Sun Storm

by Marlow Kelly

  Within less than a minute, he stood, opened the door, and dragged her into a mudroom. The silence shocked her. She hadn’t realized how loud a blizzard could be, but now that they were inside, the contrast was startling.

  She stood, swaying on her feet. The house was dim. By her estimation, it was late afternoon. The storm had shortened the day, making dusk come early.

  Coats hung on a line of hooks along one wall. Boots and shoes were strewn in a jumbled mess on the same side of the room. Against the opposite wall was a large bench seat. David sat down and kicked off his footwear. Marie slumped next to him. She tried to remove her boots, but she shook so wildly she couldn’t get a good grip on her heel. Not that it mattered since her fingers were so cold they couldn’t manage the job.

  David tugged off her boots. “You stay here while I search the house.”

  “W-what are you l-looking for?” Her words were slurred.

  “People,” he whispered.

  “Do-do you think they’d m-m-mind.”

  “Most people I know are pretty peaceful as long as you don’t invade their territory. The minute we walked through that door, we illegally entered someone’s home. There’s a very good possibility we’ve pissed off the owners.”

  She glanced at his bare feet, his toes red with cold. Oh, God. He had given her his socks this morning. “Do-do you have f-f-frostbite?”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Chunks of ice clung to his beard, and his cheeks were bright red. He still wore his hat, but had unzipped his coat to reveal a camouflage-green sweatshirt. “Wait here.” He disappeared into the dim interior of the house.

  Marie tugged off her hat and then struggled to her feet. She was exhausted, her legs so weak she could hardly stand upright, but she forced herself to the threshold that separated the mudroom from the kitchen.

  The ground floor consisted of a large combined living room and kitchen. The space was divided by a staircase, which led to the upper level. Grey light filtered in through a huge living room window that ran the length of the far wall. She couldn’t tell which direction it faced because the storm obscured the view.

  David placed a hand on the wood stove situated beside the stairs. He didn’t react or jerk his hand away so it was probably cold. He climbed to the second floor, disappearing from view.

  The house was silent except for the muted roar of the storm outside. She edged into the kitchen and flicked on the light switch. No power. Honey-colored wooden beams covered the walls and the ceiling, giving the small house a rustic cabin feel. The kitchen cabinets were white with clean, sleek lines, which was odd given the assortment of cat figurines placed strategically on the countertops. A white table sat in the center of the kitchen. It had the same lines and design as the cabinets. On top of the table lay a lace doily with a ceramic cat in the middle. The contrast between the modern look of the cabinets, the old-lady-cat-and-lace theme, and the rustic cabin gave her the impression that the owners were engaging in a battle of decorative wills.

  Within a few minutes, David returned. “The house is empty.” He placed an arm around her waist and hauled her to the couch, which was against the back wall of the living room. Snow pounded the large window to her left, as if trying to gain entry. The sight of it made her cold, and yet she didn’t shiver.

  Without a word, he tugged off his sweatshirt so he was naked from the waist up, and then he unzipped her coat and pushed it down and off so it lay in a puddle on the floor. His actions were distant from her reality, as if she were watching everything rather than being part of it. He wrapped her in his arms and hauled her onto the sofa. Positioning her on top of him, he covered them with an afghan from the back of the couch.

  She sucked in her breath at the searing heat that emanated from his body. She grabbed the side of his torso, enjoying the play of his muscles under her fingers. He was absolutely potent to an intoxicating degree. Lying on top of him, she could feel along the length of his body and knew he was as affected by their closeness as she was. That knowledge made her want to explore his body in detail. Maybe she’d do that later. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she laid her head on his shoulder, reveling in the feel of him. His scent flooded her senses, and she was consumed with an overwhelming lassitude. All she could do was lie in his embrace and allow her mind to drift, comforted by the fact that David was protecting her.

  “If you ever do that again, I will kill you myself,” he murmured, breaking the silence.

