Can't Fight This Feeling (Cabin Fever)

by Christie Ridgway

  For the past few days she’d run into Brett coming or going. He’d avoided her eyes and muttered some semblance of a greeting here and there. It was so obvious he wanted to evade her that she’d taken to peeking out the door before leaving her cabin.

  He must be on the lookout for her, too, because he managed to refill the wood box in her living room and the log holder on the porch when she wasn’t around to catch him. Maybe he feared she’d kiss him again.

  It had been her that had gone after him that last time, right?

  She wasn’t sure. She’d turned, said good-night, and then it was a filings-to-magnet moment. Their bodies slammed together, their lips locked. He’d managed to pull away first. She thought. At the time, she’d been so into the moment, into him, that all her senses hadn’t been working properly.

  To her, the kiss had been heaven and hell entwined. Burning fire and delightful promise, all the things she’d read about, heard about when it came to intimacy and sex. All the things she’d wanted to experience but had backed away from before.

  Until Brett.

  Clearly, for him, it had been no big deal.

  Thus, friends.

  The distinctive creak of the society’s front door sounded in the quiet. She looked up just as it shut behind the newcomer, the wooden blinds clacking against the half window. It was a male figure that came in, bundled in a coat and hat, and her heart leaped, until he pulled the cap from his hair.

  “Hey, Vaughn,” she said, returning to her grooming of the grizzly. Something about the man made her uneasy. Maybe it was because she’d met enough of his sort in her lifetime. Trust-fund types who thought their entitlement didn’t come from luck but because they were inherently better than the other guy.

  “Angelica.” He nodded, a smile beaming out of his tan. His hair was dark blond, his chin chiseled, but she thought Brett was a hundred times more manly with his scarred visage and his hard-earned muscles. “How’s it going?”

  “Great. I’m about to head out.” She glanced at the old-fashioned school clock mounted on the wall. “Did you need something?”

  “Nah. Just thought I’d pop in for a chat.”

  “You knew I was here?”

  He shrugged. “Saw your car...only one in the parking lot.”

  Her stomach jumped a bit and she scolded herself for being silly. She’d known Vaughn for months, and he’d never shown much interest in her. Maybe he was only being polite. Concerned that she was alone at the headquarters.

  “Anything new to report about the historical society?” he asked.

  She drew the brush along Piney’s...did grizzlies have arms? “Not really. The last of the auction items have been turned over to the new owners, and we were able to cancel the rental of the storage locker.”

  Vaughn had paused in the act of unbuttoning his cashmere overcoat. “There was a storage locker?”

  “Uh-huh. When your grandfather’s house went up for sale, we had to put the items somewhere.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” he said, almost to himself.

  “It was expensive, that unit, so we’re glad to eliminate the monthly fee from our expenses.”

  “Stupid of me,” Vaughn muttered, “not to think of that.”

  “Well, done with it now.” She glanced again at the clock. “Time for me to go.”

  Setting the brush aside, she headed toward the rack in the corner of the offices where she’d hung her purse and coat. Vaughn followed her there, and took the long coat out of her hands.

  “Oh, don’t bother,” she said, flustered as he held it out for her.

  “Nonsense,” he said, with another alligator smile. “I was raised to mind my manners.”

  There was nothing she could do but turn her back on him—and that made her nervous—in order to push her hands through the sleeves. She shoved them through as quickly as possible but before she was able to turn around again he was sliding his hands beneath her hair at the nape of her neck so he could pull the swathe of it from beneath her collar.

  Her flesh crawled at the dry touch of his skin on hers.

  Whirling around, she stepped back and her shoulders hit the wall with a muted thud. “Um, thanks,” she said, trying to suppress her shudder. The last man who’d touched her hair, who’d touched her, had been Brett. With him, she’d felt shivery in an entirely different way.

  “What’s the matter?” Vaughn asked.

  Not for anything did she want to admit to him she didn’t feel comfortable flying solo in male company. “Not a thing,” she said, ducking her head to apply her attention to her coat buttons.

