immune to his quiet charm and nerdy demeanor. Days alone with that might lead to serious fraternizing with the enemy. I needed to get out of here soon.

  Peeling off my clothes, I rubbed the rest of my skin until it was red and I could feel all my body parts again. I draped my sopping dress over the towel rack and set my shoes next to the vent in the floor. When I couldn’t avoid the mirror any longer, I peeked—and gasped. “Oh for the love of photosynthesis!”

  I turned the hot water knob and dug in my bag for a comb and hair tie. Steam fogged the mirror, but I plunged my face in the rising heat and inhaled deeply, running my fingers through my curls and untangling the big knots. With the towel, I dabbed at my ruined makeup and crusted snow around my hairline. Tugging the plugs from my earlobes, I swapped them for a jade set and stacked the wooden ones on the edge of the counter to dry.

  Rummaging through my bag, I found a clean pair of panties but had to forgo my soaked bra. The s
oft sweats felt great against my battered skin, but oh good love of chocolate were they snug. Carl’s daughter must be a twiggy thing. My boobs were impossible to conceal on a regular day with a bra, with this sweatshirt I could be auditioning for a reality show. And I could crack a nut between my butt cheeks, the pants were so tight. But they were warm. I twisted my hair in a loose ponytail and stuffed my bag on top of my shoes, took one final glance in the mirror, and opened the door.

  Soft piano music played, and I tiptoed through the wide doorway into what seemed to be the entire house in one huge room. It was breathtaking—and so out of character of everything I’d pictured about Whetman and Teague. I wanted to get to know a guy who lived in a place like this and who chose to surround himself with beauty like this. To my right, the sloping ceiling rose two stories to a peak above a massive stone fireplace, flanked on either side by wide walls of glass that brought the stunning forest nearly inside. Dark-gray couches and three black leather chairs faced each other in a sunken conversation area in front of the hearth, accented by rustic tables. A waist-high buffet set with decanters and glasses separated the living room from the kitchen. Every piece seemed handpicked to perfectly compliment the others in a handsome collection of masculinity. I stepped closer to examine the buffet, and ran my fingers over the handmade masterpiece, inlaid with carvings and adorned with a multitude of shelves and doors. So beautiful and a well-paid homage to the trees that had given their lives.

  Teague stood in the open kitchen, a red pinstriped apron tied around his waist, cutting vegetables on the wide marble counter. He’d changed into a forest green sweater of his own and probably some dry pants. With his spiky hair and hipster glasses, he looked like a guy who’d be more at home bent over a keyboard than a cutting board, but his deft fingers moved with a fluid precision.

  I slid onto a low stool across from him, entranced by his grace and the juxtaposition of the owner’s son of a logging company feeling completely at home in a state-of-the-art kitchen.

  He tumbled the veggies into a skillet on the commercial range, then finally looked up. I’ll give it to him, he did an Oscar-worthy job of trying to keep his attention on my face and I didn’t make it worse by crossing my arms over the body-hugging cotton. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed a few times, then cleared his throat. “Hungry?”

  My stomach rumbled in answer and I gave him a lopsided grin. The last thing I’d eaten was an orange as I’d rushed out. “Starved, thanks. I left so much of the planning up to Jeremy that I’m kind of at your mercy.” Again, he’d completely caught me off guard. I’d expected a peanut butter sandwich—maybe a microwave dinner if I was lucky—not a home-cooked meal that hinted at being restaurant worthy.

  He moved around the kitchen with an easy style, selecting ingredients from the refrigerator and pantry, swirling the hot pans over the open flames. “Don’t imagine anyone can really prepare for a storm like this one.”

  “Not really.” Feeling a bit awkward about the intimacy of watching him cook, I left the stool and wandered through the living room, stopping before the huge windows. Cool air rolled off the surface, bumping against the rising warmth from the crackling fire next to me. Outside, huge flakes danced to the ground. In the short time we’d been inside, it seemed like another six inches had fallen.

  There were far worse prisons to be trapped in, and though my guard wasn’t very talkative, he was certainly nice to look at. Thankfully, I’d brought some research for my next protest, so I could at least occupy myself with that. After dinner, I’d need to find a plug for my phone in case I needed to make some calls.

  Dinner plates chimed against the marble countertop, and I returned to the kitchen. Teague grinned as he plated sizzling hunks of meat and garnish.

  I looked away and fought the urge to vomit. I should have seen that coming. Of course he’d be a meat eater. I’d been a fool to think that his uncaring attitude for the earth would stop just at living trees.

  My throat clogged with horror and I arced away from the plates.

  Teague set the hot skillet in the sink and rounded the counter. He slid onto the stool beside me but did nothing about my plate. I shielded my face from the view and pointed. “What is that?”

  He looked everywhere but at the giant… Hunk… Of… Death.

  “Where?”

