“Is it much farther?” she asked.
“A few more yards.” Of course, in a storm in the mountains, a few more yards could stretch on forever. How had the pioneers ever managed?
The cabin came up on him unexpectedly. He must have misjudged how far they’d come because the outline of the building appeared directly ahead of them before he’d realized they’d arrived. He let a breath out slowly, and his shoulders relaxed. Though he’d never admit it to Laura, navigating under these conditions was a bit of a crapshoot, and he hadn’t felt all that comfortable himself.
He steered the truck into the carport and cut the engine. When he turned off the headlights, they fell into darkness for a moment. All the better for him to sense the woman next to him. Her scent and the sound of her breathing filled the space around him. It was going to be an interesting few days.
If the cabin had appeared rustic from the outside, the interior somehow managed romantic and high-tech at the same time. Laura left her ruined shoes in the enclosed entryway, what Ethan referred to as a “mini mudroom,” and followed him into the main living area. When he hit the switch, lights came on around the baseboards, producing enough illumination to suggest the interior of an elegant restaurant.
“Solar power?” she asked as she tipped up her carry-on and draped the suit bag over it.
“From batteries beneath the house,” he said. “The system gives off heat as well as light.”
“And the heat rises to fill the room.”
“Once I get the woodstove and a fire going, we’ll be toasty.”
“Nice.” They’d been bandying that word around a lot. This time, it didn’t carry extra meaning.
Ethan put the bag of groceries on the counter in the kitchenette. “Settle in.”
She glanced around. “Are there other rooms?”
“Bathroom.”
“Then, where would you like me to settle in?”
He paused in the act of stowing a carton of eggs in the refrigerator. After a moment, he straightened, placed his elbow on the door and assumed his too-casual pose again. “You take the sleeping loft. I’ll camp out on the couch.”
She checked the piece of furniture in question. “Is it big enough for you?”
“I’ll fold into it.”
“Because, I don’t really have to—”
“Take the loft. As you observed, heat rises. You’ll be comfortable up there.”
The baseboard heating was having an effect on the temperature, but not enough for her to remove her coat.
“I’ll lay a fire,” she said.
“You know how to do that?”
“It’s not rocket science.”
“Be my guest.”
While he continued putting away groceries, she went to the huge stone fireplace and knelt to check out the supplies. Plenty of wood and kindling. Starting with crumpled newspaper, she built what should soon be a good blaze. She found matches, lit the paper, and sat back on her heels to watch the fuel catch.
Out of nowhere, a male hand appeared in front of her, holding a glass of red wine. She took it and glanced up at the towering figure of Ethan Gould. “Thanks.”
“I didn’t know for sure if you’d want anything to drink.”
“I’m good with wine. It’s tequila I need to stay away from.” Damn it, why had she said that? She shouldn’t have mentioned anything that could remind him of that night. Or remind herself, for that matter. She sipped some of her drink and stared into the fire.
Of course, he didn’t do the easy thing and go back to the kitchenette and leave her alone with the memory. Oh no, he had to sit down beside her in front of the fire.
“Want to talk about the two-ton elephant in the room?” he asked.
“No.”
“I do.”
“Fine,” she said. “You talk. I’ll listen.”
“Doesn’t work that way.”
“Look, Ethan.” She took a fortifying sip of her wine and let it roll around on her tongue. He had good taste, she’d give him that. Eventually, she had to face him. When she did, she somehow ended up lost in the reflection of the fire in his eyes.
“Laura . . .” he prompted.
“I wasn’t myself that night.” Lord, how embarrassing. If he wanted to talk about this, why didn’t he say something or do something? Why was he putting it all on her? “I behaved inappropriately toward you.”
He gave her a lopsided smile. “Is that what they’re calling it now?”
“Please. You’ll make me blush.”
“So what?” he said. “No one’s ever died of blushing.”
She could. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and her stomach felt full of cold lead. When her hands trembled, she set her glass on the hearth rather than spill red wine on the carpet.
“Hey, hey.” He put his glass next to hers and took her hands in his. “It’s not that serious.”
When she couldn’t take any more gazing into his eyes, she switched to staring at the fire. “You could probably have sued me for harassment.”
“Harassment?” he repeated. “How do you figure that?”
“You obviously didn’t welcome . . . um, feel the same . . .”
“Because I didn’t follow through?”
She clenched her teeth together and sat in utter, silent shame.
“You’d had too much to drink, Laura,” he said. “Only a bastard takes advantage like that.”
“Well,” she pulled her hands from his and took a steadying breath. “It was a long time ago. I’m glad we settled it.”
“I don’t call that settled,” he said.
She stared into the fire again. If she didn’t look at him, maybe he’d go away. “I do.”
“Damn it, Laura, you’re going to deal with this.” Taking her chin in his hand, he turned her head until she had to look at him. “Do you know how exciting you were that night?”
“I was drunk and disorderly.” Drunk enough for him to have rejected her but not enough for her to have forgotten all the things she’d said to him. No one on earth had ever heard of her fantasies, but after that encounter, this man had.
