Wicked in Winter

by Jennifer Bernard

  “What?” Her reaction was exactly what he would have hoped for—appalled and outraged. “Can they do that?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. If the state determined that I’m not a fit guardian, she probably could. Or if she decided that Jason would be better off somewhere else.” He swallowed back the lump in his throat that developed every time he thought about this.

  It must have shown on his face, because she stepped toward him and wrapped her arms around his waist. It was a comfort hug, not a sensual one, but that didn’t take away from how good it felt.

  “So that’s why you freaked out about Petey and the nail polish?”

  “I don’t care about the nail polish. I care about Petey breaking laws. If she thinks he’s turning into a delinquent, forget about it.”

  “And dying his hair?”

  “People have funny ideas about that kind of thing. She could read it as a rebellion. Decide he’s unhappy and needs a more conventional family. A big brother only goes so far.” His hand hovered over her back. He wanted to run his palm down her spine and watch her arch and purr.

  She pulled away while he was still wrestling with that temptation. “So basically, that’s why you’re such a hardass all the time. Because you’re worried about this caseworker.”

  “Not all the time,” he corrected her. “Give me a break.”

  “Okay, not while sledding. Or while—kissing.”

  His cock twitched just from hearing the word. But he hadn’t dragged her in here to flirt. This was a serious situation. He had to make her understand just how serious.

  “After my parents died, before I got back, Children’s Services was talking about separating the boys. They were both freaking out. I told them I’d never let that happen, that we were all going to stay together no matter what. I knew I had to prove to the state that I could do this. That I could provide a good environment for them.” He snorted. “I even speak their language now.”

  Her sympathetic gaze drew him in, made him want to lose himself in her beauty. But he couldn’t lose focus here.

  “That’s why I need to know what you told Susan Baker. Can you remember if you said anything that would make me look bad? Like I’m not a fit guardian, or that things aren’t going well?”

  She tilted her head to one side as she considered. “Okay, starting at the beginning.”

  Good, she was taking this seriously.

  “I asked who she knew out this direction, and she said she was visiting you. So I assumed she knew you. I told her Petey was back with the car, and you were staying in—Oh!” Her hand flew to cover her mouth. “Shit. I think I said you were going to freak out when you heard about the accident, but that you couldn’t be in two places at once. She said something about how you have to juggle a lot of responsibilities.”

  “And then what?” Zander braced himself for disaster.

  “I said I had no idea how you manage everything.” She winced and screwed up her face. “That sounds bad. But maybe it’s good. It shows that I respect you and how hard you work and…” She trailed off, biting her bottom lip. “Did I mess things up? I’m so sorry if I did. I had no idea about any of this.”

  Zander turned away and interlaced his hands on top of his head. He knew in his gut that Susan Baker was looking for any excuse to push her agenda, whatever it was. She would pounce on this. The car crash, the fact that he’d been in town when it happened, Gretel’s words.

  It wasn’t Gretel’s fault, of course.

  It was his fault.

  “This isn’t on you. How were you supposed to know, unless I told you?” he said in a grim voice. “I was afraid to tell anyone. Now she’s going to jump all over this.”

  He felt her step closer to him, then a light touch skimmed his back. “You don’t know that. Maybe it’s not as bad as you’re thinking,” she said softly. “It’s not like I told her how you run the house like a boot camp or anything.”

  He gave a hollow laugh. “That ought to be a compliment but it seems like you didn’t mean it that way.”

  “Well, what do I know? I had zero consistency growing up. My father’s on his fourth wife. My mother’s had three divorces. I might have enjoyed a boot camp experience for a change. Maybe,” she added quickly. “I have to admit it’s hard to picture. I did have a supercute pink camouflage bomber jacket in middle school though.”

  He pictured her in a pink camo jacket, with maybe nothing much on underneath, and that image cheered him right up.

  What the hell. The damage was done. The caseworker would do whatever she decided, but he wouldn’t take it lying down. He’d fight back, like a good Marine should.

