Snowbound Security

by Beverly Long

  “I’ll try that,” he said. “How do you know this stuff?”

  “When my elbow was injured, I read up on all kinds of therapy,” she said. She needed to be more careful. It was second nature to offer therapy advice. Medicine had been a natural career for her.

  But that was before she’d realized that there was a much greater calling: saving a child.

  “I should probably set the table,” she said.

  “Right,” he said. He grabbed his crutches. “I’m going to check the chicken.”

  In fifteen minutes, they were sitting down to dinner. She’d been a little worried about how Hannah might react to the food but the little girl was digging in, trying everything.

  “Rico says he has a few toys in the basement,” she said. “Would you like to have a look?”

  “Girl toys or boy toys?” she asked, her mouth full.

  “Chew with your mouth closed,” Laura reminded her gently.

  “I think they’re mostly toys that both boys and girls would like to play with,” Rico said.

  “How do you know?” Hannah asked. “You don’t have kids.”

  Laura inwardly cringed. Children could be very direct. She’d had to get much tougher skin once she started at the daycare. But Rico didn’t seemed phased.

  “You’re right,” he said. “But I do have both a niece and a nephew. A niece is a girl and a nephew is a boy. And I watched really closely when they played, so you might say I’m sort of an expert.”

  “What’s an expert?”

  “Somebody who knows a lot about something.”

  Hannah cocked her head and said very seriously, “I’m an expert on trolls.”

  Rico nodded. “I thought so. Tomorrow, I’m going to come up with some troll questions and I’m coming to you for answers.”

  “You can ask me at breakfast,” she said. “We’re having pancakes.” She looked at Laura.

  “Yes, finally,” Laura said. “Tomorrow is pancake day.” She turned to Rico. “Sorry, white flour and the whole bit. I can make you something different.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll redeem them with fruit.”

  Hannah got down from her chair. Looked, very deliberately, at Rico. “Now what about those toys?”

  * * *

  He threw on his coat before venturing outside. Stood for a minute on the back deck, savoring the silence. Nothing better than sitting out there, listening to nothing. Because it was never silent. There was always some movement in the nearby woods, some animal looking for smaller prey, a hoot from an owl, a howl from a coyote and sometimes even a growl from a black bear.

  Tonight nothing could be heard over the wind. Even with the cabin at his back, it was whipping snow up into his face. Bad night to be out, that was for sure. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Laura that Moreville would virtually shut down if the storm was significant. Locals would hunker down in their houses, waiting for the drifting and blowing to stop. Visitors, the ones who didn’t know enough to have a healthy respect for the power of a winter storm, would carry on. Those would be the vehicles in the ditches and sideways across highways, making rescue the number one priority of all emergency workers.

  But it would have to be significantly worse for him to ignore Hannah’s big blue eyes. Now, what about those toys? He’d almost laughed but the child had been so serious. There was no way he was begging off and seeing if tomorrow would be soon enough.

  Anyway, by tomorrow, he suspected getting to the basement from the exterior door would be almost impossible. If it snowed all night and the wind continued to howl, the snow would drift around the perimeter of the cabin, effectively blocking off the steps.

  There was one other way to get to the basement. A trapdoor in the floor, under the living room rug, that could be used in an emergency. It had not been an original part of the cabin, hadn’t even been a part of the initial rehab. But a couple years ago, after hearing firsthand from a new client how intruders had terrorized his family, he’d realized that it wouldn’t hurt to have someplace to hide if there was no time for escape.

  After a minute or so, when his lungs were full of cold mountain air, he walked down the five exterior steps to get to the basement door. He unlocked it, found the light switch and took a look around. The stone walls were original and never failed to remind him of the hardiness of mountain folks—many years ago, before there were efficient ways to do these things, those stones had been hauled to this location and the ground had been dug.

  A home had been established.

  He liked to think that he had a little of that blood running through his veins. His mother had been born and raised in these mountains. His father had come from Cuba in his early twenties, taken one look, or so he said, at Rico’s mother and fallen in love.

  They’d raised both Rico and his sister not more than fifteen minutes away. They’d been poor but even so, his parents had taught him to be a saver. They’d believed that even when there was not much coming in, it was still important to save a bit for a rainy day. Since the day he’d started working when he was fourteen, he’d done that.

  And, it turned out, that he was good at making money turn into even more money. The stock market had been his friend. And now he had a bank balance and real estate holdings that his parents likely couldn’t even imagine.

  While money had been tight, the love had flowed freely and he remembered his childhood with great fondness. His parents had instilled in him the need to help others—they’d no more consider turning their backs against someone in need than they would have turned their backs on their own children.

  He’d also tried to keep that spirit alive.

  When his parents had retired, they’d moved to Torcak, about an hour west, because his sister had settled there and started her family. By that time, Rico was already in Vegas and part of Wingman Security.

  He found the tote he was looking for and opened it. Inside were basic board games, for ages three to adult, some art supplies, a racetrack with small cars, plastic food and play dishes, and an assortment of books for all ages. Some of the items had been purchased for his niece and nephew; some had simply accumulated as people had stayed at the cabin over the years.

