by Jean Oram
He couldn’t do this, could he? He was going to fail and look dumb. There was a reason men didn’t do this kind of stuff.
They did other things. Manly things that didn’t get them called gay.
And he knew he wasn’t a homosexual, so why did that term still get a rise out of him? Wasn’t he beyond that by now?
But Simone. Man. JC pushed his fingers through his hair and stood on the back porch of the cottage, hoping to freeze away the heat that lingered from their hot kiss. He could still feel the lushness of her body pressed to his, the potent response of his body and how it had demanded to prove his virility.
Thinking about her was not helping, but it did distract him from the self-loathing that was flaring up like a beast.
Despite the fact that it was cold enough out to prevent most gas-powered vehicles from starting, he was still feeling heated. And from what? One kiss with a woman who hated him. But the way she’d come alive, the way all her prickly barriers had come crashing down as she’d gotten into their kiss... There was none of that “must protect myself from Josh at all costs” thing she normally had going on. She’d gotten into it. Gotten hot. Really hot.
He’d liked it.
A lot.
He wanted to kiss her again.
And then some more.
A lot more.
The door behind him creaked open.
“How’s the weather?”
It was Connor, shoulders hunched under his thick sweater.
“Better than it was.” It wasn’t howling as it had been an hour ago, but still beyond anything a helicopter could get through, or a safety-conscious snowmobiler would try to tackle.
“And how are things inside?”
Josh shrugged, pretending he didn’t understand where Connor was heading.
“Making any progress?”
“How so?”
“It’s none of my business, but I figured there were only three reasons a man would come stand out in a blizzard without a jacket, and seeing as you aren’t a smoker, that leaves us with either you want off this island bad enough to risk your own life so you can get away from her, or she’s got you so fired up you need to cool your jets.”
Josh chuckled. The man had him pegged, all right.
Connor gave him a light punch in the arm. “She might be standoffish and difficult, but she’s worth it if she’s already got you feeling like this after a few hours of being stuck with her.” He leaned closer, as though someone might overhear. “And when you do get together, all that spitfire attitude…” He grinned and shook his head. “You’d better watch out. It’ll be like no other woman you’ve ever experienced. Trust me.” He held the door open behind him. Considering how chilled he’d become, Josh followed the man inside.
The warm scent of old wood paneling met them as Connor walked ahead, passing through the chilly kitchen and into the living room, arms stretched high as he yawned loudly. “Well, I’m calling it a night. Let’s hope the heat keeps working or we’ll all be cuddling with Josh and Simone tonight.”
Connor gave his wife a look that said all sorts of naughty things, and the couple, giggling, vanished from the room.
Simone was staring into the fire, fingers pressed to her lips, shutting out the world. Josh liked to think that maybe he’d gotten under her skin, as well.
Daphne, who had finally managed to get Tigger settled, headed off for the night with Evander, while Melanie and Tristen lingered to see if Simone and Josh had all they needed. Judging by the stack of blankets and pillows, as well as the pile of firewood, Josh deemed them set.
“So?” he said to Simone as he shook out a blanket, folding it around himself as he took the chair opposite her. He crushed a pillow behind his head and leaned back, kicking out his feet. He was still mad about how she’d discounted his hair accessories, denying the possibility that he’d be capable of creating something delicate.
She ignored him.
He shut his eyes, making himself comfortable. Tomorrow she’d be out of his hair. Tomorrow, tomorrow. Then he could go find someone in a bar for a one-night stand, and shake Simone out of his system.
He shifted in the chair, unable to get comfortable, the pillow pressing against the tender bump on his head.
Straight men could create pretty things. They could bring joy into the world in ways other than saving cats from burning barns.
But Simone had said she wanted to talk to the creator. That had to mean she liked them, and saw potential, right?
That he was rocking it.
He opened one eye. “Still think I’m gay?”
She whirled, glaring at him. “I don’t appreciate you playing games with me.” Her voice was low, so as not to bother the others through the thin cottage walls.
“No games. This is me.”
“You don’t add up.”
“Because you have an outdated calculator that’s as narrow-minded as you are,” he snapped, whipping the blanket off his legs.
“I am not narrow-minded.”
“Prove it.”
She blinked, chin tipped down.
“Stop assuming I’m either a pushy, overbearing man who wants to run your life or that I’m gay and living a lie.”
“You are a liar.”
If you denied your true self long enough, did that make you a liar?
“See? You’re not denying it.” She smirked as though she’d won a point. But instead of being bothered, he found himself wanting to break down her barriers more than ever. All that attitude, all that fire. They could have a lot of fun if she let him in.
He moved to her swiftly, pulling her out of her chair and into an embrace. “And you’re a liar by denying how much chemistry we have going on between us, and the fact that it scares you.”
She pushed lightly on his chest, a feeble halfhearted move that told him she wanted to stay exactly where she was, wrapped in his arms. “You don’t scare me.”
“Right.”
“Why would I be afraid of you?”
She was looking up at him with dark, curious eyes.
