by R. S. Kovach
She was halfway up and he was about to follow when the stable door flew open. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered under his breath as the wind whipped the wooden panel to and fro. “The latch must have been loose. Go on up. I’ll be right behind you.”
Ali scaled the remaining rungs and waited at the top, but even after the door had been shut, Hank still didn’t return. She peeked over the side of the loft but retreated when the door opened and she could hear multiple voices.
“Hold up. Let me grab my coat,” Hank yelled before running back inside.
“What’s going on?” Ali whispered down to him.
“Liz saw the truck, and she needs me to take care of a few things.” He motioned for her to climb down and waited until she was safely beside him again. Finding the weatherproof duster on a nearby hook, he began pulling it on. “It looks like this storm is going to be worse than anyone thought, and we’ll need all hands on deck.”
“So no hayloft, then?” She theatrically pouted.
He smiled, gently drawing his thumb across her lips before kissing them. “I’m afraid not. Dinner will have to be postponed as well.”
“You’re giving me a literal rain check?” Ali adjusted his collar.
“I guess so.” He chuckled before turning serious again. “Listen. I told Liz you were already inside, so if you want to keep up pretenses, wait a few minutes and then run directly back to the lodge. Okay?”
Ali nodded and kissed him one more time, stalling the inevitable. “See you tomorrow?”
“Absolutely.” He brushed away a wet lock of her hair before cupping her cheek. “I have to go, but stay safe.”
“You too.” She sighed, watching the lightning crash just as he strode out into the storm.
Pete dropped his fork onto the plate and leaned back in his chair. “If I wasn’t still buzzed from all that wine earlier, I’d say this was the worst Saturday ever.”
After looking at the empty spot next to Pete and then out the nearest window being battered by the torrential downpour, Ali sighed in agreement. Even though her friend was upset because he’d just found out the karaoke bar had closed for the evening thanks to a washed-out road, she had her own reasons for sulking.
Not only was Wylda gone, but Ali was stuck in the same place she’d been for most of the last two weeks instead of having dinner with Hank. Seeing another bolt of lightning illuminate the exterior view before hearing the accompanying clap of thunder reminded her the irresistible cowboy had it even worse. He was most likely somewhere in the middle of the chaos, making sure that Pebble Creek’s assets—human and property alike—were safe from the storm.
She hadn’t seen him since Liz called him back to work, but a few of the other ranch hands had been running in and out over the last few hours, leaving trails of mud and water dripping from their protective gear. Paulette had brought in a box of battery-operated lanterns the administrative staff subsequently distributed in case of an electrical outage, while a young man she still didn’t know by name asked for a first-aid kit while holding his bleeding thumb. Ali wondered if she’d see Hank at all before tomorrow, and she happily jumped at Harriet’s request to take Marv on a potty run to increase her chances.
Her effort was futile. The rain was coming down in sheets, making visibility past a few feet almost impossible. The wind was also blowing the cold spray under the covered porch, and the little dog didn’t appreciate being forced to do his business in such awful weather. Even after Ali had walked twice around the perimeter of the lodge with him, he refused to cooperate.
“Come on, Marv. I don’t like being out here either, but I can’t have you making a mess of the carpet inside.” She scratched him behind his little white ears. “Now, be a good boy and get on with it.”
When he cowered behind her legs for a full five minutes, Ali knew it was time to give up. Grabbing a stack of classified ads from the lobby, she led the dog back to his owner. After setting up a thick layer of the paper in a corner of Harriet’s bathroom, she finally returned to her own room.
The storm was relentless, and it did, in fact, knock out the power at one point. It took running water with it because the well’s supply was driven by an electrical pump, and it left little for the guests to do in the dark. It was early enough for most of them to still be up, and many either peeked into the hallway or wandered out to the common areas with their emergency lanterns to keep each other company. In spite of Pete’s valiant effort, Ali declined an invitation to a game of charades. There was only one person she wanted to socialize with, and he obviously wasn’t going to make an appearance.
