Wild Ice

by Rachelle Vaughn

  JD grinded his teeth. She’d smelled good. Like wildflowers in springtime and...

  Dammit! He had no right to think about another woman like that.

  JD paced again.

  She’d touched him, too. She’d put her hands on his arms and he’d actually felt something for the first time in… Well, in too damn long. As far as he was concerned, he could go the rest of his life without feeling anything again. No, he didn’t really believe that. It had felt nice to feel something besides pain and grief and guilt. Strange as hell, but nice.

  He’d gone and touched her, too. Well, how else was he supposed to figure out if her ankle was broken or not? Her skin had been warm and soft…

  The way her skin felt was beside the point. When he woke up that morning, JD sure as hell wouldn’t have predicted his day would end up like that.

  He might not be able to pinpoint all the emotions she’d gone and stirred up, but he knew anger well. And right now he was more than a little angry. What if he hadn’t been around to help her? What if she’d broken her ankle or shattered her knee and no one was there to haul her back to her little cottage? Oh, and that cottage! It sure had that hominess thing going for it. It was the definition of cozy with its painted shutters and frilly floral curtains. And the bed was damn near in the living room, the place was so small. The cottage was warm and welcoming and it scared the hell out of him.

  JD paced some more. It had only been one day and he already missed seeing her. He didn’t need to be getting all riled up over a woman and he sure as hell didn’t need to be thinking about her bed. With a shake of his head, he buried the thought.

  Mel stared out the sliding glass door like he was looking for his best friend in the world. There was no telling how many walks he’d been on with her up until now and it was obvious he was missing them. Turned out the woman was a better caregiver than he was. Lately, all JD ever did was plop some food down and then forget about the poor dog.

  “You wanna see her?” JD asked.

  Mel perked up and jumped to his feet.

  JD needed some groceries anyway and he could check in on her on his way into town. Yeah, that sounded like a completely reasonable excuse. Mel was getting low on food and JD didn’t know what he’d do if he ran out of cereal. Better if he didn’t find out.

  “All right, let’s go.” JD grabbed his keys and headed outside.

  Mel bounded ahead of him and up to the SUV parked in the driveway. JD locked the front door behind him and turned around. The setting sun glared over the horizon and the sky was a mix of streaky pinks and purples. He might be able to appreciate nature’s show if he wasn’t blinded by the orange ball of fire in the sky.

  Something moved in his peripherals and he looked over and blinked.

  Darla stood in the middle of the driveway.

  Chapter Nine

  The Visitor

  JD blinked again and put his hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun. Darla’s sister, Sloan, walked toward him and JD could breathe again. For a single heart-stopping second, though, he thought Darla had come back to him. But it wasn’t her.

  The sisters were about the same height, but the similarities ended there. The resemblance was apparent only in the shape of Sloan’s nose and the set of her eyes. Other than that, her features were uniquely her own. Darla had been slender and lean with the body of a dancer. Sloan was thin and bony. And Sloan wasn’t blessed with Darla’s warm hazel eyes either. On the contrary, Sloan had dull brown eyes.

  The way the light shined behind her made Sloan’s hair look the same light blonde as Darla’s. Darla had golden blonde hair, up until the end anyway, that was always cut in stylish layers that accented her heart-shaped face. Sloan’s straight brown hair was cut in a severe bob that clashed with her angular face. She wore navy slacks and a silk blouse that was the color of the orange sunset.

  JD caught his breath and returned the thin smile Sload offered.

  “Hello JD.”

  He had to stop himself from closing his eyes and pretending that Darla was there. That it was Darla’s voice he was hearing.

  “Sloan,” he replied.

  When she hugged him, he should have been careful not to squeeze too tight or linger too long, but since Sloan was the last physical connection he had to Darla he stayed in the hug a second longer than she did.

  JD half expected her to smell like Darla’s designer perfume. But she didn’t. Of course she had her own scent of vanilla. Darla had worn Armani Code ever since he’d known her. The sexy, musky fragrance clung to her skin and clothes and even the seatbelt of her car. Sometimes JD regretted distributing Darla’s clothes the way she’d requested. If he’d kept just one article of her clothing, he just might be able to hold the fabric to his nose and inhale the scent that lingered there, woven into the fabric. He pushed away the thought and tried to figure out what Sloan was doing on his doorstep.

  Sloan pulled out of the hug, stepped back and shifted her weight to her other foot. JD silently cursed himself for making her feel uncomfortable ten seconds into her visit.

  “How are you, JD?”

  “Would you like to come in for some coffee?”

  They both spoke at the same time and Sloan smiled in an attempt to ease the awkwardness.

  “No, thank you,” she answered.

  It was just as well. JD didn’t have any more to say to her indoors than he did out on the driveway. The only thing that had linked them together was gone now.

  Mel sniffed at her sensible loafers and went to wait by the car. Sloan wasn’t a dog person and had never liked him very much anyway.

  She looked around at the property in awe. “When your brother said you were in the boondocks, he wasn’t exaggerating.”

  JD’s shoulders sagged. So, Kyle was behind this. It figured. Nothing positive ever came as a result of his meddlesome little brother.

