I nodded, catching my breath before making a comment about it being great exercise. He handed me a bottle of water and waited for me to take a sip before taking one of his own and sliding it into the mesh side pocket of his pack. We set out as promised, side by side. I didn’t say much, concentrating on breathing, but the exercise seemed to energize him.
“Did Blythe tell you our mother didn’t name us until we were two years old?”
I nodded yes. “She waited until she knew you, right? Tried to match your name to your personality?’
“That’s right.”
My sister and I had marveled over this strangeness, remarking that it was as eccentric as our mother, only in a different way. “Will you remind me what they all mean?” I asked.
He recited them, like a poem one learned as a child, so familiar that it simply rolled from the tongue with no effort at all. Kevan: gentle child, more comfortable with animals than humans. Ardan: high aspirations. Ciaran: little dark one. Teagan: beautiful. And the deceased brother, the second born, Finn: fair-headed, handsome, and wise.
“He was our mother’s favorite, you know. Finn. Everyone’s favorite. He was all those things, but also kind and generous. Only the good die young, you know.” His gait slowed and his shoulders curved inward. Had his voice caught? I couldn’t be certain. Our voices seemed to get lost in the expanse of the air, under this big sky with the close clouds.
“Did your mother name you all aptly? Are you all like your names?” I asked.
He shook his head with a grimace. “A little, I suppose. Kevan is more comfortable with animals than people. And Ardan has high aspirations, in that he’s deeply spiritual and chose a life as a teacher despite the fact we’re all rich enough that we don’t have to work. But Teagan and me? Our names describe our appearances, not who we are. Little dark one? I used to be little, now I’m only dark. My mother couldn’t predict that I’d be the tallest of the brothers. And Teagan—she is beautiful, but it’s been more of a curse than a blessing. My father only wanted her to be a little doll that looked pretty, without any views or opinions of her own.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Are you more than your looks?”
He cocked his head to the side and looked down for a second or two before looking over at me. “Does it answer your question that I desperately want you to think so?”
Before I could answer, he continued. “Maybe we’re both trying to outrun our names, Bliss Heywood?”
I waved my pole at him. “Maybe so, Ciaran Lanigan.”
We were about twenty or so feet across from what I assumed was a dormant meadow below the snow, when Ciaran stopped. Grateful, I halted as well, catching my breath, watching him. He knelt, dropping one pole to the snow and using the other to dip into the track in front of him, like he was measuring its depth. Standing, he left the pole upright like a flagpole with no flag and then tugged off one glove, scratching under his cap at the back of his head while looking toward the wooded area. “What the hell?” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear. For a moment I thought he’d forgotten I was next him.
“What’s the matter?”
He looked up with a blank expression, before cocking his head to the side as his eyes flickered, like it was a surprise to see me there. “These tracks look wrong.”
“Wrong?”
“Deeper than my tracks would be on my own and facing the wrong direction, like they were walking to my house not from it, as I did this morning. I think someone came through after me.”
Although I was hot from the exertion, I felt a chill speed through me. It held the same dread as the still and close clouds above, waiting to spill snow. “Someone? Like who?”
“Kevan or Cole maybe. Don’t know why they would be headed toward my place though. And Ardan’s not here.” Using his pole as a pointer, he gestured to the right. “His house is the other direction anyway, so it can’t be that he decided to surprise us.” He tugged at his cap, pulling it further down over his ears. “Never mind. I’m sure there’s a good explanation. Come on now, we just have a quarter mile to go.” He pointed with his pole again. “Do you see the bank of trees? My house is just behind.” His voice sounded hollow and distracted.
I nodded and took a step closer, now close enough to see the pores in his skin. “Are you worried about something?”
“What? Of course not. Let’s go. If we pause too long we’ll get cold.” He grinned but it seemed more like a Halloween mask with a false, stretched mouth and dead eyes than the usual way he smiled with his whole body. He seemed like a bad actor trying to portray a false confidence. Through the thick layers of his jacket, I suspected every muscle was tense, like an antelope sensing danger.