  “Do what?” Her head shot up to look at him. Ten minutes—they couldn’t have been lying on the sofa for more than ten minutes, and he had gone from being a gentleman to being a jerk.

  “You dived out of Jake’s truck with no thought of where we were going—”

  “I was trying to protect Jake, a father with two children, and you. You weren’t supposed to follow—”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Don’t use that tone with me.” She jolted to a sitting position.

  His hands covered his groin, protecting himself from her movement. “I’m wanted for kidnapping, and you’re worried about my tone?” He yanked his legs from under her.

  She toppled, almost falling off the couch, but righted herself. “We both know you didn’t kidnap anybody. There must be a way to fix this. There must be some way—”

  “Fix it? Like it’s some big misunderstanding—a mistake. Look lady, when I took the job with PDE, that was a mistake. When I took you to the airport, that was a mistake. What I should have done was drag you back to Finn, but you wanted to go home.”

  She slammed a fist into his chest. “Why are you so angry?”

  His lips curled as he clenched his teeth. “I’m not angry. I’m-I’m…I’m livid. No, I’m—I’m… There are no words for how I feel. Jesus, Marie, they think I kidnapped you. My life is over. Everything I’ve worked for. I was just getting…” He slumped back, covering his eyes with the crook of his elbow.

  “I’m sorry.” She wanted to tell him it would be all right, but that would be a lie. Somehow, without meaning to, she’d done this to him, and there was no way to make it right.

  She couldn’t believe that her life’s work could destroy someone so absolutely. She’d thought she was creating something the world needed, and that once she proved her research was sound, it would be well received. How had she been so blind she hadn’t even considered the possibility that someone would object so violently to her solar panel? Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She blinked, trying to control her reaction, but it wouldn’t go away, wouldn’t be buried. She turned her back to him. Her shoulders shook as she tried to suppress the pain that flooded to the surface.

  He rubbed her shoulder. “Hush, I’ll be alright. We’ll figure it out.”

  She scooted along the couch as a howl of despair escaped her throat. She wanted to get away, wanted the world to stop. She crumbled to the ground, unable to keep the fear, pain, confusion and hurt at bay any longer.

  Without a word, David scooped her up and settled her in his lap.

  She buried her face in his neck and sobbed. To tired and shattered for restraint, she cried until her throat hurt and her eyes were dry and sore. She cried until exhaustion claimed her and she fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  ****

  David shifted out from under Marie and covered her with the throw he’d used earlier. He shouldn’t have snapped at her, but damn it, she’d nearly killed them with that stunt of hers. She needed to listen to him when it came to their survival, and she had to understand they were in this together. Even in sleep, her eyes were swollen and her nose red. He would’ve liked to curl up next to her and get some rest, but he had things to do before it got too dark.

  He rummaged through his backpack, selected a protein bar, and then downed it with some water. She needed food and water, too, but he’d let her nap for now. He wanted some time alone to process the last twenty-four hours. He wasn’t over Portman’s betrayal, but it wasn’t such a kick in the teeth now, although it still pissed him off.
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  The space under the stairs was full of wood, a lot of wood, as if someone had stocked up before the storm. He grabbed some old newspaper and kindling from the firebox and lit a fire in the stove, then carefully added a few logs until he was satisfied they would catch. Almost immediately the chill dissipated and the cabin felt homey.

  He doubted this house was on municipal water, which meant they would need electricity to pump water from the well. He tried the taps in the kitchen anyway. They gurgled and spluttered, but no water came out, so he grabbed a couple of pans and headed outside.

  The house had not been designed with safety in mind. The door to the mudroom was the only exit, which troubled him. The kitchen window opened, as did the windows upstairs, but if the stove caught fire, there was no way out of the living room. It was also the warmest room in the house.

  The temperature had dropped in the short time since they’d arrived. Being sure to stay under the eave, he filled two pots with snow and then used the moment of solitude to take care of his personal needs.