  JD shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s peaceful out here,” he replied. Birds chirped and a flock of something noisy flew overhead. “Except for the birds.” If it weren’t for the noise of the damn birds, he’d probably go insane because then it would be too quiet.

  Sloan looked back at him and then her gaze fall to her hands. “I tried calling you, but you don’t answer your phone.”

  He didn’t apologize. The fact that he wasn’t Mr. Sociable these days wasn’t a secret to anyone. He just nodded and looked down at his shoes. “What are you doing here, Sloan?”

  “Collin took a job in New York. We’re flying out tomorrow and I…I just wanted to say goodbye.”

  JD ignored the twinge in his stomach and nodded. Sloan was leaving to start a new life in a new city. There wasn’t anything keeping her here anyway. She could continue her charitable work anywhere.

  “Is it true you aren’t playing hockey anymore?” she asked, breaking the awkward silence.

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh.” She twiddled with the hem of her blouse and didn’t meet his eyes. “I thought you would go back after…” She trailed off and shifted her feet. This wasn’t easy for either of them. “That’s too bad. I know how much you enjoyed it.” She exhaled a shaky breath. “Well, I just wanted to stop by and say goodbye before we left. I wish you all the best, JD.”

  “Thanks. Good luck in New York.”

  It looked like she debated whether or not to hug him again and then did so anyway. This time, she squeezed a little bit tighter and patted him on the back.

  “It was good to see you.”

  “You too, JD. Take care.”

  JD watched as Sloan’s car disappeared down the long driveway. He stood there, by the front door, long after she turned onto the main road and the dust settled.

  The groceries were forgotten and JD went back inside.

  Chapter Ten

  Healing

  The last time Lauren had been laid up was in elementary school when she’d fallen out of a tree and broken her wrist after climbing up to get a closer look at a house wren. Or was it in fifth grade when sh
e had the chicken pox? Regardless, she wasn’t used to being limited in her movements and activities.

  Walking the trail was fun, but luckily there was no shortage of birds right outside her window. The great thing about the cottage was that with all the trees around it, the birds basically came to you.

  Lauren quickly discovered she missed the yellow dog’s company. She looked over at her only companion and suppressed a laugh. Marsh was temperamental and much too good to associate with people. He probably thought it was beneath him to eat the food she put out for him—on the floor, no less! He had a scrunched up face like he was constantly catching a whiff of something unsavory. Somehow, Lauren had gradually coaxed him out from under the furniture and they become cordial. Only when he was watching birds did he look somewhat content with his stake in life.

  Most mornings, Marsh watched the hummingbirds from his perch on the back of the sofa. They hummed and darted, chasing each other away from the feeders. Marsh’s tail twitched and his eyes followed their quick movements and his pupils dilated. Eventually, as if he was too exhausted to watch anymore, he closed his eyes and slept.

  Lauren leaned over and placed a noisy kiss on top of the cat’s head and laughed when he glared at her in return. She hated to admit it, but she was glad for Marsh’s company—even if he did keep to himself most of the time. The cottage was even more isolated and quiet than she’d imagined it would be. Especially when she wasn’t able to go outside. Oh, well. That meant there was plenty of time to read some of the old paperback novels from Aunt Cora’s bookshelf.

  Lauren didn’t tell her mother about her injury, it would only worry her. She did call and invite her parents to the cottage, but her mother declined. Lauren didn’t let herself be disappointed. It wasn’t like she’d expected her parents to drop everything and visit her. Her father would probably go into anaphylactic shock if he ventured any more than two miles away from his country club. And there were no trendy coffee shops or designer stores in Hayley’s Point for her mother. It was for the best. Alicia never appreciated the beauty of the refuge like Lauren and Aunt Cora. They would probably just end up arguing about Daniel anyway.

  Lauren spotted a black phoebe outside the window and scribbled the name on her life list. With so much time on her hands, her thoughts wandered next door to the mansion. There was no tall, handsome hockey player on her life list.

  Hockey Player: Native to North America and Europe. Attracted to ice covered surfaces and frozen ponds. Can be found worldwide, with concentrations in Russia, Finland, Sweden, Canada and the United States. Highly skilled skaters who are fearless and extremely competitive. Known by the sound of tapping their sticks on the boards, skates cutting through the ice, and chirping at their competitors.

  Lauren set aside her birding journal and smiled to herself. She was grateful for her neighbor’s rescue even if it was slightly peculiar. His strength had caught her off guard just as much as his eyes had.

  Who was he anyway? Why didn’t he play hockey anymore? Why were his eyes so haunted? There were a lot of mysteries surrounding her neighbor and she could tell he guarded his secrets closely.

  At least the mystery of the reappearing yellow dog had been solved. The answer to his origin had been staring her right in the face all along. Sometimes the answers you were looking for were right there in front of you the whole time and for some reason you chose to look past them.

  Lauren took a couple more pain killers and looked around the cottage. This was the first time she’d experienced anything close to boredom since coming here and the realization was unsettling. Then Lauren remembered her aunt’s diary and slid it out from the thick manila envelope that Mr. Templeton had given it to her in. Since she couldn’t walk the trail, she decided to take the opportunity to read through the worn pages of her aunt’s journal. She propped some pillows behind her back and sat on the bed with her foot elevated just like the not-a-hockey player and not-a-doctor neighbor had told her to.

