by Amy Brent
“Whoa!” she exclaimed, when I hung it from the hook I had installed for this purpose. “That is crazy bright!”
I grinned. It felt good to smile. “Yes, it is. LED. They don’t make them much brighter than this.”
She nodded. “I would hope not. You could land airplanes with that thing. I think I’m seeing spots.”
“Don’t look directly at it. I like the light when I’m using a knife. I’ve made that mistake before,” I said, holding up my thumb.
“Ouch!” she exclaimed, looking at the thin white scar. “Did you get stitches?”
I shrugged. “Nah, I used a little superglue.”
Her eyes bulged, “What?”
“It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“Whatever you say.”
I watched her peel potatoes for a few seconds before leaving the kitchen to stoke the fire and light a few more candles around the place. When I went back into the kitchen, I paused, watching her work. Once again, she was swaying those hips and humming.
“What song is that?” I asked, curious to know.
She giggled, “I don’t really know that it is a song. I think it’s just a mashup of a bunch of different songs to be honest. I couldn’t put words to it if I tried.”
“Oh.”
She slid the potatoes into the pot. “Now what?”
I didn’t consider myself a gourmet cook, but I did know a thing or two about preparing a meal.
“Want to chop that onion. I guess I should have asked, do you like venison?”
I realized she may not be into the game meats.
She grinned, “It’s been a long time, but yet, I love it. What cuts do you have?”
I was surprised she knew the lingo. “Backstrap. We can bread them and fry them up reach quick with some onion if that works for you.”
“That sounds delicious. The more grease the better,” she teased.
Her enthusiasm made me happy. There were few women who would be excited to have fried backstrap, heavy on the onion. I was only sorry I didn’t have something to make for dessert. An image of her naked on my table with whip cream dotting her body popped into my head.
“We can have carrots as well,” I blurted out.
“I’ll wash and clean them,” she volunteered. She reached for the carrots, the shirt stretching across her breasts, reminding me she didn’t have a bra on. Her tits were rubbing against my shirt and I was never going to wash that shirt. Or those pants.
We worked together, breading the steaks and frying them up in a bath of grease. It smelled divine.
“Want me to set the table?” she asked.
“We can eat in the living room if you want?”
She looked at the meal. “I’ll set the table. We can have a candlelight dinner.”
“I’d prefer the couch,” I blurted out.
“Oh. Okay. That works. I just thought,” she waved a hand over the steaks. “I thought it would be easier. Cleaner.”
I shook my head, “I don’t care if it’s messy.”
“Okay, fine,” she said, holding up a hand.
I just didn’t want to sit down to a candlelight dinner after what we had just done. It was too intimate. She would get the wrong idea about what was happening between us. It had been sex, and there was nothing romantic about it.
“I’ll grab a couple plates,” I said, trying my hardest to be nice.
We each dished up our own plates. I noticed the heaping pile of mashed potatoes she put on her plate and smiled. We had both worked up an appetite. I doubled the amount of food on my plate and carried it to the couch.
She followed suit and sat on the opposite end. We ate with serious gusto. Neither of us bothering to talk. I liked the silence. It meant the food was good.
“You’re an amazing cook. Did you harvest the deer?” she asked.
I nodded, chewed the mouthful of food I had and swallowed. “I did. This is from last year.”
She started giggling. “I can’t believe you are so self-sufficient. You’re a true mountain man.”
That made me chuckle. “I don’t know if I would call myself a mountain man. My friend Gabe, now he’s a mountain man.”
“Well, the fact that you hunt your own food, chop your own wood and basically rely on only yourself to survive in a place without reliable electricity or communications, makes you a real mountain man in my view.”
I shrugged a shoulder, “Works for me.”
She stood up, took my empty plate and carried it to the sink. I watched as she poured a little water over each plate, being careful not to use too much. She learned quickly. I leaned my head back on the couch and stared at the fire in the woodstove. She was back a few minutes later, sighing with contentment.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“For?”
“A lovely dinner. I honestly didn’t think it would be so good. I haven’t had a meal that good at the lodge and they charge a small fortune.”
I nodded, knowing she was right. I had eaten at the lodge restaurant many times. It was always okay, but never great.
Once again, the room fell silent. Instead of a comfortable silence, it was awkward. This was one of the few times I wished I had a television or a radio. Anything to disturb the silence in the room. If I was alone, I would read, but I knew that would be rude and I didn’t want to offend her.
“So,” she mumbled.
“Sorry. I know there’s not much to do here. I guess I’ve never really needed to do something all the time,” I explained.
She grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the couch and covered her legs. “It’s fine. I understand. I have a TV at home, but I don’t really use it. If I’m not writing or reading or thinking about writing or reading, I like to go for walks. I guess that’s kind of out of the question now though.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Ya, I don’t normally take walks in a snowstorm at night,” he said, pointedly.
That made her laugh. “Hey, I didn’t exactly plan to get lost and quite frankly, if people would have looked for me sooner, no one would have been out in the dark.”
