by Robin Kaye
“Thanks, I think.”
She started up the slope again. “I’m just trying to get all the information I need to decide whether or not I’m crazy to even consider staying at a cabin with a perfect stranger. You know a heck of a lot more about me than I know about you.”
“True. Okay, here’s the deal. I can’t make sense of anything having to do with numbers. I couldn’t dial a phone if you gave me the phone number. I can’t add. I can’t count money. I can’t even tell time. I used to be a math whiz, and now I look at a receipt for groceries and get confused.”
“Can you still read?”
“Yes.”
“That’s odd, isn’t it? You would think that if you can’t read numbers, you wouldn’t be able to read words.”
“I didn’t say I can’t read them—I just can’t . . . I don’t know . . . work with them, I guess. It doesn’t make sense. But from what the doctors say, brain injuries rarely make sense.”
“What’s the prognosis?”
He shrugged. “I’m told that the brain can form new connections somehow, so there’s a chance I’ll regain what I lost. But then there’s a chance I won’t. I’m supposed to go back in a few weeks for another MRI.”
She quickened her pace and ran across the small front yard to the porch and set the groceries on the table he’d made out of two sawhorses. Her breath came out in plumes of white from the exertion. “If you’re supposed to be recovering from a head injury, why are you working on the cabin?”
“What else am I supposed to do to keep from going completely crazy?”
“Aren’t you supposed to rest?”
“I did for the first couple of weeks, and the doctors said I could go back to a normal level of activity.”
She paced the porch, as if she were afraid to go inside. “Rebuilding a roof isn’t exactly normal activity, is it?”
“Well, it’s hardly an extreme sport.”
CHAPTER TWO
The moment Kendall stepped into the cabin, she felt as if she’d stepped back in time—except for the incredibly gorgeous stranger following her. The furniture was the same; the place even smelled the same—well, if you added the acrid scent of burnt meat to the mix. “Did you leave something cooking on the stove?” She headed right for the kitchen.
“Not for a few days. I’m still trying to get the smell of petrified roast out of the air. Luckily, the smell came through the roof before I managed to burn down the cabin. I have no idea how long I’d left it in the oven.”
“Too long, obviously.” The pan still lay unwashed in the sink. “It might help if you did the dishes.” She turned on the tap to scalding, put the stopper in the drain, and threw in a healthy splash of dish soap. The pan needed to soak.
Jack set the box of groceries on the counter. “I was going to get around to that, but I was trying to get a section of the roof cabin dried in before I lost the light.”
“Did you?” She looked at him then and got caught in his gaze again.
“No.” He took off his hat, and his hair stood straight up with static electricity. He smoothed it down with one big hand. “I got sidetracked by an unexpected visitor with car trouble.”
“Oh.” She looked inside the box to cover her embarrassment, but felt heat fill her cheeks. She really shouldn’t stay. Not with him. God, she couldn’t believe she was actually considering taking him up on his generous offer. It was crazy.
“Don’t feel bad. I probably didn’t have a prayer of getting the tar paper on the roof anyway. I guess now we can both pray we don’t get snow tonight, because if we do and it warms up, we might both end up getting wet.”
She watched him to see if he was just being polite or telling the truth. His color seemed to have faded, or maybe it was just the florescent overhead light. He squinted, as if the light hurt his eyes.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just a headache.”
“Do you need to take something?”
“No. I don’t like feeling out of it. I have painkillers, but I’m trying to keep it to nothing stronger than Tylenol.”
“And the last thing you need is an unexpected houseguest.” She turned off the water and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here.”
“I really don’t mind the company.” He put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the counter. “I’m not lying about that, which is just as much a surprise to me as it seems to be to you.”
She really needed to put on the clinical mask she wore when treating patients. She didn’t like being an open book.
He pushed himself away from the counter and rocked back on his heels. “Look, if you decide to stay, I promise to give you all the space you need. I’ll be up at first light. I need to catch Jaime before he leaves for work to tell him about your Jeep. As soon as I return, I’ll get to work on the roof. Don’t expect to sleep in, but rest assured that you’ll have the cabin to yourself for most of the day.”
She bit her lip and watched him. He’d thrown off his coat and his sweater when he came inside and was wearing a tight, long-sleeved T-shirt that fit him like a second skin. She thought David had been a fitness freak—he went to the gym all the time—but when it came to being ripped, Jack had David beat. Not that she was comparing them or anything.
Jack shuffled his feet under her scrutiny, and she realized she’d been staring at his six-pack. Jeez, she was pathetic.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll talk to Jaime and ask if he can help you out with your car. He owns the garage in town, but I know he has a lift at home.”
She wavered.
“Sleep on it. If you want to leave, you can call your friend in the morning on my sat phone. Besides, you don’t want to drag her out this time of night. It’s almost full dark. Her car might end up in the same condition yours did.”
“Fine.” She grabbed a few containers of Ben & Jerry’s and stuffed them into the freezer. “Since it looks as if I’m staying the night, I’ll make dinner. It’s the least I can do. Besides, I’m hungry.” That surprised her. She hadn’t felt like eating since David dumped her. Maybe there was something good that came from spilling her guts. She just prayed she’d overcome the residual embarrassment.
