by Lori Foster
“I’ll go inside and make some coffee.”
Harley didn’t reply. He didn’t know if he wanted coffee or not, but by the time he finished, he might, so he let her do as she pleased.
At least she’d be inside, out of the weather.
In his peripheral vision, he saw Anastasia pause on the porch to remove her messy boots, then go through her front door.
With her out of the way, he got down to the business of chopping wood. To his surprise, it felt good to swing the ax and watch the tumble of fat logs turn into a tidy woodpile.
Before long, he’d worked up a sweat, so he removed his coat. By the time he finished, close to an hour and a half later, his undershirt and flannel shirt were both damp from a mixture of sweat and sleet. He swiped a sleeve across his brow, and it dawned on him: he hadn’t given the SBC much thought while working.
Huh.
Perhaps chopping wood was just the cure he needed.
Or maybe he’d been too busy thinking about Anastasia to ponder anything else.
The sleet had softened to a damp snowfall. Most of the area now glistened in a layer of ice.
Anastasia stuck her head out the door and caught him standing there, doing nothing more than appreciating the sight of ice on tree limbs, rocks, and the woodpile.
“Harley?” she called out. And when he turned to her, she said, “Come on in for some hot coffee. It’ll warm you up.”
“I’m warm enough.” But because he wasn’t all that tired, and he didn’t feel a need to rush back to his cabin to sleep, he picked up his coat and went to the door she’d left standing open for him.
In a quick glance, he scanned the interior where a warm fire flickered in a wood-burning stove, sending waves of welcome heat everywhere. Her place looked different from the one she rented out. Less rustic. Prettier.
Her wood furniture was sun-washed oak, almost white, in some European-inspired design. The upholstered pieces had soft fabrics with lots of decorative pillows. Throw rugs almost completely covered the hardwood floors. Silk flowers sat on one table, but other than that, she didn’t indulge a need for bric-a-brac.
From what Harley knew of her, the clean, feminine style suited her personality.
“My boots are wet.” He didn’t want to soil her rugs.
“Take them off.”
He looked toward her—and was caught. She’d shed the thick layers and now wore only body-hugging white leggings that showed off slim, shapely legs. A huge, pale pink sweatshirt hung to just below her behind. White-and-pink-striped socks covered her small feet.
As he stared, she bent at the waist to remove something from the oven. Dark hair, disheveled from the outdoors, swung down to hide the side of her face from his view.
Not that he was looking at her face anyway. Nope. The sight of her heart-shaped ass held all his attention.
For a slim, fine-boned woman, Anastasia had a few generous curves.
Still contemplating that sweet behind, Harley said, “The bottoms of my jeans are wet, too.” All the way to his knees in fact.
Using an oven mitt, Anastasia set a batch of fresh-baked cookies on the range top. She looked at him then, caught him staring, and said without a single twinge, “Take your jeans off too if you want. I’ll toss everything in the dryer.”
Did she think he wouldn’t?
Harley gave her a brief study, saw she didn’t look the least bit teasing or ill at ease, and mentally shrugged. Why not?
Removing his wallet, keys, and cell phone, he tucked them into his coat pocket and hung the coat on a wall rack by the door. The wet laces on his boots proved difficult, but he finally got them untied and set them on the front porch, next to hers.
After closing the door, he stripped off his flannel shirt, unsnapped his jeans, pulled down the zipper…and stepped free.
Without so much as a curious glance at his snug boxers, Anastasia came and took the clothes. “I really do appreciate all the chopped wood. You went above and beyond, Harley. I should be set for a while now.”
Like his cabin, only bigger, hers was one main room with living, dining, and kitchen areas flowing together. Only her bathroom and two bedrooms were separate. But the doors stood open, probably to benefit from the heat of the woodstove. Harley saw her neatly made bed, an office of sorts in the spare bedroom, and a very tidy, all-white bathroom.
Going to a stack washer and dryer tucked into the corner of the kitchen, Anastasia tossed his damp clothes inside. As she set the dial, she said, “Take a seat, Harley. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get you some coffee.”
“Thanks.” If she could pretend it was normal to have morning coffee with a man in his underwear—a man she hadn’t slept with—then he sure as hell wouldn’t let it bother him.
In a snowy white undershirt, black boxers, and thick white crew socks, he seated himself in a fancy padded chair at her round dining table. Wind continued to whistle outside; inside, the fragrance of burning wood and warm cookies created a coziness unfamiliar to him.
“Do you have heat other than the woodstove?”
“Same as you,” she said. “I have electric space heaters. But I like the scent of a wood fire better. Problem is, the heat from the woodstove doesn’t warm my bedroom enough, so sometimes, when it’s really cold, I crash on the couch.”
Harley glanced at the couch, pictured her curled up there in something soft and warm, and said, “I’d never fit.”
Her laugh drew his attention back to her.
“You weren’t invited,” she said, “but no, I don’t suppose a man of your size would have room to stretch out on the couch.”
Rather than put a filled mug on the table in front of him, Anastasia went to the trouble to fill a decorative tray with a carafe, cups, saucers, cream and sugar, cookies, spoons, and cloth napkins. The formality of it surprised Harley, yet he sensed it was routine for her.
