by Tawna Fenske
She was eyeing him oddly now, and Schwartz leaned back to put a few more inches of space between them.
“Want me to get you some water?”
“No. I’ll be fine,” she said. “I just—maybe I won’t go back to sleep.”
“What?”
“I have a deadline coming up for one of my biggest clients. I should probably get to work.”
He glanced at the wall clock. “It’s twelve thirty.”
“I’ll be quiet. I won’t disturb you, I promise.”
“That’s not the point.” He wasn’t sure what the point was or why he was sitting here arguing with her. He should get the hell out of here and head back to bed before he gave in to the temptation to reach out and push the sheet off those beautiful bare shoulders. She was wearing that pink tank top thing again with the tiny little straps and the fabric he remembered was as soft as forest moss.
Janelle sighed. “Look, I just don’t want to have the dream again. I’m afraid.” She looked down at her hands. “If I get up and start working, I won’t have to risk having the nightmare again.”
“Sure. Sleep deprivation is always a good solution.”
“What?”
“There’s a reason it’s used as a method of torture.”
“Yeah? Well, between that and the nightmares, I’d rather pick the form of torture that lets me be conscious and in control.”
She looked so lost and afraid that Schwartz wanted to gather her in his arms and hold her until she stopped shaking. A stupid idea. Still, he couldn’t leave her alone like this.
He frowned, already regretting the words he was about to utter. “Do you want to share my bed?”
“What?”
“If it’ll help, I mean. We can keep our distance from each other. I just thought maybe—”
“Yes,” she said, already vaulting off the rollaway. “I know it’s stupid, but I feel better having you there. I promise to keep my hands to myself. I promise I won’t touch you or grope you or—”
She was still uttering promises as she pulled his sweatshirt over her head and scrambled out of the room, but he’d stopped listening.
Because the truth was that he hoped like hell she’d break every single one of them.
…
Janelle wasn’t sure which of them drifted off first, but she woke with a start at three in the morning with Schwartz slumbering peacefully beside her.
She glanced around the darkened room, trying to figure out what had jarred her from sleep. The scrape of tree branches against the side of the house? The soft whimpers from Sherman having a dog dream out in the living room? The distant howling of coyotes or wolves or whatever the hell was making all that canine racket off in the distance?
It was funny, really. She’d spent her whole life surrounded by a cacophony of city sounds—the blare of horns, the clatter of streetcars, the shouts of people on the streets.
She’d expected to be enveloped in a blanket of silence here in the Montana wilderness, but that wasn’t the case at all. The sounds were still out there. They were just different sounds. Strange sounds, as unfamiliar to her as the man now sleeping beside her.
She turned on her side to look at him. He lay on his back with his hands balled into fists beside him. He didn’t snore the way Jacques used to sometimes, which surprised her. For some reason, she’d expected that a man who looked like a lumberjack would saw logs when he slept.
But Schwartz Patton was turning out to be nothing like she’d expected.
Jacques turned out to be nothing like you’d expected. You’re not exactly batting a thousand when it comes to judging a man.
Right.
There was that.
Janelle couldn’t deny the blaze of attraction surging between her and Schwartz. She was pretty sure he felt it, too, but he was keeping his distance. He’d been quick to nix any possibility of anything happening between them when he’d allowed her into his bed this time.
“You’re kidding me with this, right?” she’d asked as she stood at the foot of the bed earlier, watching him drag a giant bolster pillow out of the closet.
“What?” he’d asked as he dropped the pillow lengthwise down the middle of the bed.
“You’re putting up a barrier between us?”
“Damn right I am.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“I know. Why would they make a pillow that looks like a giant purple hot dog?”
She rolled her eyes and flopped onto her side of the bed, glaring daggers at the pillow. “It’s not purple, it’s aubergine.”
“What?”
“Aubergine. Like eggplant.”
He shook his head. “No, it definitely looks more like a hot dog than an eggplant.”
“It’s not a hot dog, it’s a bolster. Very trendy. Where did you even get this thing?”
“Some website my sister likes. It had to do with a clay farm or something like that.”
“Clay farm?”
“Yeah. That’s the name of the site.”
“Pottery Barn?”
“That’s right. I got it so I have something to lean on when I want to work in bed.”
She rolled her eyes and looked at the pillow again. What did it say that he’d avoided contact with his sister for a decade, but still relied on her advice for home décor? She knew from her own sister that Schwartz had kept in touch with his family in strange ways. He didn’t trust anyone but Grant with his contact information, but he sent thoughtful gifts for birthdays and weddings and Veteran’s Day. When Grant had proposed to her sister, Schwartz had sent flowers to Anna and a card of congratulations. He called his mother on her birthday and Mother’s Day, but he never came to visit.
He clearly didn’t hate his family, so what was the deal with the avoidance?
She sighed and poked at the stupid bolster pillow. “So aside from whether it’s an eggplant or a hot dog, it’s a blockade between us?”
“Yep.” Schwartz flopped down on the opposite side of the bed and turned his back to her and the bolster.
