by Jill Shalvis
utterly still now, absorbing the fact that her legs were knocking into his.
The sensation was shockingly pleasant.
Unlike her talking. That was distinctly not pleasant. He wanted silence. Needed silence. Needed that more than his next breath.
“Excuse me.”
Without opening his eyes, he dropped his legs down so she could pass him, then settled in again, his hands linked low on his belly, head back, eyes still closed.
The front door opened, then shut.
Ah, yeah. Perfect. Finally alone, where he could contemplate how he’d tell his brothers and Annie that he was back—
“Dammit.”
He shook his head and opened his eyes. Yep, there she was, still with him, leaning against the door, chewing on a thumbnail, her hair wild around her face, her eyes filled with misgivings, her body—
Well, wasn’t that a shame. She’d dressed.
She’d put on white jeans and a pink soft fuzzy sweater that zipped from chin to waist, with two tassels hanging down stopping just short of her breasts, pointing to them as if in emphasis of how long it’d been since he’d last seen a woman’s breasts.
“It’s really dark out there.”
“Yes,” he agreed, looking to where the stars littered the black velvet sky like a sea of diamonds. There was no sky on earth like a Sierra night sky. He waited to be moved by it, as a sort of test, a gauge of his emotional depth. He waited for the mystic wonder to hit him like it used to.
Waited.
And waited…
Nothing. Not even a twinge. “Which means it’s also too dark for any ax murderers to find you,” he pointed out.
“That may be, but there’s something else out there, something that always lurks in the bushes and makes this sort of rustling noise. It’s done it all week.”
He met her gaze. Those pale, clear depths could really haunt him, could make him yearn. Except he no longer did things like get haunted or yearn. “Nothing’s stalking you. Unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Well, there’s been some sightings of Big Foot over the years.”
She looked horrified but spoke bravely, “There’s no such thing.”
“Tell that to the people who reported seeing him. Or to the bushes next time they…rustle?”
She nodded in confirmation. “There must be an explanation.”
“Sure there is. It’s Old Pete. He runs the gas station in town. He grew up on a commune and hasn’t shaved since the seventies.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Is this amusing to you?” Her hands went to her hips. “Making fun of my fears?”
What was amusing was his own reaction to baiting her. Why it was so much fun, he had no idea, but he was enjoying the spark in her eyes, the attitude all over her, and for some stupid reason, loved her crazy bed-head hair. “I’m sorry.”
“You are not.”
Okay, he wasn’t. “Look, I’m tired. It’s like three in the morning. I’m feeling punchy.”
“It’s one. One in the morning.”
“Well, it feels like three. I’ve been up for thirty-six hours straight and I’m dead on my feet.”
“Does that mean you’re not moving?”
“Not a single inch.” He closed his eyes again.
“Maybe Annie—”
“Go for it. But fair warning, she’s cranky when she doesn’t get her sleep.”
A sound of frustration left her, but Cam was already drifting off, dreaming about his knee not aching, dreaming what Annie would be cooking for breakfast in the morning up in the main lodge, dreaming about his feisty Goldilocks sleeping in his bed and whether he could coax her to share the bed tomorrow night…
Huh.
Seemed as if maybe he was feeling plenty of things, after all.
Chapter 2
Cam woke up to the sun slanting through the window into his face.
And something else was right in his face.
The temp, the one with a healthy fear of ax murderers and the dark. The one with the quick wit and shiny hair and the sweet soulful eyes that stared into his as if he were a loaded shotgun. Odd how he found that sexy. “Hey…” He’d already forgotten her given name.
“Katie,” she supplied helpfully, in the tone of “Bite me, asshole.”
Aw, she thought he was sexy too.
“You fell asleep,” she said tightly. “Dead asleep, as if it was no big deal for us, two perfect strangers, to sleep together.”
She had a point, and in the light of day, which was currently blinding him, he felt just a little bit guilty that he hadn’t gotten up and left her his cabin. “I was really tired—”
Abruptly, she turned and left the bedroom.
Yeah, that charm of his was working wonders.
She’d made his bed. She’d changed her clothes, fixed up her hair, and apparently also built up a pretty big attitude. With a sigh, he got up, his knee giving him a hot, fiery stab of pain just for shits and giggles. Wincing, he thought belovedly of the Vicodin he’d given up because he’d liked it too much, and followed her into his living room, noticing that her hair smelled good, damn good. “I really am sorry.”
“You are forgiven,” she said formally, even politely, as she handed him back his key and picked up her bags, turning toward the door.
In his experience, women weren’t much into forgiving, so her words left him a little confused. “I’m forgiven?”