  He turned and cupped his hands around Gretel’s face. She looked so worried, not a trace of a smile on her beautiful lips.

  “It’ll be okay,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about it.” He skimmed both of his thumbs across her cheekbones. Her eyes fluttered shut and he felt the brush of her eyelashes against his fingers.

  Then her eyes opened and he fell head over heels into the dazzle of her eyes.

  “There’s more,” she said. “I think she thought we were a thing.”

  “A thing?”

  “I didn’t tell her that,” she said quickly. “But she said something like, ‘I’m sure I’ll see more of you,’ and I didn’t really answer. Is that a problem?”

  He shrugged uneasily. “I don’t know. I kind of implied that I had a serious girlfriend. She might think it’s you.”

  She let out a brief peal of laughter, which he tried not to take personally. “Well, if it helps at all, I think she liked me. I can be very charming, you know.”

  “I’ve noticed.”

  That comment brought a slight flush to her cheeks. “I’ll find an excuse to run into her again and I’ll rant and rave about how wonderful you are.”

  He lifted one eyebrow sardonically. “Really, you’d lie for me?”

  “It’s not a lie.” She curled one hand around his wrist. The lightness of her touch made his breath catch. “You’re not as grumpy and annoying as I previously believed.”

  “Thanks.” More wryness.

  Her lashes fluttered again. “You’re…not like anyone I’ve ever known, put it that way.”

  There was so much he didn’t know about her life, but yeah—she probably hadn’t run into very many ex-Marines raising their younger brothers. “I’m just an ordinary guy trying to keep things together.”

  “You are not ordinary, Zander Ross. Not one little bit. You have—” She twisted her face adorably. “What’s the word?”

  She seemed to be searching her memory, so he came up with a few options for her. “Good looks? Charm? A hot bod?”

  “No. Character.” Finally, her lips curved, and she swept a sexy glance up and down his body. “Okay, now that you mention it, a hot bod too.”

  He crowded her backwards toward the raw pine boards of his bedroom wall. “Now that I mention it? All those boot camp workouts and you never even noticed?”

  She giggled and held onto his forearms as her back touched the wall. “It’s hard under all that winter gear, you know. If I’d met you on a beach, it’d be different.”

  “Oh yeah? What would you be wearing on this beach?”

  She pursed her lips, sending a shock of heat to his groin. “Not much. Definitely lots of sunscreen. Maybe a tiny bit of bikini.”

  “How tiny?” His voice was nothing but a growl. Tension throbbed between them, hot and urgent. Damn, this attraction had been simmering for a while. Any second now it would boil over.

  Her pupils widened until the turquoise nearly disappeared. Her lips parted and her tongue darted across her lower lip. “Sorry, what was the question?” she asked.

  The fuck if he knew. He couldn’t even remember what they’d been talking about. All he knew was that she was a magnet and he was a helpless hunk of metal being drawn in, closer and closer, until her light fragrance surrounded him—blossoms caught in a summer breeze.

  “I have no idea,”
he admitted. His head lowered to hers and their lips joined as if they were puzzle pieces locking together. She arched her body against his, her breath coming fast. Even though there was a pretty big size discrepancy between them, the crucial pieces fit—he felt her nipples like diamonds against his chest, the mound between her legs pushing against his upper thigh.

  She tilted her hips, going for another angle, and he helped by sliding his hands under her ass. God, she was so delicate and fine-boned—except she wasn’t, not really, because she ground against his thigh with a fierceness that told him she was a woman who owned her desires—without apology.

  Now that was a turn-on.

  Just ask his cock, which had swelled into a raging beast trapped behind his fleece sweats.

  She noticed—God, how could she not? Her hand loosened from his forearm and slid down to his groin. When she touched his erection through the fleece, he gave a choked groan. Keep your cool.

  Their lips still clung together, as if neither of them wanted to lose the connection. Lust and need roared in his blood, and he could taste the same on her lips. He closed a hand around one of her breasts—so perfectly formed, with a tender peak of flesh.

