Nerd Gone Wild

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  She blew out an indignant breath. “So this isn’t really about your having the hots for me, is it? It’s about simplifying your job! It would be very inconvenient for you if I turned up missing. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “That’s what I’m saying.” Maybe a little hostility was healthy. Maybe then she wouldn’t throw any more sexual vibes his way.

  She stood with her hands on her hips, legs spread in a belligerent stance. “I’m beginning to get the picture. Before I left, you had everything running like clockwork, just the way your little anal mind likes it, and now I’ve thrown a monkey wrench into your neat little world.”

  “That’s one way of describing it.” He wished that he could forget that she was most likely naked under that flannel. She might not be feeling sexual desire right now, but he hadn’t completely tamed his woody. He held his towel in supposed nonchalance while he allowed it to dangle protectively in front of that area.

  “And you can’t deal with the unexpected, can you, Mitchell?”

  “I’d rather not.” In his line of work, the unexpected meant he hadn’t done his homework and had left an opening for the bad guys.

  “Well, using your word, that’s tough. Expect the unexpected. And now I’d appreciate it if you’d take your unwelcome presence back to your own room.”

  “I was just leaving. See you in the morning.”

  “Not if I see you first.”

  Once his back was turned and he was on his way to his room, he could allow himself the grin that had been threatening ever since she’d started her tirade. The exchange had actually gone very well. He’d rather have her mad at him than feeling sorry for him. Less temptation.

  He’d also shored up his role as Mr. Killjoy, the nerdy wet blanket, someone who would rather see her safe than happy. He wouldn’t mind seeing her both safe and happy, but with her current trajectory, the two seemed mutually exclusive. So he’d opt for safe, and let happy take a back seat for now.

  * * *

  Ally woke up in the dark to the alarm on the watch she’d shoved under her pillow. She turned it off immediately, not wanting to take the chance that Mitchell might hear it. Then she listened for the howl of the wind and the splat of snow against her window. Blissful silence greeted her.

  Maybe the storm was over! On that happy note, she bopped out of bed, gasping at how cold the room was.

  Shivering, she whipped off her pajamas and struggled into her clothes.

  Seven o’clock. Mitchell would be sawing logs because he wouldn’t yet be acclimated to how late the sun came up on winter mornings in Alaska. He’d sleep in late, just as she had on her first morning.

  She wished to hell it would be his last morning here, too, but she couldn’t think of a way to run him out of town. So she’d have to make herself scarce. If the storm had truly ended, she’d get out there with her camera before Mitchell even knew she was gone.

  What a thrill, to anticipate a few hours of freedom without him hovering around peering behind every tree searching for the Big Bad Wolf. He was more overprotective than Grammy, and that was saying something. To think that for a brief time last night she’d imagined herself sexually attracted to him.

  To think for a while she’d imagined him sexually attracted to her. Maybe the glare from the lamp had reflected off his glasses and she’d mistaken it for a gleam of desire. A man who needed predictability in all avenues of his life would run from honest-to-God lust. Nothing about lust was predictable, as witnessed by Betsy and Clyde last night.

  She hoped Betsy and Clyde were sleeping in, too. She would prefer putting a few more hours between last night’s hokey-pokey in the hallway and a face-to-face with Betsy. However, making herself a sandwich before she left for the day would mean she could avoid Mitchell that much longer.

  He wasn’t the type to go wandering around looking for her once she gave him the slip. Not someone as frightened of the unexpected as Mitchell. She’d left her parka and boots in the hall, so all she needed was her backpack. Grabbing it by the strap, she tiptoed out of her room, ready to begin Operation Ditch Mitchell.

  As she crept down the stairs, guided only by the light from the Tiffany lamp on the registration desk, she heard the sound of someone humming “Keep Your Sunny Side Up.” A female someone. A female someone working in the kitchen. Betsy.

  Ally sighed and considered her options. Number one, it was still dark outside. Leaving early had seemed like a great idea, but in reality she wasn’t familiar with the area and wandering around in the snow with a flashlight didn’t seem particularly productive. She wasn’t prepared to take pictures of animals in the dark, wasn’t even sure how to do that.

