Winter at Mustang Ridge Page 17

  The opening chase scene unfolded with the usual collection of gunshots, screeching tires, and improbable stunts, and with Nick checking his phone every couple of minutes, just in case.

  Bond was zooming along an eyebrow road in a fast car that’d taken a serious beating when something went thudda-thud downstairs.

  “Did you hear that?” Nick muted the movie, figuring Daniel Craig could kick ass with or without volume, but there was no way he could hear anything over the chop-socky on the screen.

  In the sudden quiet he was very aware of the whited-out window and the wind that lashed at the building, sounding annoyed that it couldn’t get past all the weather stripping and spray foam he’d slopped around when the first cold snap hit. The noise—if there had even been a noise—didn’t repeat itself, but silence didn’t mean there wasn’t a problem.

  “Think someone’s out in this garbage?” he asked Cheese, figuring those radar-dish ears could outperform his own any day. He had learned to kill the driveway buzzer during a bad storm—better that than listen to the darn thing false-alarming every few minutes, so that couldn’t have been it. But he’d thought . . . “Or am I imagining things?”

  He was halfway down the stairs when footsteps thudded on the front porch, followed by a weather-muffled knock and a faint call of, “Hello? Nick?”

  “It’s open!” He hollered, coming down the rest of the stairs in a rush, adrenaline starting to pump. That had sounded like . . . “Jenny?”

  The door flew open and banged on its stop as a whole lot of icy-cold rushed in, along with a snow-crusted figure, petite and female, wearing a familiar ski jacket and fuzzy hat, and carrying a computer bag strapped across her body like a bandolier. Behind her was a four-legged snowman of a dog.

  They stumbled in as he wrestled the door shut, muting the roar of the storm.

  “S-surprise.” The word came from between her chattering teeth as Rex shook, spraying snow in all directions.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” The bellow surprised him, as did the emotions that punched him in the chest. Bringing his tone down a notch, he demanded, “Are you okay?”

  “We’re f-fine. Just got caught, that’s all.” She fumbled to lower the computer bag, which landed amid melting shards of ice. “Thought I had enough time to make it back from the Double-Bar H, but it turned out I didn’t, so I decided to come here, instead.” She fumbled to pull off her gloves, unzip her ski jacket, and drag it off. “Almost made it, too.”

  “Almost?” He looked out the window, his gut doing a somersault. “Where’s the Jeep?”

  “In the ditch around the corner from your driveway.” When he emitted a low growl, she narrowed her eyes. “It’s no big deal.”

  And there it was, the ‘tude he’d been wishing for earlier. Only now it was more irritating than adorable. “You should’ve stayed at Shelby’s.”

  Crossing to him, she reached up and cupped his jaw in her cool palms. “I’m okay,” she said firmly. “And, yeah, I probably should’ve turned around when things got messy. But I decided that if I was going to be snowed in with anyone, I wanted it to be you.”

  Danged if that didn’t make him melt faster than the snow. Not just because of what she’d said, but because she was right—she was safe. And, better yet, she was here. He brought his hands up to her hips, caging her against him. “You did mention that you weren’t going to let any wussy old storm mess with date night.”

  “I’m a woman of my word.”

  He leaned in, skimmed his lips across hers. “My nose really looks huge on Skype.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” he said, and kissed her.

  Before their kisses had said I like you and This feels good. Now this one said Thank God you’re safe and I’m glad you came here. More, there was a deeper, darker edge, an urgency that acknowledged what was going to happen next—they were going to go upstairs together and wait out the storm.

  Her lips warmed beneath his, but he was all too aware that her fingers were cool on the back of his neck and her clothes were damp and chilly. And Rex wasn’t doing much better.

  “Let’s get you two upstairs,” he said in a voice that didn’t quite sound like his own. “Warm you up, dry you off. That sort of thing.” He wasn’t quite tongue-tied, but he didn’t feel like his usual more or less charming self, either, like that part of him had been temporarily stripped away.

  She eased back and toed off her boots, then retrieved her computer bag, which looked reassuringly waterproof. “I wouldn’t say no to a cup of coffee. And Rex could probably use a couple of towels, maybe a blow-dryer.”

  “That I can do.” He snagged the dryer from Ruth’s grooming supplies and led his guests through the Employees Only door, and up the stairs to the second floor. “Er, do me a favor and excuse the mess.”

  “Please,” she scoffed as she opened the door and stepped into his apartment. “I’m sure I’ve seen—” She stepped into his living room-slash-man cave, and laughed. “It’s not that messy, but, hello, bachelor pad.”

  He came in behind her and took a look around, confirming that the mess factor was pretty low, thanks to his most recent herding of dirty dishes and laundry. Looking at it through her eyes, though, he imagined that a room empty of everything but a double recliner couch, huge flat-screen, and gazillion gaming components probably screamed “arrested development” rather than “I’m used to living out of a duffel.”

  Then again, this was Jenny. She probably got the second part.

  Seeing her glance at the screen, where Daniel Craig was kicking butt on mute, he said, “Cheese and I were burrowing in for a snow day and waiting for you to text us back and let us know you made it home safe.”

  Her lips curved. “I did. Just not all the way to Mustang Ridge.”

  “Hallelujah,” he said fervently, getting a laugh out of her. “You want to let them know where you are? Landline’s in the kitchen if your cell doesn’t want to play.”

  “Thanks. I’ll give them a call.”

  “I’ll dry Rex off here in the kitchen. You take the bathroom. Hop in the shower, get your body temp back up.” He pointed. “Down that hallway, first on the left. I’ll leave a set of sweats outside the door.”