  He would sacrifice a kidney to see her naked right now.

  His bed was right over there, just feet away. He could snatch her up and toss her onto it. Strip off her cozy black sweater and her peacock-feather-patterned leggings and expose the sweet skin just waiting for his tongue. He could spread her open and lick his way down her stomach, from nipples to clit—

  Someone pounded on the door.

  “Zander! Someone’s on the phone for you!” It was Jason, his just-hit-puberty voice veering between deep and boyish. “What’s taking you so long?”

  He wrenched himself away from Gretel.

  Looking dazed, she blinked at him while her hands flew this way and that, touching her hair, her neckline, her mouth, as if checking to make sure everything was still attached to her.

  “Gotta go,” he croaked. “Sorry.”

  She nodded, and he stepped back. He had to call on all of his self-discipline to do it. It was so hard to separate from her.

  “Coming!” he called to Jason. He shot Gretel one more look, pouring every ounce of his blazing desire into it, then charged out the door, nearly knocking Jason over in the process.

  Jason tried to peer past him, but Zander blocked his line of sight. “Gretel’s coming. She…uh…had a thing.”

  Apparently his brain had been fried by that kiss, because he couldn’t think of a single actual explanation to give his brother.

  Then again, from the look on Jason’s face, he didn’t need to explain. The kid got it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Even though Zander didn’t blame her for anything involving Susan Baker, Gretel still felt terrible about it. If she was the cause of the Ross family breaking apart, she’d never forgive herself.

  So what if Zander kissed her as if she were the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. No matter how much he wanted her—how much they wanted each other!—his responsibilities to his family came first.

  That was just the way he was, and to be honest, that was one of the things she liked best about him.

  The way he kissed wasn’t too shabby either. Or the way he touched her body and ground his thigh between her legs and generally drove her into a state of rip-her-own-clothes-off madness.

  Over the next few days, she did her best to keep some distance between her and the incredibly tempting man next door. She’d already screwed things up for him with Susan Baker; she didn’t want to make things worse somehow.

  She worked extra shifts at the Wicked Brew, and attended her first stitch-and-bitch gathering at Nicola Bellini’s house.

  Mrs. Bellini had recently suffered a stroke, so she herself wasn’t yet able to knit or crochet. But the group had decided to meet at her house anyway in order to offer her some companionship.

  To Gretel’s surprise, not all the stitch-and-bitchers were women. Two men were also part of the group, both of them with the weathered look of fishermen or other outdoor laborers.

  Zoe Bellini, Nicola’s daughter, caught her look of surprise.

  “We get a few men in the winter. Those guys will be busy fishing in the summer, but they like to catch up on their knitting in the winter.” Her wild dark curly hair was held back by a bandanna printed with sunflowers and her smile lit up the living room.

  Zoe, along with the rest of the Bellini family, ran the Last Chance Pizza shop. She’d recently gotten together with the world-famous singer Padric Jeffers—or rather, gotten back together with him, since they’d grown up together in Lost Harbor. Gretel wondered if she’d get to meet the superstar, who was overseeing the construction of a new recording studio in Lost Harbor. If there was an opportunity to invite him to perform at the Wicked Brew, she was going to jump on it.

  “I hope I’m not a total embarrassment,” Gretel told the group cheerfully. “I’ve never knit a stitch in my life.” She held up the bag of supplies she’d purchased at Eller’s. “I got a little bit of everything, just in case. Where should I start?”

  As Zoe Bellini set out plates of jam cookies and a pot of tea, several kindly crafters offered Gretel their assistance. The one who ended up next to her was a grizzled black man who introduced himself as Harris Badger.

  “Oh, are you related to Maya Badger, the police chief?”

  “My daughter. She’s my claim to fame now.” He smiled cheerfully. “I used to stand on my own laurels. Now she’s outshone me and I don’t mind a bit.”