“You tell me.” He lowered his lips to hers, and was rewarded with that surge of desire sparking to life inside him—same as always. This time it was less out of control, but just as hot and needy. He swept his thumb over her hollowed cheek as she deepened the kiss. Cupping her below the waist, he pulled her body to his.
She broke away, eyelids at half-mast. “We’re not good for each other.”
“I think we are.”
“No.”
He dropped his arms, already wanting to hold her again. “Do you always deny everything that’s right in your life?”
Her body turned rigid as anger flared. “And are you so cocky to think you could actually offer me what I need?”
“And what is it that you need?” He fought a growing resentment for her brick walls and tried to soften his attitude so he wouldn’t act like the man she thought he was.
“I need a man who’s not you.” Her voice was wobbly, her eyes blinking furiously.
He had a hold on her, but somewhere in her life she’d become so shaken that he wondered what it would take for her to cross the barrier that kept her at bay. Whatever it was, he found himself that much more determined to have her, to win her over.
Simone Pascal was going to be his by the time they said goodbye.
8
Josh had been sleeping lightly, waking every hour or so to place more logs on the fire so Simone wouldn’t have to. Each time, he’d taken a moment to watch her sleep, wondering what had her so spooked and how he could circumvent it. She’d become an irresistible challenge, a mystery to crack. But so far he’d gathered no hints other than what he already knew about her. She was strong. Clever. Independent and allusive. Keeping secrets from her friends just as he did.
Had she been burned one too many times? Or was she just fiercely independent to a fault?
The fire was still going strong, and before drifting off again, he glanced over to check on Simone,
who was sleeping on the couch just behind him. Her blankets were crumpled, her supple form no longer denting the cushions. He sat up straighter, listening for her. All was quiet other than the fire and gentle background hum of the generator and bedroom heaters.
He checked his phone. It was 4:00 a.m. He’d last been up at two. How had he managed to sleep through Simone stoking the fire?
He rubbed his eyes and got up to check the common areas, tenderly exploring the bump on his head, which had shrunk considerably. Simone wasn’t in the kitchen, nor the nonfunctioning bathroom. There was still plenty of firewood. Had she gone to the outhouse?
He checked the time again. How long had she been outside? Was she properly dressed? Was she even out there? Maybe she was comforting Tigger, who’d had a bad dream or something.
No. The snowshoes that hung above the fireplace were gone and, when he checked, the mat at the door was short one pair of women’s boots.
She was outdoors. On snowshoes.
Heading home? He didn’t think so. That seemed too fraught with risk for even the determined and obsessively independent Simone.
You couldn’t have a baby if you were frozen in a snowdrift. So where did she go? And why?
Had to be the outhouse.
Josh hurried to put on his suit and boots, hoping to bump into her as she came in from the cold, but still he prepared for the worst. Gathering lights and a blanket, he opened the back door off the kitchen, disappointed and alarmed when he didn’t find her standing there.
“Simone?” he called, not caring if he woke anyone. There was no reply but the haunting sound of grainy snow scurrying over hard, crusted drifts.
“Oh, that independent woman. She’s going to be the death of me,” he muttered under his breath as he clipped the spare flashlight onto the back clothesline. She should know better than to go out alone. She should have woken him up, told him where she was heading.
He kicked himself for sleeping through her departure, and scanned for telltale tracks in the snow. His earlier path to the woodpile had drifted over, obliterated by shifting snow. But a large set of indentations led toward the outhouse. Snowshoes.
He swung his light out into the darkness, calling Simone once again before setting off.
Finally, near the outhouse, he heard a reply to his frequent calls. “Here! I’m here! JC?”
JC? Nobody had called him that since he was a teenager. Which meant she likely assumed he was the same troublemaking goof from back then. He still was in some ways, but he liked to think he’d changed at least a little bit and had allowed his finer traits to develop as he matured.
“Simone?” He cast the light over the snow, wondering if the wind was playing tricks with his ears.
Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a feeble band of light shining up into an evergreen. Josh hurried through the dark night, the flying flakes dizzying as he swung the light, searching for her.
“Simone?”
“JC!”
She was scrambling like a wounded bird, stuck under the branches of a spruce. The wind had created a deep bowl around the tree, drifts of snow curving up to the lower limbs, blocking her in. He had no clue how she’d ended up in there, but she was good and trapped, unable even to stand. He tested the edges of the drifts, checking for give. They gave all right. If he came any closer he’d find himself on top of her. And not in a fun way.
“Are you hurt?”
“My snowshoe’s caught under me. I can’t get up. I can’t get out.” The more she tried to claw her way out of the bowl, the more snow caved in on her, soft and impossible to maneuver through. She was swimming in snow up to her shoulders, branches whacking her in the head whenever she got some momentum going from her sitting position.
“Are you warm enough? Can you feel your toes?” She appeared to be decked out in jeans and a short, trendy ski jacket, although it was difficult to tell by the way her clothing was packed with snow. She looked more like a human snowman than a smart Canadian prepared for all weather.
Women. Her need to be fashionable probably had her legs close to frostbite, if Jack Frost hadn’t already been nipping at them.
“Get me out of here!” There was panic stitching her voice, and when Josh failed to move, she scrambled, making her situation worse.