I rolled my eyes, “Yeah, shame on the search and rescue team for not sensing there was a woman lost in the forest.”
She laughed again.
Then, the room fell into the same awkward silence.
Chapter Sixteen
Calla
I could certainly appreciate a little peace and quiet as much as the next girl, but this was a little much. I mean, seriously, if he didn’t talk or make a move, I was going to jump him. I knew asking him to play Truth or Dare was out of the question, but did he really expect us to sit in total silence for the next several hours. Six o’clock seemed a bit early to go to bed, but maybe that’s what we should do. He didn’t look like he was interested in another round of sex. Hell, I wasn’t all that interested at the moment. My belly was full and I was fairly satiated from the first go around.
I looked over at him. He was staring at the logs burning in the woodstove.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
The expression on his face looked to be mingled with concern and stress.
“Fine. Just spacing out a little, I guess.”
“Penny for your thoughts,” I teased, hoping it would lighten the mood.
He shook his head. “Not even worth a penny.”
I got it. He didn’t want to talk. Maybe I should make a move. I wouldn’t mind a little foreplay. We didn’t have to have sex. The more I sat there, getting all caught up in my own twisted thoughts, the more I thought about what had happened between us, the more I wondered why. Why had he taken me up on my offer earlier, but not last night?
Was it the dream? The memory of the dream brought a smile to my lips. It had been a very good dream, but the reality was far better.
I looked over at him, stared at his profile and visually stripped away the beard and gave him a haircut. That night so many years ago had changed my life more than he knew. Should I tell him? I had a feeling
he wouldn’t take it well. I had no idea if he suffered from PTSD and couldn’t risk triggering a volatile response.
“How long have you lived here?” I asked, vaguely remembered him mentioning it earlier.
I waited what felt like forever and just when I thought he wasn’t going to answer, he cleared his throat. “Almost three years.”
“Did you build it?”
He smirked. “No. It was an old hunting cabin. The family who owned it inherited it from their late father. None of them wanted it or saw much value in it. I guess they all live in Los Angeles or some shit. I jumped at the chance to get my hands on it.”
“Lucky you. So, does that mean you’ve been out of the military for three years?”
“Yes.”
“Eight years in then. That’s a long time. How many tours did you do?”
“Three.”
I nodded. It would make sense if he suffered from PTSD. That was a lot for anyone. “Why’d you leave?”
I knew the question was risky and held my breath wondering if he would answer.
“It was time. I wasn’t interested in moving up the food chain. I didn’t want to be at a desk. When it came time to re-up, I opted out. What about you? You said you’re a writer?”
I nodded. “Yep. I’m one of the lucky ones. I went to school, did an internship at a publishing house in New York and made some contacts. I managed to sell my first book about two years ago.”
“Is it hard? I mean, you make it sound like it’s hard to sell a book. It seems like it would be easy. There are millions of books out there.”
I laughed. “Exactly. Billions probably. Getting your book picked up by a publisher and then actually sold in a bookstore is not all that easy.”
“You must be good.”
I shrugged a shoulder. “I hope so. That’s why I’m here. I’m starting another book and wanted to see and experience the setting.”
That seemed to satisfy his curiosity. “You went to school? I mean college—to become a writer?”
I laughed. “Well, I went to college to become an engineer. Turns out, I don’t like math all that much. I changed my major to English my sophomore year. I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do so I kept it wide open. A little journalism, some screenplay writing and basic English.”
“Wow. I guess I didn’t realize there was so much school involved with writing.”
“Yep. Well, not all writers do, but I wasn’t sure and my parents were more than willing to pay for me to go to school. I took advantage of it and took a variety of classes.”
“Do you live around here, in Maine?” he asked.
“Portland, kind of. I do a lot of traveling to New York, but I have no plans to move. I like the mountains,” I told him, thinking about my little house in the suburbs. “I have a house that I bought last year. The goal was to fix it up and make it cute, but I guess I didn’t realize how much work that takes. I don’t actually live in the house,” I admitted sheepishly. “I live with my parents in Bar Harbor, technically. I tend to bounce around a lot. I stay with Holly a lot as well. She has an apartment in Maine.”
He chuckled. “You were going to fix the house up yourself? I can’t believe you own a house you don’t live in.”
I decided not to tell him that I’d hoped Blake would be a participant in my great house restoration. In fact, I didn’t want to bring up Blake at all. I had a feeling that tidbit of information would ruin our time together. I felt terrible for not telling him and knew it was likely a huge betrayal, but I didn’t think this little thing we had was going to last beyond his front door. I would go back to the lodge tomorrow and never see the man again.
Taking a deep breath, I steeled myself to lie. “That was the plan. It could still happen. I haven’t had a lot of free time to interview contractors and all that. My assistant, Holly, was supposed to do that, but,” I waved a hand through the air, “Holly is a little neurotic. I love her, but she is crazy. She had all these wild ideas about the one contractor I did choose and never called him.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I should. I need to make the time for it, but I think I have a bit of buyer’s remorse. I bought the house on a whim, but I don’t know if I really want it now.”