  “Harris used to run the Coast Guard station in Far Point,” Zoe explained. “We liked him so much we refused to let him leave even after he retired.”

  Harris chuckled as he showed Gretel how to hold the knitting needles. “That’s how I took up knitting. It was lonely out there in the winter. So first thing you do, is you gotta cast on.”

  Gretel focused on Harris’ instructions while the conversation flowed around them. At first it was hard to remember which piece of yarn was supposed to go where, and how to keep the needles from simply slipping out of their loops. But Harris was a patient teacher, as if he had all the time in the world to spare from his own project.

  “What are you making?” she asked him, after she’d painstakingly completed one entire row of her practice square.

  “Sweater for Maya. We got a competition going. She made me the most beautiful blanket you ever saw for Christmas. I’ll need something extra special to top that.”

  “Maya knits?” This day was full of surprises.

  “Not on the job. She’s very picky about workplace rules. She doesn’t relax until she’s off the clock. But yeah, she knits. She does a lot of things that aren’t police-type stuff. Oops, you dropped a stitch. See that hole there, looks like it’s unravelling? You can’t let that little bugger get away. Let me show you how to fix it.”

  He helped her retrieve the runaway stitch while she tried to keep track of every movement of his gnarled hands. She wondered if knitting kept them nimble.

  “Whew.” She let out a breath of relief when he returned the needles to her. “That was stressful.”

  “Ain’t nothing in knitting that can’t be fixed,” said an older woman with a long gray braid draped over her shoulder. She’d been introduced as Mrs. Holt. Lucas Holt’s mother, Gretel figured. “That’s the beauty of it. Say, you’re the girl living with the Noonans, is that right?”

  “Yes, that’s me!” Gretel turned her needles this way and that, trying to remember how they were supposed to fit into her hand. Deftly, Harris got them reoriented for her. She gave him a grateful smile.

  “How’re those Ross kids doing?”

  Since she seemed genuinely concerned, instead of looking for gossip, Gretel answered, “Quite well.”

  “You see a lot of them, being neighbors?”

  “I do.” Remembering Zander’s paranoia about Susan Baker, she didn’t want to say too much, so she turned the question around
on Mrs. Holt. “Do you know them well?”

  “I knew their parents very well. Brenda Ross was quite a craftswoman. She made an iron gate for my cow pasture. Just beautiful. My yak loves it.”

  “Did you say yak?”

  “I have a yak, yes. Tibetan yak, ornery fella. I light a candle for Brenda every month. I know she’d be proud of Zander. After the accident, it was touch and go what would happen to the kids. All their family was in the Lower Forty-eight, and no one was jumping up and down to have them. It would have broken Brenda’s heart to send them away from here. She wanted to raise her boys here on the edge of the wilderness. She was quite the woman.”

  The rest of the group murmured their agreement.

  “Todd Ross w-worshipped her,” added Nicola Bellini. “Living here was her idea. Left his Delta Airlines career behind and never l-looked back.”

  “They were good people,” Mrs. Holt said somberly. “When Zander decided to step up and come home, I bet Brenda breathed a big sigh of relief.”

  Harris chuckled. “If anyone heard it, that would be you. She thinks her husband came back as a yak,” he explained to Gretel.

  Mrs. Holt shrugged off that comment. “I told Zander the next time I saw him, I said, ‘your mother would be crying tears of joy knowing that her little ones are taken care of.’ I said, ‘you keep those boys together, come what may. They’re going to need you more than you can even imagine.’ He listened, too, which is a lot more than my own kids do.”

  A murmur of laughter rippled through the group.

  “You know Lucas always went his own way. Brenda and I used to complain about how our sons just up and left soon as they got old enough. Now they’re both back, Lucas and Zander, and I just wish Brenda was still here to see it.”

  The needles slipped in Gretel’s hands and one of them stabbed her in the wrist. “Ow,” she said loudly.

  Harris peered at her hands and whistled. “Looks like we have our first knitting injury. Is that blood?”