by Erin Quinn
Frowning, he dumped everything just inside and shut the door again, making sure it latched. Taking the extra precaution of throwing the deadbolt.
Leaving his suitcase and computer on the entry way floor, he carted the bag from Artie’s into the kitchen. In honor of Gramps, he’d bought a bottle of Maker’s 46—a high end label of Maker’s Mark, Gramps’ go-to bourbon. The old man had loved nothing more than a glass of bourbon and an ear to bend. Some of JT’s best memories were of sitting around the fire, listening to Grandpa Win spin a tale of how things used to be.
With a deep breath, JT rifled through the cabinets until he found the etched glasses Gramps had always used for the good stuff. Six were lined up neatly on the shelf, but a gap where two more should have been caught his eye.
Frowning again, he snagged a couple and turned to find two of the heavy crystal glasses already waiting on the counter behind him.
He looked from the glasses in his hand to the glasses on the counter to the opened cabinet and the empty space where they’d all come from.
“Well, are you gonna pour the stuff or let it age another ten years?” Gramps’ voice demanded.
JT almost dropped the glasses.
“Who said that?” he demanded, sternly. Foolishly.
“You know who, son. Now quit teasing and pour me some of that Maker’s.”
Grandpa Win had been the only father figure the Winchester boys had ever had. Disobeying him wasn’t an option. JT opened the bottle and poured a splash in one of the glasses.
“I know I taught you better than that,” the voice that couldn’t belong to his dead grandpa said.
JT tipped the bottle until a healthy three fingers filled the glass. Feeling more than a bit unhinged, he moved the bottle over to the second glass.
“I don’t think so, son,” the voice said, sounding so achingly familiar that tears pricked at JT’s eyes.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re about to have company and you’ll need your wits about you. I hope to God you’re not fool enough to blow it again.”
Just then, someone banged the squirrel shaped knocker on the front door and JT nearly jumped out of his skin. He gave the door an incredulous look. Had he imagined the knock, too?
“Don’t just stand there and let the girl freeze to death,” the voice that had to be Gramps’ said.
Dry mouthed, JT set the bottle next to the glasses and moved warily across the wide-open great room to answer the door. With each step came the certainty that he already knew who’d be standing on the other side of that door. In his mind’s eye he saw brown eyes that sparkled with mischief and a smile so bright it could light a room and steal a man’s breath.
He could feel her there now, just as he had in town. Like a subsonic vibration that lured him closer. He couldn’t ignore it, just like he couldn’t ignore the certainty settling in his gut as he reached for the doorknob.
Life as JT Winchester knew it was about to change.
“And about damn time,” the voice that could only belong to his grandpa said.
Chapter Five
It had started snowing again as Madison made the treacherous drive north to the cabin JT Winchester’s grandfather had built. Not surprising, winter had bulldozed fall right out of existence this year. Still, she wished the sudden flurry had given her a better head start.
If she’d been a bird, she could have covered the few miles to Win Creek Cabin in a couple of minutes, so long as she’d been able to fly straight up in the freezing cold. The massive balcony that ran the circumference of the cabin pretty much looked down on Plymouth Rock’s backyard. But she wasn’t a bird and as a human in a Ford pickup, she’d only been able to grip the steering wheel and stay on the harrowing road as it switched back and forth while it rose steeply in elevation
Mufasa rode shotgun like he always did, big nose poked out the window, mane ruffling in the wind, and ears perked. He was a speed freak, but she didn’t dare go too fast when ice still clung to the ditches on the sides from the Halloween storm that had turned the Trick-Or-Treaters into popsicles. Thanksgiving promised a blizzard she wouldn’t have considered driving in—even in her big truck. Avalanche Road twisted maniacally, careening through Look Up Canyon without care. She held her breath until she was through. Falling rocks were a regular thing here and even though there hadn’t been an avalanche in her lifetime, there were still some who remembered the last one. It had sealed off Look Up Canyon for weeks and, if the legend could be believed, had sealed the fates of Grandpa Win and his beloved Gracie by trapping them together in what had been a hunters shack at the time. Hard to believe when the beautiful cabin stood in that very spot now.
By the time she parked beside JT’s SUV, she had to pry her fingers off the steering wheel. Giving herself a pep talk that had fueled her up the mountain, she took a deep breath. JT had floored her with his easy teasing and let’s-pick-up-where-we-left-off hug. And if Cody hadn’t shown up and interrupted him, she was pretty sure JT would have asked her out. On a date.
Lord, help her.
She needed to nip that business at the bud.
It was cold enough to freeze the moisture of her breath as she and Moof stepped out of the truck. Wood smoke drifted on the chilled air and made the shepherd stick up his nose to sniff it. A heavy scent of pine joined the mix, evoking memories of every winter she’d ever known.
It took JT a long time to answer her knock—at least it felt that way as she stood shivering on the porch holding her custom-made gift box filled with pumpkin bread and coffee. She almost turned around and bolted as the seconds ticked by, but then the lock slid back and the door opened.
She braced herself as she met JT’s hooded gaze, trying to get a read on what he might be thinking. He looked surprised . . . and yet, not. Which made no sense. He couldn’t have been expecting her. She hadn’t made the decision to come until she’d seen him on the sidewalk today.