  Number two, if she planned to stay out there for hours, she needed something to eat. All the available food was in the kitchen with Betsy. And Ally would have to talk to Betsy sooner or later, anyway.

  Number three, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee made Ally’s mouth water. She’d had some of Betsy’s coffee yesterday, and it was ambrosia. Betsy owned a manual coffee bean grinder and wielded it like a maestro. For a hot cup of coffee on an icy cold morning, Ally could handle some uncomfortable moments with Betsy.

  She could even handle seeing Clyde in the kitchen, too, so long as Clyde hadn’t backed Betsy up against the refrigerator. If Betsy kept humming, that was a good sign. Most women didn’t hum “Keep Your Sunny Side Up” while having sex. Of course, with Betsy, anything was possible.

  Ally walked into the kitchen to find Clyde sitting at the table with a giant mug of coffee in front of him. He’d positioned himself so that he could watch Betsy moving around the kitchen, and boy, was he watching. When she leaned over to put a pan of biscuits in the oven, his Adam’s apple bobbed and he started to get out of his chair.

  “Good morning!” Ally said brightly, figuring she needed to announce herself quickly before Clyde acted on his impulse and leaped on Betsy. Judging from last night, he didn’t require a bed to start the proceedings.

  Clyde whipped around and sat down again with a thump. To his credit, after his first look of deep disappointment, he smiled at Ally. “Good morning to you, too, Ally. How’s your head this morning after all those Irish coffees?”

  “Pretty good, actually.” How’s your ding-dong after all those orgasms?

  Betsy closed the oven door and turned toward Ally. Her chin was red with whisker burn and her eyes sparkled. “Hey, there, Ally! Isn’t this a gorgeous day?”

  Ally swallowed. “Sure is! I mean, I’m sure it will be, once the sun comes up, although when it’s still dark, it’s a little hard to know whether it’ll be a nice day or not… isn’t it?” She tried to pretend she had no idea why Betsy was in such good spirits, and really tried to block out the memory of what she’d heard while stranded in the kitchen with Mitch.

  “I wasn’t talking about the weather.” Betsy winked at Clyde. “Was I, Poopsie?”

  “I don’t suppose you were, Kitty-cat.” Clyde gazed at her with obvious adoration.

  Betsy blew him a kiss. Then she glanced at Ally. “Isn’t he the cutest thing you ever saw?”

  Ally scrambled for a response. Clyde, aka Poopsie, looked like a gnome, with his hooked nose, thin hair, and caved-in chest. He might be five-four if he stood up very straight.

  “You’re embarrassing the poor girl, Kitty-cat,” Clyde said. “She doesn’t know what to make of me sitting here in your kitchen.”

  Betsy grinned at Ally. “Oh, I think she knows exactly what to make of it. And let me tell you, Ally, he was worth the wait.”

  “You’re the one who kept me waiting, Kitty-cat,” Clyde said fondly. “I told you I was ready any time, anywhere.”

  Ally gulped.

  “And you certainly backed up that boast, Poopsie. Ally, this man is a marvel. Such stamina.”

  “You bring out the beast in me,” Clyde said.

  “Hey, is there any more coffee?” Ally wondered if Betsy kept a travel mug around somewhere. Ally was ready to travel. A girl could only be expecte
d to deal with so much information.

  “Yeah, I’d love a cup of coffee, too.”

  Ally spun around. Sure enough, Mitchell stood in the kitchen doorway. “What are you doing up?” she asked.

  “It’s after seven. I always get up by seven.”

  “But it’s still dark out!” She couldn’t believe that her escape plan was already compromised. She also couldn’t believe that he had on dress slacks, a dress shirt, a tie, and his same ugly sport coat. Surely he knew that it looked ridiculous in general, and especially ridiculous in Porcupine, Alaska.

  He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter if it’s dark or light. As you pointed out, I’m a creature of habit. I like routine.” He glanced at her backpack. “Going somewhere?”

  Chapter Ten

  The minute he’d heard Ally’s alarm coming through the bug under her bed, Mitch was wide awake. It felt as if he’d been asleep all of two hours, and no light shone through the ice and snow coating his window, but apparently Ally was getting up. And that meant he was, too, dammit. He’d just started to feel warm.

