Finally. “Good.”
He returned with a bucket. “And take a bath.”
Edie stared at him. “Are you nuts? Everett, you may be able to build fires, but you have no concept of roughing it. We don’t even have running water yet.” To show him how overly optimistic he was being, she turned on the kitchen tap. Spitting air combined with a thin trickle. She stuck a finger in. “Brr. Even the air coming out is cold. The water’s liquid ice.”
“No problem.” He opened the front door.
“You think you’ll find water littering the ground outside?”
Everett turned, one of his fine chestnut eyebrows raised. “You’re kidding, right?” Cashmere clinging damply to his big frame, he let himself out.
“The man’s insane,” Edie muttered. “His brain froze and cracked in half.”
The door whacked open and Everett trudged in with a bucket of snow. She followed him to the bathroom. “Kirk, stop. Think. You’re pneumonia waiting to happen and yet you’re taking a snow bath?”
“It’s Everett.” He dumped snow into the tub. “You could boil some snow into hot water.” He dazzled her with a hopeful smile, and strode back out.
“He’s swinging on his logic gates.” She found a couple pots and when he dragged in another bucket semaphored them at him: s-t-o-p. Apparently he didn’t read semaphore because he swept by her. Or maybe it was her accent. “At least change into dry clothes to go outside.” She trotted after him.
“They’ll just get wet too.” He dumped the snow into the tub.
“Everett, please.”
“Aw. You said Everett.” He grinned, hitting her full-on with the dimple, and then escaped while she flailed like a stupid deer.
“Grr.” She dug out two pots of snow, slapped them onto the stove. The door opened. She spun, determined to stop him.
He smiled as he came through, dimple set on stun.
She raised sarcasm shields. “My dream bath. A mountain of snow dissolved in a few cups of hot water.”
He reemerged from the bathroom, sans bucket and wrestling off his wet coat. “It’ll be fine. Better stir those. You can actually scorch water, you know.”
“For skit’s sake. We’re lost in the mountains with no phone, you’re about to freeze your ask off, and you’re lecturing me on burnt water?” She waited while he hung the coat on a hook. But when he went back into the bathroom without responding, she trotted after him. “Don’t do this, please. You’ll catch your death! Everett, are you listening?”
“I always listen. I just don’t always agree. All this hauling is actually making me quite hot.”
“That’s not — ”
He stripped the sweater over his head. It revealed a wet tee molded to his muscled chest.
Her eyes widened. Her mouth stayed open. No more words emerged.
Under his conservative cover, Everett Kirk had savage Tarzan’s torso. Heavy pectorals stood out over a washboard belly, swept into brawny arms sparking with short golden hair. Bulges slid intriguingly as he tossed the cashmere over the sink.
Edie snapped her mouth shut. She was not impressed. Not at all. She snatched up the sweater. “This needs to be blocked. Do you want it to pull out of shape?”
“No.” Unbuckling his belt, he smiled. “Thanks.”
She pressed a hand to her breastbone, her heart hammering underneath. This wasn’t fair. Pampered executives did not look like this. They were pale and doughy, or glowing with a cancerous tan and muscles courtesy of a toning class. Those powerful muscles said Everett worked for his physique, invested time and sweat in something other than money. He might be more than just a corporate shark.
She heated dangerously at the thought.
He stripped off the belt.
Wrong, wrong, wrong. Just because he was nice to her occasionally, and could make a fire, just because he could say please and had a lovely smile and stunning chest … and below …
He was unzipping.
With a squeak, she fled.
Chapter Five
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Last message
You can ask me a serious question if you want — believe me, I know about the sinkhole called office politics. Sometimes just venting about your problem helps. I’ll listen. What are friends for?
— ED
After insulting Leadbottom, Edie joined Aurora Thode on the unemployment line. Months went by before she finally found a job. Desperate, she accepted a low-paying position at a sweatshop that cared nothing for her as an employee and even less for her as a person. She almost lost her idealism then, almost submitted to crawling despair. Then she’d gotten the phone call.
“Edie, it’s Philip Sedgwick. I know you’re still upset, but please listen.”
“What do you want, Philip?”
“I have a new job, my dear. Vice president of finance for Houghton Howell Enterprises.”
“Congratulations. And I should care, why?”
“They’re looking for programmers. Interested?”
She pretended not to be. “I’m a team leader where I am.”
“Even better. HHE is team-based, and there’s an opening. Remember our discussions on management philosophy? I bet you’d be super.”
“Is it a sweatshop?”
“Not with me here, my dear.”
Edie was working for HHE within a month. She forgave Philip, but she never quite trusted him the way she had.
• • •
Everett scrubbed clean in record time and dried himself so briskly he almost singed his body hair. Which, considering he was a mass of goose bumps, would’ve been an improvement. Still, once he was dry and wrapped in his kimono-style robe he was comfortable. The woodstove heated the cabin nicely.
He emerged from the bathroom cautiously. Edie was prowling around the cabin, shooting little glances at him, pretending she didn’t want to argue. He found it … cute. Not safe to find a tiny tigress of a woman cute, but there it was. He flopped down in the single living room chair, kicked his bare feet onto the coffee table, picked up a magazine and casually flipped through it. That should get her started.