Until she’d felt the longing inside her to know him again.
But what had changed, really? JT had said it himself: I’m not back. It didn’t get much clearer than that. This was a pit stop before his return to his exciting life as a bestselling author in Phoenix.
He didn’t ask her in—just stood there, staring. She did the same, taking in every feature.
JT was tall. All the brothers were, just like their old man. But JT seemed to tower over her as she waited for him to say something. A hot flush crept up her neck, but the cold worked in her favor—rosy cheeks came with the territory. She tilted her head back to look into his face. At her feet, Moof did the same.
JT had inherited more than his daddy’s height. He had his grandpa’s denim blue eyes and his grandmother’s dark hair and brows, coupled with the kind of rugged good looks that made women do stupid things . . . like drive all the way up here to see him so she could be crystal clear about not wanting to see him again. Why hadn’t she seen the flaw in her plan?
Because JT did that to her—scrambled her ability to reason. To be objective.
“Madison,” he murmured softly, just as he had on the street today, and she felt each syllable along every frozen nerve ending. Everyone she knew called her Maddie, but JT always used her full name. It felt intimate, even now.
“JT,” she answered in a voice that sounded far more confident than she felt. “Glad I caught you at home.”
The corner of his mouth kicked up—not quite a smile but definitely a welcome sight. Her heart thudded hard and her breath caught in her tight chest. If he’d really smiled, she’d probably have passed out at his feet.
“Come in,” he said, stepping back to let her enter.
Mufasa had faster reflexes—he hadn’t been struck dumb by JT’s almost-smile and inviting voice—and raced in ahead of her.
“Hey, there,” JT said, squatting down to greet him. Big hands rubbed the shepherd’s thick fur and Moof wagged his tail as hard as he could, rewarding JT with a lick on the face. Smiling, JT scratched behind the dog’s ears.
Moof was a sucker for such tactics and let the wagging take over his whole body.
Madison couldn’t blame him. If JT put his hands all over her, she’d likely be wagging her whole body, too.
Stop. Now.
“People are usually scared of him the first time they meet him,” she said, her voice breathy.
JT looked up, surprised. “Him? He’s a teddy bear.”
“He’s big.” And a lot of people found big dogs intimidating, but JT didn’t even look nervous.
Madison was pretty sure the same couldn’t be said about her.
“What’s his name?”
“Mufasa. Moof.”
JT grinned at her, rubbing Moof’s ears. “You’re just a big baby, aren’t you, Moof?”
Moof had no trouble at all agreeing, but with a last all over scratch, JT stood again.
“So,” JT said at last, “what brings you to my neck of the woods?”
Without a word, Madison shoved her box at JT, sloshing coffee out of one of the cups’ sippy holes and probably dousing the pumpkin bread. JT took the decorated carrier with a bemused crinkling at the corners of his eyes.
“Nice box,” he said.
“I make them. It’s a business.”
He nodded, though he looked a little confused. Why wouldn’t he? A moron with pumpkin bread and a dog-beast had showed up at his door without warning. Hell, he should be running.
“I love banana bread,” he said, looking at the cellophane wrapped loaf with an orange ribbon around it.
“It’s pumpkin.”
“Oh.”
“And coffee. To say, welcome back. Except you’re not back, are you?”
His chin went up and his eyes narrowed. “No, I’m not. Just visiting.”
“That’s what I thought”
A cold gust came from nowhere and everywhere at once, whisking through the entry way and making her shiver. The front door was closed, windows, too, presumably, and there was no ready explanation for the draft that felt more like a wind. Moof gave a curious bark and thumped his tail against the floor. Madison rubbed her arms and JT frowned.
“I brought coffee beans, too,” she blurted into the sudden chilled silence. “You know. In case you wanted some. Coffee, I mean.”
“I was actually thinking of something a little stronger,” he said, using his chin to point at the counter where a fancy bottle of golden brown alcohol stood beside an empty glass. It didn’t look like he’d opened the bottle yet, but she’d obviously interrupted the game plan.
JT stared at the bottle and glass for a hard second, looking like he’d just seen a ghost. Madison looked back and forth between the counter and his face.
His lips moved for a second before words came out. For some reason, he looked rattled.
“Everything okay?” she asked softly.
“I—uh . . . I thought the bottle was open already,” he muttered cryptically. “Never mind. Why don’t you take off your coat and stay awhile? Join me in a toast to the old man?”
Madison’s jaw dropped. He’d invited her to stay? Just like that? No, Hey girl, sorry I ripped your heart out and stomped all over it when you were so young and vulnerable. No, I owe you about a dozen explanations for why I left and never looked back. Or even, I missed you and never stopped thinking of you.
She looked down at Moof. Moof looked up at her, letting his tongue hang out hopefully. No objection there.
This was the moment when she should pull out the big guns, spew the speech she’d rehearsed on the way up, and head for the door. But every word she’d practiced fled her mind, leaving her standing there with nothing to say.