“Absolutely.” She struggled to hold her stuff and open the front door, so he reached around her to help. Their hands tangled on the knob. Her hair smelled good. And then there was her booty, a very fine booty, which bumped into the front of his thigh, and he abruptly, unexpectedly, noticed her as a woman.
Okay, so he’d noticed her as a woman last night, in her tank top sans bra. He’d have to have been dead not to; but it magnified now, much like those eyes behind her glasses, and if he’d been all the way awake instead of groggy and hurting, it might have shocked him. He wasn’t used to being back among the living, feeling things like hot and bothered.
“I’ve got it, thanks.” She pulled open the door, shivering as the early icy air sliced through them. “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to tell Stone you tripled my salary. It’s very generous of you.”
“Hey, wait. What?”
But she was out the door, shutting it in his face. He yanked it open in time to see her swinging her very cute little ass down the front steps to the path. “Goldilocks.”
“Sorry. Can’t stop.” She was peeking beneath each bush that she passed. “I don’t want to wake up Big Foot.”
“Aren’t you funny.”
“Oh, I’m a riot.” She flashed him a quick look over her shoulder as she paused to push up her glasses, looking quite pleased with herself. “I’ve got to run. I have a meeting with Stone, and I’m never late.”
“I did not offer to triple your salary.”
“Oh, yes, you most definitely did. You said, and I quote, ‘I’ll triple your salary if you stop talking.’”
Oh, Christ. He had said that. He quickly switched mental gears from figuring out how to get her back into his bed to getting her to forget the raise because Stone was going to kill him. “But you didn’t,” he said, just a little desperately. “You never stopped talking.”
She only smiled, flashing a little dimple on the right side.
Hell of a time to remember that once upon a time, before he’d fucked up his life, he’d had a serious softness for dimples.
“How would you know if I did?” she asked. “You were snoring.”
And smart-asses. He had a soft spot for smart-asses too. Had he thought her a sweet little thing? Try feisty as hell.
Another personal favorite.
What was happening to him? He’d been having a great time feeling sorry for himself, wallowing. Plus, he’d spent his entire life being wary of people since all they’d ever wanted was a piece of him—past tense—and here he was, already forgetting to put up his guard. “I d
on’t snore.”
“Oh, yes, you do. Loudly. Like this—” Turning back to face him, she snorted air through her mouth, sounding like an elephant in heat as she backed down the path toward the main lodge.
“You’re making that up. I don’t snore, and you weren’t quiet. There was no way you could have held your tongue.” He pointed at her. “You, Goldilocks, are not a tongue holder.”
She laughed again, and he felt something tug deep in his gut as she sauntered off. And for a long moment he just stood there in the doorway of the icy morning, watching her go. Eventually, the cold got to him.
In no hurry to face his family, he headed back inside the cabin to the shower. As far as delaying tactics went, it felt like a good one. He hadn’t seen his brothers or Annie in close to a year. Hadn’t seen anyone who’d once mattered to him in all that time. But he’d hardly stepped out of the shower before he heard his front door open and Stone call out his name.
Showtime.
Cam opened the bathroom door and faced the music.
Stone stood there with Annie. She’d been only eighteen when she’d taken in an eight-year-old Cam as her own, but she owned the age-old maternal expression on her face, the one that said she didn’t know whether to hug him or kill him. Stone too. The both of them stood there staring at Cam as if they’d seen a ghost.
And to be fair, he certainly must look like one after all these months without a word. They had the same green eyes, which could be warm and laughing, or icy and slicing. Annie, short but mighty, stepped forward, hers definitely doing the latter. “Hey, Annie—”
Which was all he got out before Annie put two hands to his chest and pushed. “Don’t you hey me.”
Ever the middle child, and therefore the peacemaker, Stone pulled her back before she could push him again.
“Let me go. I’m not done with him yet.”
“Yes, you are.” Stone eyed Cam evenly. Eleven months older than Cam, he’d made it his life’s goal to be superior, bossy, and nosy as hell. He took one good long look at Cam and then just let out a breath. “You’re really back.”
“In the flesh.” Far more pummeled by looking into his brother’s face than from his aunt’s shove, Cam just soaked the sight of them in because damn, it was good to see these guys, the only people in his entire life who’d ever accepted him for who he was outside the celebrity.
And just like that, a whole bunch of messy, shitty emotions slapped into him, emotions he hadn’t wanted to face, emotions that gripped his throat like a vise. Still wearing only a towel, he carefully let out a breath. “For better or worse.”
Nothing in Stone’s face gave away his thoughts except his eyes, which seemed suspiciously bright, so maybe, possibly, he was every bit as moved as Cam. As the Wilders were all good at hiding their feelings, it was all but impossible to tell.
