Baby, It's Cold Outside

by Jennifer Greene, Merline Lovelace

  But her humor was fake.

  He was sleeping, she believed, but somehow she just couldn’t seem to drop off. The hiss and spit of fire created warm, friendly sounds…but without him talking, without their moving around, all she really heard was the blizzard.

  The wind was relentless. It howled and howled and kept on howling. An animal in pain couldn’t sound that mournful. That menacing. That lonely.

  Troubles magnified in the darkness. The little boy’s face kept flashing in her mind…and then the faces of her family, her dad and brothers and uncles. Her putty and white apartment, that had seemed so contemporary and clean to her when she’d signed the lease, now struck her as sterile. There was no personality in the place. She wasn’t sure she even had a personality, beyond the roles she regularly played—the dutiful daughter and the excellent student and the anesthesiologist who, right from the start, got a reputation for being unshakable.

  Every label she could apply to herself was relatively nice. There was nothing bad, nothing terrible. For ages she’d told herself to be proud of what she’d accomplished, for being well liked and respected and exactly the daughter her dad wanted.

  It was just…that howling wind.

  It made her feel…alone. As if she’d disappeared somewhere in all those obedient roles. As if she had no life, no meaning outside what other people wanted her to be.

  The only thing that seemed to define her was the loss of that little boy. She knew perfectly well that she wasn’t legally at fault. Or morally. Or ethically. It wasn’t about that kind of fault. It was about her choice—that she’d chosen a career where she had life-and-death power over others.

  She wasn’t good enough.

  She wasn’t a good enough human being to just…take…that power.

  A scream of wind, angry, shrieking, seemed to circle the house in a fresh fury. She didn’t think she’d moved or made any sound, but out of nowhere the baritone on the floor said, “Oh, for heaven’s sake. C’mere.”

  She blinked. He sounded wide-awake. And annoyed—the way he was so excellent at sounding annoyed. Even when he wasn’t.

  “I’m a big girl,” she said. “It’s stupid, letting myself react to that wind. It’s just…it’s the eeriest, scariest sound. I’ve never heard anything like it before. And it just never seems to stop.”

  “C’mere,” he repeated impatiently.

  Well, obviously, she wasn’t getting out of her nice, warm couch-nest and going any nearer to a stranger.

  It was another woman, whose feet gingerly hit the floor. Who tugged the top blanket around her and silently trod over to the big lunk’s body on the carpet.

  He lifted his blanket, said brusquely, “Don’t let the cold air in, goose.”

  And she crouched down.

  Smooth as a lion, his big paw came out, scooped her inside the warmth of blankets and against his long, lean body. He was covered. Just as she was. But, as if they’d slept together forever, he spooned her against him, just so, tucking the blanket protectively around her neck.

  He eased back with a sigh, the weight of his arm against her waist.

  The feeling of his erection sent trumpet warnings to her nerves. And of course she felt it. Even with double layers of clothes, he’d responded to her closeness the way…well, the way men did.

  “Just so you know,” he said sleepily, “I don’t sleep with women.”

  “Hell’s bells, neither do I.”

  After a moment’s silence, he erupted in an earthy chuckle. “I didn’t mean—”

  “I know what you meant. Just sleeping together doesn’t mean anything…personal.” She added, “Thanks. I was scared. It was stupid. But I was. So thanks.”

  “On that safe business…”

  She tensed faster than lightning.

  “You’re not,” he said.

  She twisted her head. “And that means…?”

  “That means, don’t make me out to be a saint. I can’t think of a reason in hell why we shouldn’t share the warmth. No one will ever know. There’s no possible harm. But the thing is, we’re trapped in this house together.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t jump you. It’d be taking advantage—you know it and so do I. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to. Or that I’m not thinking about it. Or that I haven’t noticed you’ve got a really great butt.”

  “You think I haven’t noticed that you have a really great butt, too?”

  Another short silence. Then a dry, “Are you trying to suggest that I’m not safe with you, either?”

