Speaking of Love

by Ophelia London

  Rick did. He was a little concerned. They might actually be driving straight into a storm. “Grab your phone,” he said. “See if you can get a signal here. And check the weather radar. I’ll try to find a station.” Rick moved the dials up and down the radio, but all he heard was static.

  Mac was staring down at her phone. “Umm…”

  “Is the battery dead?”

  “Yeah,” Mac said, displaying her phone’s blank face. “I have a charger in my bag.”

  “Here.” Rick held out his cell to her, making sure his hand didn’t touch hers. He needed to concentrate on driving.

  Mac started moving her fingers across the face of his phone. After a few moments, she muttered an “uh-oh.”

  “That doesn’t sound very promising.”

  Mac held the phone up so Rick could see the face. It was worse than he thought. The whole map range of their vicinity was covered in orange. When had that happened?

  Mac lowered the phone. “Are we almost there?” Rick heard the worry in her voice.

  “Another ten minutes,” he said. Then he stepped on the gas. The heavy truck with its four-wheel drive plowed easily through the snowy road. Rick knew it was better to get off the highway as quickly as possible in case it got worse. But then he wondered, if it was snowing this hard now, how much worse would it get as the day progressed?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Where are we?” Mac asked.

  “We’re here,” Rick answered.

  “This place?” She assumed they had pulled off early to wait out the storm. “I thought you said your place is called Little Cub.”

  “It is.” He was pointing at a sign on the door under the front porch light. Although maybe front porch wasn’t the right term. The porch wrapped around the entire house. So did the one on the second floor. And if Mac was seeing correctly, there was also a third floor. And a fourth?

  “And, it’s Lil’ Cub, to be precise,” Rick added. “It’s a funny name, don’t you think? My brother came up with it when he was a kid.”

  Mac was silent for a moment, counting the steps of the switchback wooden staircase attached to the outside of the house, connecting the ground floor to the top floor. Were there fifty?

  “I wasn’t thinking it’s a funny name,” Mac said, “as much as a deceptive misnomer.”

  Rick stepped down on the emergency brake and turned to her. “What do you mean?”

  Mac couldn’t help laughing. “Rick, this place is huge.” She gestured toward the four-story house that was literally built on the side of a mountain. “What you described as a cozy log cabin called Lil’ Cub is nothing like this place. What is the square footage?”

  “I have no idea,” he said, opening his door. Cold air blew inside the cab of the truck. “Three thousand. Four. What does it matter?”

  She laughed again at his answer, but then felt foolish. She’d never seen where his parents lived. Maybe it was a castle. She’d been to Rick’s apartment; it was close to the paper, which might be the only reason he lived there.

  “Are you coming in?” he asked when she hadn’t moved. She was still staring at the big house with the red roof. Okay, so the outside was built of split logs, but could that really qualify it as a log cabin?

  She climbed out of the truck, slid the back of the seat forward, and reached for her bag.

  “I’ll take care of that,” Rick said. He was suddenly standing right behind her. His nearness startled her, but it also felt like a blanket of warmth wrapped around her body.

  “I can carry it,” she protested automatically, trying to haul out the heavy bag, but it was caught on something.

  “I know you can,” he said. “But I need you to unlock the front door. My hands are full.” He lifted his arms out to his sides, displaying that he was already carrying the cooler and his own bag. “The keys are in my pocket,” he said. “If you don’t mind.”

  Mac looked down at the front of his jeans and swallowed. “Umm…”

  “Just pull them out, Mac,” Rick said, and then added, “I dare you.”

  She looked up at him. He was grinning.

  “Rick, I…”

  “I’m just playing around,” he said, laughing. “But my hands are starting to freeze. Seriously, you need my keys to unlock the door.”

  “I’m not going in…there,” she said, her eyes involuntarily flicking to the area in question.

  “Mac,” Rick said. “We’re both adults here. We’ve been traveling for three hours. Aren’t you ready to go inside?”