When she turned back around, Jack had his eyes closed, his neck was bent so he was chin to chest, and he’d pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose. He stepped out of the light into the darkening hallway, blinking as if the light made his headache worse. “I really hope your ex wasn’t kidding about the Betty Crocker thing. I’ve learned that microwaveable and canned meals leave a lot to be desired.”
“You’re in luck, then. I happen to be a phenomenal cook. Why don’t you take some Tylenol and go lie down? I’ll get the other box of food off the porch, take an inventory, and figure out what to make for dinner.”
“You’ll holler if you need help?”
“Jack, if there’s one thing I’m sure I can do on my own, it’s cook. Go ahead and lie down—you really don’t look so good.” His color was worse than it had been when they’d first met. She didn’t know what he normally looked like, but even with his face pale and lines of strain around his eyes, he was still gorgeous. She’d never really thought about other men before—she’d never really looked at anyone other than David—not sexually at least.
If Jack usually looked better than he did today and people knew he was in town, the female population of Harmony would be stopping by with food for the hot single guy.
Jack nodded, groaned, and then, still holding his head, disappeared down the short hallway, leaving her blessedly alone.
Maybe cooking would keep her mind off her problems. There would be time enough to wallow in self-pity and decide what to do about the immediate future after she did something constructive.
She looked through the groceries at hand and found Jack to be a typical man: he had meat, potatoes, vegetables, and assorted frozen and canned dinners. All that processed food would kill him. It was no wonder he hadn’t been able to kick the headaches; this stuff
had enough additives and preservatives to last a decade.
Shepherd’s pie came to mind—it was fast and easy, she had all the ingredients, and, above all, it was comfort food. Jack looked like he could use a little comfort, and, Lord knew, it wouldn’t hurt anything but her waistline. Shepherd’s pie sounded even better than eating a ton of pasta and putting herself into a high-carb coma. It wasn’t gourmet, but, then, David was the one who wanted her to cook more sophisticated meals, and turned up his nose at casseroles, calling them peasant food. He bought her a subscription to Bon Appétit magazine for her birthday to encourage her transformation from Betty Crocker to Julia Child. She shook her head at the memory and wondered why she’d never noticed that he tried to turn her into someone she wasn’t.
She reached into the cabinet and pulled out the cutting board; it was right where she’d left it the last time she’d been there.
This wasn’t the first time she’d escaped.
The hunting cabin was one of the private, family-only houses on the estate, like the lake house. She’d never known her dad to rent out either before.
She peeled and cut half a dozen potatoes and looked around. The place did need a lot of work. Maybe her father only rented it in exchange for doing the heavy work he could no longer handle on his own. That would make sense. Her dad was still in good shape, but way too old to be scrambling around on roofs, especially midwinter. She laughed at his cheapness, knowing if she mentioned it, he’d blame it on his Scots-Irish upbringing. She set the potatoes to boil, gathered all the ingredients she needed, and then got down to the business of cooking.
An hour and a half later, the cabin smelled like heaven, and Kendall felt more in control. Cooking always soothed her. She’d made a simple salad, the entrée was ready to come out of the oven, and the table was set. All she needed was for Jack to join her.
She hadn’t heard a sound from him since he’d headed down the hall, and didn’t know if she should just let him be or wake him for dinner.
She could leave a plate for him. He certainly didn’t need to feel obligated to entertain her, and vice versa. Still, she did feel obligated. This was his cabin, for as long as the lease lasted, and she had no business being here.
Kendall tiptoed down the hall to use the bathroom, and was surprised to see he’d set her duffel bag on the queen bed in the master bedroom. She peeked in and found Jack asleep on a twin bed in the smaller room. His shoulders were so broad, he seemed to overflow the mattress, and his feet hung off the end.
At first she thought he’d just given her the larger of the rooms to be gentlemanly, but it looked as if he’d been using the smaller room all along. Odd, that. His bags were tossed on the floor, clothes hung from the chair in the corner. The dresser was littered with papers, a laptop computer lay closed on the small writing desk, and what looked like a pile of laundry had been kicked into the corner.
The shepherd’s pie needed to rest for twenty minutes before they could eat it, so she tiptoed back into the main room and stoked the fire. The cold night air added a chill to the cabin, and while the bedrooms and bathroom had small radiators, most of the heat came from the woodstove.
She refilled the long-dry iron kettle kept on top of the stove to add some much-needed humidity to the air and prayed she’d remembered to pack her lotion. She could feel the moisture being sucked from her already dry skin.
She checked her watch: it was half past six. Jack had been asleep for almost two hours, and dinner was definitely ready. From the contents of his refrigerator and the cans of soup, chili, and stew she saw in the trash, he had to be hungry for a home-cooked meal.
“Jack?”
She turned on the hall light and stood in his doorway, trying to decide if she should wake him.
*
Jax squinted against the light shining in his eyes. An angel stood silhouetted against the glow, her dark hair shining, but her face wasn’t clear. He really wished he could see her face.
“Jack, dinner’s ready. Did you want to get up to eat?”