  “I’m just saying…I’ve been a saint, most of my life, and I’m awfully sick of the halo. That’s all I’m saying.”

  “Emilie.”

  “What?”

  “Go to sleep. I know we’re in trouble if you’re starting to make sense to me.” Then, “Maybe the storm’ll be over by tomorrow. How long can that damn wind blow?”

  She closed her eyes, feeling oddly reassured. The wind was getting to him, too. She wasn’t the only one freaked out by it.

  Still, she suspected she wouldn’t sleep. It was too unnerving, this whole body contact. His long thighs were more unyielding than rope. The man was made of taut muscle, no give to him. The heat of his chest against her back kindled an unexpected furnace in her mind, her heart, her hormones.

  It had been so long since she’d slept next to a man. There’d been a boy in college. Thom. She’d been crazy about him. He’d been crazy about her. The relationship had been hot and fast and wonderful…but then she’d gone off to med school and he’d gone off to his life. Both were on the same good-person track. They had goals. They had ambitions and responsibilities and family expectations to fulfill.

  She’d called that relationship love, still thought it was. But it wasn’t the kind of love that actually eased loneliness. She’d never expected him to give up anything for her.

  She’d never expected anyone to give up anything for her.

  Neither did the man curled around her, she mused. Rick expected nothing from anyone but himself.

  Yet he molded around her, as if valuing her warmth. His lungs released a long, slow sigh. His erection didn’t fade, which should have worked like a three-alarm fire between them. But it was so odd…Emilie had the strangest feeling that Rick needed this closeness even more than she did.

  She didn’t know how tightly he’d been holding himself…until his whole body suddenly relaxed. As if for the first time in a long time, he felt safe.

  With her.

  That crazy thought was the last one she remembered.

  RICK WOKE FROM A DEEP SLEEP with a sharp sense of alarm.

  The soft body of sleeping beauty draped around him should have aroused that sense of alarm—for damn sure—but it wasn’t that.

  It was the silence.

  In the dim light, the fire had burned low—too damned low; he should have wakened long before this. But the intense silence emanated from beyond. Outside.

  He didn’t want to ease away from Ms. Sleepy Glue. Given any encouragement at all, he’d touch what he shouldn’t touch, slip inside her, let the natural heat take them both. His hormones were whining big-time over the deprivation. In fact, his hormones were downright nuts about that lean, compact body, the smell of her, the sleepy lure of her, the texture of her silky hair under his chin.

  But a man didn’t take advantage of a vulnerable woman.

  It was one of those stupid cardinal rules he’d never shaken.

  So he slipped out of the covers, and immediately felt the burst of cold startle his skin. He fed the fire first, then hit the bathroom, and after a quick cleanup, unshuttered a window to get a good look outside.

  It was a uniquely Alaskan morning. Didn’t look much like Christmas Eve. There was no tinsel, no red ribbons, no fancy lights. There was just an ocean of white snow, still as stone.

  The sky, to the north, was a fistfight of clouds, knuckling together, circling in dark shadows, portending the next wave of storm. This blizzard wa
sn’t even close to over yet.

  But there was a chance, for a few minutes, to get out. As he geared up, he checked on Emilie—but she slept and kept on sleeping. He suspected she hadn’t rested well in a blue moon.

  His first step outside delivered both magic and menace. Nothing more beautiful than an Alaskan winter, no question. But you couldn’t breathe ice, and no amount of clothing totally protected from the cold. Rick knew he couldn’t last long, but a couple things had to be done.

  The first was making sure he had access to the woodshed—which didn’t take more than shoveling out the door under the overhang. That only took a few minutes, but the second problem—the biggest priority—was the lodge roof on the west side.

  The lodge had been built right, with a high slant to the roof, and material that reflected sun. But this particular storm had been unusual, started up after a rare stretch of warmish temperatures. So the first layer on the roof was ice. Thick ice. Heavy ice. Followed by at least three, maybe four feet of snow on top of that.

  It was the overall weight that worried him.