  She blinked about a million times, staring straight at the bulge in his jeans. She felt like she was about to faint.

  When did you become such a prude? one part of her brain asked. It’s Rick.

  Yeah, another part of her brain chimed in. Exactly. It’s Rick.

  “Hello?” he said, breaking into her over-heating thoughts. “Impending frostbite happening here.”

  “Fine,” she said. “Just…hold still.” She could tell he was grinning again. She could feel it, even though she refused to look at his face.

  In order to go ahead with the delicate procedure, she had to step right up to him, closer than when they had shared a slow dance on their first non-date. Thinking of that moment wasn’t helping Mac’s concentration.

  Feeling the warmth of his body directly in front of her, she took in a deep breath and gingerly slid her fingers inside his pocket, biting her lip in concentration. She could hear his breathing shallow, just like hers had. With the tip of her finger, she felt the cold touch of the metal key ring. Holding her breath, she curled one finger around it and pulled it free of his pocket. She felt Rick’s warm breath on her cheek. While still standing before him, she looked up, not knowing what she should do next…even though the natural impulse was almost blinding.

  The way Rick was grinning made her blush furiously.

  “What a champ.” Then he actually winked. “Here, take this,” he said, holding out the cooler to her. “I’ll grab yours.”

  Mac took it, then stepped back as Rick hauled her bag from behind the seat.

  “So, was that one of your moves? The pocket thing?” she asked, feeling like she needed to lay face-down in the snow for a while to cool off.

  “It will be if it worked.”

  Mac jerked her chin. “Just make sure I’m out of the room when you try that on Brandy. Witnessing you two flirting is not part of my job description.”

  Rick laughed and strolled toward the front porch, taking the stairs two at a time. “What makes you think I want Brandy near my front pocket?”

  Mac climbed the steps and followed him into the house. The ceiling shot up two more stories. The wall facing the snowy hills was almost all windows, tall and slanted like the roof. The staircase had open landings, sort of like a loft. The decor was rustic and homey and airy, like something you would see in a bed and breakfast catalog for five hundred dollars a night.

  “Wow,” Mac couldn’t help saying.

  “I know,” Rick said. “Sorry.”

  She turned to him, confused.

  “It’s freezing in here,” he added. He dropped the items he was carrying and walked to the thermostat on the wall. He stared at it for a moment then pushed a finger on its digital face. “Hmm.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure.” He pressed more buttons and frowned. “The heat should be on.”

  Mac walked toward a wall vent and waved her hand over it. “It doesn’t feel like it. What should we do?” she asked, pulling her shirt tight around herself; it really was cold.

  When she turned to Rick, he was staring at her. “Um, maybe you should put on a scarf,” he suggested, “and another, um, sweater.” He was looking directly below the opening of her V-neck. Mac had always pegged Rick as the leg-man type. But good for him. Even though there wasn’t much in the upstairs region to see on her, it was still nice to be appreciated.

  His eyes met hers. She tilted her head and grinned. “You were saying?”
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br />   “I…I’ll call and have someone come out and look at the furnace as soon as possible.” He walked toward the stairs. “Do you have a preference?”

  “Is that a trick question?”

  Rick chuckled. “Which floor do you want to sleep on? The pool table is on the first, so that can get noisy if we decide to get a game going. The third floor has better views.”

  Mac looked around. “I don’t see a pool table.”

  “We’re on the second floor right now,” Rick said. “There’s one bedroom on the first floor, down there, two rooms on the third, and one on the fourth.”

  “Four floors and four bedrooms?” Mac asked. “How many rooms does Big Cub have?”

  Rick looked at her. “Huh?”

  “Nothing,” she said. “Where my room is doesn’t really matter.” Then she thought for a moment. “Where is yours?”

  “Third,” he said.

  “Well, I might as well take the third then too, right? Since you’re already going that way.”

  “Sounds good,” Rick said, as he turned to climb the stairs.