  He never rented the place out, in the traditional sense. There was no online posting. People got invited to stay. Good friends, of course. But more times, the people who were offered the opportunity to stay were people who needed a respite from their otherwise overwhelming lives.

  That was the situation with Georgina Fodder. Rico had met her more than ten years ago, when he’d been serving alongside her grandson, Trever. The man had confided that his grandmother was sick, not quite old enough to qualify for Medicare, but without private insurance. As such, she wasn’t seeking treatment for her cancer.

  Rico had stepped in, made sure she had the care she deserved and needed, and had offered her the use of his cabin several times so that the woman, who’d never had a real vacation in her entire life, could simply enjoy Colorado.

  He picked up the tote and carried it up the stairs. Then he went back down to shut off the light and lock the door. Then it was back inside the cabin. He set the tote down in front of the fireplace.

  “You’re all snowy,” Hannah said.

  “Just for you, little one. Nothing else could have gotten me outside tonight. Have at ’em.”

  The child looked at Laura. “Can I?”

  She smiled. “Thank you for asking. And yes, go for it.”

  Rico took off his jacket and hung it on a hook by the door. He watched as every single thing came out. Hannah studied it all, before finally picking two books and pointing at the art easel. “Can you set that up?”

  “Of course,” he said. It was easy to do and he fed the continuous roll of paper through the slot at the top and tacked it down at the bottom. Hannah appeared delighted, hurrying to get the box of colore
d markers open.

  “Winner, winner, chicken dinner,” Laura muttered, smiling. “There probably couldn’t have been anything better in the box.”

  “Happy to oblige,” he said. And like a fool, tried to think of something else that would make her happy. When Laura smiled, her whole face lit up. “Now do you want that glass of wine?” he asked. She’d passed at dinner.

  She looked startled, as if she hadn’t expected them to socialize. “I guess,” she said. “That would be nice,” she added, her tone softer.

  He opened the bottle of pinot gris and poured her a glass. She took a sip and sighed. “That’s good,” she said. “Thank you.” Then she sank down onto the couch to watch Hannah play. He got the feeling that she’d been strung pretty tight for a while. He wanted to push, to figure out what had put Laura and Hannah on the run, but he knew now wasn’t the time. Instead, he sipped his wine, watched Hannah draw, listened to the child’s unsolicited-but-quite-detailed explanation of each picture and thought about how different the visit to the cabin was turning out to be.

  Serendipity. A chance encounter.

  But his whole life he’d believed that he met people for a reason—that there was a grander plan at play. He bought into the concept that if you caught a stranger’s eye across the room, there was a reason. And he’d find a way to talk to that person.

  He supposed that was one of the reasons that his interactions with Mora Rambeilla still rankled him. He really did believe that there was a reason that he’d been available when she’d walked through the doors of Wingman Security’s offices. But then the assignment had ended so abruptly that it was definitely unfinished business. He hated that.

  Laura let Hannah draw for an hour before telling the child that it was bath time. Then it was into the lion pajamas. Hannah picked two books out of the pile that had come out of the tote.

  “Rico read,” she said.

  Laura shook her head. “No, sweetie. I’ll read.”

  “Rico.” Hannah stamped her foot.

  It was pretty funny, he thought, but he knew better than to crack a smile. “I’d be happy to,” he said.

  “You’re sure?”

  He nodded and Hannah didn’t wait for an invitation. The child jumped onto the couch and snuggled in next to him. Lucky, who was on his other side, stretched his neck to look around Rico and give her a look.

  Hannah waved at the dog. “Lucky wants a story, too.”

  What Lucky wanted was for the child to remember that he’d been there first. Rico winked at Hannah. “He gets a story every night.”

  “I usually get a movie.”

  He looked at Laura. Her face revealed nothing. He focused his attention back on Hannah. She smelled like soap and toothpaste. Nice.

  “That one first,” Hannah said.

  It was about a princess who had a magic amulet. The second book was one he recognized.

  “We had a dog,” Hannah said, pointing at the cover.

  “A big red dog?” he asked. “Named Clifford?”

  Hannah shook his head. “No, silly. A brown one. His name was Appleton.”

  “Appleton,” he repeated.

  Hannah nodded. “Like the street we lived on.”

  “Let’s finish up,” Laura said.

  Rico glanced at her. She was chewing the corner of her lip. He suspected that had little to do with his reading but more with Hannah’s willingness to hand over personal information.

  He read the book and by the time he finished, the child’s eyes were heavy.

  “Bedtime,” Laura said.

  “Carry me,” Hannah said.

  Laura got up, walked over to his couch, leaned over to pick up Hannah and gave him a really excellent look down her blouse.

  She didn’t seem to notice as she carried the sleepy child back to the smaller bedroom. But it was just about all Rico could think about.

  Her bra was pale yellow with lots of lace.

  Lovely.