“You turned me on like crazy,” he said. “I went nuts trying to figure out how to get you to make the same invitation sober.”
“It was a long time ago, Ethan.”
“I would have called you, but I figured that would have embarrassed you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t.”
“I kept putting myself in places where I’d bump into you by accident, but you disappeared”—he gestured with both hands—“poof.”
“I don’t want to talk about this,” she said. “You promised.”
He studied her for a long moment before picking up his wine again. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“Thanks for understanding.” This time, when she lifted her glass, it didn’t wobble.
“You’ll at least eat dinner with me, I hope.”
“Of course,” she said. “This is excellent wine, by the way.”
“It should go with the steaks. How do you like yours?”
“Rare.”
“Rare it is.” With the knuckle of his free hand, he tapped the end of her nose before rising and sauntering back to the stove.
She took a deep breath—the first truly relaxing one she’d had since he strolled into the country store—and watched him rinse vegetables for salad in the sink. She ought to help him, but he seemed to know what he was about. Besides, the world was a safer place with distance between them.
So, he’d refused her that night out of gallantry. Or so he said. That made things marginally less humiliating. Sort of.
As he worked on their dinner, his movement fluid as he went from counter to refrigerator to cabinet and back, she couldn’t erase the memory of that lean body against hers. The kisses . . . sweet
er and more potent than the margaritas that had caused her to lose control. And the misery, the soul-crushing disappointment, when he’d pushed her away.
Now that they’d discussed the two-ton elephant, the whole incident was closed. Over and dealt with. Finito. Somehow, that only made her stomach sink even lower.
An Excerpt from
SOMEBODY LIKE YOU
by Candis Terry
Welcome Back to the Sugar Shack
Straitlaced . . . Chicago prosecutor Kelly Silverthorne has a perfect record in the courtroom and a big fat zero in the bedroom. When she loses her first case ever, she returns home to Deer Lick, Montana, to regain her confidence and shake off the “Sister Serious” moniker she’s been strapped with since childhood. Only a few hours into her repentance, karma thrusts her face-to-face with yet another of her major fiascos—a one-night stand with the hottest cop in the county.
Rebel with a Cause . . . Deputy James Harley has always played with fire. When smart and sexy Kelly pops back into his life, he doesn’t mind going for a full burn. And that might be exactly what happens when his past threatens to catch up with his future.
A Match Made in . . . Heaven only knows what Kelly’s dearly departed mom has planned from the other side—especially since she’s already meddled in Kelly’s siblings’ love lives. But even heaven knows that when love comes knocking, there’s no stopping the good things to come.
CHAPTER ONE
Kelly Silverthorne despised killers.
Especially the type who possessed the charm of a movie star that belied the icy heart of the snake that beat in their chest.
“I think it’s dead.”
Jarred from the dark images in her head, Kelly looked up at her fellow Chicago prosecutor, Daniel Bluhm. A streak of sunlight shot through the window of the deli and glimmered in his golden hair. While they awaited word that the jury had reached a verdict in the Colson murder case, lunch had seemed a good idea. The nerves coiled in her stomach said otherwise. “Excuse me?”
“Your potato salad.” Daniel pointed to her plate. “Or maybe I should call it lumpy soup.”
Kelly glanced down at the fork in her hand and the mess she’d made of what had once been a tasty side dish. She dropped the utensil to her plate and glanced around the old-fashioned restaurant and the retro decorations that adorned the walls. “Sorry.”
A smile crossed his mouth before he stuffed in the last bite of his patty melt. “Nervous?”
She nodded.
“You did a hell of a job with closing arguments.”
“Daniel?” Kelly sipped her diet Pepsi and wiped her mouth with the paper napkin. “I don’t know if I mentioned this or not, but this murder case we’ve been working on for more than a year? The case in which I pushed for an arrest and prosecution against the state attorney’s better judgment? The case I swore we had enough evidence to get a conviction?”
“You mean the case that’s been plastered all over the real and entertainment news networks?”
“Yes!” Her eyes widened in feigned surprise and she pointed at him with the straw in her soda. “That one. In case I forgot to tell you, it involves a popular movie-starlike senator and a glamorous cast member of “Real Housewives of Chicago.” By the time I wrapped up, the jury looked at me like I’d kicked their dog.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Her partner chuckled. “We went in prepared. We had forensics, motive, and—”
“No body.” She shrugged. “Bottom line, Bluhm. No. Body.” Kelly grabbed a French fry off his plate and shoved it into her mouth.
“Hey. No fair eating my food because you trashed your own.”
“Partners share.”
He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. “Some partners would like to share even more.”
Kelly playfully poked his hand with her fork. “Not gonna happen, Romeo.”
“You’re killing me, Silverthorne.” He leaned back in his chair. His sharp blue eyes focused on her face, much the same way they focused on a defendant he intended to break. “I’ve been asking you out for two years. When are you going to cut me some slack and let me take you on a date? I promise dinner, a movie, the whole shebang. I’ll even be a gentleman even though it might kill me.”
