Shelter from the Storm

by Molly Wens

  "Now, do you want me to help you get into the tub?” He fairly growled out the question, the frustration in his body starting to show.

  "N ... no, I think I can manage.” She hated the stammer in her voice, showing her nervousness.

  "Fine,” he replied irritably. “Yell if you need me. I'll be in the next room.” He stalked from the room, throwing the tarp closed over the doorway and leaving her to ponder his shift in moods.

  "What an asshole,” she muttered after him.

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  Chapter 7

  "How's it coming in there,” Carissa heard Bryce's impatient voice call. It was all too embarrassing, this helplessness that she felt. She had managed to wash herself with the thick bar of soap he had provided, but it was slow going with hands so stiff and aching. She desperately wanted to wash her hair, but found no shampoo, not to mention that she did not have the strength to lift one of the extra buckets of warm water that stood on the floor nearby.

  "I ... I'm hurrying as fast as I can,” she muttered testily at the tarped doorway that faced the old copper tub. The hot bath felt good now, but at first, the water had burned at the injuries that slashed through her tender skin. She would have loved to soak, to allow the heat of the water to wash away the aches and pains that gripped her body, making the slightest movement difficult. The man in the other room, however, was not going to allow her to relax. She could hear his restless steps on the stones of the floor as he paced back and forth in front of the doorway.

  She had to wonder about how he had come to be isolated in this winter-locked cabin without so much as the convenience of electricity or the security of a phone. The scar that she saw near his eye and the strange discoloration of his beard also had her wondering. Had he been in an accident? Was he injured in a fight? Was he scarred fighting in one of the recent wars that continued to trouble the nation?

  There was also the matter of his quicksilver change of moods that gave her real cause for worry. Carissa had seen people behave this way before, usually as a symptom of some mental illness such as bipolar disease. A thin shudder ran through her as the thought of being holed up in a secluded cabin with a deranged maniac gave her a stab of fright. What if the man truly was certifiably insane?

  So many questions ran through her mind when it came to the man who called himself Bryce Matheney. There was one obvious fact; she was trapped with a stranger, and that was enough to scare her. Being naked and in a tub of water with nothing more than a thin stretch of cloth between them did not help matters either. She felt completely vulnerable to the whims of the giant in the other room, causing her to hurry her movements and become careless.

  "Ouch! Dammit!” she cried as she banged her tender knuckles on the side of the tub, dropping the soap with a loud splash into the water.

  "What is it? Are you all right?"

  Carissa looked up from her now-bleeding hand to see the big man looming over her, dwarfing her as she sat in the murky water. Her hands flew to reflexively cover her breasts, horrified that he was looking at her.

  "What are you doing?” she squealed at the sight of him. “Get out!"

  Bryce spun round, presenting his back to her and ducking his head. “I thought you'd hurt yourself. I thought you needed help."

  "You thought you could just come in here and get an eyeful is what you thought!” She was yelling at him, a reaction to the start his sudden presence had given her. She wanted to take back the words almost immediately as she watched his head come up rigidly and his back stiffen.

  "I only came in here to offer my assistance,” he ground out.

  The dejected sound of his voice touched that part of her that was womanly and soft, a place that held her kindness and compassion. She knew she had hurt his feelings somehow, a thought that gave her little comfort. She fought past her embarrassment to search for some way to soothe his offended sensibilities.

  "I ... I'm sorry. You startled me is all,” she stammered quietly.

  "Sorry,” he said gloomily. “If you don't need me then...” his voice trailed away as he waited for a response, standing stiffly, his head turned slightly to one side.

  "I just ... I,” she stuttered, searching for the right words.

  "What is it?” he demanded his deep voice booming.

  "If you will just calm down,” she retorted. “I was wondering if you have any shampoo."

  His shoulders seemed to relax a little as he sighed deeply. “No. I don't. You will have to use the bar of soap to wash your hair. Sorry, but I'm not set up to accommodate women."