“You don’t trust me to keep my hands off you?” she asked.
“Maybe I don’t trust myself to keep my hands off you.”
“Which is it?”
“Good night, Janelle.” He’d flipped off the bedside lamp, plunging them into darkness for a moment. In the silence, she heard him sigh. “If you get scared or you have another nightmare, wake me up, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“Mmmph.”
Her eyes had adjusted to the darkness by then, and she could see the outline of his shoulder above the bolster. The moon was out, and there were pinpricks of stars scattered across the black felt sky spread above the treetops.
She closed her eyes, and before she knew it, she was drifting off to sleep.
But now it was three in the morning, and Janelle was wide awake. Not just wide awake, but staring at the sleeping man beside her like some kind of creeper.
She felt a little like a stalker for doing it, but it wasn’t like she’d had many other opportunities to study him when his guard was down. If there was one thing she’d learned in the last thirty-six hours, it was that Schwartz Patton’s guard was seldom down.
She’d seen glimmers of an unguarded Schwartz. His childlike love of Pop-Tarts. His unbridled adoration for the shaggy wolf-dog who’d been his companion for eight years. The haunted look in his eyes as he’d stashed the pistol he’d been holding in a cupboard above the bed.
Janelle was pretty sure he hadn’t known she was watching. At first, she’d merely been surprised to know he’d brought a gun to defend her from her nightmare. But as she watched him stare at the gun before tucking it into the cupboard, she caught a glimpse of something else. There was an odd sort of reverence in the way he handled that gun. Something that told her it was more to him than a tool of self-defense or a means of protecting her.
Janelle rolled over, determined to fall asleep again. She must have done it somehow, because when she w
oke again, it was nearly six in the morning. Still stupidly early, but at least she hadn’t had any more nightmares. She could count her blessings for that.
Or thank Schwartz.
She glanced over to see he hadn’t moved a muscle on the other side of the big purple hot dog. He was still on his back fast asleep with his rugged features arranged in peaceful slumber.
Janelle peeled the covers back on her side of the bed and stepped onto the cold wood floor. The house was chilly, which meant the fire was out again. She spotted Schwartz’s sweatshirt on the back of a chair and reached for it, comforted by the sheer size of the thing.
Kinda how she felt about Schwartz.
She pulled the sweatshirt on, warmed by both the thickness of it and the knowledge that it had been draped around his body. It smelled warm and woodsy and comforting. The thought of wood sent her padding over to the woodstove. She bent down to peer inside as Sherman looked up and thumped his tail.
“Want to go with me to grab some firewood?” she asked him.
The wolf-dog cocked his head to the side as though considering the offer.
Or considering whether she was up to the task.
“I won’t pick up the ax, I promise,” she assured him. “Or maul. Whatever. I saw him stack a punch of split logs on that rack right outside. I can just grab a few of those and some pieces of kindling and get this thing fired up.”
Sherman pricked his ears, looking skeptical.
“He showed me how to build a fire yesterday. I think I’ve got it. Come on. It’ll take thirty seconds, and I’ll have this place all toasty warm before he gets up.”
The dog still looked uncertain, but he stood up and followed her to the door. She thought about running back to her room for her jeans, but that seemed unnecessary. Her boots were right next to the door and they came all the way up to her knees. Schwartz’s sweatshirt nearly touched the tops of them, so she’d be plenty warm for the thirty seconds it took to run to the rack and grab a couple logs.
She stuffed her feet in her boots and began flipping bolts and locks, grateful Schwartz was cautious about security even out in the middle of nowhere. She pushed the door open and gestured to Sherman.
“You go do your business and I’ll grab the wood.”
A burst of chilly air hit her in the face, and she second-guessed her choice to dart outside in boots and a sweatshirt. But she could see the wood rack right there, and it would only take a few seconds.
She left the door open and scurried across the concrete pad along the edge of the cabin. She grabbed three logs—the most she could carry—and scampered back to the doorway. Sherman was still standing there, looking as pensive as a dog could look.
“Shit, we need kindling,” she said, dropping the logs in the doorway. “Little pieces of wood to get the fire started.”
She turned and scurried back to the rack, but she didn’t see any smaller hunks of wood. She spotted a scattered pile of sticks at the base of a tree just a few feet away, so she hurried over to it, her breath coming fast and foggy in the cool morning air.
She’d just reached the pile and bent to pick up the scraps when she heard Sherman growl behind her. She spun around to see him still standing in the doorway. The fur around his neck bristled like a lion’s mane, and he growled again, a deep, low rumble in his throat.
Holy shit. Was he going to attack her?
“Sherman? What’s wrong, boy?”
The dog barked sharply in response, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at a spot straight ahead, just off to her right.
He bared his teeth and growled again.
Janelle swiveled her gaze that direction and felt her blood run cold.
She gasped, dropping all the sticks in her hands, and opened her mouth to scream.
Chapter Five
Moose!