  He hit the button that lit up the dial on his watch. Seven already. She might be trying to sneak out of the lodge without him, and he couldn’t allow that to happen. He shoved back the covers. Pulled them up again, shivering. God.

  Okay, so his room was colder than a meat locker. Jaw clenched to keep his teeth from chattering, he climbed out of bed and grabbed his wrinkled dork clothes—slacks, shirt, tie, and jacket. Ugly though they were, he couldn’t get them on fast enough.

  Damn, it was cold. He’d promised himself as a kid in Chicago that he’d never live in snow country again. Yet here he was, his nuts drawn up tight against the arctic air as he tried to get his pants on before his penis froze up and dropped off.

  He needed other clothes. Warmer clothes. He needed long underwear, thermal-lined sweats, and heavy-duty sweaters. Hell, he needed his leather biker jacket and chaps. This dopey outfit he was wearing didn’t work in Alaska. He’d suspected that, but he hadn’t dared modify it and tip off Ally that he was someone other than who she’d thought.

  So down the stairs he went, feeling the cold air climbing his pants legs while he listened to the conversation in the kitchen to make sure Ally hadn’t left yet. She hadn’t. Furthermore, Clyde was still in residence, and he and Betsy were to the sickening pet-name stage. Mitch braced himself and walked to the kitchen doorway.

  Big surprise, Ally wasn’t glad to see him. And she definitely had plans for the day because she had her backpack with her. On the one hand, he wanted them all to be snowed in so she couldn’t take off on a shooting expedition, which would mean he’d have to go with her. On the other, he’d love to have a tropical heat wave that would melt all that godawful white stuff by noon.

  “Nobody’s going anywhere until we do some shoveling,” Betsy said. “Open the front door, there’ll be a wall of snow to meet you. Open the back door and step out, and you’ll sink crotch-deep in drifts. Right, Poopsie?”

  Mitch winced, both at hearing Clyde’s nickname tumbling from Betsy’s mouth and remembering how much he hated to shovel snow. Besides, no way was he going to aid and abet Ally’s plan to leave the lodge.

  “That’s right, Kitty-cat,” Clyde said. “I pried the front door open this morning when I went out in the hall to pick up the loose change I dropped last night. And there’s nothing there but solid white. We’ll have to go out the back way and tunnel in.”

  “Or not,” Mitch said hopefully. He chose to ignore Clyde’s reference to loose change on the hall floor, because he didn’t want to think about how Clyde had spilled his money from his pockets. “I’ll bet you have a chess set around here somewhere, or wait! I have cards. There’s an idea! The four of us could play some poker. The snow will melt sometime, right?”

  Ally glared at him. “I’d rather shovel.”

  “Somebody has to shovel,” Betsy said. “Poopsie has to get back to the Top Hat in time to open up at ten. I have to run over to Heavenly Provisions and pick up eggs and condoms.”

  Clyde coughed and got red in the face. “Kitty-cat, I thought you said we didn’t need to worry about that.”

  “Oh, not for us! I’m way past the need for them, and with you not having anything but solo sex for years, we certainly don’t have to worry about disease. I’m talking about these two.”

  “Save your money, Betsy,” Ally said. “Mitchell admitted last night that his interest in me is strictly business. He’s afraid that if something happens to me, he’ll have a lot of extra paperwork to do, and he would hate that. Right, Mitchell?”

  Last night that assessment had seemed useful. This morning he was uncomfortable with such a sleazy concept, especially since Betsy and Clyde were looking at him as if they’d like to feed him to the nearest grizzly bear. “That’s not quite the whole story,” he said.

  Betsy snorted. “Didn’t think so. I’d pegged you for a better man than that. I’ll stock up on those condoms.”

  Mitch couldn’t have her buying supplies they didn’t need, though. “That won’t be necessary,” he said.

  “You brought your own?”

  “Uh, no, but Ally and I won’t be… that is, we’re not—”

  “What he means is,” Ally said, “that I would sooner bed down with a musk ox than sleep with Mitchell.”

  Clyde shook his head. “Lovers’ spat. Happens all the time when you’re itching to do the deed but holding off because you’re not sure it’s the right idea. Isn’t that so, Kitty-cat?”

