He looked deep in concentration, his fingers flying on the keyboard of that old typewriter. There was an empty beer next to him and a small stack of paper on the other side consisting of the pages he’d already typed. After I’d embarrassed myself with him in high school, I had gone out of my way to avoid him and any mention of him. I realized I didn’t even know what he did for a living. I furrowed my brows trying to remember if Logan had said anything about Ryan being an author, but I’d shut down every conversation he’d started that had anything to do with Ryan.
I cleared my throat. “Need a refill?” It was as close to a peace offering for my rude behavior earlier as I could get.
Ryan looked up in surprise, his dark blue eyes meeting mine. His full lips curved into that sexy, crooked smile. Get a grip, Lindsey!
“That would be great, thank you. Grab one for yourself too.”
I pulled two bottles out of the refrigerator and handed him one. He twisted off the top and handed it back, taking the other. I took a sip and pointed at the stack of paper on the table.
“What are you working on?” I asked.
He lifted an eyebrow, and his lips curled up slightly at the ends. “A manuscript. I have a deadline in a few weeks.”
“A book? You write books? Since when? I thought you were a teacher.”
“Was a teacher. And yes, I write books.”
“You write books on a typewriter?” I was intrigued. An avid reader, I know I hadn’t seen any books written by Ryan Ford.
“Yes. I started writing on a typewriter and, call it superstition, I have always done the first drafts on it.”
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Maybe he hadn’t done very well with his books. I didn’t want to press, but I was curious. “Are your books in stores?”
“Yes. My last book, Death House, was actually just optioned for film.”
Oh. My. God. I felt like an idiot. He was not only a writer, he was a bestselling novelist. “You’re Bennett Ford?”
“Guilty,” he said. “Bennett was my mom’s maiden name.”
My mouth dropped open and I could feel the heat rise in my cheeks. “Apparently, I’m hell-bent on making an ass out of myself today. Can we start over?”
Ryan stood and cocked his head to the side, “Starting over is good. I’d like that.” He walked to the fireplace and added a couple more logs.
I crossed the room and settled on the far end of the sectional, covering my legs with the Sherpa throw blanket that had been draped across the back of it.
Ryan took a seat on the other end of the sectional and rubbed the back of his neck, his brow furrowed. “Why were you so mad at me earlier?”
I lowered my gaze and began picking at imaginary lint on the blanket. “I’m sorry about that,” I said softly. “I’ve had just about the worst week of my entire life, and you were the last person I expected to see here. I sort of took it all out on you.”
~ Ryan ~
“There’s more though, isn’t there?” I prodded.
She hesitated, her cheeks tinging pink again. She hunched her shoulder, let out a ragged sigh. “After I crashed and burned with you that last summer we were both here, I was so humiliated I never wanted to see you again.” She continued to look at the blanket on her lap, her delicate fingers running along its soft edge.
I edged closer to her. “The Northern Lights?”
Her head snapped up and her eyes widened. “You remember?”
How could I forget? It was fairly late in the evening, Logan’s parents were already retired for the night, and Logan and I were sitting here in the great room playing Madden on the PlayStation. Lindsey was out on the deck, looking at the stars when she suddenly burst through the door. The Northern Lights were visible, and she wanted us to come with her to the dock to watch them. Logan had declined, but I was game. I liked watching the brightly colored flames of the aurora borealis light up the night sky and I enjoyed Lindsey’s company.
We had walked down to the lake together and sat next to each other at the end of the wooden dock, dangling our legs off the edge–bare toes brushing the cool surface of the lake. Lindsey kept looking up at me with green eyes that reflected much more than moonlight. I struggled to focus on the beauty of the Northern Lights and less on the beauty sitting beside me. She’d leaned into me, her face upturned, lips slightly parted. She’d closed her eyes and her soft, full lips touched mine. I had pulled back, as much from the jolt of electricity I felt as from the responsibility I felt I had to the Harper family. I still remember the hurt etched in her face. She’d leaped to her feet and fled toward the cabin. I hadn’t seen her since, until now.
“Yes, I remember.”
She hunched her shoulders. “I felt like such a fool. I talked Mom into taking me home the next morning. I told her I didn’t feel well.”
“That explains why you weren’t there the next day. I’d wanted to talk to you.”
She narrowed her eyes and folded her arms across her chest. “About what? You made it very clear that you weren’t interested.”
“It wasn’t that simple, Lindsey.” I stood and ran my fingers through my hair. “Don’t you understand? You were Logan’s little sister. I was a guest of your parents. I wasn’t supposed to notice how long your legs looked when you wore those short denim cut-offs.”
She wrinkled her nose. “My legs? Why?”
“Because Logan would have had my ass in a sling, as well he should have. Because you were sixteen and I was twenty-one. Because I could have ended up in jail.”
Her eyes widened. “I—I never thought about it that way.” Her cheeks flooded with color again. She was so cute when she blushed. “So it wasn’t because you didn’t like me?”
“It was because I did like you.” Our eyes met, neither of us wanting to look away.
A loud thud sounded on the outside of the cabin.
“What the hell is that?!” Lindsey gasped.