  The diary was a leather-bound book that was soft and worn with age. Some of the pages fell out from the binding and Lauren carefully held them in place. It seemed intrusive to read her aunt’s personal thoughts, but Aunt Cora had wanted her to have the diary and had gone to great lengths to make sure Lauren received it. Now was as good a time as any to look through it and she needed something to do besides think about her neighbor.

  Out of nowhere, Marsh jumped up onto the bed. Lauren kept still, careful not to scare him away. He must’ve liked the feel of the quilt beneath his feet because he immediately started purring and making mittens. She smiled as he marched in place in a trance-like state. She reached her hand out and scratched his cheek. “You’re not so bad, are you?” His purring became louder and he rubbed his head against her outstretched fingers. “I knew you’d come around sooner or later.”

  Marsh rubbed his cheek on the corner of the diary as if to say hello to Aunt Cora.

  “I’ll take care of him, Aunt Cora,” Lauren said out loud before adding, “Even if he is a pain in the butt.”

  Marsh looked proud of making an effort and he settled at the foot of the bed to give himself a bath.

  Lauren looked back at the diary and began to read.

  The cottage is much quieter than I imagined it would be. It sits back from the main road so there are no sounds of traffic. Except for the birds of course. The birds are plentiful here. There are over 300 species in the area along with a diversity of mammals.

  Although most of the seasonal marshes are dry in summer, they become carpets of green after seasonal rains drench them in the spring.

  The refuge is struggling to stay open because of lack of funding. I shudder when I imagine Hayley’s Point without it…

  My great-grandfather built the cottage and it has been passed down through the generations ever since. When my parents died, it was passed down to me. After college I decided to live here full time. When I was a little girl I used to dream of living here and now it’s a reality…

  It’s always been referred to as birdwatching, but I prefer the term birding because birdwatching doesn’t include the auditory aspects of enjoying birds. And enjoy them I do. Watching them brings me peacefulness like I’ve never been able to find before.

  The most spectacular concentrations of waterfowl on the continent are found here. Many of the ducks and geese that winter here are from Alaska and the Canadian arctic. Waterfowl numbers on the refuge exceed two million by December after other areas to the north become frozen. Half of the Pacific Flyway’s waterfowl population winters here.

  I’m amazed at how these birds make such an amazing journey each year while I have never set foot outside of the state of California. To them the voyage is just instinct imprinted on their DNA…

  When the sunlight grew dim, Lauren flicked on the lamp by the bed. She looked out the window and noticed it was dark outside. The afternoon had shifted into night without her even knowing.

  Reading her aunt’s flowery writing was like jumping back in time, yet everything was eerily familiar. The way she described the cottage, the birds... It was exactly how Lauren saw the cottage and the surrounding area. The only difference was that she was reading about it through her aunt’s perspective.

  She didn’t have to think too hard to imagine a young woman, fresh out of college, moving to the cottage and living here. Aunt Cora’s story mirrored her own and helped push the loneliness away.

  The first thing I did upon arrival at the cottage was put a birdfeeder up in the backyard. By the next morning, it was empty. The birds chirp to each other across the trees and I’m reminded of how alone I am…

  After years of photographing birds for fun, I’ve decided to take my hobby to the next step. I took a job at the newspaper today, writing a column in the Lifestyle section of the Red Valley Times.

  The drive to the newspaper in Red Valley is a bit of a commute, but luckily I only have to drive in once a week to submit my column. I’m glad to have the freedom of freelancing and setting my own h
ours.

  The editor has given me the green light to feature a different bird each week in my column. I can’t wait to photograph a golden eagle and write about how they soar on thermals and can dive at speeds up to 200 miles per hour.

  Everyone who works at the newspaper office is friendly. The Red Valley Times is owned by Howie Langdon of Langdon Enterprises and he seems like a nice man…

  It seems misleading to call what I do a job. All I do is observe the wildlife in the area, snap a few pictures and write about them. The only difference now is that I’m being paid for doing it…

  A house is being built next door. The land has sat vacant for years and someone has finally decided to break ground and start developing. I wonder who will live there when it’s finished…

  I met the newspaper owner’s son. His name is Howard and it turns out he’s the one building the house next door. What a small world! Howard is my age with kind eyes, wavy dark hair and a contagious smile…

  Howard and I have become friends. Whenever I come in to the newspaper office to turn in my articles he’s there. It’s like he’s been waiting just for me…

  The house next door is coming along magnificently. The hammering and sawing can be distracting during the day, but when I go outside and see the progress I know it’s worth it.

  Howard says it’s going to be the grandest house in all of Hayley’s Point and I have to agree with him…

  It’s easy to think of Howard as more than a friend. The way he touches my hand when no one is looking, the way he looks at me... It isn’t quite the same as how he looks at the other women in the office. There’s something extra there in the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. And in the way he lowers his voice and leans in real close like he’s sharing a secret.