  If the blizzard were over, it probably wouldn’t matter—but it wasn’t over, and there was no guessing how much more weight the roof could take. He looked at the massive job, shook his head, doubted he could make a dent before the next pounding blast of storm hit—assuming the cold didn’t wipe him out first. But he had to try, at least get as far as he could.

  Time passed. Who knew how much? He wasn’t an idiot, kept a sharp eye on the sky, stayed conscious of how cold he was getting. It was the sudden sound of a voice that distracted him.

  “What on earth are you doing?”

  He turned around, looked down, and for the first time in a blue moon wanted to let loose a plain old silly belly laugh. Emilie had the sense to search for her dad’s winter gear, rather than wear her own city-girl jacket, but damn, she looked like a robot. Her head was covered with an ear-flapping fur cap. Both her parka and leggings were way too long. Her mittens would have fit a mountain man, and the boots were almost bigger than she was. When she tried to walk, she resembled the abominable snowman.

  She said something else, but it was hard to understand, because her mouth was completely covered by a woolen muffler.

  “Yeah,” he said, “I’m really shoveling the roof.”

  She pushed down the scarf. “Just tell me straight, Hunter. Did you start out the morning drinking?”

  “Don’t I wish.” Damn. She made him want to laugh all over again. “Head back inside the house, Doc. You don’t need to be out here.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. But now I realize you’ve turned into a complete lunatic on me, I can hardly leave you out here alone.”

  He got serious fast. “Emilie, this is the deal. We got a ton of snow, too much snow, from one direction. I was afraid the roof could cave under the weight. I just want to shovel off the first layers. We’d be okay, except that there’s even more snow coming. The roof’s in good shape, it’s just that this blizzard is in the humdinger class.”

  She said something. He couldn’t understand her, so she shifted the scarf again. “My roof. My problem, too. Not just yours.”

  “You can’t do this. It’s all right. Just go back inside.”

  He should have known better than to suggest she couldn’t do something. Might as well have waved a red flag in front of a bull.

  She started toward him, but even to take a few steps, she had to extend her arms for balance, like a child stuffed in a snowsuit. In spite of himself, in spite of aching arms and a biting-hurt shoulder and exhaustion starting to beat at him, he sat down in a heap of snow and laughed.

  “Erl!” she said through the scarf.

  “I’m not making fun of you, I swear. I appreciate your willingness to help, honest to Pete, but there’s no way you could hold a shovel, much less navigate with one.”

  She responded with more garbled swearwords—or the equivalent of swearwords. Her attitude was clear enough, even if she couldn’t be clearly understood. At least she didn’t attempt to shovel. She just scrambled up the mountain of snow to the roof, and started scooping up heaps of snow with her mittens.

  He was going to object again…but then didn’t. She crawled up with the agility of a monkey, in spite of all her oversize clothes, and managed to climb higher than he had or could. He’d been using a shovel, haphazardly loosening any snow he could, heaving it off the roof, just hoping to make a difference before the next storm hit. Her method of attack showed her doctor personality, all fastidious perfection. She’d scoop off snow, but then tidy it all up, make each section look neat and even.

  They tangoed. It didn’t matter how or who was doing what. They were making a difference.

  Only then he heard it. The wind waking up. The first sound started out like an ogre’s innocent yawn, but it was enough to snap his head up immediately. He looked back, saw the ominous black sky coming toward them like a tsunami.

  “Emilie! That’s enough. We’re going back in the house. Now.”

  But she wasn’t done. She wanted her part of the roof cleaned off just so, no uneven ends or heaps left hanging. She was doing her damnedest to make scalpel-straight edges, wanting everything exactly right.

  He heard it again. The ogre waking up. For a few more seconds, there was complete silence, but then out of nowhere came a slow, slow, slow roar that built and built….

  “Emilie.” He scooched up, grabbed her arm. “Now. In the house. Now.”

  “But I’m almost—”

  The snow hit like the slam of a door—fierce, hard, sharp. That fast, he couldn’t breathe, literally couldn’t take air that cold into his lungs. Even trying to move a few feet, he got sick-headed, dizzy, made tougher because of needing to pull Emilie with him.