No one ever called him Jack. The scent of something amazing brought him closer to consciousness, and his stomach growled. It was food, but nothing like the stuff he’d been eating lately.
His head cleared enough for him to realize that the headache had receded to its normal, dull, postconcussion throb.
The woman moved closer. “Jack, are you awake?”
Kendall. Okay, he hadn’t died and gone to a cabin in heaven. That was good, or at least he thought it was. If you had asked him before he lay down, he probably would have had another answer. “Yeah, I’m awake.” He rolled to a sitting position and waited for the vestiges of sleep to dissipate. “Something smells wonderful. Thanks for cooking.” He got to his feet and remembered what he was wearing—or wasn’t: namely pants and a shirt.
Kendall’s shocked intake of breath told him she’d noticed his state of undress before he did. And if she kept staring at him like that, his boxer briefs weren’t going to be able to hide his natural reaction. His head might not be in top working order, but the same couldn’t be said for his body. Oh yeah, his body’s reactions were completely normal, if not a bit embarrassing. He turned his back to her and reached for his jeans, looking over his shoulder.
She stared wide-eyed.
“Just let me get dressed. I’ll be out in a minute.”
That got her moving. She backed up until she hit the wall on the other side of the hallway. “Right. I’m sorry. Take your time. I’ll . . . I’ll just wait outside.”
He turned his head before he smiled. Well, he supposed it was nice that Kendall seemed to like what she saw. He couldn’t remember the last time a woman looked at him like that, but, then, he wondered if he’d simply stopped noticing.
Dating had always been complicated for him. No matter how nice the woman seemed, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was him she was interested in or his bank balance and social stature. He’d been unpleasantly surprised so many times, it hardly seemed worth the time and effort to start a relationship. He’d never been at a loss for a date to whatever function he’d needed to attend, but he knew how much time it took to make a relationship work, and time had been the one thing of which he didn’t have an unlimited supply. Until now. Now he had nothing but time.
Jax dragged on a sweatshirt, buttoned his jeans, and ran a hand through his hair. He supposed he was as presentable as he’d get. He found Kendall serving up a steaming casserole. “That looks and smells amazing.”
Kendall’s eyes shifted to him, her cheeks pink, either from the steam coming off the casserole or embarrassment at the compliment. “It’s just shepherd’s pie—nothing gourmet.”
“Give me good home cooking over gourmet any day. I haven’t eaten anything that smells this good in a very long time.” Probably since her mother had cooked for him before the accident. It seemed like a lifetime ago.
He scooped up a forkful and groaned as the combination of flavors hit his taste buds. Onions, carrots, peas, corn, and beef in a savory gravy spiced with rosemary and thyme. He smiled, because it was something he could do with his mouth full.
“There’s wine, if you can have it. I wasn’t sure if you’re on any medication. . . .” She let that thought trail off.
He looked up at her, then chewed and swallowed. “Wine is good. Would you like me to open a bottle?”
“No, I’ve had one breathing—I used a little in the shepherd’s pie, knowing the alcohol would cook out. I just wasn’t sure—”
He took a last, longing look at his plate and pushed away from the table. “I’ll get it. I don’t know if there are wineglasses—”
“In the cabinet to the right of the sink. Top shelf.”
He strode into the kitchen, surprised to find it not only clean, but sparkling—something it hadn’t been before he conked out. If he’d been the one cooking, the place would have looked like a bomb had exploded in it. Here, everything she’d used was already washed, dried, and put away. The wine bottle sat, breat
hing, on the counter. A good wine—he recognized the name. He tried to read the numbers, knowing they would tell him the vintage, but failed to make sense of them.
Failing was getting easier to handle since he’d long since given up waiting for divine intervention. He comforted himself with the sure knowledge that the accident could have been much worse; he could have died or ended up a paraplegic. There were a lot worse things than not being able to deal with numbers.
The glasses were right where Kendall said they’d be, so he grabbed the bottle and glasses and headed back toward the table. The fire in the Franklin stove lit Kendall’s face, and he stopped in his tracks, his bare feet silent on the worn wood floors. God, she did look like an angel—an angel who could cook and pick out a decent bottle of wine. Not a bad combination at that.
He forced himself to get on with it. “Here you go.” He filled the glasses and handed one to Kendall before taking his seat. “Here’s to new friends.”
“To friends.” She raised the glass and looked at him, the fire reflecting in her dark eyes. And not for the first time, he questioned the intelligence of the man willing to give her up.
Jax tucked into his meal, and after a few minutes of stuffing food in his face, he remembered his manners. He forced himself to slow down and take the time to wipe his mouth on a napkin made from a folded paper towel. “This is really good. I hope you made enough for leftovers.”
She looked up from her still-full plate to his, which contained only a bite or two more. “There won’t be if you keep eating at that speed.”
“Oh, sorry.” He stilled his fork. “It’s just that I haven’t had any decent food since I got here.”
She laughed, and the smile that lingered on her face was enough to take his breath away. “Go ahead and eat.”
Kendall nodded toward what was left of the casserole. She unwound her hair from her makeshift bun and the strands fell to frame her face. She should have looked a mess, but Kendall’s classically beautiful features were sexy enough to make a desert dweller drool.