  Carissa bristled under the way he said the word “women", as if to insult her. “Oh,” she said impotently. “It's no big deal. It's just ... I can't really...” She felt like a stammering idiot under the cloud of his anger. What had she done to irritate him so?

  "What's the problem?” he growled over his shoulder.

  "Never mind,” she said, trying to sound unconcerned. “I'll figure out a way to rinse the soap out. Don't let me keep you. I'll be fine."

  Carissa watched while he rolled his head a little to the side as he brought his shoulders up, heard the way the air hissed trough his teeth as he inhaled sharply. “I didn't even think how you were going to do that. I could help you, if you want. I promise not to look."

  "Well, I suppose you've already seen it all, since you're the one who undressed me.” She could not help the embarrassed smile that pulled at her lips or the heated blush that crept up her neck.

  His voice was much softer when he asked, “All right to turn around now?"

  Carissa drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and leaning forward, the water sloshing lightly around the edges of the tub. “Yes,” she said nervously. “You can turn around now."

  Bryce was visibly shaken by the sight of her, with her dark, burnished curls falling down her back, complimenting the soft richness of her creamy skin. She looked up at him slowly, the deep green of her eyes showing brightly in the warm glow of the lamplight as a pink blush suffused her face. Looking at her, he could no longer see the wounds that marred her delicate flesh. He could only see the woman that was splendidly and uniquely her.

  "Is anything wrong?” she asked timidly.

  Her words, so softly spoken, jerked him from his reverie, reminding him of why he was there looking at her feminine beauty in the first place. The knowledge that he had been ogling her, feasting upon her with his eyes, had him feeling like a lecher. Stepping forward in a lurching motion, he grabbed the first of the two buckets that stood beside the tub.

  "Ready?” he asked, his voice husky.

  "Let ‘er rip,” she replied.

  As soon as the water hit she let out a shriek. “It's cold!” her startled voice squeaked.

  "Oh, sorry,” Bryce mumbled as he reached for the kettle on the stove. “Things cool off pretty quick in this weather.” He poured some of the hot water into the remaining bucket and the rest into her bath. “That should help.” He refilled the kettle at the pump, replacing it on the stove and adding a few more sticks to the fire.

  "That feels better. Thanks,” she said with a slight chatter to her teeth.

  Carissa kept her knees up, tightly shielding her breasts as she fished the cloudy water for the fallen bar of soap. Upon finding it, she tried to gather her hair without exposing too much of her body. She felt his strong fingers take the soap from her as he slowly collected the long tresses. She thought to protest but the touch of his fingertips brushing the skin of her back, sending shivers down her spine, was distracting her thoughts.

  She was struck again by the gentle sensuousness of his large hands as they worked the lather into her hair and scalp. Once or twice, his fingers touched places on her head that were sore, but his touch was so light that she felt no pain. She closed her eyes in satisfaction only to be flustered to hear a small moan escape her lips at the pure luxury of having him perform such an intimate service.

  Bryce took longer than needed to lather and cleanse
her head as he knelt on the floor, so caught up was he in the arousing effects of touching her—and with her full knowledge and consent. More than once his fingers grazed the silken flesh of her graceful neck and soft shoulders. Her body seemed to draw toward his hands as a purring moan escaped her throat, causing a throbbing ache deep in his groin.

  He felt decidedly warmer as he lingered over his task, relishing the rich texture of her hair tangled around his fingers. When finally he felt he could not delay any longer, he stood and lifted the second bucket, testing the temperature of the water with the tip of one finger. He watched her for a moment longer, basking in the loveliness of her wet, soapy skin and the graceful curve of her spine as she bent forward.

  "Ready for more water?” his shaking voice asked.

  "Yes,” she whispered softly, still caught up in the sensuality of the moment.

  He moved slowly this time, carefully pouring the water in a thin stream over her down-turned head, viewing the movements of her hands as they lifted the tresses into the stream and wishing they were his own. When the pail was empty, he could still see soap bubbles glistening in her hair, and reached for the kettle that was still warming on the stove. He tested the temperature on his open palm before he poured it, straight from the kettle, onto her waiting head.