  In her peripheral vision she saw his shiny dress shoes shuffle closer. Ignoring that, she kept her gaze down and used mental telepathy to communicate her disinterest. Go away, Vaughn. Give me room.

  “You know,” he said, his voice low. “You’re a very lovely woman.”

  “Thank you.” She pulled her gloves out of her pocket and began to inch them on. “That’s a nice thing to say.”

  “Oh, I’m not just being nice.” He moved closer, into her personal zone and she started shouting at him in her mind. Back off!

  Her skittishness around most men flustered her so that she’d never mastered the ability to make a quick getaway. Maybe it was due to how young she’d been when she’d had that ugly experience in a dark closet, or maybe she’d been a rabbit in an earlier life. Whatever the reason, her tendency was to freeze up and hope the predator would move past. So she was standing there, pretending a preoccupation with her gloves, when suddenly Vaughn was much, much too close, surrounding her. She leaned back, pressing into the wall, and his bent arm was propped against it, above her head.

  His breath moved the hair at her temple. “I heard you’ve had some financial trouble,” he said in a low voice. “You know, I could help you out—or maybe we could help out each other.”

  A trickle of sweat rolled down her back. “Um, Vaughn—”

  “I happen to have a cold bottle of wine in my car. Some cheese and crackers.”

  She cursed her curvy behind. If she’d had a flatter butt, she could have put more inches between them.

  “Why don’t I bring them in,” he continued, his tone of voice the kind you used to coax a cat from behind a bureau, “and we can enjoy them while we get to know each other?”

  “I don’t—”

  The squeal of the front door cut into her next words. She’d never been so glad to hear the screechy noise.

  Or see the man stepping into the building.

  “Brett!” She was pretty sure she sounded almost as squeaky as the door. Vaughn didn’t move as quickly as she would have liked, but now she finally managed to duck and squirm to gain freedom from his imprisoning body. “What are you doing here?” she continued in a breathless voice.

  His gaze ran over her from head to toe, his expression giving nothing away. “How are you, Angelica?”

  “It’s great to see you,” she said, trying her mental telegraphy again. Don’t leave me alone with Vaughn. Please don’t leave me alone with him.

  Maybe it worked, because Brett stepped farther into the room and let the door snap shut behind him.

  His gaze jumped from her to the man standing behind her. “I suppose you know Vaughn, right?” She threw a glance over her shoulder and tried pretending her pulse wasn’t skipping about, first from nerves and then from...well, just being in her neighbor’s presence. “Vaughn, I’m sure you need no introduction to my friend, Brett.”

  At the word friend, he sent her a dark look, then turned his attention back to the other man. “Elliott.”

  Vaughn mumbled some greeting and moved close to Angelica. She edged away and returned her gaze to Brett. “What brings you by?” she asked in a bright voice.

  “Saw your car in the lot,” he said.

  “Funny, Vaughn stopped in for the same reason.”

  Brett’s brows rose. “Did he tell you one of your rear tires is flat?”

  She slid the other man a look.
“No.”

  Vaughn lifted his hands in a “who knew” gesture. “It must have happened after I came inside. Or maybe I just didn’t notice.”

  “I’m not sure what caused it,” Brett said, his narrowed eyes on Vaughn’s face. “I didn’t see a nail.”

  “Well, don’t you worry about it, Walker,” Vaughn said. “Angelica will call the road service, and I’ll stay right here until she’s... I mean, it’s as good as new.”

  She widened her eyes in Brett’s direction, trying to sync her brain to his once more. Don’t leave me!

  He didn’t even look at her. “No need to make a call and wait for the truck.” His gaze cut to Angelica and she thought, just for a second, it softened. “You have a spare, sweetheart?”

  “Um, yes.” She moved to the coatrack and fished through her purse, still hanging there, on the hunt for her keys.

  “‘Sweetheart,’ huh?” Vaughn murmured to Brett.

  “Just slipped out,” he said. “We’re friends.”

  “Buddies,” Angelica added, her key ring in hand. “Pals.”

  “Never can have too many friends,” Vaughn said, his tone turning jovial.