  Marie’s crying jag was a reminder of how sheltered her life was. For him, being in danger and vulnerable were second nature. Yes, he’d left that world behind, but he still knew how to handle himself. For her it must be terrifying. She was rich and had probably never had to deal with a perilous situation. For all that, he had to admire her sense of decency. She had walked away from the safety of the truck to protect a man she didn’t know. Yes, it was a stupid thing to do, but he couldn’t fault her intent.

  Marshall Portman on the other hand was a bastard. David slammed the door as he stomped inside, and then remembered Marie. He crept into the living room and was relieved to find her still asleep.

  He placed the pot of snow on the stove. It was dark now. Only the glow from the fire lit the room.

  He felt his way to the kitchen. Damn it. He should’ve grabbed a flashlight at the gas station. He searched the drawers, looking for anything that would provide them with a light source and was grateful to find a small penlight. It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. Then he explored the utility room behind the kitchen. There wasn’t much there but a generator, a breaker box, a small tankless hot water heater, a furnace, some paint brushes, empty paint cans, and one big-ass flashlight.

  He set the light on the kitchen counter. It was large enough to illuminate the whole room. Then he combed through the cupboards looking for food. The protein bar was fine in a pinch, but he needed something with more sustenance. He found a ton of canned foods. There were fruits, vegetables, assorted soups, chicken, tuna, and even canned bread. He selected three cans of beef stew and dumped the contents into a pot. Then he set it on top of the wood stove to warm.

  He headed up the stairs and started his search in the larger of the two bedrooms, which held a king bed and dresser. There was no evidence of a woman living in the house, no clothes, make-up, hairbrushes, creams or lotions, and no trace of feminine hygiene products. The only thing that could be remotely considered effeminate were the cat figurines.

  Marie was far too curvaceous to fit into men’s pants, so he didn’t bother looking, but did find a thick, black fleece. It would hang to her knees, but would provide a warm layer over her thermals. He continued to rummage through the drawers and was pleased to discover a new, sealed three-pack of men’s underwear. He opened them and held them up. They would be tight on her, but they were stretchy so they might work.

  He checked the smaller bedroom. It had two single beds and two dressers. There were boy’s clothes of varying sizes thrown on the floor. He glanced at the pile, but didn’t bother to look through it. He was filthy enough. He wasn’t about to wear someone else’s dirty clothing.

  The house was a mystery. Given the stack of wood and the amount of canned food, he might conclude that it belonged to a survivalist. Although that assumption could be wrong since there were no weapons, unless they were hidden in an outbuilding. The survivalist theory was still valid.

  He wasn’t sure what to make of the pile of coats and boots in the mudroom and the state of the boy’s room. Then there was the old lady cat theme and the straight clean lines of the kitchen cabinets. The whole house was a puzzle of contradictory elements.

  With his search complete, David grabbed the clean pack of underwear, hoping they would fit Marie. His penis throbbed to life as he imagined her voluptuous body modeling the boxers with no bra. He had to stop thinking of her in that way. They were in a dangerous situation. He was accused of kidnapping. Sleeping with her would only muddy the truth and make it seem as if he had an ulterior motive.

  The rational part of his mind told him to quit picturing her naked, but his body had free will. Once again his manhood jerked at the memory of her lying on top of him on the couch with her nipples pressing against his chest. He groaned, “Get it together.”

  Leaving the clothes in the bathroom, he went downstairs. His mouth watered at the wonderful meaty aroma as the stew bubbled.

  The little stove had done a good job warming the room. Marie had kicked off the throw, her cheeks a pretty shade of pink. He’d checked her fingers for signs of frostbite when he’d warmed her earlier. He still needed to check her toes, but for now he’d let her sleep. Not only had she been in the early stages of hyperthermia, she was also overwhelmed and exhausted. Maybe he should have considered that before he’d lost it with her, but she could’ve killed them.