  Mac followed behind him up the carpeted steps. She paused at the first landing and looked down into the kitchen. At the top of the stairs, Rick took a left, passed one door, and continued down the hall, which ended at a closed door. He paused in front of it for a moment and then nudged it open. “Here you go,” he said.

  The room was lovely. It had the same pale oak board walls as the rest of the house, right down to the floor. A thick black rug led from the doorway to the center of the room. Two dark wooden nightstands flanked the sled queen-sized bed. The flat screen TV on the wall was probably a little too big, but Mac figured she could get used to it.

  “Mine?” Mac asked, walking into the room.

  “It has the best view,” Rick said, pointing toward the window.

  Mac pulled back the curtains to reveal the snow-covered hills and trees. It was breathtaking.

  “Private bathroom, too,” he said, pointing toward an entrance off to the side of the tall dresser. Rick flipped a switch and the ceiling fan came on. “No air flow in here with the window shut,” he observed.

  “Where’s your room?” Mac asked.

  “This way,” he said, crossing into the hall.

  Where they had taken a hard left at the top of the stairs before, Rick turned right. It wasn’t even a proper bedroom, more like a loft cut into the side of the house, positioned directly in front of the tall windows. The head of the bed faced the glass. The view from lying down must be spectacular.

  Mac had a quick flash of waking up in that bed and catching that view first thing in the morning. Then she imagined Rick in bed, too, and she could practically feel him beside her. For the first time with Rick, she felt a genuine longing.

  “This is, um, nice,” she said. “Do you sleep here every time?”

  “If I can,” Rick said. “Sometimes we have to share.”

  Mac didn’t like the sound of that. The sudden image of Brandy in his bed, waking up to that view, made her a little uncomfortable. She caught Rick’s eyes on her, looking almost wistful. He’d evidently been thinking about Brandy in that bed, too. Swell.

  “Why don’t you settle in,” Rick suggested, gesturing back the way they had come, “while I go call the property manager.” He rubbed his hands together. “Try to get someone out here to look at the heater.”

  “Okay,” Mac said, and they separated at the top of the stairs.

  …

  Rick went down two flights in approximately one-point-five seconds, needing to put some space between himself and Mac. What was she thinking, walking around in only that tight shirt in this weather, then staring down at his bed? It was all he could do to get out of that bedroom.

  Standing alone in the kitchen, he grabbed his cell and scrolled through the contact list. The call he placed was short, and it wasn’t good news. He looked up when he heard Mac come down the stairs.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, pointing at the phone still pressed to his ear.

  “It might not be until tomorrow,” he said.

  “What might?” Mac had brushed her hair and pulled on another sweater, thank goodness. A red scarf was also fastened around her neck, the same one she had tied around him when he’d gone out to check the flat tire. She looked adorable.

  “The heater,” he said, placing his phone on the counter.

  “Rick,” Mac said, wrapping her arms around herself despite the extra layers. “We’ll freeze with no heater. I can see my breath. Watch.” She blew air out her mouth to demonstrate. Of course, it wasn’t actually cold enough in the house to see her breath, but still, it was a cute try.

  “There’s a fireplace.” He pointed toward the hearth.

  Mac put her hands on her hips. “Um, city girl, here,” she said, jabbing a thumb to herself. “Used to modern conveniences. I wasn’t a girl scout. I have no idea how to build a fire.”

  “You’re in luck. My misspent youthful behavior fell just short of pyromania. Do me a favor,” he continued from over his shoulder, “and check all the windows on this floor to make sure they’re shut. I feel a draft coming from somewhere. I’ll grab the rest of our things out of the truck and be right back.”

  Mac nodded and Rick turned on his heel. The snow was still coming down. He made fast work of unpacking the truck and hustling back up to the cabin. When he returned, stopping first to stomp the snow off his boots, Mac was standing before a window in the living room, waving her hand in front of it like a magician.

  “They’re all closed,” she reported. “I even made sure they were locked.”

