A Last Resort

by Brenda Sinclair

  “Quiet?” Emma wasn’t certain she approved of the abbreviation of her name, but she’d let it pass for now. “This cabin is not soundproof and we still hear plenty of racket. But we’re going to spend the afternoon out on the covered bridge overlooking the creek. There are wooden benches and a picnic table for me to sit at while I write on my laptop until my battery requires recharging. Jake can snooze in the fresh air or wander through the creek. Mind you, it might be a bit cool for that, but cocker spaniels love water.”

  “Tell me about it. I can’t keep him out of a lake, or a river, or even a mud puddle.” Lyndon chuckled. “Even if it means a bath when we return home.”

  “A bath simply means more water. Why wouldn’t he enjoy himself?”

  “Well, shoot. You’re right.”

  “Smart doggie.” Emma tossed Jake a dog biscuit from the sealed, clear plastic container on the counter. He launched himself up and plucked it out of the air and then devoured it after a couple bites. “Good catch!”

  “Another newly learned trick.” Lyndon beamed like a proud parent. “Told you he was a quick learner.”

  Emma dug the fixings out of the fridge and made herself a small veggie sub sandwich with a huge dill pickle on the side. “I wish it was warmer. I’d sit out on the back patio and eat this.”

  “Not dressed like that you wouldn’t,” Lyndon muttered.

  Emma gasped. She’d totally forgotten she’d been writing all morning in her two-piece leopard print pajamas and bare feet. She raced down the hallway to her room, feeling her face blazing and hearing Lyndon’s laughter coming from the kitchen. “This is not funny,” she called.

  “My ex dressed to the nines every day. Unless she suffered from the flu and then she wouldn’t leave her bed for days on end. I don’t mind if you want to lounge around in your pajamas. Whatever you’re used to doing is fine with me.”

  She heard the back door close a few minutes later. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she closed her eyes and let humiliation wash over her. So he didn’t mind her staying in her pjs all day. And she hadn’t been wearing a bra either, she realized.

  “Just heap on an additional serving of mortification,” she called out to the universe. Not that there was much reason to worry about her braless state. She hadn’t been overly endowed in that department. Still, it didn’t seem right.

  Jake padded into the room and planted his butt at her feet. He looked up and gazed into her eyes, concern evident.

  “I’m all right, big guy. Don’t worry.” Her fingers played with one soft, floppy ear and he jumped onto the bed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. “You’re such a sensitive boy. Knowing something’s wrong and I was upset.” She kissed the top of his head.

  Jake flopped onto his back, paws in the air and tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

  “So it’s a belly rub you’re hoping for.” Emma chuckled and complied with the canine’s request. She’d never wanted a pet. Perhaps she’d been too hasty making that decision. And then she realized the dog was sprawled on the pure white comforter. “Oh, no. I hope you’re not dirty,” she squeaked, encouraging the dog to jump down.

  Jake landed on his feet on the beige and white area rug.

  Emma blew out her breath; the duvet remained spotlessly clean.

  “Whew. Close call there. I’m tossing this aqua blanket on here in case you decide to visit me again. We mightn’t be so lucky next time.” Emma aligned the blanket completely covering the expensive king-sized feather duvet. “There. That’s better.”

  Jake sat patiently waiting while she slipped out of her pjs and into undies, a pair of jeans, and a warm woolen navy sweater. She wrapped a wide silk scarf around her neck and slipped her feet into her hiking boots. “Okay, lunch and then we’re out of here.”

  She’d take her laptop in the leather carry-all bag and pack along images of Lyndon in her mind to ensure the writing continued at the newly acquired pace. She’d complete this manuscript in no time if her hunky inspiration remained a part of her writing repertoire. She smiled at the thought. “Rachael won’t believe how successful her suggestion is proving,” she said, sharing her thoughts with Jake. “And I’ll award my editor with every bit of credit for it. What Rachael doesn’t know…” She hurried back to the kitchen to eat, eager to continue her day.