Sunday morning came and went, and although the lights were back on and the rain had subsided to a light drizzle, there was still no sign of Hank. With an hour still left until lunchtime, Ali was draped across her bed thumbing through an old fashion magazine when a knock broke the silence.
Running across the carpet in her socks, she opened the door to find the cowboy on the other side. He was leaning against the frame with his chin against his chest and his eyes closed, looking up only once she addressed him.
“Oh my god,” Ali gasped. “Have you been up all night?” Under the damp hat and duster, he was still wearing yesterday’s jeans and shirt.
“More or less.” His voice was hoarse and weak from fatigue. “Can I come in?”
She clumsily stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. “Of course.”
He didn’t need an invitation to plop into a nearby armchair, and Ali cringed at the trail of muddy prints left behind on the cream carpet. Good luck to Liz steam-cleaning that out, she thought as she kneeled beside him.
“What happened?” She wiped a bit of dried mud from the scruff on his jaw.
Hank scoffed, tipping back his hat. “Boats getting loose, trees falling on wires, rock slides, you name it. Everything that could have gone wrong during that storm did.”
“And you’ve been here the entire time?” When he nodded, she continued. “Did you get any sleep at all?”
“A few hours.” He rubbed his eyes as if willing himself to stay alert. “I’m about to crash, though. I’ll probably be out for the rest of the day, and I wanted to see you before I headed home since I promised I would.”
Ali wanted to throw her arms around his neck at the admission, but instead, she stood up. “You’re in no shape to drive.” Picking up her own discarded boots from nearby, she pulled them over her leggings. “I’d offer to let you stay here, but you’ll rest better in your own bed. Come, I’ll drive you home.”
Although she believed in her argument, getting a chance to see where he lived was an even bigger draw. That’s also why she presented it as a done deal. It was a negotiating trick she’d learned years earlier, and while it wasn’t foolproof in the boardroom, using it against a dead-tired cowboy was almost a guaranteed win.
“I didn’t think you New Yorkers knew how to drive,” he grumbled, eyelids drooping.
“Not all of us New Yorkers are the same.” She emphasized the pronoun, taking slight offense to being stereotyped. “As long as you remind me which pedal is the gas and which is the brake, I’m golden,” Ali deadpanned, but when Hank began shaking his head in opposition, she broke into a laugh and held out her upturned hand. “I’m kidding! Now, hand over the keys.”
The truck was still parked in the back, and they walked out separately to avoid any curious glances. After an awkward run-in with Sheridan, who for some reason pretended they were suddenly the best of friends, Ali stopped at the reception desk to sign out. She was surprised to see so many other guests had been away from the lodge the prior day, and she even had to turn to a new sheet before indicating she was leaving the premises.
As she’d guessed, Hank didn’t live far from Pebble Creek. Thanks to his terse but effective directions from the passenger seat, she had no problems getting to his apartment. Located right off the highway, the complex, consist
ing of several four-story buildings, was part of what appeared to be a fairly new development. They took the stairs one flight up, and he fiddled with the lock before pushing the door open and allowing her to go first. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d expected, but as Ali looked around at the bare white walls and empty floor space, she knew it wasn’t this.
“The décor’s very . . . minimalist.” She struggled to pick the right word and avoid offending him.
Hank didn’t appear to be bothered by the observation as he lined up his dirty footwear by the door. “I don’t like clutter.” He shimmied out of his coat and hung it on a nearby hook.
“Obviously.” Following his lead, Ali also pulled off her boots before walking farther into the living room. The open floor plan allowed for a small dining area by the adjacent kitchen, but apart from two stools at the breakfast counter, there was no other furniture.
“You’re going to have to excuse my lack of manners as a proper host,” Hank began, unbuttoning his shirt as he walked toward a closed door. “But you’re welcome to either stay or take the truck back.”