“Did you enjoy your bath?”
“Immensely,” he lied. He flipped another page. “You said you’d found food?”
“A little.” She glanced at the cabinets, the thin line of her mouth telling him more than her words. “Let me know when you’re hungry and I’ll see what I can do with it.”
Over the pages of his magazine, Everett watched her. It was obvious to him that she was starving, but this was Edie. No way she would let herself appear vulnerable.
He closed the magazine and rose. “I’m hungry. Show me what you found.”
Fifteen minutes later, a disappointingly small assortment of non-perishables lay on the table. He picked up a can and frowned at it. “Peaches.” He set it down and rattled a wire-tied bag. “Brown rice.”
She rolled a cardboard canister in her hands. “Oatmeal. A little of this and a little of that.”
“And not much of anything.” He grunted. “Want some dry cereal?”
An odd gleam lit her eyes. “Since you made the fire, why don’t I try my hand at dinner?”
“The little woman cooks? Won’t that offend your ideas of equality?”
“Really, Everett, must you be so disagreeable? It’s called sharing the workload. Go back to your magazine.” Her eyes fluttered down to his chest. The gleam intensified.
His groin tightened. She’d looked that way at him when he’d stripped off the sweater. It gave him hope. He looked down at himself. His kimono had worked loose, the neck gaping to his abdomen.
And she was interested in what she saw. He felt a smile bloom on his face.
&nb
sp; She looked away. She was blushing.
He tucked his robe closed, smile broadening. She tried so hard to be invulnerable, but her redhead’s complexion gave her away every time. “Okay. But let me know if you need me.” Need me. He was gratified to see her blush deepen. Smiling to himself, he returned to the chair and picked up the business weekly, but he didn’t read it. Instead, he watched her.
Her color returned to normal. She seemed oblivious to him, humming softly to herself as she picked up things on the table, set them down, drummed her fingers, then picked them up again. Evidently reaching a decision, she twisted the electric oven on and started dragging out pots and pans.
The whys and wherefores of what she was doing were opaque to him, but Everett certainly admired how she dragged out those pots and pans. The way her slim backside wiggled as she tried to reach something in the back … he quickly crossed his legs, hiding his rising interest.
Then she was up and poring over her ingredients, her face attractively flushed. He swallowed hard. She glanced his way. He immediately discovered a fascinating ad in the magazine. She considered him long enough for him to grow self-conscious.
When she was safely absorbed again measuring and stirring, he set down the magazine and leaned back. He admired her. So what? It wasn’t anything to be embarrassed over. She was one hell of a manager, strong in her convictions, not afraid to do what she thought was right. His admiration was thoroughly professional.
She was stirring something thick. Her breasts swayed slightly as she worked. Everett admired that, too, how she put her whole self into what she did.
Cool air brushed an unexpected part of his anatomy. He jerked a glance down. Professional admiration hell. He pushed his “admiration” between his crossed his legs and redraped his dressing gown. “Kirk, you’ve been without a woman way too long,” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?” Edie said.
“Uh, I said, I’ve been without a, uh, nap, too long.” He lay his head on the back of the chair and closed his eyes. But it was a long, uncomfortable time before he got to sleep.
• • •
Everett woke to wonderful smells. His stomach rumbled appreciatively. “What’s for dinner?”
“A little of this and a little of that.” Edie smiled. “Come and eat.”
What that curving smile did to her full pink lips … He nearly said what he’d like to eat was her and made an ass of himself. Clamping his stupid mouth shut, he made his way to the table.
He sat down to a veritable feast.
Edie had taken rice, oatmeal and fruit, the little of this and the little of that, and put together a miracle. Spiced rice pilaf, asparagus in a lemon-yellow sauce topped with slivered almonds, and steaming biscuits. And for dessert, she’d baked peach cobbler swimming in thick, sweet milk.
Everett surfaced from his food ten minutes later. “This is wonderful.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” Edie said dryly. “Do you always inhale your dinner?”
Everett didn’t even slow down. “I was hungrier than I realized. And this is wonderful.”
“You said that.”
“Yes.” Everett delighted in the flavors mingling on his tongue. Most programmers he knew could barely find their way around the inside of the freezer. The hot biscuits and cobbler thawed something inside him. Anyone who made something this wonderful for him couldn’t be the dark soul trying to destroy his career. “Because it’s just so won — ”
“Wonderful, yes, I know.” Her fine, dark eyes were a little dull, the normally aggressive curls drooping slightly.
She must be tired. While he had napped, she had put her entire self into whipping up this miracle. “Why don’t you go to bed? I can clean up.”
She gave him an odd look. “There’s only one bedroom.”
“Yes.” He spooned up the rest of the cobbler and ate it in two bites.
“There’s only one bed.”
Some remnants of cobbler remained in the pan. He pulled the pan in front of him and scraped until he’d gotten it all, then licked the spoon clean. He sat back with a satisfied sigh. “So you take the bed. I’ll be fine on the chair.”