  It surprised him that she characterized herself as timid, and it was disturbing her father would call her Mouse. Maybe that was a leftover from when she was young. He could see her being quiet and introverted, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t strong and determined. It seemed to him she had followed her own path and used resolve, strength, and discipline to achieve her goals. He was a little envious of that. He’d given very little thought for the future when he’d joined the army. Serving his country and proving his worth were his only goals. Once in the military, he had followed orders, doing the bidding of others. For the last year, he had struggled to find his way, and now, finally, when things were coming together, he was plunged into this…whatever it was.

  He pushed that line of thought away. It would do no good to think of what the future might hold. He had to survive in the moment, and right now he had things to do.

  Using a tea towel, he moved the stew to a cooler part of the stovetop away from the chimneystack. Then he replaced the pan of hot water with another pot of snow, setting it on the warmest part of the stove. Marie would want to bathe once she awoke.

  He grabbed the purple backpack and carried the warm water upstairs to the bathroom. It was time to cut his hair and get rid of his beard.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Marie opened her eyes, sat up straight in one fluid movement, and then groaned, every tendon and every muscle hurting. She blinked. Even her eyes were sore. She rubbed her tongue along the roof of her mouth. It was as dry as sandpaper, and her throat ached. That would teach her to cry like a baby. She groaned again and covered her face with her hands.

  David probably thought her a spoilt brat. He was already angry with her for leaving the safety of the truck, but he didn’t have to deal with the fact that this was all her fault. She had caused this mess when she’d developed her solar panel, and now Professor Hargreaves had died because of her. And then there was David. He was accused of kidnapping, and his life was now in ruins. What would happen to Jake, a man who’d unwittingly given them a ride?

  Wind battered the tiny house, howling, haunting and relentless. The only light in the room came from the fire burning in the small potbelly stove. David must be somewhere. He wouldn’t have gone out in the storm. She stood, edged closer to the stove, and inhaled the scent of warm, rich meaty soup. Her stomach rumbled. The only thing she’d eaten today was the chocolate bar she’d had in the truck, and that was hours ago. David had obviously built a fire and organized dinner while she’d slept.

  A creak sounded overhead. Feeling her way, she scrambled upstairs. As soon as she got to the top, s
he saw the light. He’d left the bathroom door open, and she stopped, motionless. She couldn’t move, all she could do was stare at him as he splashed water on his face. He looked so different. She only recognized him by his stance and his taut economic movements. His shirtless torso revealed a slim, powerful body with muscled arms and shoulders and a flat waist. Her heart thudded in her chest as warmth flooded her veins. Her fingers ached to touch him and smooth her hand over his chest and down his belly.

  She stepped closer, entering the bathroom. A flashlight cast long shadows as it bounced off the bathroom mirror. A pair of scissors and a pack of disposable razors lay on the counter.

  “You shaved and cut your hair,” she accused. But why she should feel put out by his grooming she couldn’t say. Maybe it was because it was so unsettling. He looked so different, wholesome and yet deadly. The same intense green eyes stared back at her. In this light, she could see his irises had no striations. They were a flat, pale green encircled by a black ring. Strangely, without the beard, his scar was less noticeable. Perhaps when he wore a beard, the scar was made visible by the fact that no hair grew in the deep furrow. But now that he had shaved, all she could see was a thick white line that melded into his cheekbone.

  His hair was cut into a short, thick, shiny pelt. It looked darker than it had before. That could be a trick of the light, or maybe the sun had bleached the ends.

  He cleared his throat. “You need a haircut, too.”

  It was only after he spoke she realized she’d been staring at him for a considerable amount of time. “Now?”

  “Yes, people don’t really look at faces. They just take in the general outline, height, hair, weight, glasses or no glasses.”

  One glance in the mirror told her she was a wreck. Her normal dark brown waves were a tangled, disheveled mess, and her eyes were red and swollen from crying.