“Cream and sugar?”
“I take mine black.” He waited while she served him like a proper little host, then he sipped the coffee. “Perfect. Strong, the way I like it.”
“Me, too.” She lifted the plate of cookies, but hesitated. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Can you have cookies while training?”
“You know I’m in training?”
She tipped her head. “Was it a secret?”
“No.”
“Everyone around here knows it, Harley. You’re a celebrity.”
“I doubt that.”
“Now, come on. There’s no need for modesty. You know you have a recognizable name.”
“Maybe to some sports fans, but it’s a limited audience.”
“If you say so.” She let it go with a shrug. “So tell me, will a cookie blow any special diets?”
Harley was fanatical about staying in shape, even when not training, but he wasn’t stupid. “I’m not about to turn down warm fresh cookies.”
She smiled so big, her deep brown eyes twinkled with golden lights. “Good. Then I’ll give you three.”
For several minutes, they ate and sipped coffee in comfortable silence. That in itself was odd, because other than relatives, or his friends’ significant others, Harley didn’t indulge platonic relationships.
And that meant other than during sex, which was seldom quiet, he didn’t indulge comfortable silences with women. But with Anastasia, it felt…okay.
Probably because she acted just as his female relatives did: disinterested in him as a man.
The sun broke free of the clouds, glaring through the windows extra bright as it reflected off the ice.
“Speaking of your training…”
“Were we?” He ate another cookie. Heaven.
“As often as you’ve stayed here, I never realized you got up so early to train.”
“I keep irregular hours.” Harley caught her in his gaze, and lowered his voice. “But this morning, I wasn’t training.”
“Oh, I just assumed…” Realization hit her, and she ducked her face to hide her smile. “Never mind, t
hen.”
Harley watched her. She looked very sweet and enticing in the pink sweatshirt. He never prompted an intrusion on his privacy, but now, he couldn’t help himself. “Why does that amuse you?”
“It’s just that I should have known.”
She acted coy, not quite blushing, but close. It intrigued him. “Known what, exactly?”
Propping her chin on a fist, Anastasia grinned at him. “The town is small, hardly a town even, and not much goes unnoticed. Someone like you definitely wouldn’t be overlooked, which means everyone pays attention to you, and…well, you’ve gained a…certain reputation around here.”
Harley liked the way she teased—though he’d be willing to bet she had no solid information on him. “A reputation, huh? For what?”
“Being a ladies’ man, of course.”
As he thought: no real idea at all. Harley lifted his coffee cup to sip. “Have you been listening to gossip, Anastasia?”
“Gossip? No, more like bragging.” She chuckled. “In the grocery store.”
Curiosity got the better of him. Harley set his coffee cup aside and crossed his arms on the tabletop. Giving Anastasia all the intensity of his stare, he said, “Tell me.”
“Oh, no.” This time, she couldn’t hold back the blush. “Not verbatim I won’t. It was a little explicit for that.”
“How explicit?”
She shook her head. “One woman wanted to know if anyone knew where you lived.”
“Who?”
“They weren’t women I recognized, so I assume they must be vacationers here for snow skiing.”
He slowly straightened. “Did you tell her?”
“Of course not. I respect your privacy.” When he relaxed again, she said, “None of the women seemed to know much about you, Harley, so you have nothing to worry about.”
What the hell had she heard, and which woman was looking for him? He always made his intent clear up front; he’d never made any false promises.
“Forget about it, Harley. Other than that one question, I can promise you that all the chitchat was flattering.”
Because Anastasia watched him, he said, “That’s a relief.”
She laughed out loud. “Come off it, Harley. You couldn’t care less what others are saying about you.”
Harley noticed that even in harsh sunlight, her skin looked soft and smooth, and free of makeup. After her efforts outside, her hair was a little messy, and somehow sexier because of it. She had very white teeth, full lips, and a habit of wrinkling her nose when she laughed.
Odd that he’d never noticed any of those things before.
But more than that, more than his sudden attention to her physical attributes, her insight surprised him. “You think so, huh?”
“Absolutely.” And with confidence: “I’m a very good judge of character.”
“Yeah?” Harley settled back in his seat, prepared to enjoy himself. “Says who?”
Anastasia sent him a smug look. “Many satisfied clients, that’s who.”
His left brow lifted an inch in disbelief. “Clients?”
Wrinkling her nose again, Anastasia nodded. “You didn’t think I only rented out a single cabin as a living, did you? I would never be such a slug.” She curled one leg up under her. “The rental brings in a respectable income, but it’s not enough for me to live the way I want to.”
“No?”
“No.” Coy again, she said, “When you’re not here, I seldom am either.”
Both brows went up over that disclosure. Confessions? Suggestions? Harley just didn’t know. But he considered hitting the road—in his boxers—right now.
Anastasia took in his expression and laughed. “Relax. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not hitting on you, Harley.”
No, she never had. He sighed. Questions popped into his mind, one right after the other, but he’d found that silence brought answers quicker than queries.
