Stuck With You

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  “Take it easy.” He sounded out of breath, and he wrapped her tighter in his arms. “It’s okay. Where?”

  “By the bush over there.” She tilted her head in its direction. She could feel his heart pounding where her hand rested on his shirt. His nearness was so comforting she forgot to feel guilty about his being outside with no coat.

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “It was there. Mac was barking at it.”

  “Okay. Let’s get you back inside. Then I’ll take Mac out again and we’ll investigate.”

  “Okay.” She went inside, sheltered by his arm and chastened by her overwhelming gratitude that he was around to protect her. “Do you have your gun?”

  “What gun?”

  “Don’t all cowboys have guns?”

  “Not if they fly the friendly skies,” he said as he ushered her inside and shut the door after them. “You’d have a devil of a time getting through the metal detector with a six-shooter strapped to your hip.” Once they were inside he released her.

  Immediately she missed the firm pressure of his arm around her and wanted it back. But that was idiocy. His arms around her now would create a danger inside the house greater than the one outside. “Well, you can’t just go out there with nothing.”

  “Sure I can.” He reached for his jacket. “I wouldn’t take a gun out there even if I had one. I’d probably nail some neighbor’s dog.”

  “If that was a dog, he’s huge. And nobody’s pet would be roaming the neighborhood in this weather.” She noticed his damp shirt. “And you’re all wet. You’ll catch your death of cold.”

  Wyatt grinned at her as he buttoned his jacket. “Any more comments, or am I free to go?”

  “Take something to defend yourself with. Take—” she glanced around the kitchen “—a rolling pin.”

  His dimple flashed. “No.” He held out his hand for MacDougal’s leash.

  She handed it to him and for a brief moment their fingers met. She’d never been so aware of a simple, casual touch. She tried to keep the mocking tone in her voice. “What’s the matter, would a rolling pin spoil your macho image?”

  His probing glance held hers a second longer than necessary. He could probably see right through her attempt at bravado. “Yes, it would,” he said. Then he wound the leash around his hand and opened the door. “Keep the home fires burning, Charity.”

  “Be careful,” she called after him.

  He poked his head back in the door. “Worried about me?”

  “Wyatt Logan, you are not taking this seriously! There could be a serial killer out there, or a wild animal escaped from the zoo, or an inmate from the state mental hospital, or—”

  “An alien from outer space?” he asked with mock seriousness.

  “Go on, then! Get yourself killed.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence, ma’am.” He touched the brim of his hat and closed the door.

  Charity wrenched it open again. “Just don’t expect me to retrieve the body!” she shouted after his retreating back.

  He kept walking into the snowy yard. “Well, Mac, she just eliminated the element of surprise. Now we’ll have to use our brute strength to overpower those aliens.”

  INSIDE HIS HOUSE, Alistair’s heart slammed against his ribs when Charity’s words blasted through his earphones. Don’t expect me to retrieve the body! Nora’s body. It was lying somewhere, unburied. He had to find out where. He’d read enough Patricia Cornwell mysteries to know that the authorities found all sorts of evidence on the body.

  It had taken him a good hour to plant a bug just outside Nora’s back door. Or as close to a bug as he could manage—the microphone from his karaoke machine. He’d commandeered every length of connecting wire in the house, which meant dismantling his surround-sound system.

  He’d barely finished burying the wires in the snow and almost hadn’t made it into hiding behind that bush when Charity had unexpectedly come outside with the dog, but the near discovery had been worth it. He already had Charity on tape claiming to be the brains of the operation. Then, typical of a woman like that, she’d refused the messy job of retrieving Nora’s body.

  The nephew was obviously the hitman, but the plot had apparently been hatched by none other than Charity Webster, Nora’s trusted friend and protégée. Alistair sighed. ‘Twas ever thus. In his experience, good deeds seldom went unpunished.