That part was true. I had bought the thing when Blake and I were going strong. I wanted to settle down and live together, but it just never quite worked out.
“You said you had a neighbor?” I asked, wanting to steer the conversation away from that dangerous topic.
“Yes, Gabe.”
“When I hear neighbor, I think walk next door and borrow a cup of sugar, but there are no houses anywhere nearby that I could see. Where does he live?”
“About a mile away,” he answered, as if that was just a short distance.
“A mile!” I shrieked. “That’s your closest neighbor?”
He nodded. “Yep. Gabe is a great guy. Keeps to himself. He is ex-Army as well, so we kind of understand each other. We both moved up here to get away from the rat race. When there are storms like this, we check on each other. We hunt together and hang out on occasion, but neither of us is up for a lot of chit-chat.”
I didn’t know Jake all that well, but it made sense that he would want his closest neighbor that far away. He wasn’t exactly the most talkative guy, nor did he seem all that interested in hanging out with other people. His dog was clearly his best friend.
“Do you work in town?” I asked, wondering how he supported himself. It was obvious he lived frugally, but he had to have some kind of income.
“I work at the lodge on occasion. Run some ski tours and do these little search and rescue missions when needed. Other than that, I have savings. I spent very little during my time in the service and managed to create a pretty healthy nest egg,” he said, clearly a little uncomfortable talking about himself.
“Does the search and rescue thing happen a lot?” I asked, a little excited to hear I wasn’t the only person who found myself at their mercy.
He shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know about a lot. Sometimes it’s getting an injured skier off the mountain or doing some trail maintenance.”
The idea that I wasn’t the first woman to get lost spawned a thought I didn’t like and suddenly I found myself irritated. “How many rescues have your brought back here?” I quipped.
I watched a grin spread across his face and the little spark of jealousy grew. “Are you asking if you are the first woman who has fallen under my protection? The first woman to get locked up in my cabin in the middle of a snowstorm?”
I glared at him. “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.”
“You’re the first and I hope, the last. I don’t like bringing strangers here. I’m counting on you not being able to find your way back here once the team picks you up and carts your ass back to the lodge where you belong,” he said, in a harsh tone.
My mouth dropped open. Then closed. I didn’t know how to respond to that. He had been almost normal and even conversational only a moment before, and now he was back to glaring at me.
“I’m going to take care of those dishes,” I said, jumping up.
“I can do them,” he growled.
Ignoring him, I headed for the sink and filled up the pot with water and put it on the stove to heat. It was going to take some time. To keep busy, I started to wipe down the counters and tidy up the kitchen in general. I heard him adding wood to the fire before his footsteps were behind me. The man’s attitude had changed so quickly, it left me wondering what his problem was.
“What’s your problem now?” I blurted out, spinning around to face him.
“Excuse me?”
“You! First your fine, then your angry and don’t want to talk. Why? What did I say wrong now?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
I stared at him. He was back to calm and rational. As he stalked towards me, I changed my assessment. It wasn’t calm and rational I was seeing. It
was lust and passion. He wanted me! I could see it in his eyes, in the way he was jerking his hands.
My mind reeled, trying to think of what I could say or do to get him to take me again. My eyes drifted to the kitchen table, then back to him. I wanted him to fuck me right there. Now, to convince him he wanted to do it. The dream thing had been a success the first time, but how could I get his hands on me?
Direct approach. No games. I wanted him, he wanted me. I would simply tell him as much. His large body stopped inches away from mine. I looked into his eyes and was about to suggest he fuck me on that sturdy table when the dog suddenly started growling.
“What the hell?” Jake mumbled, spinning around.
I bit back the panic that bubbled to the surface. Man and dog were on high alert, which scared the shit out of me.
“What’s that? What’s wrong?” I asked.
A knock on the door was the answer. Casper barked in return. I looked at Jake who was staring at the door. My mind was in overdrive, my imagination churning out all kinds of horrifying possibilities of what was going to happen in the next ten seconds. I was rejecting thoughts as quickly as they were spit out.
Animals didn’t knock.
Someone was at his front door.
In the middle of nowhere.
In a snowstorm.
In the dark.
Chapter Seventeen
Jake
Surprise visitors just didn’t happen up here, I thought to myself as I walked to the door. It had to be the search team. They had gotten through and decided to come pick up Calla. I was relieved, yet bummed at the same time. It was best they got her out of my cabin and away from me though. The way she had been looking at me was dangerous. I wanted her again and felt fierce and animalistic. It was best she not be in my house another minute.
Search and Rescue would have radioed ahead, the rational part of my brain reminded me. This couldn’t be them, so it had to be Gabe. I picked up my pace as I crossed the room, worried something had happened to my friend.
I yanked open the door and sure enough, Gabe was standing on the porch.
“What’s up?” I asked, all business.