  By the time she was back, he’d had time to travel down the road of what ifs. What if he gave into the temptation and asked her to sleep in his bed? What if she said yes—how awkward would that make the morning? What if she said no and was so offended that she yanked Hannah out of bed and into the storm?

  Risk around every corner.

  He got up and made sure the doors were locked. “I think I’ll follow Hannah’s example and hit the sack. It’s been a big day.”

  She stared at him. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you very much for offering us a place to stay, a place out of the storm.”

  “I’m happy to do it. There are good people, Laura. People who will help.”

  She blinked. Fast. As if chasing tears away. “Right. It was good to be reminded of that,” she said. Then she quickly turned and walked toward her bedroom. She stopped halfway.

  Pivoted.

  Walked back to the front closet. Opened the door. Reached for the top shelf and pulled down the rifle that he’d seen her stow there earlier, when she’d emptied out her car.

  Without a word, she carried it past him.

  The message could not have been clearer. She might appreciate his help but she was still willing to shoot first and ask questions later.

  Chapter 7

  Laura lay in bed, listening to the deep breaths of the child next to her, and tried to relax. She should be able to. Because as she also listened to the wind howl, she knew she was lucky. Luckier than Lucky. Rico had taken the dog in and saved his life. No doubt he’d likely saved hers and Hannah’s, too, by offering refuge from the storm.

  He’d been super nice. Everything from fixing dinner to finding toys to reading bedtime stories. Yet she sensed a change in him when she’d taken Hannah to bed. Earlier, he seemed relaxed, sitting casually on the couch, drinking his wine, laughing at the cute things Hannah said. But when she’d come back into the room after tucking a very sleepy Hannah into bed, he’d seemed edgier. His motions to check the doors had been sharp and fast. And after she’d thanked him, his response that people were willing to help had seemed to have a shade of belligerence in it. If not that, then maybe frustration.

  Hard to know. And she’d likely not endeared herself to him further when she’d gotten her gun from the closet.

  But his edginess triggered her own misgivings. Had she misjudged him and now she was going to be stranded with some crazy person?

  She didn’t think so. Had been confident enough that she’d crawled into bed tonight, versus sleeping on the bedroom floor, in front of the door, like she had the night before. The question of what to do with the rifle had stumped her. She wanted it close but she couldn’t very well take it to bed with her. Nor could she prop it in the corner of the room. Would not run the risk that Hannah would wake up, decide to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and stumble over the gun.

  She was fairly confident the little girl wouldn’t be able to manage to shoot it but even so, the thought was so terrifying that she’d taken the gun and pushed it far under the bed, where Hannah would not find it. In the morning, she’d figure out a more permanent solution.

  She heard the other bedroom door close. Thought about Rico undressing. Thought of what that tight muscular body might look like naked. Even with his ankle injury, he moved with a fluid grace that most men never achieved. And his shoulders were so broad, his hips so lean.

  Even his forearms were sexy—he’d rolled up his sleeves when he was cooking and she’d barely been able to control herself. She’d wanted to touch him.

  She threw back her covers. Damn, she was warm.

  Glanced at the child next to her and knew that if she wasn’t there, she’d probably have taken matters into her own hands and found a way to release the tension that was coiled deep in her belly.

  Instead, she took deep breaths, the way she taught her patients to do when they were s
truggling through physical therapy. In through the nose, count to five, hold for one, then release through the mouth. Even. Steady.

  She closed her eyes.

  And didn’t wake up until the dog started barking.

  * * *

  Rico had left Lucky on the couch, in his usual place. When the dog started barking, he woke up instantly. A quick glance at the bedside clock told him it was just after three. Too damn early for a bathroom break, and the bark wasn’t even close to the whine that signaled that kind of need.

  He reached for the gun under his pillow and silently slipped out of bed. He hadn’t slept in his clothes again but, rather, a long-sleeved T-shirt and sweatpants. When he opened the door, he almost ran smack-dab into Laura and her rifle. A small eek escaped her mouth. He put his finger up to her lip. “Shush,” he said gently.

  The only light in the cabin came from the small night-light that was plugged into an outlet in the kitchen. It was enough to see Lucky standing at the door, fur on end, teeth bared. When the dog saw them, he let out a rapid succession of barks. Then ran to the back door.

  That was odd. “I’m up,” he said to the dog, who almost seemed to nod, as if to say Good, I’ve done my job.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  He wasn’t sure. Animal, maybe. Bears were often seen in this area of Colorado. Intruder? Possibly, but it was a crazy night for that kind of thing. He was confident that the plows hadn’t yet gone out, at least not beyond the main roads. Almost impossible to walk for any distance through this deep of snow, and he hadn’t heard the rumble of a snowmobile. He supposed someone lost or stranded could have managed to stumble to the cabin, but that was unlikely.

  “Not sure,” he admitted.

  “I guess it’s too much to hope that Lucky does this every time he wants out.”

  “Too much,” he agreed. “I’m going to take a look.” He opened the closet door and reached for the big flashlight that he kept on the shelf.

  “I’ll do it,” she said.