He balled up the knitted afghan and tossed it under the branches that protected her from the worst of the wind, afraid to come closer. “Wrap yourself in that.”
“JC! Get. Me. Out.”
She struggled again, but the snow was like quicksand, grainy and loose, ready to pull her down each time she stirred. He was going to need more supplies. A rope. Shovel.
“Hang tight. Don’t try to get out.” He didn’t wait for her reply, but ran back through the snow, his feet falling through at various depths, sending him off-kilter like a newborn fawn learning to walk on ice. He needed to stay calm, slow down, make a methodical plan to get her out of the shifting snow. A twisted knee wouldn’t do either of them any good.
Before long the light he’d hung on the clothesline came into view. He moved it to a nail in one of the porch posts and untied the line. He grabbed the shovel he’d used earlier while fixing the generator, and figured if he couldn’t get Simone out of her bind with this he’d come back for reinforcements—waking the entire cottage if necessary.
Back at Simone’s tree he carefully tested the edges of the drift again, backing off as soon as it began to crumble. Then he lay down on the snow, wondering if the clothesline would be long enough to haul her to safety. If he had to dig her out, how long would it take in conditions such as this?
“Simone?”
“You left me here!”
“Don’t get your frozen lace panties in a huff. I had to get supplies.”
“How do you know they’re lace?” He voice was indignant and he chuckled, trying to shake the vision of her lovely shaped buttocks encased in delectable, fine fabric designed to make a man crave all it hid from view.
He tossed one end of the clothesline to her, reminding himself to cool his jets. It wasn’t a good time to be visualizing her wearing close to nothing.
“Hold on to the line and I’ll pull you out.”
As soon as she tugged, the rope cut through the drifts. “It’s not working,” she complained.
“I know.” Making sure he was on a solid crust of snow, he stood and grabbed the shovel. “I’m going to have to dig you out.” He batted what looked like purple yarn out of his way, but it kept blowing back at him. “What is this?” It was wrapped around one of the branches, threaded out into the dark night, hooked on something else.
“It’s my string.”
“For what? Knitting?” A few feet from the edge of her drifts he began digging through the hard crust, hoping to make steps of some sort. But as soon as he broke through the surface he faced the same grainy pebbles of snow encasing Simone. One false move and he’d find himself in a similar predicament.
“It’s my lifeline.” What was she talking about? “To follow back to the cottage from the outhouse.”
“You should have woken me.”
“You were sleeping.” Her voice was stubborn, petulant despite its tremor of fear.
“Quit moving. You’re making it worse.”
“I almost got out that time.”
“No, you didn’t. You’re working against me and it’s going to take longer if you keep that up.”
“Then hurry. I can’t get out—my leg is stuck under me. I can’t undo the buckle.”
“I’m trying.” He scooped crystallized snow out of the hole he’d dug. It was no use. It was all deep and grainy under the thick crust. He needed to get creative. Fast.
“Hurry.”
“Have you already been to the outhouse?”
“No,” she moaned. “And I can barely feel my thighs.”
He began shoveling faster, hoping to uncover a miracle in the snow’s depth while he tried to form other rescue plans in his mind. She began trying to help agai
n, only drawing more snow into her shelter. She needed to listen to him, trust him. Josh stopped digging, battling his frustration.
“Why are you stopping?” she asked, her voice low with worry. “Don’t leave me, please, JC. I’ll promise you whatever you want. Just don’t leave me to freeze. I’ll—I’ll set up your friend with distributors or other designers. Get her a discount on ribbons. Anything.”
She still didn’t believe he’d made the accessories. That cut.
He sighed, still resting against the shovel despite the way the wind nipped at his exposed cheeks. “Do you want me to help you or not?”
“Get me out.” Her chin was starting to vibrate despite her obvious fight to keep her teeth from chattering.
“Yeah?”
“Please!”
“Then do as I say and stop trying to climb out!”
“I’m not a weak damsel in distress. I can help.”
He couldn’t see her in the darkness under the branches, but in his mind’s eye he pictured her with her hands on her hips, ready to do battle.
“Would it kill you to accept help? To admit that you can’t do this on your own?”
He shone the flashlight in her direction, seeing her silhouette under the spruce as she began scooping snow, trying to break the crust that worked as a barrier between her bowl and where he’d started to dig. More snow piled in on her and she shuddered as it seeped around her waist.
She didn’t learn, did she?
“And is that better?” he snapped. “Doing it yourself is working out fine for you? Shall I head inside and wait for you in front of the nice cozy fire?”
“I’m not going to just sit here.” She was getting close to hysteria. Panic. On the verge of losing rational thought, which meant she was in an even worse state than she’d let on.
Josh quickly moved south several feet and dropped the shovel at his feet. He stretched himself out over the crusty snow, wondering if he was taking a stupid risk that would cost them both. As he slithered forward, testing the drift’s edge, he talked to her in a calm, soothing voice, using her name to help her anchor her thoughts. “It doesn’t make you any less of a powerful woman to accept help when you need it. It’s a sign of strength.”