Awkwardly, she shrugged out of her coat and hung it on the rack by the door. JT had moved into the kitchen and now he stood staring at the bottle, again, thumb grazing the shrink wrapped seal that covered the lid. Madison didn’t have a clue what was going on, why he seemed so unsettled by the sealed bottle. So what if he’d thought he’d opened it but hadn’t?
As she approached, he seemed to snap out of it. He pulled down another glass from a cabinet, pausing to eye the space it left on the shelf with a pensive expression.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, a bit more bluntly than she probably could have.
A fleeting smile crossed his face. “Just too many ghosts up here, I guess,” he answered lightly, but there was a troubled note to his voice she didn’t miss.
“What is that?” she asked, nodding at the bottle. “Whiskey?”
“Bourbon. Good old fashioned Kentucky bourbon. Gramps loved his Maker’s Mark.”
Madison wrinkled her nose.
“Not a fan?”
“I don’t even like the way it smells,” she said. “I don’t want any of it, anyway. That’s not why I came. Besides, I was white knuckled all the way up here and now it’s snowing. A drink isn’t going to make the ride down more fun.”
He nodded, put the second glass back in the cabinet and reached for one of the coffee cups in her carrier box. “How about a cup of coffee instead? I made it just for you.”
Madison fought a grin. She was not here to flirt or to be charmed by his sense of humor. “Thanks,” she said, taking the cup and moving into the great room so she could look out the windows instead of at his sexy self. “You can see my house from here. And your mom’s, too.”
JT moved to stand beside her and her breath hitched, words drying up. His cologne had a light, masculine scent that teased her senses. She’d had her face pressed right up to his warm throat, earlier, and thought every man should smell so good.
“You still live in your grandma’s old place?” he asked.
She nodded. “It’s convenient. And cheap. I think she paid it off in nineteen seventy-two.”
“Nice.”
He leaned one shoulder against the window, managing to move closer to her at the same time. She could feel the heat of his body, sense the bunched muscles beneath his sweater. And damned if her traitorous body hadn’t canted toward him, just a bit.
“So just staying until Thanksgiving?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan. Then I have to get back.”
“That’s right. You have books to write. Schedules to keep.”
Her voice sounded sharp—felt sharp as it traveled her tight throat. He hadn’t even touched her and she was already losing her cool. Just imagine if he reached out . . . slipped those long fingers into her hair . . . pulled her—
“What book are you writing now?” she asked, groping for any way to derail her treacherous thoughts.
“A shitty one.”
“On purpose?”
He grimaced and took a drink from his glass, wincing at the burn of the alcohol, then closing his eyes and leaning his head back. She could almost feel the warmth of the bourbon moving through his system, easing his tension, uncoiling those tight muscles.
His dark lashes lifted and those blue jean eyes met hers. Slowly, intimately, they scanned her face, lingering on the point of her nose, the line of her lips, down to the hollow of her throat then back up, sweeping across her dark hair with such care she could almost feel the caress.
“You did a fine job growing up, Madison Lane,” he said softly.
“You didn’t make too much a mess of it either, JT.”
Was that her voice, sounding so low . . . so inviting?
“Yeah?” he asked, brows lifted in mock surprise.
He knew just how attractive he was. He had to know.
She cleared her throat and looked away. They were flirting and she had definitely put flirting on her list of Things Not To Do with JT Winchester.
“So are you going to stay up here at the cabin or with your mom while you’re in town?” she asked.
Still in that voice. Still not saying what she’d come to say.
He slid his gaze from her face to the window and considered the question. “Haven’t decided, yet.”
“Why not?”
“Too many emotions there. Too many memories here.” He shrugged. “Not
sure which is going to be easier to handle.”
“And easier is what it’s all about, right?”
His brows lowered and his blue eyes took on a sharp glint. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on. You never were one for messy old emotions. Better to avoid them than to deal with them.”
She had not meant to say that. Nowhere in her prepared lecture had she gotten so personal.
He stared at her. Probably speechless. Who could blame him? The pumpkin bread moron had just taken a bite out of him. Well, the damage was done. She might as well keep going. It was now or never and she’d been living with never for the last eleven years. She took now.
“You’ve been away for a long time.”
“That I have.”
“A lot has changed,” she said.
“A lot has stayed the same, too,” he rallied.
“Maybe to someone looking in from the outside. But I’m not the same, JT.”
He cocked his head and something flashed in his eyes. She couldn't guess what it was, but now he was completely focused on her.
“I know it probably seems that way to you. All of us who still live here must appear frozen in time or something.”
“Not so much,” he murmured.
“But just because we didn’t move away, doesn’t mean we stood still. And if you’re under some mistaken impression that I’ve been waiting around . . . .”
Dawning comprehension filled his face.
“Because I was going to ask you out today? Is that what this is about?”
“Were you? I mean, I guessed that Cody interrupted something along those lines.”
“Yes,” he said solemnly. “I was. So you came all the way up here to tell me no?”
“More or less.”
“That seems a little extreme.”
It did, but wasn’t that Madison’s MO? Go big or go home? You’d have thought she’d learned her lesson by now.
But in her head, this conversation had gone a different way entirely. In her head, JT had been contrite, remorseful and desperate to make amends.
