by Georgina Lee
For a moment, it felt as if the breath in her lungs had simply dissolved. "I haven't thanked you for helping me, Thomas. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't found me."
"I'm glad I was here to help you, Waneeta." He was still bending over her, and his close proximity scrambled her senses. Yet, she was no more ready for him to release her than she was to cut out her own heart. But if Thomas didn't set her down soon, she wasn't sure what would happen. Or what initiative she may dare to take.
Thomas did nothing. For several, long, delicious moments, they seemed frozen in time.
"Thank you," Waneeta finally whispered. Then, on that impulse that had pressed against her all evening, she slid her hand up along the corded muscles of his neck. Her hand rested on his jaw with her fingers teasing the ends of his dark hair.
Then, adding to her shock, she craned her neck upward toward him and brushed her lips against his cheek. And the bristles of his growing beard shot shivers through to her very core.
So incredibly delicious.
Chapter 4
In the dark quiet of the cabin, Waneeta lay awake, not more than a few feet from Thomas, afraid to move and disturb him. The smoldering fire gave off a warm glow that lit on Thomas' face. His eyes were closed, and from this angle, she couldn't see his lips. Her mind took the memory of her kiss and rolled it over and over. Immediately after the kiss, Thomas had straightened and stepped away. Thankfully, he had not run with the invitation she'd so boldly offered.
The whole evening seemed like a dream, an easy, comfortable one that leaves the dreamer warm and fuzzy. Thomas had insisted she spend the night here. And she'd felt as though it was a natural choice.
Yet despite the easy friendship growing between them, Waneeta wasn't so sure this camaraderie was good for her heart. There was a less romantic side to her emotions, and it refused to be ignored. The man who'd been a virtual stranger only a few hours ago now lay on the floor near her. She couldn't let her heart to forget that fact.
Oh, but his manners! He was like no man she'd known before. He couldn't hurt her, she was as sure of that as she was of her own good instincts. Really, the only scary thing was that she'd kissed him. Even now, her lips tingled with the memory of the feathery kiss on his bristled cheek. What must he think, being such a gentleman?
He probably thinks I'm cheap. As she watched him buried in his bedding, Waneeta felt her cheeks burn. What could have possessed her to kiss him?
She knew the answer, even without thinking. That answer caught in her throat.
Oh, yes. She was incredibly, impossibly attracted to him, to the point of not wanting to ever leave. The attraction was that strong.
Total insanity. Next, she'll be telling herself she was in love with him.
Thomas listened to the fire burn down, trying to ignore his body's tight reaction to the woman who lay on his bed. Only a few feet away. So close. So bold.
So very bold.
And she'd kissed him! His cheek still burned with the imprint of her lips, as did his neck where she'd laid her warm hand to draw him close. He had fought the urge to fall onto her and show her what she did to him.
This is insane! Whatever could she be thinking? She's obviously not one of those ladies from the taverns in Eganville, but what will people think of her when they find out she'd spent the night with a bachelor? More than a night, for surely it would take several days to get her back home, regardless of what she claimed. Why, the train left Eganville only once a day, and didn't go any further than Renfrew. She'd have to catch the connector to Pembroke.
She wouldn't be bothered by any scandal, he wagered to himself. She really should be, though, if she expected to marry well some day. Now was the time to consider the consequences her actions might have. Thomas didn't care about himself. He'd only returned to his father's cabin to reflect on his life. He still hadn't decided if he should pursue his father's dream of teaching the native population up here, and building up this area so they didn't have to live hand to mouth. He'd survive any scandal. Men always did, his mother had often said.
Again, his thoughts returned to Waneeta. Although clad in the strangest garments, she appeared quite normal, in fact a merry young woman. And who was to say what they were wearing nowadays? The material of her suit could just be one of the new silk blends his sisters often mentioned. A bit cold outside to be wearing such a light outfit, but women do strange things for fashion, especially the sillier designs from Europe.
