Cold Snap (In From the Cold #1)

by Lee Brazil



  In From the Cold #1

  Pulp Friction 2014

  Cold Snap

  Professor of Literature Finn Lorensson is unashamedly a romantic. In his own words, he's a white knight in search of a charming prince to save. In fact, he's doing a good deed by stepping into the breach for his long-time friends and landlords at Mountain Shadows when a voice on the phone sends him tumbling headfirst into love/lust/fascination.

  Four months later, a self-absorbed Dr. Cannon Malloy shows up in the flesh and has the poor grace to not remember their conversation. That could be because he's running from his past and too busy looking over his shoulder to appreciate what's right in front of him.

  A winter storm and circumstance conspire to bring them together, but it'll take more than a charming smile and a pure heart to bring this frog-prince in from the cold.

  PULP FRICTION PRESENTS

  COLD SNAP

  By

  LEE BRAZIL

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, locations and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. As such, any resemblance to any persons, living or deceased, businesses, events, or locales is coincidental.

  Cover Art by © Laura Harner

  Cover art photo : © Andrey Kiselev - Fotolia.com

  Editing by Jae Ashley

  Copyright January 2014 © Lee Brazil

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Trademark Acknowledgements:

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following trademarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  AutoZone: AutoZone Parts, Inc.

  Band-Aid: Johnson & Johnson Corporation

  Ferragamo: Salvatore Ferragamo S.P.A.

  FTD: Florists’ Transworld Delivery, Inc.

  Ghostbusters (namely, Stay Puft Marshmallow Man): Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc.

  Google: Google, Inc.

  Grumpy (the dwarf): Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  Shelby: Carroll Hall Shelby Trust

  Snow White: Disney Enterprises, Inc.

  Sorel: Sorel Corporation

  Subaru: Fuji Heavy Industries Ltd.

  Tylenol: Johnson & Johnson Corporation

  Under Armour: Under Armour, Inc.

  Volvo: Volvo Trademark Holding AB Corporation

  Cold Snap

  Chapter One

  "I fucking hate Arizona." It was supposed to be hot in Arizona. Dry. Desert. Cannon Malloy shivered in his thick down coat and sniffed. His car was literally buried under snow. Not even the roof was visible. The university's maintenance crew had made sure of that.

  Tentatively, he reached out and brushed at the mound of snow that covered his ’66 Shelby. The dry powder scattered easily enough, but the icy wind blew it right back at him. It stung like someone had thrown a handful of tiny knives into his face, making his eyes tear and his chapped lips crack.

  Frigid water seeped into his boots, wetting his socks and chilling his feet. He rocked, feeling his body lose its grip with calm as he began shivering and shaking, swaying back and forth. "Fucking cold." He groaned. Turning his back to the wind and the car, he dug in his pocket for his cell phone and hit the first number as if by instinct.

  While the phone rang, he studied the car next to him enviously. Even with six inches of snow on its roof, it was reassuringly visible. Visible, and somehow familiar. Had it been there when he’d parked that morning? A shiver that was not weather-related racked him.

  There must be thousands of SUVs like this in Flagstaff alone, let alone in the state. When would he stop jumping at shadows? Thinking everything familiar was suspect?

  Unlike his own car, the university maintenance crew had apparently been unable to bury the SUV.

  Then again, maybe they hadn't tried. Maybe he'd gotten special treatment. And maybe he'd brought a healthy dose of paranoia to Flagstaff with him?

  That had to be it. He dismissed his concern as someone finally answered the phone.

  "Cannon?" Rory's voice sounded sleepy, as though he'd awakened the man. It was possible. Seven o'clock in Flagstaff was the same as nine in Atlanta.

  "Sorry to wake you." He felt foolish now. How the hell could his friends in Georgia help with his car buried in a snowbank in the university parking lot in Flagstaff, more than half a country away?

  "We weren't sleeping. What can we do for you?" A low-pitched growly rumble from the background made Cannon blush as he realized that there were other reasons for that low tone of voice than sleep.

  "Nothing. I'm sorry I called. My car is buried in snow and I should have dialed roadside assistance, but my thumb slipped." Liar, liar, pants on fire, he sneered at himself, staring into the dark, clear sky and blinking back tears that had nothing to do with the cold air biting at him and everything to do with loneliness and missing the friends he'd left behind. "Say hello to everyone from me. I've got to go so I have enough battery power to call the tow truck."

  He turned off his phone and sagged. "Do tow trucks even dig out cars?" he asked the still night.