“That’s hardly equal, Kirk.”
At that, his attention finally left his plate to focus on her. He wondered when he’d sunk back from Everett into Kirk. “I don’t mind.”
“I do.” She rose to her feet. “I demand equality here.”
Damn, what was wrong now? She was as prickly as second day whiskers. “Fuck equality.” Everett tossed the spoon into the empty pan. It hit with a sharp clang. “You’re tired. Take the bed.”
“Don’t swear.” Her eyes grew wide and suspiciously bright, and her lip started quivering.
Everett was immediately contrite. “I’m sorry, Edie. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. Edie?”
Strange liquid filled her fine dark eyes. His fireball was collapsing.
He jumped to his feet to gather her into his arms. Surprisingly, she wasn’t the mountain he thought her, simply a woman, and a small one at that. He hugged her close. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
“Oh, Everett, I’m sorry.” Dampness spread onto his chest, and her voice was a little thick. “I didn’t really think we’d be here all night. I didn’t think we could really be stranded. I guess I’m a little scared.”
“Shh. It’s okay.” He rocked her gently. Kissed her head. Her hair was soft and sweet-smelling. “Don’t cry.”
She snapped away, wiping angrily at her eyes. “I’m not crying.” Red rims belied her words. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, whatever the circumstances.”
“Of course you are.” His voice came out softer than he meant. Less like an executive or even a colleague. More like a friend … or a lover. Someone who deserved to care. His face heated.
She clutched her elbows, reddening too. “I’ll take the chair.”
Everett sighed. This was one of those times that, even if he won, he’d lose. “Just for tonight. And I’ll get some sheets for the couch. You’ll get stiff in the chair.”
Someday they’d compromise.
Compromise … like they’d both get the bed.
He didn’t sleep well that night.
Chapter Six
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Friendship
Thanks for volunteering your ear. You’re always there for me, and I want you to know I appreciate that. You said that sometimes it feels like you’ve known someone your whole life? I feel that way about you. As if I can tell you anything, and you’ll still like me. I guess I’m a pretty sad person that an email address on the Internet can be one of my best friends.
But I have to tell someone. So here goes.
I have an enemy at work. He’s trying to get rid of me. Or she. I don’t know who it is, so I can’t trust anyone here.
I can trust you though, right?
Thanks for letting me get this off my chest. I feel better already. You’re a great friend, ED. The best.
— Prez
The cat growled at her. Edie pushed it away, her hand meeting empty air.
She came awake as her stomach growled again.
“Good morning.” Everett sat in the living room chair, futzing with some rope. The past day came back, the door, the car ride, the bath, Everett’s chest …
Kirk, not Everett. She needed the distance. Better yet, Mr. Kirk. Mr. President Kirk. “Morning.” Her stomach growled again, nearly rip-sawing her esophagus. Stupid stomach, stupid morning, stupid president. Stupid snow. Stupid stuck car … a rich smell burned her nostrils. “Coffee?”
“I poured you a cup. It’s beside you on the table.”
He’d made coffee. Dear Kirk. Edie located the life-giving cu
p by feel. Dear Everett. She brought it to her nose — and seared her lungs. “What’s in this?”
“Ground beans and a little water. The grinder was broken so I had to smash the beans with a hammer. No percolator either. I boiled it in a pan. It’s hot, though. It’ll wake you up.”
“It’ll peel the lining off my eyelids.” Dutifully, Edie braved a gulp. It shaved off a third of her tongue. “Yeow.”
“Good, hmm?” Everett dangled his work in front of him. It looked like a small noose.
“Good like a machete,” Edie croaked. “What’s that?”
“Animal snare. Not much food left so unless you’re into bark and grubs, we’ll have to catch something to eat.”
“You’re Tarzan now?”
“Sure.” He beat his chest and yodeled.
“Yikes. Never do that again.” Edie wrestled her way off the couch. She wondered if he really expected to catch anything with that wimpy snare. Hopefully not, because she really didn’t want to eat the Easter Bunny or Bambi. “If you cook like you make coffee, I’d better do breakfast.”
“Good luck. There isn’t much left.”
She paused. “I thought we’d be on our way home by now.” She hurried into the kitchen to yank out frying pan and mixing bowl.
“Yes, you mentioned that last night.” Everett’s voice was even, but carefully so, as if he were working to keep understanding and sympathy out of it. Which only made it worse.
The little bit of flour left made a thin pancake batter. “I don’t need your pity.”
“Edie, the last thing in the world I’d do is pity you.” He set his noose on the table. “Why don’t you harangue me about the company’s new coding standards?”
“I never harangue. But since you brought it up … ” She poured batter. “Those ‘standards’ are absurd. They’ll make the programmers unhappy. Happy employees produce more. Set the table, will you?”
He rose, lips twitching. He was, she realized, trying not to smile. Angry birds on a pogo stick, had he been baiting her?
“Edie, not everyone thinks like you do. If Bethany had to work under you for fifteen minutes she’d be miserable.”
Heart to Heart Page 141