Nevertheless, Waneeta needed him tonight, and he was only too glad to help. Surely, she'd have died if he hadn't been here. Ready for her.
A thought hit him. It was as if he had waited all his life for her. This was the same anticipation he felt when he began his new journal, only today. A sensation of expectation, of fully and almost wantonly knowing something good would come, and suddenly, that good was here.
Perhaps he could convince her to stay. Perhaps he could ask-
Thomas snorted inwardly. The woman was vibrant, well-educated, and beautiful. No doubt she could have her choice of any man in the Ottawa Valley, so she certainly wouldn't live in a camboose shanty with a teacher whose only aspirations were to teach the rural poor and fulfill his father's dream. No doubt Waneeta's cousin would show up in the morning, grateful to Thomas for coming to her aid.
He clenched his jaws. One thing was sure; if the man didn't admit being out all night looking for her, Thomas would surely throttle the cur.
It was long after he thought Waneeta was asleep, that Thomas heard the wind rise, the howl and moan rather like the Wendigo's voice in the tale he'd told her. This storm didn't take long to blow up. She was right about the weather channel and all that rather prophetic talk.
Like many evenings, thoughts danced wildly as the active mind refused to sleep. Tonight was no different. Thomas wondered why she was here. Chasing a meteorite? An odd thing in a time when most people believed that they were dangerous to their health. Perhaps Waneeta came from an enlightened family. Thomas, being the son of a teacher, had learned long ago not to be afraid of things unknown. Meteorites weren't dangerous, unless, of course, one hit you.
How close had that falling star come to hitting Waneeta? The odds of that happening must be astronomical. She was very lucky. So was he, for meeting her. The wind roared around the cabin, causing the draught to suck the warm air up the chimney. Secretly, Thomas hoped for a storm to match all others combined. One to keep Waneeta with him for many more days.
Alone with Waneeta. A wave of heat surged through him, and shocked him back to common sense. Storm-stayed with Waneeta?
Tomorrow was going to be one long day.
* * *
As much as he tried, Thomas couldn't be completely silent while rekindling the fire and heating the water the next morning. Although he normally shaved before retiring, last night had forced him to complete his ablutions now. His movements stirred Waneeta and he cast a long look at her as he wiped his face dry. The same thought returned again and again. She was extraordinary. Beautiful, relaxed, slightly too bold for her own good. And she spoke like no one he'd heard before.
Odd. She had lived all her life in the lumber town of Pembroke, but didn't speak like anyone he knew there. Thomas doubted she was lying, but his sensible nature questioned her story. Perhaps she was the daughter of a lumber baron whose grand new home graced the main street, but who had been sent off to a boarding school. Thomas, being well-educated and a bachelor, both commodities scarce here, had met many such daughters. In fact, he thought he'd met them all, having been shoved toward far too many giggly girls during the few times he'd been to Pembroke.
Perhaps Waneeta was married, though there was no mention of a husband, no ring on her finger.
Not married. Hmm.
It could give a man ideas.
Waneeta finally woke up in time to watch Thomas peel the last potato. She couldn't help but quip, "Now, if I had a camera, this would be a photo I'd like to take. No pre-packaged breakfasts for you. Do
you make your own bread, too?"
As he dropped the last potato into the big black pot that hung on a hinged hook, Thomas offered her a lazy smile. And surprising her, she felt pretty much the same way, all propped up on his pillow. Lazy. Relaxed.
She'd heard something earlier, but ended up dropping back off to sleep again. She was sure she must look a sight this morning. She'd never had good bedhead. The light of the fire reflected on her skin, though, giving her a warm glow that she rather liked more than her pasty winter colour. If she could, she decided, she'd meet all men by the light of a cozy fire.
"Yes, as a matter of fact, I make excellent bread." Thomas swung the pot back over the fire to cook. "My mother felt if I was to be head of a household someday, I should learn all aspects of it. Cooking, sewing, cleaning."
Waneeta giggled. The thought of such a brawny man mending clothes was charming, indeed. "Such a refreshing attitude. Most people I know live in a disposable world." She lit up. "I should have brought my old socks with me. You could have darned them."