  "Actually, no, they don't. And if that little death trap is your car, you don't want to be driving it in this weather on these roads anyway."

  At the vaguely familiar voice, Cannon jerked upright and nearly lost his footing spinning around.

  Then his jaw dropped open and his mind went blank. Holy crap. "Hi," he murmured, sweeping the man who stood grinning widely at him with a long, assessing glance. Cannon was tall, but this guy was taller by at least two inches, and where he was lean, the newcomer was broad, wide as Chance's friend Marcus in the shoulder, narrow of waist and…How was it that Cannon was freezing his ass off dressed in layers like an Eskimo and this guy seemed to be getting by with a tailored wool suit, shiny black boots, and cheery red knit cap and black leather gloves?

  The grin split into a wide smile revealing pearly white, slightly crooked teeth. Blue eyes twinkled and Cannon swore he could get lost in the classically handsome features.

  "I'm Dagfinnr Lorensson, professor of literature. And you are Cannon Malloy?"

  Dagfinnr? What kind of name was that? Startled, Cannon blankly accepted the gloved hand and shook it weakly. "I'm…I just started, actually. Taking the place of Dr. Redfern while she's on maternity leave." How the hell does he know my name? For the second time, he found himself tamping down panic. Damn…Maybe his friends were right. Maybe it wasn't distance he needed but a psychologist.

  "Ah. You'll be heading up the neurosurgery clinic then?"

  It's a staff parking lot, he reminded himself briskly, nodding shortly. He's not stalking you. They caught that guy back in Atlanta. This is different, just friendly interest in a new co-worker. "Yes. I was working late, getting the lay of the department before the interns are back tomorrow. I knew it snowed, but…" He waved behind him in the general direction of his poor car, unable to take his eyes from the smiling face in front of him.

  The man's perfect rose-colored lips pursed into a moue of displeasure. "Yes, it can accumulate quite quickly. Well, there's nothing for it, not tonight anyway. This sort of weather makes the roads out toward my place impassible, so I intend to stay in town at the Weatherford. Perhaps you'd like to join me?"

  Cannon's cheeks were burning again, and his fingers twitched to push back his hair, but he couldn’t because he was wearing a cap and he'd just look like an idiot. The man didn't mean for him to join him in his hotel room anyway, just that it was advisable for him to get a
room at the hotel. "I should really make arrangements to get my car out and go home."

  "You aren't going to make it. The roads are a mess and out in the country where I live, they won't even plow until Monday." The man waved over his shoulder and Cannon followed the gesture to a reassuringly large vehicle that rose from the snow piles with a majestic presence, as though defying Mother Nature to bury it. "Come on. I'll give you a lift and we can go somewhere warm, out of the cold." The vehicle in the back honked, purred to life with a gentle hum as the man clicked a wireless starter.

  Warm sounded good. Georgia was warm. Even now, it was probably fifty degrees and sunny. "You think the Weatherford will have a room for me?" His teeth clinked together embarrassingly loudly as he talked, and he resisted the urge to wipe his nose with the back of his hand.

  "If they don't, my suite has two beds and you're more than welcome to the hideaway sofa bed."

  A sense of disappointment that was entirely inappropriate swept through Cannon. Of course the man didn't find him attractive. He looked like a brown and blue, all too unhealthily pale, Stay Puft Marshmallow Man in his inadequate winter wear. "That sounds great."

  He followed Professor Lorensson to the massive vehicle, eyeing it with appreciation. "I guess I should get something like this."

  "It's a Volvo. Handles great, but you can get by with something smaller, just not a classic like that one you're driving, maybe a Subaru."

  Startled at the constant reminders that the man seemed to know too much about him, Cannon stopped with his hand on the door of the Volvo. "My Shelby? You've seen it?"

  "How could I miss it? It's a beauty. The winter roads will ruin it though. If you don't have an accident in the ice and snow, then the salt and sand will be hell on your paint job. Best place for a car like that in this season is in a heated garage."

  Fuck. "Yeah, I didn't think of that. I'll pick something up." The door beeped and he pulled it open, sinking into the leather seat with a sigh of pleasure. "Something with one of those gadgets so it's warm like this when I get in would suit me nicely."

  Lorensson laughed softly and slipped the car into gear, backing easily through the accumulated snow and exiting the parking lot onto a still busy street. "Keyless entry and remote start are definitely benefits. But you know—" He turned and studied Cannon earnestly.

