Seduced by Snowfall

by Jennifer Bernard

  “What’s a trapper?”

  “Someone who sets traps for animals in the wilderness. For food and also for fur. They each have their own trapline, a series of traps, that they check every day.

  Gretel’s expression shifted to one of revulsion. “That’s horrible.”

  “It’s pretty low-impact, according to the trapper I met. He says he trades the furs for other goods to keep him alive all winter. It’s how the first pioneers lived. They kept little bags of sourdough starter in a pouch around their necks. That’s why the old-timers are called sourdoughs.”

  “Ew. Who’d want to be called sourdough? I’d go with…‘pumpernickel.’” She dropped her voice to a purr. “Just call me…‘Pumper.’”

  Bethany smiled at her sister, who somehow managed to be both goofy and radiant at the same time.

  “Anyway, haven’t things evolved since pioneer days? Like, there are grocery stores and restaurants here, right? Oh my God. Are there no restaurants?”

  Bethany imagined how Nate would handle that question. He’d spin some implausible story about having to swim across the bay for groceries or something.

  “Of course there are. But there’s no delivery. Except for Last Chance Pizza during the summer. But not at this time of year.”

  Thoughtful, Gretel tapped a finger against her chin. “I sense a business opportunity. Can I borrow your car while you’re at work?”

  Bethany waved both her hands in a “stop right there” gesture. “Wait, wait, wait. How long are you planning to stay? You’re talking about starting a business?”

  “Don’t freak out, you know me. The original rolling stone. Okay, not the original, since I’m only twenty-six. But still. Hey, what about the most important question? What’s the man scene like? There’s a gender imbalance, I’ve heard. In our favor, for once?”

  The image of Nate frowning at his arm while she cleaned his wound flashed across Bethany’s vision. In any town, in any city of any size, Nate would draw female attention.

  But for some reason, she didn’t want to mention him to Gretel.

  “Well, you’ve heard the saying, right? The odds are good, but the goods are odd? I can officially confirm that it’s accurate.”

  Gretel burst out laughing. “You say ‘odd’ like it’s a drawback. I like odd. It’s more interesting. If I wanted normal I would have stayed in Connecticut.”

  She reached her hand out for a high-five. Bethany obliged with a smile. Getting out from under Lloyd Morrison’s thumb had been goal number one for both of them. The trick was to stay out when their father had so many ways of exercising control. For instance, he still gave Gretel money whenever she needed it.

  “Now that we’ve settled the man question, what about the bar question? Where does one go when the wine is gone?” Gretel wobbled the empty bottle in the air.

  “To bed?” Bethany suggested hopefully.

  Gretel stretched her arms overhead. “Fine, but only because I’ve been traveling for the past nine hours, during four of which I was breaking up with someone. But I’m not letting you off the hook. As soon as possible, we’re going out.”

  “But—” Bethany automatically launched into her standard objections of being too busy, too overworked, too exhausted for a social life.

  But then she remembered Nate, and those annoying but on-point comments he’d made about serious people having fun. The honest truth was that she didn’t generally have many sources of fun in her life.

  Gretel was at the very top of that list. She didn’t have anything to prove to Gretel. Her sister believed in her whole-heartedly. She always had. And Gretel already knew all her secret flaws. She knew that Bethany had failed organic chemistry her freshman year, that only pure dogged hard work had enabled her to continue on her pre-med path. She knew that Bethany had faked most of her high school dates so as not to seem like a “loser” to Daddy.

  Gretel knew that Bethany had absorbed all the pressure from their parents so her little sister could actually enjoy her life.

  In return, Gretel occasionally made it her mission in life to make sure Bethany got a break. With Gretel, she could let loose in a way she never did around anyone else.

  “Okay. We’ll go to the Olde Salt Saloon the next time I have a night off.”

  “The Olde Salt. Is it as crusty as it sounds?”

  “More,” Bethany promised. “So much more.”