“Let’s have a little water and then get going. The hot tub will be warm by now, and there’s juice and scones in the fridge if you’re hungry.” He took off his backpack and rummaged inside before pulling out a water bottle. He took a swig and then handed it to me. “It’s easy to get dehydrated doing this kind of exercise.”
I did as he instructed without taking my eyes from his face. Something had spooked him, I was certain of it, but even with my limited knowledge of men, I knew when to let something go. After another sip of water for both of us, we headed toward the trees, falling into our previous rhythm. Fifteen minutes later, we arrived at Ciaran’s house.
It looked like a ski lodge, all high, broad beams and stained-wood siding. The second-story patio wrapped around the entire front of the house. Exposed wooden beams and large windows, a roof covered in a layer of snow. I half expected Santa and his reindeer to appear at any moment.
We took our snowshoes off in the mudroom, which also housed several pairs of skis, a snowboard and golf clubs. As he locked the door behind us, I sat on a wooden bench, taking off my snowshoes. I slipped out of the boots and stored them near the door and hung my jacket but left my snow pants and sweater on, remembering how thin the long underwear ensemble was underneath. I shook my hair free of the cap, running both hands through it to loosen damp hair from my neck and scalp. Putting my hands to my cheeks, I felt the warmth there too. Vigorous exercise had made me feel quite alive, I thought. I couldn’t remember feeling better, head injury be damned.
Snow melted from our boots and snowshoes, making clear puddles on the tiled floor. Ciaran wiped them with a towel and then hung his jacket next to mine. “You want some juice? You hungry? We wouldn’t want your stomach growling like last night.”
“Sure,” I said, smirking, following him into the main part of the house. “I’m starving, actually.”
“Snowshoeing will do that to you,” he said. “You like peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?”
“That’s my favorite.”
“What kind of jelly?” he asked.
“Strawberry preserves, if you have it. That’s what Blythe always made me when we were kids. She saved the strawberry preserves for me and ate just plain peanut butter on her sandwiches.”
“Because she didn’t like preserves?” he asked.
“No, we were poor and had limited jelly resources. She sacrificed it for me.” My eyes stung, remembering.
He halted as we entered the front room, and took my hand. “You were lucky to have someone love you that much.”
“She’s the only one who ever has, but she did it so well it made up for the rest.”
“Well, I happen to have an unopened jar of strawberry preserves in the fridge. It came in one of those gift baskets I get from my mother for my birthday. I’m more of a blackberry jam kind of guy.”
“Good, more for me.”
“Absolutely.”
The entire main floor was an enormous great room with an exposed kitchen, separated by a counter. Large windows looked out to Blue Mountain from a sitting area, replete with a stone fireplace. High ceilings and rustic wood exposed beams. Rough, wide plank flooring. As I gazed around the room,
Ciaran began to make our sandwiches in the kitchen while explaining that he’d asked the architect to design the main floor of the house for family gatherings and parties. “Everyone always congregates in the kitchen, so I decided to make everything one big room.”
However, there was no furniture in the room. No couch. Nary a chair. Not a rug or a lamp. Just empty space. I raised my eyebrows and looked over to Ciaran. He was at the refrigerator, kneeling with his head inside like a teenaged boy looking for a snack. With his head still inside he called out, “Do you want milk with your sandwich, madam?”
“Of course.” I walked the length of the room, stopping in front of the fireplace. A charred log lay in the grate, in the shape of an alligator’s mouth. I glanced at the mantle. No photos on the mantle or art on the walls, either. “Why don’t you have any furniture?”
He finished spreading peanut butter on two pieces of bread before answering. “Commitment issues. I can’t decide what I want.” Grinning, he held up a jar of strawberry preserves. “See here?”