  “Yep. You heard how Clyde and me argued over at the Top Hat last night. We’d been doing that on a regular basis, until we finally figured out that we wanted to get in each other’s pants.”

  “That’s, um, not our situation,” Mitch said.

  “You just said a mouthful,” Ally agreed darkly.

  Betsy clapped her hands together. “Listen to you two! You have it bad. But you’ll have to postpone your fighting and making up while we get ourselves fed and then dug out of this snow. Sit down and I’ll bring you both coffee.”

  Mitch took a seat, and Ally chose the one across the table from him.

  “Here you go!” She set an Alaska-sized mug in front of both of them. “And I see Poopsie needs a refill.”

  “I’ll take anything you got, Betsy.” Clyde reached around and pinched her on the butt, and she reacted by laughing and slapping his hand.

  Mitch glanced across the table at Ally, to see if she’d meet his gaze and indicate that a tiny bit of last night’s bonding experience was left in her. Nope. She looked at a point just beyond his right shoulder, as if bonding with him was the single thing she planned to avoid forever.

  Figuring that now was as good a time as any to confess his sins to Betsy, Mitch cleared his throat. “Uh, Betsy, there’s something I need to let you know. About the bathroom door opening off my bedroom.”

  Betsy laid several strips of bacon in an iron skillet. “It sticks, right? I should have warned you about that. I need to get up there and plane off about a quarter inch below the lock and it’ll be fine.”

  “Well, that’s not the problem.” Mitch cast another look at Ally, but she’d abandoned him. “See, it was locked, and Ally was in the shower, and I heard her squeal. Turns out it was the water going cold, but I didn’t realize that, so I—” Sitting here at the breakfast table, he couldn’t believe he’d done such a stupid-ass thing. And all to save Ally from a cold shower.

  “Jimmied the lock, I suppose.” Clyde nodded in understanding. “Wanted to check on her to see if it was a mouse or something. I would have done the same, son. I can help Betsy with that lock if it doesn’t work right, now.”

  “The lock’s no big deal,” Betsy said as she began to beat a bowl of eggs with a wire whisk. “Now the door itself, I couldn’t replace that. It’s a hundred years old, at least. But locks are no problem. Don’t worry about it, Mitchell. You have bigger fish to fry, if you get my meaning.”

  “The door’s… uh… how old?” Mitch wondered
how much snow he’d have to shovel to make up for this.

  “At least a hundred years.”

  “The frame, too?”

  “The whole shootin’ match is that old. Frames and doors. That particular one sticks a mite, but the rest are perfect. I’m real proud of those doors. No warping, no cracking, nothing. As good as the day they were made. People knew craftsmanship back in those days.”

  “Well, the door may not be quite as good as the day it was made.” Mitch felt completely miserable. “Not anymore.”

  Holding the bowl of whipped eggs against her hip, Betsy turned toward the table. “What’s wrong with the door?”

  “I sort of… broke it down.”

  “Whoa, Nellie!” Clyde’s eyes widened.

  Betsy’s jaw dropped. Then she put the bowl back on the counter and turned off the flame under the bacon. “Guess I’d better see about this.”

  “I’ll go with you, Kitty-cat.” Clyde pushed back from his chair.

  “I’ll come, too.” Mitch thought he should be there for the first viewing. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he thought.

  “Me, too.” Ally stood.

  “That’s okay, Ally.” Mitch figured she was enjoying watching him twist in the wind. She probably wanted to witness the scene when Betsy laid into him. “Stay and enjoy your coffee.”

  She met his gaze and shrugged. “I’m partly to blame. I’m the one who squealed.” Instead of mockery, there was sympathy in her eyes.

  He was surprised, but he’d take whatever help he could get. “It’s not your fault, but if you want to come up with us, that’s fine.”

  “I think I should.”

  “Thanks.” Appreciative for the show of support, he gestured for her to go ahead of him out the kitchen door. “A hundred years old,” he murmured to her as they climbed the stairs behind Betsy and Clyde. “Man, I hated to hear that.”

  “I know. I was hoping she’d picked it up at Home Depot.”