  Chapter Eight

  Nate figured that the mysterious girl would have disappeared after stabbing him. Why would she come back to the scene of the crime? But the very next day at the firehouse, he realized that she was still hanging around.

  She made a greater effort to wipe down the shower, and she didn’t leave any candy wrappers lying around. But she did drop a raisin, which he managed to squish under his boot. None of his crew were known for their healthy snacks, so he immediately pinned it on Knife Girl.

  What was her story? Even though she’d slashed his arm, he felt oddly protective of her. His first-responder instinct told him that she needed help. She’d attacked him because she’d felt threatened.

  He couldn’t blame her for that. He’d surprised her. He’d meant to scare her—though he hadn’t known about the “her” part.

  He thought about talking to Maya about the girl, but as chill as Maya was off the job, she was very by-the-book in her police work. Before he busted the strange girl to anyone in law enforcement or social services, he wanted to know more about her. Who was she, where had she come from, what was she doing at the firehouse? Where was her family?

  Discreetly, he made sure that anything obviously valuable in the firehouse was safely hidden. Someone that desperate would do anything they could to survive, and he didn’t want the station to get ripped off.

  He thought carefully about the best way to approach her. He didn’t want to startle her again—hell, he didn’t want his other arm to get slashed. So once again he volunteered for the late shift. He made a quick trip to a burger joint for supplies, then waited until everyone else had left for the night. He settled into Engine One and waited until he heard the faint sound of tiptoeing footfalls.

  She’d slipped into the bathroom just like the other night. Fearless girl. Maybe toting around a hunting knife did that to you.

  This time, he stepped silently to the bathroom door, closed it, and leaned against it so she couldn’t burst out at him again.

  “Anyway,” he said in a relaxed, casual voice, as if they were continuing their last conversation. “Like I was saying, my name is Nate and I’m a firefighter here. I’m glad that you found a place where you feel safe. But you must not feel completely safe or you wouldn’t have stabbed me. I just want you to know that I don’t hold any grudges about that.”

  He paused, waiting for an answer. He heard nothing but dead silence from behind the door. For a nervous moment, he wondered if she’d be able to stab him through the door. She was pretty damn strong, for a kid.

  “I want to help,” he continued. “For instance, I noticed that you eat mostly sweets. Candy, raisins. How about a cheeseburger just to switch things up?”

  He reached into the white bag he’d brought from the Mighty Moose Grill, which was the closest Lost Harbor came to fast food. Crinkling the wrapper, he waved the cheeseburger close to the gap between the door and the jamb. The aroma made his own mouth water; good thing he’d bought several burgers.

  “If that smells good to you, I can guarantee it’s going to taste even better. I’m going to leave it on the floor outside the door. And then I’m going to go into the common room. That’s the big room with the couches at the end of the hallway. It’s pretty comfortable, so I’m going to eat my burger there. You’re welcome to join me, but it’s completely up to you. But that’s where the soda is. And the French fries that go with the burger. And I promise, cross my heart, that I will not hurt you.”

  He set down the cheeseburger and walked away from the bathroom door. He did exactly as he’d described, not even looking back to
see if she opened the door and took the cheeseburger.

  In the kitchen, he grabbed a six-pack of root beer and went back into the common room. He settled onto a couch and spread his food out on the scuffed Formica coffee table. He set out several bags of French fries and unwrapped his own hamburger. Extra pickles and plenty of ketchup, just how he liked it.

  A minute later, his neck prickled with awareness. Slowly, careful not to startle her, he turned his head. Still wearing the same strange homemade outfit from yesterday, she stood a few feet away, legs braced apart in a posture of complete readiness. Even though she wasn’t holding a knife, he got the feeling it wasn’t far from her hand.

  Her face was hollowed out, her blond hair pulled into a disheveled braid. Her eyes were wide and alert. Watchful, was the word that came to mind. He noticed that she kept most of her weight on her left foot. Was she injured?

  “Hi,” he said conversationally, as if they’d known each other forever. “Like I said, I’m Nate. It’s nice to meet you face to face.”