  She hadn’t initially understood—but she did now.

  Her instinct seemed to be to curl up in a ball.

  Anyone’s instinct would be the same. The slug of wind, the slap of snow, the punch of icy air could have beat up a prizefighter. Within seconds, visibility changed to a complete whiteout and the temperature dropped. Although he knew they were still on the roof, he couldn’t actually see any part of the lodge—or anything else. Everything was a blinding, slashing white.

  Fear could be paralyzing, Rick knew. But the worst threat right then was the debilitating cold. He wasn’t certain how long it took to move them two feet. Then three.

  He was losing sensation in his hands and feet, but he was far more worried about Emilie. She’d swaddled up good, but in clothes too big for her, snow and cold could easily have sneaked under the layers. Even minutes mattered, but he was literally blind, groping through nothing but white to find purchase, balance, something, anything solid that he could recognize.

  Finally he felt the drop—they both tumbled off the roof. He pulled Emilie up and glued her against his side.

  He found the door, battled with it. It took forever—forever—for him to get the damned thing open. He pushed her inside first, not meaning to be rough, but out of breath and out of strength both. Then he shut out the wind, secured the door and slumped against it, heaving in a lungful of oxygen.

  He couldn’t move. Not for a while yet. When he realized how hard he was shaking, he mentally swore at himself for allowing Emilie to stay out so long. He’d known the storm was picking up again. Known she was an Alaska rookie, no matter how many times she’d stayed at the family lodge. She hadn’t lived here. Didn’t know danger or blizzards.

  As soon as he got some wind back, he started peeling off gloves, then boots. His snowsuit was crusted with heavy ice and snow, making it harder and heavier to negotiate. He seemed to be moving slower than a slug. His hands were just too frozen, but the stinging tingles meant there was no real harm; he was getting his circulation back. Even his eyebrows seemed to be shedding snow, which would probably tickle his sense of humor. Later.

  Right then, as soon as he regained his mobility—and his senses—he tracked down his doc. He found her on the fl
oor in the big room, crawling on all fours toward the fireplace, and almost there, but still in all her gear.

  “Hey. You okay?”

  “No,” she said.

  For a man who hadn’t laughed since he could remember, she seemed to provoke him into smiling in spite of himself. She was talking. So she was all right.

  She stopped in her tracks when he hunched down beside her.

  “I’m too cold to walk, too cold to talk. Too cold to think,” she said.

  “I know.”

  “I changed my mind about coming to Alaska for Christmas.”

  “I know.”

  “It was fun. On the roof. For a while.”

  “Shh,” he said. The silly hat with the flapping fur ears, he threw a distance. Slowly, then, he started peeling off the layers, the mittens past frozen fingers, the scarf so stiff it didn’t want to bend.

  “Don’t take anything off! I’m freezing now!”

  “Shh. We’ll get you warm.” The boots didn’t want to tug off. He tugged them. Then the first layer of socks, then the second. It was bare feet and bare fingers that were the most endangered. The extremities. Toes. Fingers. Nose. Ears.

  She was clearly shiver-cold. White-cold. Miserable-cold. But there was color slowly shooting back to her skin. He couldn’t move fast, not when his own fingers still felt as if each were five inches thick. And he was too damned worried to smile yet, but by the time he’d tugged off the peripheral gear, she’d crashed on the hearth rug like an immobile zombie. He tugged off the giant-man snow pants, the parka.

  “Are you getting feeling back in your hands and feet?”

  “More feeling than I ever wanted to.”

  “Is there any body part you can’t feel?”

  “My nose.”

  He loomed over her, checked out the pink nose. Her eyes shone softly in the firelight, and her hair was a glistening tousle around her face. “Rick?”

  Her voice was still thicker than molasses.

  “Don’t worry about talking. You’ll feel stronger in a bit. Just go with it. Rest.”

  “It’s just…I didn’t know. That blizzard could kill us.”