“Of course. Commitment issues.” Not that my condo and the ones of the past were much better than this. Although, I did have some furniture and photographs of my nieces, thanks to Blythe. At least something personal adorned my space.
“Right after I finished building this place, Finn died and my family blew up. The idea—the dream, I should say—of all us having homes on the old property and raising families together died with Finn. He was the glue that bound us together. Once he was gone, we all fell apart.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It doesn’t bother me anymore. Don’t worry about it.”
So we were both liars about certain things. Not bothered? Hardly.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I haven’t been here enough to figure out what I want other than in the bedroom. I do have a bed and a couple pieces of furniture up there.” He grinned that wolfish smile. “Emphasis on the word bed.”
After rolling my eyes at him, I went to the window and looked out over the snowy landscape. The back of the house had a similar patio as the front, only this one had an outside kitchen and hot tub, steam hovering about like early morning fog on a lake. The water was hot, I thought, longingly. How good it would feel to submerge my already sore muscles into that warmth.
Ciaran joined me, handed over the sandwich and then gestured toward the outside kitchen. “Sadly, I haven’t used my outside kitchen once. It’s funny how things work out. I thought I’d be out there all summer, barbecuing with my brothers.”
“Life’s never as we imagine. It’s best not to wish for things.”
He studied me, locking my gaze to his for a moment before I looked away, pretending to examine my sandwich. “Are you really that jaded?”
“Not jaded. Realistic.” I took a bite of the sandwich. It was perfect, with just the right amount of peanut butter relative to strawberry. We ate our sandwiches standing side by side at the window. His finished his in four bites, whereas I took seven. “I think everything tastes better in Idaho.”
“I agree.” He smiled, looking down at me like I was a morsel to devour as he brushed back my hair and kissed the side of my neck. I shivered.
“Cold?”
“Not cold, no,” I whispered.
He kissed my mouth, exploring the soft flesh of my mouth with his tongue. My arms slid up and around his neck. He tasted like peanut butter and smelled of the same aftershave he’d worn last night, spicy and intoxicating. After a moment, we were breathless and so tightly pressed to one another I felt his excitement pushing against my leg. When he pushed me against the wall, the material of our pants slid against one another, making a noise like two plastic bags. “Did you say something about milk?” This was said against his mouth, the words garbled.
He pulled away, smiling. “You’re awfully demanding.” As he walked over to the kitchen, I turned to look back out the window. The sky continued to have that smoky, close feeling. However, I didn’t feel my usual sense of loneliness. Just as I had that thought, I spotted the first flake. Large, fluffy, falling slowly until it reached the patio and disappeared into the already fallen snow. Ciaran handed me a glass of milk. I drank several sips. Milk tasted better here, too. The air became speckled with snowflakes before our eyes.
“Have you ever been in a hot tub while it’s snowing?” he asked.
“I don’t think so.”
“You would remember.”
I didn’t answer. There was no way he was getting me into that hot tub. With him mostly naked, there would be no way to control what I wanted to do to him.
“It would definitely count for the fun list,” he said.
“No swimsuit.” I made a helpless gesture with my hands before heading for the kitchen, where I set my now empty milk glass in the sink. This time I was safe. He couldn’t just pop over and get one of Blythe’s like he had the boots.
He watched me as I crossed back to him. “I promise I’ll behave,” he said.
“Not likely.”
The skin near his eyes crinkled as he smiled and kissed me, pushing me against the window. It was cold against my backside even through my layers of clothing. “You don’t need a suit,” he said. “No one can see us from here.”
“You can see me.”
“Yes, but I’m harmless.” He made a sound at the back of his throat that was halfway between a growl and a moan, then kissed me again. “Just give into it,” he whispered. “Let me take you upstairs.”
“I’ve known you less than twenty-four hours.”
“Yes, but we’ve spent many hours together within that period, so it almost counts as three dates.”
“Three dates?”
“My previous companions tell me this is the requisite amount of time before testing to see if we’re physically compatible.”