  Carissa pushed the dripping hair back from her face as she tilted back her head to look at him, a lush smile on her lips. “Thank you for your help,” she fairly purred.

  Bryce was dazed by the dreamy look of her clouded eyes. He wondered if this is what she would look like after making love. Dismayed by the path that his thoughts were taking and frustrated by the reaction of his undisciplined cock, he fairly stumbled backwards, trying to regain control of his body. He felt like a clumsy fool and wanted to get out of there before he made a real ass of himself.

  "Do you need anything else?” he asked abruptly. “Can you get out of the tub by yourself?” The olive color of her eyes darkened as the spell of tranquility was broken by his sullen voice, making him curse himself silently.

  "No,” she answered coldly. “I think I can manage.” Her face turned from him in dismissal.

  Carissa watched his tense frame as he stalked from the room, leaving the tarp to quiver over the doorway at his departure. The man's sudden changes of humor were starting to get on her nerves.

  A few minutes later, as she sat in the kitchen chair with her hair wrapped in a towel, and her body draped once again in the cavernous shirt he had given her to wear, she called out to the other room.

  "You can come in now."

  She watched as Bryce slowly peeled back the edge of the draping tarp to peer uncertainly into the room. The sight of the big man peeking in as shyly as a little boy amused her. She could not hide the impish smile that curved her mouth or the mocking twinkle in her eyes. If not for the fact that he was a total stranger and they had been thrown together under some very difficult circumstances, she would have laughed outright.

  The dark frown that clouded his smoky eyes only served to tickle her further as she drew her bottom lip into her mouth, wincing in pain as she bit down on the tender, cracked flesh in an effort to stem her giggles. She plunged her head forward, unable to look at him without bursting out laughing.

  "Has something funny occurred?” he asked in an imperious tone.

  The sound of his voice, the tone, and the words he used proved to be her undoing, her body shaking as she tried to keep her laughter silent. She dared not answer him for fear of hurting his feelings once again, but she could not stop the giggles that bubbled up. Bringing one hand to her mouth to silence the peals of laughter, the shirt fell open slightly at the top, revealing the soft flesh that held his fascination.

  "Why are you laughing?” he asked, his bewildered voice growing louder.

  "I ... I'm sorry,” returned her wavering voice. She cleared her throat and lifted her gaze to meet his, desperately trying to wipe the smile from her face. He looked like a thundercloud ready to burst, so dark were his eyes. His entire body bristled with indignation, only serving to make the situation more humorous to her, bringing her hand to her mouth again.

  "What's so funny?” he demanded.

  Carissa let her hand drop as she grinned playfully up at him. “Anyone ever tell you that you're cute when you're angry?"

  She watched as the tension left his body in one massive flood, giving him an easy, relaxed posture. The mass of hair that covered his face spread wide, rounding outward at the sides as he grinned back at her. The clouds that had shadowed his gray eyes evaporated, the smoky depths flashing with pure delight. She could swear that she saw him blushing brightly under his beard.

  "Well,” he started as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I can't say they have."

  "You're blushing!” she exclaimed, her mirth rising.

  "I am not!” Bryce tried to look stern with his brows drawing together ominously, but the effect was lost to the absurd smirk that still quivered on his mouth. He was charmed beyond words by her playful banter, and that weak hope he nurtured grew a little stronger.

  "Oh, stop trying to scare me,” she laughed. “I've seen the real you, so knock it off."

  He gave in at last, laughing with her and enjoying the sensation of it. The sound of her giggles was like music in the loneliness of his empty life. “You think you're onto my act, huh?"

  "Yep,” she said, clutching at the gaping shirt again. “You've seen me naked now so I guess there's no use trying to distance yourself with glowering looks.” Carissa looked down at the shirt, trying to capture one of the buttons in her sore, inflexible fingers.