  “On the plate!” I couldn’t keep the high-pitched terror out of my voice. “Is that meat?”

  “Elk. But I sauté it so it’s really tender. It doesn’t taste gamey at all.” He seemed completely unconcerned at the awfulness.

  “I can’t—will you take it away.” Please. Please.

  He swiveled on the stool. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “Vegetarian.” It wasn’t possible to get any farther away from that without scurrying to the other end of the building, and I was about to that point. I needed him to get it away.

  He shook his head and stood, carrying my plate to the other side of the counter and setting it in the bottom of the sink. That was so gross and I had no idea what to do now. My stomach was roiling and rumbling, pinballing back and forth between hunger and disgust.

  He floundered, pretending to be the one put out by this situation. “I—what do you eat?”

  I gasped for breath and had to move farther away from his plate, switching to the last stool until I couldn’t smell the sizzling flesh. “Lots of things, just not meat.”

  He untied his apron and threw it on the counter. “Feed yourself, then.”

  Four

  I winced as Teague stormed away, leaving me alone with his dead carcass of meat. Now not only was I captive in this frozen wasteland, but I was going to starve, too. I slid off the stool and padded to the bathroom where I’d left my stuff. Rummaging through my bag, I busted open a box of the granola bars and ate three plus a few slices of dried mango that I found in a side pocket. Holy heck was I glad that I’d run into the grocery store.

  I groaned and sat down on the floor. That should last me all of a half hour before I was starving again. My phone beeped and I tugged the charger out and plugged it into the outlet beneath the sink. Tucking my nearly dead iPad beneath my arm, I returned to the living room. Teague was on the far end of the space talking on a wall phone, which pulled me up short. I had no idea people used landlines anymore, but I guess up here it made sense that they needed backups and backups for their backups.

  I shook my head in disbelief and tucked myself into the end of the couch by the fire and turned on my iPad. My shoulders drooped as a wave of heat washed over me. That felt so good. Even though it wasn’t as warm and wonderful as my fat sun at home, a crackling fire held its own special appeal. I was all about the warmth. Under any other circumstances, this would be an amazing retreat, snow and all.

  Teague mumbled goodbye into the phone and hung up. I tried not to look at him, but he was impossible to ignore, especially with the stress rolling off him. With his back still to me, his shoulders looked high and tight like it hadn’t been a good call. He ran a hand through his hair and turned, his gaze lingering on the crackling fire, then transferred to me. I could feel him assess everything about me from my iPad to my tats to my bare toes curled beneath my thigh.

  I sat still as a mouse and he eventually looked away and crossed to the kitchen. While he quietly ate alone, I bent my head and swiped my tablet open. No wireless devices popped up. I bit my lip and turned my chin just enough to watch Teague to gauge his mood before I asked if he had any service up here. He quickly finished and then washed the dishes. Once those were done, he wiped down the counter and scanned the room like he was desperate for something to occupy his time. Something other than me.

  The Internet wasn’t a big enough deal to risk making him angry again. We weren’t any closer to finding an easy space to navigate, and I seemed to be able to unbalance any tiny forward progress, but it wasn’t my fault we came from different worlds. I hadn’t asked for this any more than he had.

  I needed this storm to be over fast. We
might be able to stomach one night together, but by the end of it, both our nerves would be irrevocably frayed.

  He folded the towel twice, wiped three more spots then refolded the towel. Finally, he came around the side of the counter and cleared his throat. “The storm is getting worse.”

  My stomach plummeted and I jerked my attention to the scene beyond the window. The flakes were nearly the size of apricots, and the forest was quickly disappearing behind a white curtain. I stood and walked to the window, mouth ajar. This was terrible. “You guys are serious about your snow here.”

  “We’ve been known to get six to eight feet out of these storms.” Teague was at the fireplace now, tossing more wood into the ravenous flames.

  Eight feet! I was going to grow old here before it melted and I could escape. I lifted my hand to the glass. He was so close I could hear him breathing. I didn’t want to be trapped here with him. I wanted to be on my way home so I could get on with planning my next protest. I didn’t want to be stuck with someone who both repelled and attracted me with equal force. He confused everything.

  The snow danced and swirled and painted a stunning picture. I’d never seen snow, and I’d always imagined it to be a destructive frozen force. The flakes outside were every bit as confusing as the man. “It’s so pretty.”

  His movements halted then he slid the grate back in place. “Where are you from?”

  “San Diego.”

  “Not much snow there.”

  “None.” I ran my fingers along the cold glass, creating a swirling pattern in the condensation. “Isn’t all this snow a pain?”

  He shrugged and wiped his hands on his pants. “I’ve been here my whole life. All the good points are worth a bit of hassle.”

  I snorted and returned to the couch. “You make it sound like this is a few inches that are only going to trap us here for an hour.”

  He settled on the love seat opposite the sitting area. “Is it really that bad, being here with me? I’m the one who should be pissed.”