“No offense, but your companions sound kind of easy.”
Laughing, he twirled a bit of my hair around his fingers. “You talk a big game, but I know you’re no innocent.”
To distract him from this line of reasoning, I pointed outside to the hot tub. “Do you have a pair of boxers and a T-shirt I could borrow?”
“I go commando.”
“What? All the time?”
He chuckled, rolling down the waistband of his snow pants to reveal the top of a blue set of boxers. “I’m just kidding.” Taking my hand, he pulled me toward the stairs. “You’ll be way sexier in them than I.”
Not likely, I thought, stifling a shiver. Not likely.
We climbed the suspended spiral staircase to the second floor, talking as we made our way to the top. “These stairs make me think of Vertigo,” I said.
“The movie?”
“Right. Classic Hitchcock.” I said this with enthusiasm, feeling with some authority that it was one of the greatest movies of all time.
“I wouldn’t know.”
“What? Everyone’s seen that movie.”
“I don’t watch scary movies,” he said. His voice sounded odd, almost hollow. I glanced at him but his eyes were hooded and unreadable.
“I thought all boys liked scary movies.”
“Not this one. Real life is scary enough.”
“I didn’t think you were afraid of anything,” I said, thinking of his athletic pursuits.
“Well, that’s where you’re wrong.”
Pausing for a moment at the ledge that overlooked the empty room below, he put his arm around me in a way that felt familiar, like we’d been a couple for a long time. “My mother’s appalled by my lack of furniture.”
“Ah, well, she doesn’t have to visit then.”
“That’s the spirit.” He grinned at me. “I like you, Bliss Heywood. You like me too, just a little, don’t you? Come on. Just admit it.”
“You’re okay.” I smiled at him, feeling my insides melt into warm chocolate.
; “Well, okay will have to be good enough for now.” He pecked my lips with his and then moved his arm from my shoulders and pointed down the hallway. “My bedroom’s this way.” Guest room across the hall, but there’s no need to go in there. No furniture. My office is at the other end of the hall.”
“Also empty?”
He shrugged, steering me toward his bedroom by putting his hands on my hips. “I have a desk in there, if you must know. But I rarely use the office. I’m more of the work-in-bed kind of person.”
“Does everything out of your mouth have to be an innuendo?” I turned to look up at him.
He raised his eyebrows, laughing, and took my hand. “I’m wounded by your assumptions. Anyway, I actually meant it. I usually work on the bed with my laptop perched on my legs.”
“I do that, too.”
“Stop with the innuendos,” he said. “Please.”
“Shut up.”
We were at this bedroom now. He let go of my hand and moved aside so I could enter before him. He hadn’t lied. The room did have a king-sized sleigh bed covered by a heavy feather comforter without a duvet, a dresser and a couple of nightstands with lamps, all made of some rich wood, probably cherry. Bare white walls. Simple accordion shades hung over the windows instead of curtains. Precarious looking stacks of jeans, sweaters and T-shirts covered the dresser. Disheveled clothes spilled out of several open drawers, arms of sweaters seeming to reach out to the room as if they wanted out. A suitcase lay discarded near the window, with several books and what appeared to be toiletries in the side pockets. “Don’t you unpack?”
He waved away my comment with an impish flutter of his hand. “You don’t cook. I don’t put things away.” He walked over to the dresser and picked through several piles, coming up with a pair of red boxers and a blue T-shirt with “Sun Valley, Idaho” across the front. After tossing them to me, he lifted his sweater over his head. I caught a glimpse of his lean, muscular stomach before he pulled a white cotton, long-sleeved shirt down over the waist of his pants. His shirt was made in that tiny waffle texture material that I always found irresistible on a man. I swallowed and took a deep breath as Ciaran tossed his sweater into the middle of the muddle on the bureau, knocking a haphazard pile of various colored T-shirts on the floor.
Blue Moon (Blue Mountain Book 2) Page 15