6
~ Lindsey ~
My mind raced with thoughts of what could have made that sound. None of them were good.
“Wait here!” Ryan ran to the door, grabbing the flashlight off the shelf on his way out.
Never having been one for following the rules, I went after him.
The snow had slowed considerably, the wind had stopped, and it was still and quiet. Ryan was making his way around the side of the cabin. I could see the flashlight beam making erratic movements as he walked.
“Lindsey, get a towel!”
I spun around and ran back into the cabin, not bothering to remove my shoes as I collected a towel from under the sink in the bathroom and ran back outside. Ryan was kneeling in the snow next to the side of the cabin. He looked up as I approached.
“It’s an owl,” he said, taking the towel from my trembling hands and spreading it in the snow next to him. He gently turned over the large, white bird, “I think it’s a snowy owl. It must have gotten disoriented in the snow and flew into the side of the cabin.”
“An owl?” I felt my knees go weak. I looked over his shoulder at the big white bird laying very still in the snow next to the cabin. “Is it…is it dead?”
“I don’t know. I can’t tell. I’m going to bring it in to take a better look at it.” He lifted the large, limp bird onto the towel and meticulously wrapped it up.
“In? You’re bringing it inside?” My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest, and my sweatshirt felt tight on my neck. “Can’t you just look at it out here?”
“It’s too dark to get a good look at it here. I need better light.” Ryan handed me the flashlight and carefully slid his hands under the bundled-up owl.
“Wait!” I fumbled with the switch on the flashlight. “I’ll hold the light for you.”
Ryan lifted his eyes, and the corner of his mouth turned up into a rakish smirk. “Lindsey, are you afraid of the owl?”
I shifted from foot to foot. “Um, no,” I lied. “I just think the…the owl would be more comfortable in its own um,
habitat.”
“I need to take it inside to make sure it’s ok. I can’t check it properly here with all the snow.”
“Can’t we call a conservation officer? They can come and take it to a vet,” I pleaded.
Ryan chuckled. “Hold the door open for me, Lindsey. I promise it will be alright.”
I reluctantly went inside the cabin and slipped behind the door, holding it open from the back to allow maximum distance between me and the bird. I felt like I was going to vomit.
One of the first winters Ryan had come to the cabin with us, Logan had invited me to watch movies with them. It was snowing too hard to play outside, and I was excited to be included so I had eagerly settled in while they loaded a DVD into the player. The movie was Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘The Birds’. I think I watched most of it from behind my blanket and have been deathly afraid of birds ever since.
~ Ryan ~
I laid the encased bird on the floor in front of the fireplace and gently unwrapped it. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Lindsey wringing her hands, her eyes darting from me to the owl.
“Is it dead?”
I carefully placed my hand on the bird’s wide, white chest and could feel the slight movement of its breathing. “No, it’s alive! I think it got knocked out when it hit the side of the cabin.”
“What are we going to do with it? What if it wakes up?” Lindsey’s hands were up by her face, her fingers picking at her lower lip.
“I just need to check its wings to see if they are broken and let it warm up for a minute. Then I’ll let it back outside. It will be fine.” I began feeling gingerly along the fine bones of the owl’s long, white wings. They appeared to be intact and unharmed.
Suddenly, the owl opened its large yellow eyes. It blinked several times and slowly turned its head, taking in its surroundings.
“It’s moving!” Lindsey shrieked, jumping onto the sectional and huddling in the corner, grasping the blanket she’d been using earlier and pulling it up over her nose, just below her wide eyes.
I grabbed the corners of the towel the owl was on and tried to wrap it back up, but it began flapping its wings. This was not going to be good.
The owl got onto its feet, its wings flapping vigorously at first and then settling onto its side. It stood on the bricks on the fireplace hearth, a little unsteady, blinking its large eyes–as if trying to get its bearing.
I ran to the door of the cabin and threw it open. Lindsey was still sitting on the sectional, her face ashen. I could hear her breaths coming in small gasps. Her fingers were white where she held her blanket in a death grip.
The owl began flapping its wings again and lifted off, making large sweeps of the great room.
“Make it stop! Make it stop!” Lindsey screamed, pulling the blanket over her head and shrinking into the cushions.
“I don’t know what to do! It’s not going out the door.” I wracked my brain trying to remember if I’d ever heard how to get an owl out of a house, but I was drawing a blank. The owl continued to fly laps.
“Get a sheet!” Lindsey hollered from beneath the blanket.
“A sheet? I don’t want to go to bed with it!” I tried not to laugh at my own joke but wasn’t sure what to do with a sheet.
“In the first bedroom closet, get a sheet! Dad caught a bat in one, one summer. Throw the sheet on the owl.”
I ran to get the sheet, deciding that made perfect sense. I unfolded it and tried to gauge the owl’s flight pattern. The ceilings were fairly high and the best chance I had of getting the sheet over the owl was to stand on the sectional.
“What are you doing?!” Lindsey pulled the blanket off her face and glared at me.
“You said throw the sheet on it. I’m tall, but not that tall! I need to stand on something.”
“Stand farther away!” she demanded.