  “Have you always been such an overachiever?” he asked, dropping Mac’s purse and his backpack on the floor at the foot of the stairs.

  “Want me to check the upstairs windows, too?” she asked, adjusting the blinds.

  “Thanks, but I can do those later. Right now I’m going to go chop some wood.”

  Mac’s head snapped up. “This”—she grinned—“I have to see.”

  Rick zipped up his coat. “It’s not really a two-person job,” he said. “But I could use your help, though I might rough you up a little bit.” He couldn’t help smiling when her mouth fell open. Turning, he headed toward the back door that led to the deck. “Don’t forget your gloves.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  It might be twenty below outside and the middle of a blizzard, but Mac was not about to miss this.

  “I’ll be right behind you,” she called, knowing that her warmest sweater and boots were upstairs in her bag.

  Rick nodded, and the second he exited the door off the kitchen, she sprinted toward the stairs. From the view as she passed the third story window, she saw Rick trot down those outside stairs. She lost sight of him for a minute when she slid into the kitchen, pulling her sweater over her head. When she heard a door slam from below, he came into view again as he was coming out of a shed right across from the house.

  He was carrying an ax.

  Mac grabbed her coat and yanked open the door. From the second story deck, she stood and watched for a minute, just curious. He was walking from the shed down a steep grade to a stack of wood covered in a black tarp. He took one thick log and moved it over to a stump. After positioning the log so it was standing up on the stump, he held the ax in both hands, took one step back, and raised it over his head.

  Mac held her breath in anticipation, her gloved fingers curling around the deck’s railing.

  The next moment, the ax came crashing down, spitting the log in half with such force that each piece went flying off the stump in opposite directions.

  “Holy mother,” Mac said out loud.

  “Are you going to help or what?” Rick called up to her.

  “Just…” she breathlessly answered. “Coming.”

  She flipped up her hood and descended the wooden stairs. By the time she made it down the little hill, Rick had another log standing upright on the stump. After a mighty chop, he dropped the ax in the sno
w and retrieved the two flyaway pieces of wood.

  “What should I do?” Mac asked him.

  “Nothing,” Rick said, sounding a little winded. “I just wanted to see if you would stand in the snow if I asked you to.”

  “An ax can be used on people, too, ya know,” she said.

  Rick laughed. “I’m just kidding.” His breath wreathed his head. “Would you mind picking up the smaller pieces? I can carry the rest.”

  “Sure,” she said, happy to be of use and not just standing there and staring like a perv. While he continued chopping, Mac made a neat pile of the smaller wood. By the time he’d chopped four logs, Mac had sufficiently warmed up.

  “Did you play any sports in school?” Rick asked, slapping snow off his jeans.

  “Not really,” Mac said. “Why?”

  “Just wondering.” He grabbed the ax and trudged up the hill toward the shed.

  “I did student government and debate,” she added.

  “Hmm,” he said. “That’s useful information.”

  Mac shrugged to herself, then bent down to start gathering her baby stack of kindling.

  “Hey.”

  Hearing Rick’s voice, she lifted her chin…and was greeted with a snowball to the chest.

  Rick was halfway up the hill, between her and the cabin, grinning.

  “Really?” Mac said, standing up and brushing off the front of her jacket.

  Rick slid his hands into his pockets, only half grinning now. “Couldn’t help it. You were an easy target just sitting there. And you admitted that you didn’t play softball, so…”

  “Your investigative journalism skills astound me,” Mac said, walking up the hill toward him. “And you’re dead meat.” She bumped his shoulder as she passed. “The cardinal rule of snow fights is if you hit me, I hit you anytime I want…and anywhere I want.”

  Over her shoulder, she heard him chuckle. “In order for you and a snowball to come within ten feet of me,” he said, “I’d have to be completely caught off guard. And that will never happen.”

  Mac stopped in her tracks and turned around. Rick was about five feet back from her. Without moving her eyes from his, she knelt down, scooped up some snow, and packed it between her hands.