She laughed at the exaggerated whine in his tone. “Daniel. You are a really nice—”
“No.” Comically he covered his face with both hands. “Do not give me the friends speech.”
His reaction sent her into a fit of laughter which helped to ease the tension churning the tuna salad sandwich in her stomach. Her phone chimed. She and Daniel looked at each other before she picked it up and checked the text message. “Jury’s in.”
One golden brow lifted. “Two hours to deliberate?”
Kelly nodded.
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” She tossed her napkin on the table and grabbed the check. “Let’s go.”
It took another two hours for the media to be notified and for everyone to reassemble in the courtroom. Kelly had stood outside in the warm June sunshine until the last possible moment. Praying. Searching for a lucky penny on the ground or a stray rabbit’s foot. Heck, if it would mean a conviction she’d haul a whole danged bunny into the courtroom.
Her high heels clicked on the marble floor as she passed through security, headed toward the elevator, and pressed the button. She reviewed the trial in her head while the floor numbers lit up like Christmas lights. With the exception of admitting two questionable exhibits into evidence, she’d done everything possible to nail Andrew Colson for the murder of his wife, Alicia. Over the past year Kelly had given meticulous consideration to the evidence. She’d role played. She’d spent hours and hours at the law library looking up comparable cases. She’d interviewed dozens of character witnesses. By the time she and Daniel had the case packaged and ready to present, she’d been confident they’d get a conviction.
Two hours to deliberate.
An icy chill shot up her back as the elevator doors slid open.
She wished she felt that confident now.
Inside the courtroom she set down her expandable briefcase and returned the anxious regard Daniel gave her when their gazes met. She sat down and busied herself with collecting her notes and her thoughts. Minutes later the defendant in his Armani suit and expensive haircut strolled in with his high-powered attorneys. He cast an arrogant glance toward the already seated jury then sat down and leaned back as though he were in a bar waiting for his scotch.
Geez, couldn’t the guy even pretend to be human? After all, this was a trial for the murder of his wife. A woman he had pledged to honor and cherish all the days of their lives. His two children were now motherless and, if Kelly had done her job, they would be fatherless too. In a moment of sheer compassion, she felt bad about that. Not for the defendant, but for the children who would grow up forever wondering what had really happened to the woman who poured their cereal every day, taxied them to soccer practice, and tucked them into bed at night.
Kelly slid her gaze across the courtroom to where Alicia Colson’s family sat together, holding hands like linked chains. They would be there for the kids. Thank God for that.
Judge Reginald Dawson entered and the courtroom stood until he was seated. Kelly gripped her pen in her hand and mentally began her customary chant.
He is guilty. He will pay. He is guilty. He will pay.
“Has the jury reached a verdict?” Judge Dawson’s deep voice boomed through the packed room.
The jury foreman stood and sweat broke out on the back of Kelly’s neck.
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“Has the jury signed the appropriate verdict form? If so, please provide them to Deputy Southwick who will then present them to me.”
As Judge Dawson opened the envelope and silently reviewed the documents, Kelly crossed her ankles and squeeze
d them together. Her heart pounded.
The judge passed the papers to the court clerk who then began to read. “We, the jury in the above titled action, find the defendant . . .”
CHAPTER TWO
Defendant not guilty.
They were only three words. But for Kelly they were three words that had taken all the wonderful things she believed about life and made them hideous.
Surrounded by the scent of caramel, and chocolate, and cinnamon raisin bread warm from the oven, Kelly propped her head up with one hand and shoveled another bite of chocolate chip cheesecake into her mouth with the other. When the golden retriever at her feet begged for a taste, Kelly guarded her plate like security at Fort Knox.
“Dream on, pooch.”
The smooth dessert melted in her mouth while she studied the small office in which she’d sequestered herself a little over an hour ago. A calendar on the wall denoted “Sweet Sale” days at the Sugar Shack, the bakery established by her parents, now run by her kid sister, Kate. On the dinged-up desk sat a faded photo of her parent’s wedding thirty-six years ago, and a photo of Kate’s wedding to Deer Lick’s new sheriff, taken just seven short months ago. Ceiling to floor shelves lined the back wall where a rainbow of sugar sprinkles, edible sparkles, and candy crunches lined up cap-to-cap next to an array of both PG and X-rated cake pans. Enormous differences existed between the Silverthorne women. While her mother had once created basic cakes with buttercream icing, her sister Kate’s creations reflected her imaginative and often racy specialty cakes. Kelly, though she had a talent for making kickass fudge, couldn’t fashion a buttercream rose to save her life.
She glanced back up to her parents’ wedding photo and studied the faded print of her mother who’d died suddenly last fall. Mixed emotions rumbled around inside her heart as she thought of the last time she’d spoken to the woman who’d given her life. Well, the last time she’d heard her mother’s voice. Kelly had placed her scheduled weekly call expecting their conversation would go as usual. Fluff calls, she’d come to name them because they’d become little more than generalities.
The Short and Fascinating Tale of Angelina Whitcombe Page 13