  Shortly after returning to the family room, Emma noticed a notification on her email icon at the bottom of the laptop’s screen. She clicked on it and discovered an email from Mike Lewis.

  Hello, Emma.

  I received an email from Lyndon. Sorry about the mix-up but I can’t thank you enough for not spilling the secret to Rachael. And thanks for sharing the cabin while you’re both there. Lyndon’s a great guy and I hear Jake has won you over. I hope everything works out and neither of you experiences any inconvenience. Rachael and I will come for a weekend once Lyndon finishes the workshop and advises me he’s ready for final inspection of the new garage. In the meantime, enjoy your stay and good luck with the book.

  Regards,

  Mike

  Emma closed the email without replying. What could she say? She’d promised not to ruin the surprise for her editor, and Rachael knew she would only receive an update from Emma when there would be progress made on the book. Mike hoped neither of them experienced any inconvenience. That handsome carpenter had proven nothing but an inconvenience, but he’d proven himself an unexpected inspiration for her writing, as well. Rachael would be thankful when the book was completed on time, and she’d be equally delighted with the new garage.

  “I’ll email Rachael tonight. Let her know that the words are flowing and I’m loving it here,” she advised the dog.

  Jake tilted his head.

  Emma laughed. “Sorry, big guy, I can’t mention that you’re enjoying yourself also. As far as my editor is concerned, I’m up here all by my lonesome, working on my book and enjoying the scenery.”

  She finished packing her tote bag. “Speaking of which, we best be on our way. Soon as the sun goes behind the mountain it will cool off quickly and I’ll have to scoot back here to make dinner.”

  Jake woofed.

  “And feed you also. I’d never forget that.” She checked that she’d packed everything, including a couple bottles of water for both of them. As an afterthought, a bag of dill pickle flavored chips for her and two large dog biscuits for the four-footed writing assistant made it into the bag.

  She slipped into her hoodie and opened the back door. The dog dashed outside ahead of her. “And we’re off.”

  Lyndon waved as the two of them walked through the yard. Emma waved back. “See you later,” she called before she entered the forested area with Jake at her heels. The dog certainly provided welcome companionship and he’d warn her if a bear happened nearby, although the November hibernation season drew ever closer. As did winter.

  “I love autumn, Jake.” She laughed when the spaniel dropped a tennis ball at her feet. “Where did that come from? Have you a stash of those out here somewhere?”

  She threw the ball for him. “I’ll probably regret doing that,” she muttered, knowing her new friend would have to wait for the return trip back to play. Nothing would distract her from working all afternoon. Even a cute, brown-eyed sweetheart like Jake.

  An image of a handsome blue-eyed male popped into her mind. Lyndon, on the other hand, could provide a distraction as often as necessary, especially if his mental presence meant she’d complete the book on deadline.

  Chapter 4

  Two nights later, Emma flopped onto her back; she couldn’t sleep again. Insomnia had become a four-letter word. If she’d been paid for time spent tossing and turning, she could retire.

  First the hero and now the heroine was causing her grief. She’d tweaked her book’s plot a dozen times and she still couldn’t decide on her heroine’s employment. She’d changed the hero’s career from a real estate agent to self-employed carpenter. For the life of her, she couldn’t meld the hero’
s arc with the heroine’s motivation. Nothing seemed to work as conflict between the main characters, except the underlying issue of the subplot. These new plotting issues created more and more stress as the deadline hung over her head.

  She needed to finish this book.

  She threw off the covers, grabbed fuzzy gray-patterned socks off the floor, and tugged them onto her feet. Perhaps a hot cup of camomile tea would relax her mind and finally induce sleep. She slipped her arms through the sleeves of the white hooded plush bathrobe Rachael provided her guests, covering her charcoal two-piece pajama set.

  Emma made her way toward the kitchen, guided along the hallway by the nightlight in the wall outlet. She yawned and stretched her back, as she wandered into the kitchen and discovered the refrigerator door wide open. Had she or Lyndon forgotten to close it? Or had someone broken into the cabin? A body appeared as the door slowly closed, and Emma’s breath caught as she stood frozen in place. A second later, she recognized the man appearing into view.