  Bryce reached forward and nudged her fingers aside, easily slipping the little buttons through the holes. The heat of her skin filtered through the fabric to his hands, tempting him to touch her, feel her warmth against his palms. Her fragrance, tinged with a hint of the woodsy sent of the homemade soap that Clancy brought him in his supply runs, was captivating, as was the way her seductive eyes watched his face while he finished his task.

  "So,” she said, aiming her olive eyes at him, the smile still on her lips. “When do I get out of here?"

  Bryce, realizing she still did not understand the reality of her situation, could not quite meet her eyes. “When the snow thaws."

  "So we just have to wait for a warm spell and I can go?"

  "Carissa,” he finally looked at her squarely. “There are no warm spells up here until spring.” He watched as the smile faded from her face and the light faded from the room.

  "Spring?” she whispered. “Not until spring?” Her eyes grew wide, haunted, frightened.

  "Yes, Cari, spring,” he replied softly. “I guess you're not from around these parts. Mountain winters start early and there are no breaks until spring."

  "But ... but,” she stammered, horrified. “I have to get home. I have to get home to my babies!” Her voice rose in volume and pitch as she spoke, panic showing in her bruised eyes. “I have to get home!"

  "I'm sorry. There's no way out till the snow melts.” That strengthening ribbon of hope began to weaken again, knowing that she wanted out, and apparently with good reason.

  The sadness and fear in her eyes turned to anger and then to rage. Bryce watched the change that came over her, waiting for her emotions to turn to hate, wishing he could hear her laugh again.

  "You're lying,” she accused. “Why are you trying to keep me here?” She was shaking from head to toe, her face growing pale, her lips set in a grim line.

  "I'm not trying to keep you here!” he retorted sharply. “If it were up to me you would never have been here in the first place. I liked my life just fine the way it was. Having a sick woman on my hands is the last thing I need."

  He'd injured her, he knew it the moment the words left his mouth, and he immediately wanted to take them back. He rushed forward as she painfully pulled herself to her feet, the strain etching white lines around her mouth. As he reached out to support her, she batted him away, straighte
ning her back and refusing any offer he made. Without another glance in his direction she walked slowly from the room, her spine arrow straight, her head held high.

  "Dammit!” he swore under his breath after she was gone. For a brief moment he had seen her smile at him, laughing and bringing a warmth to his heart that he had not felt in years. Just like the changing of the winds, that moment was gone and she was angry, had accused him of keeping her prisoner. He sighed heavily as he began to empty the tub, the scent of her still lingering in the air.

  * * * *

  Carissa had refused to speak to him the remainder of the day, had refused to look at him as he tried to speak to her. The sadness on her face brought darkness to the entire cabin. Even Skoll was inconsolable as he uncharacteristically spent the day lying in front of the fire. Now, as the wind picked up and night brought it's dismal loneliness, Bryce began to wonder if all the long months of the entire winter season would be as dreary as this day had been.

  He had tried several times to get her to eat, but she had merely turned away from the proffered food, choosing to lie quietly upon the mattress, staring without seeing anything. Tossing another log on the fire, he decided it would be best if he slept in the recliner that he had returned to its regular position in front of the hearth.

  As he tried to make his long frame comfortable in the old chair, his mind clouded with the turn his life had taken since the damnable woman had fallen into his lap. He had been at peace with his solitude, but now he found himself wanting nothing more than to be able to listen to the jingle of her laughter every day for the rest of his life. The sound of it was comforting and joyful, and he wanted it as he had never wanted anything else, a thought that darkened his mood further as he stared into the crackling fire.

  The sound of her voice, the horror he had heard in it, when she finally discovered that they would be stuck together until spring, was a cold reminder of why he had become the hermit he now was. People were cruel animals, feeding on the misfortunes and weaknesses of others. They could offer you the world one minute and destroy your hopes the next, and this woman was certainly no exception. She had been nice to him, thinking he would do what she wanted, and then turned against him the minute she found out that he would not be able to get her down the mountain.