The owl was making its way back around the room. I flung the sheet at it. And missed. The sheet landed right on top of Lindsey.
7
~ Lindsey ~
“You’re supposed to throw it on the owl, Ryan. Not on me!”
He started laughing, big deep belly laughing.
“This is not funny! Have you lost your mind?” That made him laugh harder. The owl continued to swoop in circles over our heads. I stuck a stockinged foot out from under my blanket and kicked Ryan square in the shin. He lost his balance and his arms flailed as he tried to catch himself. He came down right on top of me, his muscular arms resting on either side of mine. Our eyes locked, and he stopped laughing. His face softened, and his gaze shifted to my mouth. The weight and warmth of his body on mine didn’t do a thing for my nerves. “That didn’t work out as planned,” he murmured.
I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “You sure about that?” He was so close, I could feel the heat of his breath on my neck. I had often fantasized about having Ryan on top of me, but it never looked like this.
Just then, the owl made another swoop above us and settled on top of the flat screen TV, watching us intently. What was I doing? Shaking my head, I looked at Ryan, my eyes pleading with him. “Please get it out of here!”
He carefully climbed off me, taking the sheet with him. With slow, deliberate steps he approached the TV where the owl continued to perch, blinking its bright yellow eyes. Ryan slowly arranged the sheet between his hands and hastily tossed it over the owl. He ran forward to catch the bird before it fell, its wings flapping in the sheet. Relief washed over me in waves as I watched him carefully secure the owl to keep it from hurting itself.
“See? I told you everything would be ok.” Ryan grinned. He paused in the doorway, “Come on!” he gestured with a backward nod of his head.
I frowned and stubbornly shook my head, pulling the blanket up to my shoulders. Since Ryan had opened the door, the room was starting to get cold.
“Don’t you want to see it fly away?” he asked.
“I’ve seen quite enough of that owl flying–I’ll pass. Just get it out of here.” I watched him close the door behind him. What the heck just happened? I still felt warm tingles from our brief entanglement.
Ryan came back into the cabin, empty sheet folded across his arm. “The owl has left the building.” He beamed. “It stopped snowing too. The clouds are moving south, and the stars are coming out. I think we must have gotten about a foot of snow.” He headed to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. “Need a refill?”
“After that whole owl thing, that sounds like exactly what I need, thanks.” Maybe that would help settle my fried nerves.
He handed me the cold bottle and sat next to me on the sectional, resting his feet on the coffee table and crossing his ankles. “So, tell me about Mr. Jamaica.” His eyebrows wiggled.
I rolled my eyes and groaned. “There’s really nothing to tell. He is an attorney in the law office where I work and probably did me a favor by taking his secretary to Jamaica instead of me.”
Ryan brought his hand up to the side of his face, trying to cover the smirk that appeared. “Really? I thought that only happened in movies. I’m sorry.”
I studied his face. He looked more amused than sorry. I shrugged. “It’s okay, I think my pride is hurt more than my feelings. Dean wasn’t exactly the marrying kind. What about you? Why are you here and not with some hot babe?”
“I thought I was.”
~ Ryan ~
Lindsey’s face flushed bright pink, and she quickly took a long pull on her beer. She was adorable when she was embarrassed.
“I’m usually busy writing or doing book tours and speaking engagements,” I said. “The few ladies I’ve dated lately haven’t exactly been what I would consider ‘second date’ material.”
Her eyebrows raised. “Ah yes, your writing. I still can’t believe I didn’t make the connection. You always did tell the best ghost stories at our campfires out here.” The corners of her mouth turned up into an easy smile. “Half the time I was so scared I didn’t want to stay, but I was too afraid to run across the yard in
the dark by myself to get away!”
I laughed. “Then you wouldn’t like any of my books.”
We spent the better part of the next few hours catching up on each other’s lives. I was shocked to learn that we lived only miles apart. At some point, Lindsey noticed the old PlayStation sitting in the TV stand and we played a spirited game of Space Invaders.
Lindsey stifled a yawn. “I can’t remember the last time I stayed up this late,” she said sleepily.
“I can’t remember the last time I was up this late that didn’t involve writing.” I stretched my arms over my head and rolled my neck. The fire was getting low and so was the wood supply. I went to the door and slipped my boots on. “I need to bring in some more wood, be right back.”
“Don’t bring any stray birds back with you,” she called from over my shoulder as I closed the door behind me.
Smiling, I went around the corner of the cabin to the woodpile. The sky had cleared, and the stars were bright in the sky. The fresh blanket of snow looked almost like a cloud with the swirls and drifts left by the wind. I don’t think I’d spent time looking at the stars since that night, long ago on the dock with Lindsey.
Forgetting about the wood, I turned on my heel and rushed back to the cabin. Lindsey was standing next to the sectional, folding the blankets we’d been using. The glow from what was left of the fire reflected off her face and hair. I don’t think I’d ever seen anything more beautiful.
“Lindsey,” I called.
She turned and met my gaze, her brows knitted in question.
“Get your jacket and come with me,” I beckoned.
“Are you serious? It’s the middle of the night and its freezing!”
Kiss or Kill Under the Northern Lights Page 19