Sure enough, after a thirty-second pause, Anastasia continued. “I don’t make a habit of being here for you specifically. We just happen to share a similar appreciation of the seclusion of the place. So while I’m here, I rent out the other cabin, and you always have it on hold for this time of year, so you get it.”
“What happens the rest of the year?”
“I have a real-estate manager who rents it out for me. As a life coach, it’s worth my while to travel for the job, so I do. Often.”
How had he known her three years, and never heard of this? “A life coach, huh? That’s…different.”
“I guess.” She leaned closer. “Are you familiar with the concept?”
“Not really.”
Appearing anxious, she asked, “Shall I educate you, then?”
Harley could tell she wanted to, so he shrugged. “I’m all ears.”
Her smile broke into a grin. “You’re all something, Harley Handleman, but it’s not ears.”
From any other woman, that might’ve sounded like flirting. But Harley noted that Anastasia’s teasing didn’t hold a single ounce of flirtatiousness. It was more like a good-natured insult. He both appreciated her attitude, and felt nettled by it.
“Basically,” Anastasia continued, oblivious to his emotional quandary, “what a life coach does is help someone to gain confidence in his abilities, discover his true path in life, and accomplish more goals with less stress involved. Not to brag, but I’m in pretty high demand, and I get requests from all over the country. When the price is right, I go to the client to work with him in his atmosphere, at his job and in his life.”
Harley studied her. “So it’s mostly guys you work for, huh?” When she looked confused, he explained, “You’re referring to a guy. His goals, his confidence…”
“Oh. That was just as an example. I’ve worked for some women, too.” Then she thought about it. “But you know, yeah, I have mostly worked with men. I always have a choice of clients, male and female, so I guess I just gravitate more to male clients.”
Harley settled back in his seat and crossed his arms. He forgot that he was still in his underwear. “Do tell.”
She compressed her lips, her thoughts hidden, then, as Harley watched, she shook off some unpleasant memory. “It doesn’t matter.”
“No?”
“The thing is, most people, men and woman alike, can get in a rut and then it’s nearly impossible for them to be objective about what they want or need, and how to get it. With agreed-upon time frames, I work with them to stay focused on positive creativity, balance their lives, and achieve their goals.”
“By telling them what they should and shouldn’t do?”
“I guess you could say that, but I do it in nonjudgmental, unbiased ways, and with their ultimate goals always in the forefront of my mind. It’s always about what the client wants and needs, not what I think is right or wrong.”
Incredible. “And your morals and ethics don’t factor in?”
“I’m a professional, Harley. I keep my own personal preferences out of the equation.”
He’d never heard of anything so bizarre. And he doubted anyone could be professional enough to keep personality out of it. “People pay you for that?”
“Absolutely. I get a good salary, plus all my expenses. But I have a high success rate, so I’m worth every penny.”
For only a flicker of time, Harley wondered what advice she’d give him. But he snuffed that bizarre idea real quick. He kept his own counsel and he didn’t want a busybody woman, even if he suddenly realized she was pretty hot, to go dicking around with his head. “When do you have to travel again?”
“Usually, as soon as spring arrives, I get back to work.” She pleated her napkin and shrugged. “But I recently hit a glitch, so this year, I’m probably going to take an extended hiatus.”
Harley waited, but Anastasia didn’t expound on the “glitch.”
She dusted off her hands and looked up at him. “What about you?”
“
What about me?”
“Do you have a goal? One particular thing that you’re focused on?”
Harley didn’t hesitate. He was a highly motivated man who had plenty of goals. Most of them shifted in importance from day to day, sometimes hour to hour, depending on what was happening in his life.
But his number-one goal never altered. “I’m going to win an SBC title belt.”
“Wow.” Showing no signs of doubt, Anastasia said, “I’ve watched a few competitions. Winning the belt seems like a tall order. The fighters are pretty impressive, and title fights are hard to come by.”
“They have to be earned.”
“I take it you have a solid plan on how to reach that goal?”
“Damn right.” Had she seen any of his competitions? Did Anastasia know of his missed opportunities?
“Great. You seem really positive, Harley, and you’re obviously more than capable.” Leaning closer, she said, “But let’s assume you’d had several disappointments in that regard. That’s where I’d step in and give you some direction.”
Before he could laugh, she added, “And no, I’m not talking about your training. That’s not my expertise at all. But so much can influence us—family, friends, work.”
He’d learned that the hard way. “You aren’t kidding.”
“Those outside influences can easily throw us off track and cause us to make mistakes, if we let them.”
Harley heard himself say, “Some things are out of our control,” and then he could have strangled himself.
He did not share maudlin thoughts.
He did not complain aloud.
And he never, ever admitted to a loss of control.
Tilting her head, Anastasia measured his words. “I agree. But in those cases, how we react to the circumstances can make all the difference between success and failure. Sometimes it takes an objective outsider to see what you can’t.”
“Maybe.” Disgusted with himself, Harley finished off his coffee in one long drink, and stood. He should never have accepted Anastasia’s invitation. He knew better than to get chatty with women. It was his number-one rule.