  5

  WYATT DIDN’T EXPECT to find anything amiss in the backyard, but he dutifully took Mac around the perimeter, figuring that the dog would alert him to anything unusual. Mac seemed unconcerned. Then, to cover all bases, Wyatt trudged through the side yard to the front, his boots sinking in snow nearly a foot deep.

  It was damned cold out, but fresh and clean. Snow was a treat for an Arizona boy, and he held out his hand to allow the flakes to light on his palm like butterflies. Then he looked straight up, and the flakes seemed to hurl themselves past him like tiny asteroids traveling at warp speed.

  He wasn’t going to rush this tour of duty. He needed some time to think. When he returned to the house he’d better know for sure how he intended to proceed. When Charity had called for him he’d raced outside, where the cold had slammed the breath from him. What little breath he had left had been stolen as she’d thrown herself into his arms. Her Christmas-cookie scent had caught him off guard, and when she’d lifted her face, pink from the cold, he’d come very close to kissing her.

  He hadn’t given in, because if he did kiss her, he wanted it to be part of a conscious decision, not some accidental embrace. If he was confused about many aspects of this crazy situation, he was dead sure of one thing. A kiss would only be the beginning. When he walked in that door, he should be ready to take her in his arms and follow through or go straight to his own bedroom and stay there.

  After making his way to the backyard again, he unhooked MacDougal’s leash and let the dog roam. Wyatt positioned himself with his back to the door and surveyed the snowy landscape for any sign of intruders. There were none. Charity’s imagination had been working overtime. But imagination could be a good thing in certain situations—when two people were tucked beneath a fluffy comforter, for example.

  A sweet ache built within him, defying the cold. Staring into the swirling snow, he pictured Charity with her hair down, her glasses laid aside, her high-necked

  blouse unbuttoned…He fantasized the gentle pop of

  her bra fastening as it gave way, revealing the breasts hidden beneath silk and lace, and her vanilla scent growing stronger as he leaned forward to press his lips against her creamy skin.

  Then he heard, in real time, the back door open. He wondered if she could have somehow tuned into his thoughts and was about to beckon him inside. Perhaps she’d already taken her hair down in preparation for—

  “Did you see anything out there?” she called.

  He turned.

  Her hair was in place, her blouse buttoned up to her neck.

  “No,” he said.

  “Well, I’m going to bed. Lock up when you come in, will you?”

  So much for thinking he was the one in charge of the decision. While he’d pictured her inside pacing the floor in a turmoil of frustration, she’d probably been upstairs brushing and flossing her teeth. Whoever said women were the more romantic sex hadn’t met Charity Webster.

  “Come on, Mac.” Wyatt turned toward the house. “It’s been a hell of a long day.”

  INTENSE COLD woke Charity in the pale light of early dawn. Then she smelled smoke. The alarm must have failed. Wearing one of Nora’s flannel nightgowns, she leapt from the double bed, grabbed her glasses from the nightstand and ran out into the upstairs hall, her sock feet skidding on the wood floor. By the time she reached the landing she was awake enough to remember MacDougal and Wyatt, in that order.

  “Fire!” she shrieked. “Everybody up! Everybody outside!”

  Barking furiously, MacDougal raced from the living room and up the stairs toward her. Then Wyatt, dresse
d in cream-colored sweatpants and sweatshirt, appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Help me get the dog out,” Charity ordered as she started down. “We have a fire.”

  “I know.” Wyatt crossed his arms and looked up at her. His beard-stubbled chin made him look more masculine than ever. “I built it.”

  Charity grabbed the banister and came to an abrupt halt. “Where?”

  “In the middle of the living room.”

  She gave him an uncomprehending stare.

  “Not really. I guess it’s a little early in the morning for jokes. I built a fire in the fireplace. We don’t have any—”

  “You did what?” She started down the stairs again. “Put it out right now, Wyatt. I realize you want more holiday atmosphere, but—”

  “We don’t have any power. The furnace is dead. It’s our only source of heat now.”