The word formed in Janelle’s brain, and she opened her mouth to scream it, but no sound came out. The creature stood fifteen feet away, its massive head framed by antlers that looked like saucer sleds fringed with spikes. It snorted and pawed a patch of ground marking the tip of a triangle linking it, the door, and Janelle.
Sherman barked in the doorway, and Janelle jumped, stubbing her toe on a tree stump. The moose lowered its head, and a big flap of skin swayed on its throat. The beast pawed the ground again and Sherman let out another low growl.
Janelle glanced toward the door. How fast could she cover the twenty feet? What if the damn thing charged? She had no idea how fast moose could run, or even if they were aggressive. Hell, maybe it was just looking for food. Did moose eat berries and leaves?
Or did moose eat people?
She swallowed hard and looked at the moose again. The massive animal took a step forward. A big step forward, cutting off her path to the door.
Holy shit, now what?
She glanced to her right, spotting a branch that looked low enough for her to grab. If she could reach it and pull herself up—
A flash of movement gave her no time to think. She shrieked and grabbed the branch, hoisting herself into the tree. She kicked out, her legs flailing in open air as she scrambled for purchase on the tree limb. She gripped the trunk with her bare thighs, not daring to look down as she dragged herself up. She reached for the next branch, then the next one and the next, thankful for her weekly visits to the climbing gym back home. The rough bark scraped her knees, her thighs, her arms, but she kept going. Her hair snagged on a branch, and she cried out in pain, but still didn’t look down.
A thunder of hooves sounded beneath her, followed by a fierce round of barking, a crack of gunfire, and a familiar voice.
“Janelle?”
She squeezed her eyes shut, not daring to look down. “Is it going to eat me?”
“What?”
“The moose.”
“Eat you.” He muttered something under his breath, but she couldn’t hear him over the blood pounding in her brain.
She had her eyes scrunched shut tight, still too terrified to open them. “Did you shoot the moose?”
“No.”
“Wasn’t that a gun I heard?”
“A warning shot. Sherman had him running the other way before I got here.”
“Oh.”
“Are you okay?”
His voice was directly beneath her now, so she opened her eyes and looked down. She’d been certain she was at least twenty feet off the ground, well out of the reach of the moose. She could see now that wasn’t the case, though she was well within Schwartz’s reach. He was standing there in boxer shorts and boots with a flannel shirt that gaped open to expose his chest. Good Lord, the man had an amazing body.
He was studying her with a mixture of concern and amusement. “Are you hurt?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“Your legs look a little scraped up. Not that I’m looking at your legs.”
“What?”
He cleared his throat. “I think you can come down now.”
“You’re sure it’s gone?”
“Positive.”
“It won’t come back?”
“Between the gunfire and the barking, I think he got the message he’s not welcome for breakfast.”
“It was a him?”
“Yep. Bull moose. A big one, too. They can get a little crazy in the fall when it’s mating season.”
“It’s mating season?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “For moose, I mean.”
Janelle craned her head to study the woods in the direction the big creature had gone. Well, the direction she assumed he’d gone. She’d kinda missed the details when she’d started climbing. God, she must look like such an idiot.
“You gonna let go of that branch anytime soon, or you want me to bring your breakfast out here?”
Janelle bit her lip. “I might be stuck.”
To his credit, he didn’t laugh, though one glance at his face told her it was an effort not to. “Just let go and I’ll catch you.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
She scrunched her eyes shut again and took a breath. Then she released her death grip on the branch, untangling her thighs from around it. She was airborne for an instant, free-falling through the pine-scented air.
Then she tumbled into his outstretched arms. His hands caught her around the back, and he pulled her tight against his bare chest. She opened her eyes to find herself staring up into his face.
“Hi,” she breathed.
“Hello. This is becoming a habit.”
“What?”
“You fell into my arms at the bus stop before we’d even introduced ourselves.”
“Maybe we should start a circus act.”
He nodded and turned toward the cabin. “Come on. Your legs are freezing. Let’s get you inside and get you warmed up.”
She started to protest that she could walk just fine on her own, but his chest was warm and solid, and he covered the distance to the front door in just a few short strides. Janelle sighed and relaxed against his chest, pretty sure this was wrong, but not caring all that much at the moment.
…
Fucking idiot.
“What?” Janelle asked.
Schwartz blinked, then set her on the edge of the bathroom counter as gently as he could. “What what?”
“You just muttered something under your breath,” she said, biting her lip as Schwartz eased back to put some distance between them. “It sounded like you called me an idiot.”
Dammit, no. He’d been calling himself an idiot. How the hell had he let her get away from the house without him hearing it? He should have woken up. He should have known the instant she’d gotten out of bed. She could have been lost or hurt or kidnapped or—
“I’m sorry,” she murmured.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for. I’m the one who let you get hurt.”
“Let me get hurt?” She cocked her head to the side. “I’m a big girl, Schwartz. I can injure myself without your permission.”
He shook his head, not wanting to argue. “Give me your leg.”
The fact that she didn’t question him at all nearly split his heart in half. She just stuck out her bare leg—the right one, the one with the biggest red scratches on it. What the hell did he do to deserve that sort of trust?