  Cannon nibbled his chapped lips and fought not to squirm. "Yes?"

  "Color is the most important thing to consider." His attention reverted to the road and Cannon let loose the breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Holy fuck, being around this guy was…

  What the man had said seeped into his frozen brain. He blinked. "Color? You're fucking with me." The obscenity slipped out from between his chapped lips, lay between them raw and ugly and blatantly sexual. He bit his lip and ducked his head in embarrassment. That made it quite clear what was on his mind, didn't it? Why couldn’t he have said shit, or damn, or elbows and galoshes like his sainted dearly departed grandmother? No. He had to say fuck, because fucking was at the edge of his mind since this snow god had walked up beside him in the parking lot.

  "Red and yellow will get you pulled over way more often. That's why I bought black."

  "I don't believe you." This man screamed intellectual from his neatly cropped hair to his three piece wool suit and gleaming leather boots. "I can't believe you bought it for anything other than the most practical reasons."

  "I did. I chose the black for practical reasons and the remote starter and the other features as well."

  The SUV slipped through traffic like a knife through butter, pulling to a smooth stop in a space near the entry to a grand Victorian-esque building that reminded Cannon a lot of Atlanta. It had the architectural flare of the past that he found himself yearning for, and not the stucco and mission look he'd come to expect in Arizona. Glowing icicle lights dripped from the railings and gutters in a seasonal display of goodwill. In the harsh January cold it should have looked tacky, instead it looked warm and welcoming. "This is nice," he muttered, hating to step back into the cold.

  "Yes, I like it. They've got some of the best food in the state, too. Perhaps after you check in you'll join me for dinner?"

  Was that a hint of innuendo? Just the slightest trace of throwing out a lure? "I…" Flustered, he squirmed. He'd come to Arizona to find himself, to be gay and open, away from the burdens of his past, and here he was going into a full-fledged panic at the first sign of imagined interest from a man!

  When Lorensson exited the car, Cannon heaved a sigh and followed suit. He couldn't very well sit there any longer when the car's owner wasn't, could he?

  They walked in companionable silence to the front entrance, and Cannon scrambled for witty conversation, still uncertain whether he wanted to encourage the man's interest or not. He hadn't managed anything more than another comment about the weather when Lorensson came to a stop in the center of the lobby.

  Cannon had an impression of blue, comfort, hominess, before his mind went into a sort of tailspin by the touch of one leather-gloved hand on his arm. He swore he could feel the heat of that touch through all the layers of down and polyester of his coat, the wool blend of his suit jacket and the cotton of his shirt, the thin long-sleeved tee he wore next to his skin…it all might have been nonexistent.

  That touch made his breath catch and his heart still, his eyes widen and a faint bead of sweat sting his upper lip. Holy crap…galoshes and elbows… "Oh," he whispered meeting Lorensson's eyes.

  A warm blue haze clouded the depths, more than a hint of desire, and amusement. Those eyes invited him to laugh, and to linger. "My room is booked and I picked up my key this morning. I'm going to go up and get changed into something more comfortable. I'll meet you in the bar in an hour if you'd like to have a drink and dinner with me."

  Cannon nodded dumbly, watching as the professor loped off at an easy stride toward the stairs and took them two at time until he disappeared from sight. Only when not a glimpse of well-dressed man was visible was he able to shake off the miasma of lust and approach the check in podium. An amiable staff member in a black vest and old-fashioned, blousy looking white shirt greeted him with a pleasant, understanding smile.

  "Friend of the professor's?" he asked, logging into a desktop computer.

  "We just met, actually." Cannon studied the young man with interest. He was slim, slightly shorter than Cannon, but gave every appearance of being well-muscled beneath his loose fitting clothes, and he was gay. Cannon knew it from the sparkle in his eye or the smile on his lips or the twinkle of a diamond in his ear, this boy was gay. Had he slept with the professor? Was Cannon just caught ogling another man's boyfriend?

  "He's my advisor. Not that I wouldn't mind jumping him, but well, good advisors are hard to come by in the English department, and everyone knows Finn doesn’t mix business and pleasure."

  "Finn?" Cannon pretended to be only mildly interested as he dug out his credit card and driver's license.

  "Sure that's what he asked us all to call him." The man looked up with a quick smile. "I've got you in a room with a private bath on the third floor, just near the Zane Grey. All you'll have to do is walk outside and meet him."

  "I…" He accepted an old fashioned key in place of a key card and fumbled his wallet back into his pocket. "Thank you."