  So that’s why the house was so bitter cold. “Dammit. Have you looked outside?”

  He nodded. “I had to scrape the window to do it. Near as I can tell, the snow’s at least five feet deep, with drifts higher than that. I got the back door open, finally, to find a wall of snow packed against it.”

  Charity groaned.

  “It looks kind of neat, to be honest. I found a shovel in the garage and dug a little cave for MacDougal to go out this morning.”

  “Well, thank you for doing that. Did you try the telephone?”

  “Dead.”

  Charity sank to a sitting position on the steps and put her head in her hands. Wyatt might think the whole thing was a great adventure, but she had the ultimate responsibility for the house. “All I wanted was to keep this house neat and orderly until Nora got back,” she moaned. “Now the door’s busted, her remote’s broken, we’re snowed in and the fireplace will be scorched.”

  “If you’re going to complain about the situation you might as well come down and do it in front of the fire. It’s much nicer there.”

  She lifted her head in sudden dismay. “Nora didn’t have a supply of firewood.”

  “I know. I had to chop up the Hepplewhite. It was blocking the path to the back door anyway.”

  She evaluated the dancing light in his brown eyes. “That’s not very funny.” But she stood just in case he was telling the truth, so she could rush into the living room and save what was left of the antique furniture.

  “I thought it was funny, but maybe you Eastern folks need caffeine before you can find your sense of humor.”

  “Coffee would help. I’ll make some.”

  He smiled. “Can I watch?”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Look, I may have scorched the cheese sandwiches, but I can certainly measure coffee and plug in…” She paused. “Oh.”

  “I was afraid to hang the coffee maker over the campfire.”

  She glared at him. “You never answered my question. What are you burning?”

  “I rummaged around in the garage and found some old wood stacked in the rafters. Probably left over from a remodeling job or something.”

  “You’re sure it’s scraps?”

  “Come and look.”

  Wrapping her arms around herself she followed him into the living room where, sure enough, a lusty fire crackled in the marble fireplace. Next to it was a stack of nondescript boards that had been split into fireplace-size pieces. “They were just stacked in the rafters?” she asked. “A pile of old wood?”

  Wyatt held up a hand. “Scout’s honor. Listen, we needed something to keep us warm. It’s always possible Aunt Nora planned to do something decorative with that old wood, but right now, heat is more important. She’ll understand that. I’m sure she can get more just like it. Connecticut is full of that stuff.”

  “I want to see the rest.” Charity walked to the garage door and opened it. A wave of cold engulfed her, but she stepped into the gasoline-scented interior and automatically reached for the light switch next to the door. Nothing happened.

  “No power,” Wyatt reminded her.

  “Thank you, Mr. Wizard.” She opened the door of the Mercedes and light filtered from the dome light upward into the rafters.

  “Ingenious,” Wyatt said.

  Charity didn’t answer as she peered upward at the cobwebbed boards above her.

  “Looks like junk to me,” Wyatt commented from the doorway.

  “I guess you’re right.” With only a flannel nightgown and socks to protect her against the vicious cold, she began to shiver uncontrollably.

  “Come inside, Charity, before you catch your death.”

  She turned, her teeth chattering. “Worried about me?”

  “Yes.” He caught her arm and pulled her back through the door. “Nora seems to set great store by you for some unknown reason, and I don’t want to be blamed for anything that happens to you while I’m around.” He released her the minute they closed the garage door. She continued to shake. “Come on,” he said with a resigned air and took her hand to pull her toward the living room.

  “I s-should get d-dressed,” she managed to say around her shivers.

  “Get warmed up first.” He placed her in front of the fire. “Sit.”

  She sank to her knees in grateful submission to his order and held out her hands to the heat. A few moments later he draped a quilt over her shoulders. She looked at it and recognized the antique quilt from the downstairs guest room. “We probably shouldn’t be using this in front of the fire,” she said. “In case of sparks.”