  “That’s what I tell her,” Brett said, taking the keys from her hand. “This won’t take long.”

  “I have an idea,” Vaughn said, turning to Angelica. “We leave Walker here and let him do his grease-monkey thing. The two of us will head out for a drink to pass the time.” Now he leaned close and spoke in almost a whisper. “Remember, we have things to discuss.”

  Behind him, Brett’s brows rose nearly to his hairline. “Yeah, Elliott, if you stick around you might get some dirt on your fancy overcoat.” His gaze flicked to her. “Have fun, angel face.”

  She tried to overlook the insult. But, really? “I’m not going to leave when Brett’s doing me a favor,” she said. Was that the kind of woman he thought she was?

  “What else are friends for?” Vaughn countered.

  Angelica took a step toward the door. “Not for running off.” She glanced at Brett. “Coming? You’ll tell me what I can do to help.”

  As she sailed through the door she called over her shoulder. “Goodbye, Vaughn.”

  Her neighbor caught up with her as she was examining her flat tire in the waning light. Without another word to either of them, Vaughn sped past as he left the lot. Angelica’s eyes rounded. “Was he giving us the finger?”

  “I think he meant that for me,” Brett said. “Looks like I messed with his plans for the evening.”

  She shrugged, just glad to see the other man’s taillights in the distance. Then she frowned at the state of her tire. “Flat” didn’t even cover how airless it seemed to be.

  “I really appreciate your helping me out,” she said. “I’ll try to think of something to make it up to you. What can I do right now?”

  “Just move back,” Brett said after a moment, propelling her several feet away with his hands on her shoulders. “Keep your distance.”

  She sighed as she watched him roll up his sleeves to reveal powerful, ropy forearms. Keep your distance. He should tell that to her hormones or whatever you wanted to call this feeling that compelled her to want to climb his body, kiss him silly, do all the wild and horny things that women did to men. Things that required a closeness and trust that had always alarmed her before.

  That she only experienced around Brett.

  Her friend.

  “You could have gone for that drink,” he muttered, his back turned to her.

  She didn’t want to admit that Vaughn made her skin crawl. It seemed...gauche.

  “He’s your type,” Brett added, a hard edge to his voice. “You two have a lot in common.”

  She strove for an airy note. “How come that sounds like you’re jealous?”

  He snorted. “In your dreams.”

  “Right,” Angelica said, swallowing her sigh. It seemed as if her dreams were the only places she’d have the man.

  * * *

  KYLE SCOTT ENTERED Hallett Hardware to hear a frustrated female threaten in a loud voice, “If you don’t stop, I’m calling Mom!”

  Hmm. He deduced that his date was in the back room at the rear of the store and that she might not be in the best of moods. That afternoon they had plans to peruse the fall festival being celebrated on the main street of the village of Blue Arrow Lake, just a couple of blocks away. He hoped whatever was causing her to yell wouldn’t get in the way of their plans.

  “Can I help you?” another female voice asked.

  He glanced around to see a dark-haired young woman approaching. She was taller than Glory with long wavy hair and brown eyes. Angel was printed in block letters on her butcher-style apron. He smiled at her even as he heard more dire mutterings coming from the back room. “I’m here for Glory.”

  “Oh.” The brunette came forward, reaching out a friendly hand. “I’m Angelica. You’re Kyle?”

  He nodded, pleased that Glory must have spoken of him. “Kyle Scott. The two of us were supposed to go to the festival this afternoon—”

  “Dad!” Glory’s voice interrupted. “I know how to place a window order. I’ve been doing it since I was thirteen years old, for goodness’ sake. Go home. Go do something with Mom. Isn’t that why you retired?”

  “—but now I’m not so sure,” Kyle finished.

  Angelica sent him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry. This is nothing unusual. From what she’s said, ever since her dad handed over the keys six months ago, they’ve been locking horns. I only started working here in June when Glory needed some extra help, but I’m beginning to think they enjoy it.”