  Her eyes flicked toward the soda. He gave her a “you’re welcome to it” gesture, but she didn’t move. He freed one can from the plastic rings and leaned forward to hand it to her. She took it in a mystified way that made him realize she’d never handled one before.

  “Here, let me.”

  He took it back, cracked it open and handed it to her.

  “It’s root beer, which is my favorite. I’m not a big soda drinker, but I have a soft spot for this stuff. Try it. Go ahead.”

  She took a tentative sip, then sneezed when the carbonation released bubbles into the air. Another sip, then a big smile as the sugary flavor hit her.

  “It’s good, yeah? Now you can see why I can’t resist it. Wanna sit down and help me with these fries? There’s no way I can eat them all.”

  Especially since he’d bought two extra orders to tempt her with.

  She edged closer, then dragged a chair to the other end of the table, far enough for her to feel safe, apparently. When he pushed the fries over to her, she grabbed at them with a greedy snatch of her hand.

  He stayed silent as she gobbled them down, then chugged some root beer, then coughed because she’d downed it too fast.

  “Hey, no need to rush,” he said gently. “There’s plenty more where that came from. Want me to bring you more tomorrow?”

  She nodded, her wide eyes studying him. She didn’t seem to be afraid of him, just cautious in general.

  “Do you have a name?” he asked her. “I’ve been calling you Knife Girl in my head, for obvious reasons. But I know there’s more to you than that knife.”

  After swallowing down another batch of French fries, jumbled in her hand like pickup sticks, she said, “My name is Girl.”

  He tried to come up with an answer to that, but failed. A giant lump had appeared in his throat. Girl? She didn’t even have a real name? Why not?

  This situation screamed trouble, loud and clear.

  Over the next few nights, Nate made it his mission to gain the mysterious girl’s trust. He took it slow, using cheeseburgers as bait, as if she were a wild creature in need of food. Which was pretty close to the truth. She definitely hadn’t been raised in any kind of civilized environment.

  Along with feeding her, he made it clear that he would protect her. Once, when the dispatcher barged in unexpectedly, Nate hid her behind a cardboard poster of Smoky the Bear. When Chief Boone got suspicious about the uptick in water usage, Nate told him his water heater was on the fritz so he’d been showering at the firehouse.

  Lying to his own supervisor felt terrible, but he had to shield the girl’s privacy until she trusted him enough to tell him who she really was.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t just call you ‘Girl,’” he told her. “You need a name that’s personal to you. You’re pretty lucky because you get to choose it yourself. What would you like me to call you?”

  She studied him with those alert wide eyes. They were a clear pale gray, a few shades lighter than his. Physically, she reminded him of the Russian Old Believers who lived in the area. Was she a runaway from that community? She didn’t have an accent, but the younger generation often didn’t.

  “I like birds,” she finally said. “Can you call me Bird?”

  “What’s your favorite bird?”

  “The Spruce Grouse. They’re delicious.”

  “I could call you Spruce.”

  “No. Spruce Grouse,” she said firmly. “A spruce is just a tree.”

  “Okay, okay. Spruce Grouse. I might shorten that to S.G. I’ve been meaning to ask you. Did you injure your leg?”

  “I stepped in a trap. I splinted it with willow branches but it still hurts.”

  “Can I take a look at it? See, I’m not just a firefighter but I’m a trained EMT, which means that I can handle basic emergency medical problems.”

  But she didn’t trust him that much, not yet. And the way she backed away, the look in her eyes as she did so, told him something else.

  She was extra wary of men.

  Chapter Nine

  How could he get S.G. some medical treatment without making her get into a car or crossing her boundaries?

  It wasn’t until he spotted Bethany Morrison at the Olde Salt Saloon that the solution came to him. Bethany had a compassionate bedside manner, she was an excellent doctor, and she wouldn’t set off all of S.G.’s alarm bells.

  In the next second, as the crowd shifted and he got a better look at her, he forgot all about Spruce Grouse and, really, every other member of the human race.