  “You nearly frightened me to death,” she accused Lyndon, as she blew out her breath.

  “Sorry. I’m making myself a sandwich,” he muttered.

  She walked closer and he stepped away from the refrigerator.

  Emma inhaled sharply and gaped. Lyndon stood calmly buttering two thick slices of multigrain bread, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts. Her eyes gazed from his broad shoulders to the smattering of curls on his well-defined chest. His biceps worked as he built the ham and cheese sandwich flavored with mayo and mustard. Her gaze moved down the length of him past his well-muscled thighs to his calves and bare feet. She caught herself licking her lips, not certain whether the sandwich or the half-naked maker enticed her more.

  “Want some of this?” he inquired, meeting her eyes.

  Yes, please. And then she realized he meant the sandwich. “No, but thanks for asking. I’m making a cup of tea.”

  “All right. Lots here if you change your mind.”

  Lots of sexy manhood there also. The mere sight of him took her breath away. “Why aren’t you wearing your bathrobe?” she mumbled aloud.

  Lyndon’s hand paused, sandwich halfway to his mouth. “Oh, crap,” he whispered gazing down at himself. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else in the kitchen.”

  Emma waved off his concern. “Surprised you’re not cold. It’s not that warm in here,” she commented nonchalantly while her pulse raced. She didn’t begrudge his lack of foresight, enjoying the scenery immensely. She hadn’t suspected such a sexy male specimen was hidden beneath those plaid shirts and faded work jeans. His physical work definitely paid dividends.

  “I’ll be right back,” he called, setting his sandwich on the counter and then his wiry, handsome self dashed down the hallway.

  Emma filled the kettle at the sink. “Don’t cover up on my account,” she whispered, smiling. She’d swear he’d actually blushed a bit. Finally, she’d unsettled him instead of her being embarrassed.

  She set Rachael’s favorite old-fashioned whistling kettle on a burner to boil the water, then dug a mug and box of teabags out of the cupboard. She fastened the ties on her bathrobe before settling onto one of the barstools. She gazed at the delicious-looking sandwich he’d deserted in his haste, contemplating trying a bite. Cheese only, of course, not the ham. She shook her head and hopped down, opening the fridge and peeking inside. She’d swear she left an individual yogurt in here. After shifting several containers aside, she found it.

  “Yes!” She opened the container, plucked a spoon out of the cutlery drawer, and settled back on her barstool.

  Lyndon returned to the kitchen, wearing another of Rachael’s white plush bathrobes, and grabbed his sandwich. “Sure you don’t want any?”

  She toasted him with her yogurt container. “No thanks.”

  “That stuff is horrible.” He took a huge bite of his sandwich and chewed.

  Emma ate another spoonful of yogurt. “You probably haven’t even tried it.”

  Lyndon nodded. “Once. Gross.”

  “What flavor?”

  He stared at her as if she was speaking a foreign language.

  “Blueberry? Cherry? Vanilla? What flavor was it?” She stared at him, waiting for his response.

  “That stuff comes in flavors?”

  “Yeah. If you ate plain old yogurt, then I can see your point. Not a fan of plain either,” she admitted.

  He attempted to peek inside her container. “What flavor is that?”

  “Blackberry,” she mumbled through another mouthful.

  “Hmm….”

  “What does that mean? Hmm?” She attempted to suppress a smile. “If you’d like to try it, just say so.”

  He polished off the huge sandwich and wiped his mouth on the paper towel he’d used to clean some spilled mustard off the countertop. “All right. I’ll try a bit. A little bit.”

  She dipped her teaspoon into the container, extracted a half spoonful, and then held it out to him. “Try this.”

  He gazed into her eyes, obvious wariness holding him back.

  She waved the spoon in front of his mouth, tempting him further. “It’s really good,” she whispered in a singsong manner, smiling.

  He leaned forward and opened his mouth, his eyes never leaving hers.