But as he moved around, she bit her lip. She would have to get out of the bunk soon, and use the bathroom. Where exactly was it?
"How is your side this morning?" he asked, oblivious to her need.
Waneeta twisted gingerly about to test it. Although there was no pain shooting down her leg, the dull ache remained. "I guess I didn't break anything after all. It feels much better, thanks."
Thomas nodded before turning quickly away. "I have to bring in more wood, Miss," he said, his voice muffled. "The water's hot, and the, er, things you'll need are under there." He hastily pointed to the wash stand. Thankfully, she understood his offer to give her privacy.
After hauling on thick leather mukluks and a woolen coat, he opened the door. A swirl of airborne snow danced inside. Good grief. Was it still storming out? The snow wasn't supposed to last this long.
Which brought her back to Kevin. Yes, she was definitely concerned now. He knew these woods better she did, mostly because he'd wasted his high school years snowmobiling when he should have been doing homework. He should have stopped by here, even if only to ask Thomas if had seen her.
Her parents would be worried. With a busted cell phone, she couldn't ease their concern.
Sighing, she climbed out of bed. After a peek at the scabby bruise on her side, she walked to the washstand.
She ran a hand over its polished surface of the washstand and peered down at it. It must be one of those replicas they make on public TV. It fit in well with the decor of the cabin, except it really didn't have that patina of age the experts rave about. And, she decided as she opened the lower cupboard, neither did the chamber pot hidden inside.
After doing what she needed to do, she poured water into the wash bowl and reached for the soap. It looked handmade and naturally grainy. She brought it up to her nose and inhaled, learning how Thomas got his clean scent. She found his comb and picked it up, admiring it. It was ivory. How rare! Not wanting to break any of the teeth, she merely dampened her waves and fluffed them. All that the small, gilt-edged mirror propped at the back of the stand told her was that she looked adequate. She finished tidying up then turned to make the bed.
The door suddenly opened, revealing a heavily laden Thomas. Waneeta hurried to close the door behind him, stopping the wind from driving even more snow in.
"Here, let me help you with them."
Thomas turned, his face reddened at the sight of her in a thin shirt. He turned away, quickly. "No, thank you, Miss. I can manage."
Waneeta sighed. Thomas, ever the gentleman, refused to allow her to help. As sweet as the gesture was, guilt pricked at her. "It's still bad out, isn't it?"
"Yes, Miss," His voice was muffled, his back still turned. "But you’re safe here."
Exasperated, Waneeta cried, "I'm sure I am, but there must be something you'd like me to do for you!"
Thomas straightened sharply, striking his head on the slope of the roof.
He rubbed the bump probably forming on the top of his head. "No thank you, Miss. Yes," he changed his mind, "You can make breakfast while I stack wood."
Breakfast? Oh, okay. Returning to the fire, Waneeta inventoried what he had and what had been done so far. Unsure of what he wanted, Waneeta hesitantly poked the fire. Thomas came to stand near her, holding out a cloth sack.
"The last of the apples," he explained. "They aren't very good to eat raw, but you can peel them to stew up. Do you like apple sauce?"
She shrugged. "For breakfast? Sure, I guess."
He handed her a paring knife with a bone handle. She pulled a stool nearer to the fire, and sat down, throwing a fast glance over her shoulder.
This guy took rustic living to a whole new level. She glanced around, hoping to at least find a box of cereal, but there was none. With another shrug, she reached into the bag for her first apple.
Thomas was right. These apples had seen better days. But with careful peeling, they could be salvaged, so she set to work diligently.
"Trying to find the name of your true love?" he queried her as he stacked the wood.
She looked over at him. "Huh?"
"You know what I mean. Haven't you ever been to an Apple Bee?"
"A what?"
Thomas laughed. "Now I know for sure that you are incredibly well-sheltered! It's an old tradition. At an Apple Bee, if you peel an apple in one long piece, you throw the peel up in the air. It'll land in the shape of a letter. It's supposed to be the first letter of the name of your future husband."