He slipped off the wrinkled garment and, before disappearing into the sole bedroom, gave Ali a good look at his naked back. Tan, lean, and pure muscle, it was enough to fuel a number of fantasies about how the rest compared.
“There’s not much in terms of entertainment, but I do have cable,” Hank said from the other room. There was a brief pause while the sink ran before he spoke again. “It’s your call.”
Ali hadn’t intended to stay, but the offer was tempting. And she had some unanswered questions. Why was the place so empty? Was he moving in or on his way out? “How long have you lived here?” Still waiting outside the bedroom’s entrance, she ran her finger along the spotless—and also bare—granite counter just a few feet away. No man she knew was ever this clean.
“Almost a year, I think.” Hank reappeared wearing just boxer briefs, and Ali took an inadvertent step backward.
Completely aware she was coming across like a lust-filled schoolgirl, but not able to stop herself, she ran her eyes down the full length of his body. Pecs to kill for? Check. An impossible six-pack? Check. Rock-solid thighs she could already imagine straddling with her own? Holy mother of mercy, check! Noticing she was holding her breath, Ali exhaled with a single syllable. “Wow.”
Leaning with one arm against the wall, Hank weakly chuckled. “So, you’re going to hang around for a bit, then?”
Ali felt her face flush. “Sure, but you need to get in bed. You’re about to collapse.” Either way, she knew she could slip out anytime if she changed her mind. Stepping closer, she glanced past him into the room. “You do at least own a bed, right?”
“That I do.” He turned, revealing a neatly made, queen-sized sleigh bed against the far wall. In spite of the cover’s somewhat feminine design, the black-on-white damask pattern was surprisingly elegant for a man’s home. A flat-screen TV was also mounted above a nearby dresser, and taking a remote control off its top, Hank offered it to her. “You’ll need this. Don’t worry about the volume; I can sleep through anything.”
He walked across the room and climbed under the covers, moving an extra pillow to the other side. Ali was puzzled by the preparations until she realized the spot was for her. By the time she had settled in and managed to turn on the television, Hank was fast asleep.
While switching for the next hour and a half between shows about elaborate cake baking, shark migration patterns, and haunted farms, Ali tried to focus on anything other than the unconscious man beside her. It was nearly impossible, and she caught herself sneaking glances at the bits of him that managed to stick out from under the covers. A shoulder here, a foot there; it was all both mundane and intriguing at the same time.
Although she could have watched him all day, it felt odd intruding on such a personal act as sleeping when she hardly even knew him. It was for the same reason she wouldn’t look in his closet or his medicine cabinet, no matter how tempting it would have been to snoop. There was just one exception Ali would be willing to make. She’d missed lunch and held no such reservations about raiding Hank’s kitchen.
She quietly looked through his cabinets first, finding nothing more than a few half-empty boxes of cereal, three cans of tuna, a jar of pickles, and brand-new-looking dishes. After pouring a glass of water, Ali turned her attention to the refrigerator. Standing in front of the open door staring dumbfounded at a case of beer, a bag of carrots, and a jar of mayonnaise, she jumped when an unexpected voice spoke up behind her. “If you find anything edible in there, can you let me know? I’m starving.”
She spun around to face him. “What is it with you and your . . . um, your stomach?” Although Hank had managed to put on a pair of gray sweatpants, he was still naked from the waist up. Ali’s eyes immediately focused on the body part she was scolding, and her mouth may have stayed open from the distraction.
Hank put an arm on the open fridge door, blocking the path for potential retreat. “So you’re only looking in there because it’s more interesting than what’s on TV?”
“Touché.” She grimaced and slipped under his arm. “But you’re the one without any proper food in his house.”
“That’s why I keep these around.” He closed the refrigerator and pulled out a stack of takeout menus from a drawer. Spreading them on the counter, he motioned for Ali to sit on the other side. “Pick whatever you’d like. And while you’re doing that, can I get you something stronger than water?”