  He squatted beside her. “We have an emergency situation, here. Would you rather they found our frozen bodies in the midst of an undisturbed decorating scheme?”

  “You’re overreacting. Nobody—”

  “Wanna bet?” He glanced at her. “Out in Arizona we read about it all the time. Power out for days, people dying of the cold. That’s not going to happen to us if I can help it.”

  “The power won’t be out for days. I hope.” In truth she had no idea what to expect. She’d never lived in such a rural area before.

  “In all the disaster movies they assume the worst and prepare for that,” Wyatt said. “Of course then the worst always happens.”

  “What a wonderful comfort you are.” She snuggled into the quilt and decided not to argue right now. The sensation of warming up after being near frozen was so delicious she didn’t want to disturb the cozy feeling. MacDougal wiggled in between her and Wyatt and plopped down, his head on his paws.

  As she gradually warmed up, Charity began to consider the situation more fully. “We may have a bit of a problem here,” she said, glancing at Wyatt.

  “Somehow I sensed that,” he said with a wry grin. “How much?”

  “The entire house is electric now. Nora was very proud of that.”

  “I don’t suppose there’s a backup generator?” he asked with a slight trace of hope.

  Charity shook her head. “She’d talked about it, but then she became involved in a few other projects and never got around to installing one.”

  “That sounds like her.” Wyatt reached down to scratch behind MacDougal’s ears. “She has a reputation for getting sidetracked. Once she bought a little boat but never did get oars or a motor for it. My dad finally took care of buying a motor one summer.”

  “It’s because she has more lofty things on her mind,” Charity said. “I’ve never known someone so generous and ready to help others, especially women in tough situations. If it weren’t for Nora, I’d be back in New York working for one of the big bookstore chains right now.”

  Wyatt continued scratching MacDougal, who by now had stretched out full length, enjoying the attention and warmth. “I figured she must have given you some financial backing.”

  “At a critical time. I’d saved enough to make the down payment on the store, but I needed to show a profit in order to stay in business. Because I was one of the few bookshops in the area, I thought business would pour in immediately. It didn’t, except for Alistair Updegraff and Nora.”

  “So you weren’t kid
ding about Updegraff being a valued customer.”

  “Absolutely not.” With growing envy, Charity watched MacDougal enjoying Wyatt’s caress. The night before she’d summoned the resolve to avoid Wyatt’s charms, but her resolve had disappeared with the morning light.

  “What does he buy?”

  “Nothing but mysteries.” Charity turned her attention to the leaping flames in an attempt to take her mind off the erotic images of Wyatt’s fingers giving her the kind of pleasure MacDougal was receiving. “Everything from Agatha Christie to Sue Grafton. He has a cape and hat that make him look like Sherlock Holmes. For a while he tried to smoke a pipe to complete the image, but he got sores on his tongue and had to give it up.”

  Wyatt laughed. “He’s a real piece of work. He seems to think I should be thrilled because I’m Nora’s only heir.”

  “He would think like that. He’s always fooling with his own will.”

  “He has kids?”

  “Two sons, neither one married. Maybe they’re both licking their chops over their inheritance. I never could understand people who put great importance on inheriting money.”

  “Me, either. It’s a waste of time. I figure Aunt Nora will leave all hers to the National Organization for Women, or Mac, here, if he outlives her.”

  “After what she’s done for me, she can light candles with it and I’ll support her decision,” Charity said. “She walked in the day I was putting up the Going Out Of Business sign and immediately offered me a loan, no strings attached. So you see, if I succeed, I’ll owe it all to Nora.” She turned her head to gaze at Wyatt. “I’d go to the wall for that woman.”

  He smiled. “I think you’re about to be put to the test. She asked you to cook me a turkey for Thanksgiving.”

  “But the stove’s out of commission.”

  “There’s always the fireplace.”