  She swallowed hard, gazing at those full luscious tempting lips. Oh, right. Yogurt. She slipped the spoon into his mouth and his lips slid over the spoon removing the food. He held the yogurt in his mouth for a few seconds and she caught herself holding her breath. He chewed briefly before swallowing, and then a smile appeared on his face.

  “Not bad.” He waggled his hand. “Might need another sample to ensure I like it.”

  She extended her hand, offering him another spoonful.

  His warm hand gently wrapped around hers and he guided the spoon into his mouth. She couldn’t force her gaze from his lips. Would he taste like blackberries if she kissed him? What would his lips feel like on hers? Warm? Soft? The kettle started to whistle and she reared back.

  “Need to make my tea,” she muttered, not appreciating the interruption.

  Lyndon chuckled and she could feel his eyes boring into her as she poured the water into the mug. How could yogurt contribute to such an unsettling and arousing exchange with Lyndon? All he’d asked for was a sampling. One spoonful of her snack. She shook herself. She’d clearly read more into this encounter than necessary.

  Lyndon stepped up behind her and reached one arm over her shoulder, his chest brushing against her back while his hand removed a mug from the cupboard. “Is there enough hot water in the kettle? I’ll have a cup of tea also.”

  She swallowed hard as the masculine woodsy scent of his cologne or perhaps shower gel teased her nose. He smelled like the forest after a rainfall. He could accidently wrap one of those strong arms around her while he stood there. Accidently, of course. She wouldn’t scold him. A sense of loss and disappointment swept over her when he moved away and tossed a teabag into his mug.

  Mindlessly, she filled it to the top for him before setting the kettle back on the stove and turning off the burner.

  “Thank you,” he said, softly. “I take it black. Like you.”

  “Or I put a little brandy in. Sometimes. Only an ounce or so. Or honey. Sometimes I like honey, too. Well, not at the same time. One or the other.” She closed her mouth, realizing she’d been rambling. She couldn’t stay here and watch him drink his tea, those tempting lips blowing on the hot beverage before taking a sip. Then kissing her. Him tasting so delicious. She shook herself out of that fantasy.

  “I’ll take this with me,” she mumbled, lifting her mug off the counter. “See you in the morning.”

  “Goodnight,” he said so quietly she almost didn’t hear.

  “Goodnight,” she replied, moving down the hallway and silently berating herself for being such a wimp. She should have stayed and talked with him. For the life of her, she couldn’t think of a single topic of interest that they shared.
Unless he’d initiated a conversation, she would have sat silent as a stone.

  But they’d agreed to stay out of each other’s way, hadn’t they? Decided they’d do their own thing? He’d warned her to leave his beer alone. She’d refused to cook for him. Well, that agreement had gone out the window the first night. Still, he hadn’t shown interest in getting to know her better. After gazing at him in those boxers, she may have been too eager to insist they keep their distance.

  Perhaps she’d linger over breakfast and initiate a conversation. If she ever dozed off and then didn’t sleep in. He usually ate breakfast by seven-thirty and headed out to the garage by eight. Maybe lunch. She’d talk to him during lunch.

  And she would certainly wander out to the kitchen at midnight many another night, fully intending to make herself a cup of tea. Just in case.

  * * *

  Lyndon finished nailing the stud on the wall he’d been framing for the newly started workshop area this afternoon. Unbidden thoughts of Emma popped into his head and he wondered what she was busy doing. And Jake. His dog never left the woman’s side; the defector seemed completely smitten with their new cabinmate. Not that he could blame the canine; Lyndon had become fond of her also. He glanced at the time on the wall clock he’d purchased for the workshop. If Mike was anything like him while working, he’d lose track of time and find himself on the outs with the wife. Good investment indeed.

  Three o’clock. He should work for another couple hours and then call it a day.

  Lyndon smiled at the thought of returning to the cabin. Finding someone there to greet him had become a pleasant occurrence every evening. He couldn’t believe how much he looked forward to sharing dinner with another person, for a change. And Emma could converse on any number of topics of interest to both of them. Jake never kept up his end of a conversation, and Lyndon enjoyed Emma’s company.