She sat on one of the bar stools, placing her elbows on the counter and intertwining her fingers. “I’m not much of a beer drinker,” she admitted, resting her chin on her hands.
“Sacrilege, but I guess I’ll let that slide,” he joked before pulling on a handle that revealed a pantry. It was the only spot in the kitchen Ali hadn’t checked—she was afraid the bi-fold door would make too much noise—and it turned out to contain a small wine cooler. Hank passed over the first two bottles he examined, finally settling on the third.
“Will this do?” He showed her a California Chardonnay, and Ali nodded.
After uncorking the bottle, Hank poured a small amount in a glass, held the vessel by the stem, and carefully swirled the golden liquid around until it coated the sides. He examined the effect and took a sip, swishing the wine in his mouth before swallowing.
“You look like you know what you’re doing.” She held back a smile.
He cocked a brow, setting the glass down. “You don’t think I do?”
“Well, not you in particular, but I’ve always been dubious about all of this.” She pointed to the open bottle. “I mean, you’re going to say it tastes like wild strawberries mixed with dark chocolate and just a hint of cinnamon.” She laughed. “Which is the most ridiculous thing ever.”
“All right.” He nodded, filling the glass halfway. “Let’s see you give it a try.”
Ali expected him to hand over the wine so she could have a taste, but instead, Hank drank that as well. Pushing the empty glass aside and leaning over the counter, he reached for her chin and drew her to him. The kiss was warm and sweet and tangy at the same time, filling Ali with longing while making her entire body tingle. Not wanting it to end, she let out a small groan when he drew away.
“So? What’s the verdict?” He crossed his arms and appeared very pleased with himself.
She touched her lips. “Pretentious smart-ass with a little . . .” She trailed off, sampling the taste still on her tongue. “What is that? Peppermint?”
Hank threw back his head and laughed. “Right on all counts, including my mouthwash.”
Ali pouted. “Darn it. I thought I’d miss and get another try.”
He leaned forward and kissed her again. “Any time you want, gorgeous.”
She giggled. “I thought you were hungry.”
“Oh, I am, in more ways than one.” He grinned. “But now that
you’ve reminded me, you should get back to these.” He patted the untouched menus.
“You really do have a wide variety of tastes,” she observed, flipping through well-worn pamphlets consisting of everything from Southern barbecue, pizza, and Chinese to Lebanese, Thai, and even sushi.
“For food, maybe.” He rubbed his chin contemplatively. “I’m quite selective in other areas.”
Feeling her face flush, Ali pretended to ignore him. Instead, she turned over another menu. “Wow. This bakery delivers pie?”
“Yup. Best business model ever.” When she rolled her eyes, he continued. “What? I like pie.”
“Why am I not surprised?” she mumbled under her breath while tossing aside a burger menu.
Hank picked up the discarded paper and looked at it longingly. “Man, I haven’t had this in a while.” Setting it down, he went back to the wine and poured two full glasses. He placed one in front of Ali and took a healthy swallow of his. “Are you getting close?”
“Give me a minute and stop distracting me.” She hid behind a glossy picture of a fish taco.
He hooked one finger into the menu and pulled it down. “How am I distracting you?”
“With pie and all . . . all this.” She gestured toward his still-naked torso.
“It’s not my fault if you can’t focus under pressure.” He shrugged innocently. “How did you even make it on the Forbes thirty-under-thirty list with that attitude?”
“For one thing, the men I usually deal with are professional and keep their shirts on.” She smirked, reaching for the glass. “And how did you know about that, anyway?”
“Liz mentioned it. But I can put something on if that’s what you’d like.” He glanced toward the bedroom, affirming the earnestness behind the suggestion.
Ali shook her head and drew her brows together. “I didn’t say that.” She took a sip of her wine in an attempt to hide her embarrassment. Hank laughed again before rounding the counter toward her, but just as he reached her side, a faint, repetitive tune rang out from her purse by the door.