“Where’s T.J.?” Cam asked Stone, thinking their older brother would be the easiest to face simply because he’d always been the calm, level-headed one.
“Alaska. Halfway through a six-week ice climb.” Stone kept staring at him. “You might have called once or twice.”
They’d never been a demonstrative family, thanks to their father. Nope, William Wilder, a bronco champion, had had a long ego and a short fuse. At least he had up until his unceremonious death from a hoof to the back of his head from his prized bronco. Before that, he’d treated his youngest son—a bastard thanks to his wife’s inability to resist any ski bum—to pretty much the same treatment whenever he could.
That is, until Annie had taken Cam, even though she’d barely been legal herself. She’d done her best to parent him, though there’d been times when he’d needed more of a parole officer than a parent. For better or worse, they’d raised each other, and though he’d been an adult a good long time now, she still thought of him as hers.
“You could have contacted us,” Stone said. “A text, a fax. Sent a fucking letter…”
“But then I wouldn’t have been able to terrify your new employee in the dead of night. And undoubtedly piss off Annie for the inconvenience of having to ready another cabin.”
Annie didn’t jump to the bait. “Katie’s your employee, too, you idiot.”
Idiot. Good to know he could count on his family to keep his feet on the ground.
“And you own this place as much as T.J. and Stone.”
An old argument. A questionable argument. Sure, he’d put up the money for Wilder Adventures, but that had been easy.
It’d been Stone and T.J. to make this place; it was their sweat and blood, and he well knew it. He’d never had the heart for it. Hell, he didn’t have the heart for anything, not anymore.
And Jesus, wasn’t he ever so damn tired of himself.
“We’ve already moved Katie to another cabin,” Stone told him quietly, studying him. “And she wasn’t terrified. I’m happy to say she seems to be made of sterner stuff than that. As for Annie, she’s always pissed off. So don’t go flattering yourself about causing that.”
Annie hissed in a breath but didn’t respond. Hard to dispute the truth apparently.
“So why the new hire?” Cam asked.
“Riley’s wife is having a baby.” Stone shrugged. “He wanted paternity leave. I hired a temp replacement for the next month.”
“Katie’s different than Riley.”
“If by that you mean she doesn’t have a penis,” Annie said, “then yes. Great to see you haven’t misplaced your amazing observation skills on your trek around the planet. And let me just make it clear: You stay away from that girl, you hear me? She’s sweet and kind, and not one of your rabid floozy ski bunnies.”
Cam looked out the window. It was an old habit and a defense mechanism, tuning Annie out. He could have told her he hadn’t had a “type” in an entire year and wasn’t interested. And yet even as he thought it, he watched Katie head toward the last cabin. He needed sunglasses to look at that pink sweater against all that virgin white snow, but he couldn’t take his gaze off her.
He had no idea why he felt so transfixed, but it didn’t matter. Little did except putting one foot in front of the other. Forcing himself to turn from the window, he opened his duffle bag for some clean clothes. Unlike Katie, his bag had been haphazardly thrown together. Once upon a time he’d had people around him, an entire entourage, and his bag had always been organized for him.
But he was alone now. Loser has-beens didn’t have much use for entourages.
Stone stepped closer, getting in his way. He was as big as Cam, broader actually, and beefier. But his move wasn’t aggression. “Not to send you scampering off into the sunset again, but there’s something you should know.”
“What?”
“We’re glad you’re back.”
Cam looked at him, but because that hurt he turned to Annie, who was standing there arms folded, attitude all over her. A general in waiting.
But she rolled her eyes, dropped her arms and her attitude, and sighed. As big of an admittance as he was going to get. Yeah, they really were glad he was back, but that would probably change very quickly. “I didn’t scamper.”
Stone’s mouth quirked a little.
“I’ve never scampered.”
“What do you call running off like a little girl just because the going got a little tough?”
“A little tough.” Cam choked out a laugh. “Jesus, Stone.”
“Look,” Annie broke in, getting in the middle as usual. “I’ll give you this. It was brave of you to go. Really. Brave of you to try to find yourself, but—”
“Not brave.” Try the opposite. Try cowardly. Yeah, that’s what Cam called his leaving rather than facing his own reflection in the mirror, rather than face what he’d lost, or the fact that he didn’t know how to deal with it—cowardly.
“Things happen,” she said softly, reminding him she knew of what she spoke. “People get hurt.”
He’d been taken out of a bad situation when he’d been a kid—by her. But she’d had no one to t
ake her out. She’d grown up on her