Waneeta lit up. "Oh, I've heard of that! We used to do that when my grandmother made apple pies."
"Your grandmother baked? I would have thought she'd have a cook."
She laughed out loud. "Are you kidding? My grandfather would have said that they could never afford one, and as much as she often said she'd like one, I think Nanny secretly liked to fuss. Nope, she definitely liked to bake. Of course, with my brother and Kevin around, nothing lasted very long." She smiled as she looked around. "So where did my peeling land?"
Thomas picked up her last peel where it fell behind her foot. "Try throwing it this time over your shoulder."
Waneeta took the single, long strip, turned her back to him and flipped it into the air. It landed near the pie safe.
They hurried over to it.
Chapter 5
One end looped and fell over to its own right, and the other end curved around like a 'C'.
"Well," she said, studying the peel. "If you look at it this way," she tilted her head to the left, "it's a 'g'. But if you look at it this way, it's an 'M'." She laughed. "Maybe I'm going to marry twice."
Thomas suddenly scooped up the peel and drove it into the hearth, causing Waneeta to jump. The peel immediately hissed and shriveled. She stole a curious look at him. Why he was so gruff? It wasn't like as if it was a 'T' or anything.
Which brought her to the question, was he married?
Her heart sank. Probably. All the good ones were.
When he saw her frown, he relaxed and grinned and said, "You'd better get busy or we won't have any breakfast at all."
Waneeta soon had the apples stewing over the fire. As she stirred them, Thomas took out a huge wedge of white cheese from the pie safe.
Once all chunked up, the cheese was set on a platter. Then Thomas took the bubbling sauce from the hook above the fire and ladled it into two bowls.
He worked around her as if she were invisible. He didn't even realize the effect he was having on her. Did he even know how sexy he was? Automatically, Waneeta inhaled. Over the scent of apples, she could smell wood and soap. Nice, she thought, manly.
Suddenly, Thomas turned. They were a foot apart, but that space around her brushed his own, and Waneeta felt the contact like a warm blanket. Immediately, she backed off as Thomas set over the fire a pot of water with a large scoop of green tea leaves dropped in.
Green tea. Finally, something that was modern.
Thomas pulled the bench out for th
em. Again that unseen comfort zone brushed her as she sat down. It was the most difficult meal she'd ever sat through, but she wouldn't have missed it for the world. Insane, yes, but she refused to deny her feelings.
Trying to ease the tension, Waneeta commented, "I don't usually have green tea for breakfast. I'm guessing you don't drink coffee?"
"No." He paused. "How do you take your coffee?"
"Black, with just a pinch of sugar."
Thomas, brightening, stood up. From the recesses of the pie safe, he pulled out a small tin. He opened it and gave it to her.
"Brown sugar," he said. "I know green tea is an acquired taste, but this should help."
"Thanks." She took the tin, careful not to touch his fingers as they curled around the dark canister.
Thomas returned to his meal, sitting at the other end.
For a long time, the only noise was the fire, crackling cheerfully as if enjoying the tension. She had to say something. "You know, your furniture's amazing! Are they replicas?"
He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then said, "Replicas of what?"
Laughing, she answered, "Of the originals, of course!"
Thomas looked around, and shrugged. "I assume so. There were a lot of them around before these were made."
Again, they lapsed into silence. Pondering his words, Waneeta bit into her bread. What an odd thing to say. Deep within, a peal of warning bells rang out.
How odd that she hadn't heard that warning before. Perhaps she hadn't because her bumps and bruises had distracted her. Or what if she was more injured than she realized?
No, she couldn't be.
Only when the wind moaned around the cabin, did she continue, "I guess we won't be doing too much today. What did you have planned?"
Thomas stared across the table into thin air as he popped his last piece of cheese into his mouth. When that was gone, he turned to Waneeta.
"Today I would have written in my new journal and baked more bread. Not much I can do in this storm."