  “I do not enjoy it,” Glory corrected, storming up a nearby aisle. “I’m going to hire a guard for the door with instructions not to let the man over the threshold.” She pushed her fingers through her hair, disheveling the pretty blond stuff into a becoming disarray. Then she blew out a long breath and glanced over at Kyle.

  “Hi,” she said, her expression turning from wrathful to uncertain. “Do you now want to run away from me? I wouldn’t blame you if there was an accompanying scream or two.”

  “How about if we run away together?”

  Her expression changed again, and he couldn’t say exactly all that this one communicated. “Just for the afternoon,” he added, tapping her cute nose because he had to touch her. “Don’t look so concerned.”

  “I’m not letting a thing worry me today, not after I walk out of the store.” She had her jacket over her arm and, now donning it, she addressed Angelica. “He’s back there, doing who knows what. I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t be. We get along very well.”

  Glory sighed. “I know. You’re able to handle him while all he makes me want to do is kick and cry like a two-year-old.”

  “Save yourself a tantrum,” Angelica advised, shooing her toward the exit, “and have a great time.” Her smile for Kyle was bright. “Nice meeting you.”

  “Feeling’s mutual,” he said, holding the door for Glory.

  When it swung shut behind them, Glory pulled a striped cap with a pink pom-pom over her blond hair. Then glanced up at him. “You sure you haven’t changed your mind?”

  Kyle couldn’t think of anything besides how adorable she was. Jeans clung to her legs and were stuffed into tall, rugged-looking Western-style boots. The puff of yarn on the top of her hat matched the color of her full lips and the flush that was infusing her cheeks. By contrast, her turquoise eyes looked even brighter.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked, shoving her hands in her coat pockets in a self-conscious gesture.

  He pulled one free and entwined his fingers with hers. “Because there’s no place else I want to be today. There’s no one else I’d rather be with in the world.”

  The smile she returned was a dazzler.

  At the sight of it, guilt gave him a little pinch. When he’d dropped by the hardware store the day before to suggest this outing, she’d been busy with customers. He’d managed to g
rab her attention for the three seconds it took to get her enthusiastic yes, but there and then he’d decided that the next time they were together, first thing, he was going to confess exactly what the real Kyle Scott was all about.

  It only seemed fair.

  But now he was reluctant to start off their time together with revelations.

  Later, he told himself, to quell his conscience. I’ll tell her just a little bit later.

  They set off on a stroll down the sidewalk. Kyle breathed in the clean autumn air and found himself swinging their linked arms as if they were teenagers. “I feel like I’m drunk,” he told Glory. “The smell of the pines, the way the sun has turned the air to gold, the company of a beautiful woman...”

  “I’m not beautiful. Cute, I’ll grant you. I’ve been cute since I was six months old and won the ‘Cutest Kewpie’ contest sponsored by the local bakery. My mom framed the photo that ran on the front page of the Mountain Messenger and it still hangs in her kitchen.”

  Kyle shook his head. “Beautiful.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Cute. Ask anybody in town.”

  “They’ve known you too long to appreciate you then. They’re remembering the Kewpie-contest winner and not seeing the grown woman you’ve become.”

  She stopped and he had to halt, too, or drag her along the cement. “What?” he asked.

  “Thank you.” She shook her head, a little smile quirking the corners of her lips. “Just...thanks.”

  They continued on, even as his conscience began clamoring again. But were his words to her any different coming from Kyle Scott, house painter, than from Kyle Scott, businessman with a net worth nearing the multimillion-dollar level? He didn’t think so, but would she?

  Later, he told himself again. When he could find the right, quiet time to tell all, he would.

  Now was not a quiet time, he was certain of that as they drew closer to the two downtown blocks barricaded for the festival event. The upscale boutiques had wares displayed on tables and hung on racks on the sidewalk outside their doors. Restaurants were offering tastes of their specialties. Civic groups had booths set up on the blacktop from which they sold shiny apples, slices of pie, popcorn and gooey cinnamon rolls. For those who wanted “healthier” fare, there were also baked potatoes drizzled with butter and cheese and roasted turkey legs with brown, crispy skin.