  Bethany was wearing a red dress that imprinted into his brain like a neon “sex” sign. Snugging tight to her curves, it ended just above her knees, revealing shapely calves encased in black tights. She sat on a stool at the bar with one leg crossed over the other, a pose that emphasized her waist and hips and…

  He tore his eyes away from her ass before got stuck there.

  This sex-siren look was so different from anything he’d ever seen Bethany wear. At the Nightly Catch, she’d worn a gray cowl-neck sweater and black suede boots. And then scrubs at the hospital. Of course there was that towel and plunger outfit…

  Don’t think about that either.

  “So what does a guy have to do to get the red-dress treatment?” he murmured as he leaned one elbow on the bar next to her.

  “Nate. Hi.” Looking flustered, she fluttered her eyelashes at him. But then he realized that she wasn’t batting her lashes; mascara was weighing them down. Bethany in makeup—that was a first.

  Mascara, lipstick, and even better, a smile that said she was happy to see him. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “You are?”

  She lowered her voice. “I’m in wing-woman mode, and I’m failing. See that girl over there?”

  She pointed to the other side of the bar, where a small cluster of men was gathered around a woman he’d never seen before. Her hair shone blue as a mermaid’s in the light of the bar’s old ship lanterns.

  “Who is that?”

  “That’s my sister, Gretel.”

  He looked more closely at the woman. She was laughing and flirting with a group of younger Lost Harbor fishermen. He didn’t see much resemblance to Bethany, but then again, he couldn’t really get a good look at her between all the men.

  “Obviously, we’re completely different,” Bethany said. “She’s always been a man magnet.” She stirred her nearly empty drink. “Which is fine, but do you see who she’s flirting with?”

  “Ralphie.”

  “Exactly.”

  Ralphie Reed was a deckhand with the face of an angel. He was a heartbreaker, and a sweet soul besides. But he wasn’t big on commitment so he tended to go for tourists or visitors.

  “Okay, so how do I come in? Do you want me to rescue her?”

  “I want you to out-flirt Ralphie.”

  At his skeptical snort, she swatted him on the shoulder. “Really! You’re the only guy I know who can out-flirt that man. He’
s sooo good. But you’re cuter.”

  Which was when he realized that she was very, very buzzed. “What are you drinking, Doctor? More importantly, how many?”

  She gave a long, aggravated groan, as if he’d just dumped a bucket of cold water on her. “That’s sooooo not the point. Anyway, you told me I should have more fun.”

  “Did I?” By “fun,” he hadn’t meant “get sloshed at the Olde Salt in a sexy red dress.” He pulled up a stool and planted himself next to her. In his opinion, Bethany was the one who needed a guardian. Her sister seemed to be handling Ralphie and company just fine.

  “What are you doing?” Bethany gave him another little push. “You’re supposed to go flirt with Gretel.”

  “I’m good where I am. I can keep an eye on her from here. And you.”

  “Me?”

  “Have you been here before? The Olde Salt bartenders pour them strong or extra-strong. You’re probably not used to it.”

  “Oh.” Ignoring his warning, she tossed back the rest of her drink.

  He signaled to Toni, the bartender, for a glass of water. With Bethany in this kind of mood, he needed to keep his wits about him. When he was done, he realized that Bethany was looking at him strangely. “What?”

  “Don’t you want to meet Gretel?”

  “Sure, I’m all about meeting the family.”

  Her forehead crinkled as her eyebrows drew together. “She’s not just family. She’s a star.”

  “A star?”

  “Just look at her.” Urged by her wistful gesture, he glanced again at Gretel. Once again, he saw the same thing. A dazzling girl having the time of her life. But still—she wasn’t Bethany, and he was happy right where he was.

  “It must run in the family, then.”

  She directed a glare at him. Her moonlight hair was loose around her face, and it looked as if she’d curled it earlier in the evening. The curls had lost their spring, but still held a soft shine. “Don’t make fun of me.”