  “I’d accuse you of trying to get me naked, but I’ll admit it—I’m freezing.”

  “And I’m a doctor,” he said piously.

  Laughing, she disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. A few minutes later, as he was rifling through the shelves in his closet, he heard the shower go on. As a gentleman, he didn’t picture her naked.

  Not much, anyway.

  Tapping on the bathroom door, he called, “Clothes are out here.”

  “You’re a prince.” Her voice was muffled by the door and the noise of running water, and all those sounds together combined to put a hitch in his breathing. He liked having a woman in his shower, for the first time in his new place.

  More, he really liked that it was Jenny.

  Figuring it was best not to look at it any closer than that, he focused on getting Rex dry. Three soggy towels and a few minutes later, he had a damp, wiggly dog that was warm enough that he’d rather explore than sit for any more grooming.

  “Jenny’s right. You’ve got some focus issues.” He released the dog. “Go on. But don’t say I didn’t try!”

  The goldie bounded out of the kitchen, did a loop of the living room, and bounced up on the couch to sniff Cheesepuff. The tabby hissed and swatted at the dog, and when Rex retreated, the cat puffed up to twice his already considerable girth and gave chase.

  Nick stepped between them with a stern, “Quit that. You guys met downstairs and did just fine.” He put his hands on his hips and gave Cheese a mock glare. “And since when do you bother with dogs?”

  That got him a rear-end view and a tail flick he interpreted as Since he’s upstairs, in my space.

  “Well, deal with it.”

  When the animals seemed ready to ignore each other, Nick
made a quick circuit of the apartment, ensuring there wasn’t anything too embarrassing out in the open. He was only using four of the eight rooms—there were six on this level and two more downstairs, behind the clinic—so it didn’t take long. He stashed a few dishes in the dishwasher, kicked a few socks in the closet, and pulled his bedspread more or less smooth, kind of wishing he’d assembled the steel bed frame that had come with the mattress and box spring rather than just setting them up on the floor. Not that he was assuming anything. But it was a nice change to even have the thought.

  The guest room—which he’d furnished in case his father wanted to crash with him—didn’t need any work because he was almost never in there. The pullout couch was folded up, the framed prints were straight, and there weren’t any hairballs on the rug. He was good to go.

  Back out in the living room, he draped the fuzzy brown blanket more artfully over the leather behemoth, fished a couple of pillows off the floor, killed the TV, and tuned the radio to a local station that played a decent mix of music and gave good weather.

  Cheesepuff watched him with a look of Dude, really?

  “Stuff it,” he said mildly. “We’ve got company.”

  Standing in front of the flat-screen, he took a look around, and decided it might come across as a bachelor pad, but at least it didn’t look like a scuzzy one. Most of the stuff was new, after all. It hadn’t had time to earn its rips and duct tape.

  The cat’s ears flicked when the water went off, and again when the door opened and a bare arm snaked out to snag the sweats and socks Nick had left in the hallway. Rex’s head came up and he gave a low “whuff,” but he seemed content to stay flopped out on the rug in front of the sofa.

  Still not imagining Jenny naked—not much, anyway—Nick headed for the kitchen and considered his options on the warm-the-body-up front. When he heard footsteps behind him, he said, “I can offer you coffee, hot chocolate, chicken noodle or cream of mushroom. Which, for the record, I thought was another can of chicken noodle when I bought it.”

  “Can I get my hot chocolate with those little petrified marshmallows in it?”

  He turned to look at her, and swallowed a grin at the sight of her in his drawstring sweatpants, with the legs cuffed to show a pair of thick wool socks that flopped at the toes. The sweatshirt fit a little better—it was one of the ones he’d shrunk before figuring out the dryer—but it still sagged off one shoulder, giving him a glimpse of skin.

  What were they talking about again? Oh, right. Marshmallows.

  “What does this look like, base camp? Here at Chez Masterson, you’ve got your choice between full-size marshmallows that aren’t even stale yet, or a slightly used tub of marshmallow fluff. And the hot chocolate is Keurig-ized and close to sinful.”

  “What, no hand towels, but he has a Keurig?”

  “The gadget gene is on the Y chromosome. Is that a yes on the hot cocoa?”

  “If you’ll join me.”

  “Count on it. In fact, how about you pull out the milk and chocolate syrup? I like to layer.”

  “On it.” She pulled open the fridge, and laughed. “Bread, eggs, and milk, huh? Did you have to fight for them at the grocery store?”

  “Just about.” He shrugged. “It’s a blizzard, which means we’re constitutionally obligated to eat French toast. Or maybe egg-in-toast with a glass of milk.”

  “Or scrambled eggs with toast on the side.”

  “Where’s the milk in that scenario?”

  “You put it in the eggs to make the texture smoother.”

  “Your gran teach you that?”

  “I got banned from the kitchen the second time I used baking soda instead of cornstarch in a recipe that also involved white wine.” She pulled out the milk and Hershey’s syrup, bumped the door shut with her hip, and slid him a look. “You know the vinegar-and-baking-soda volcanoes you make in science class? Yeah. It was like that.”

  He held up his palms in surrender. “Just hand over the milk and chocolate syrup, nice and slow, and nobody will get hurt.”

  “Ha-ha.” She faked a toss with the half gallon, then crowed, “Made you flinch.”

  They teased their way through prepping the hot chocolate, and the back-and-forth leveled things out between them. But although he stopped feeling like he had to watch what he was saying, that didn’t mean the sizzle had died down. If anything it was stronger, connecting them when their bodies brushed in the small galley-style kitchen, making him want to move in and hold her tight.

  He didn’t, though. Instead, he made himself enjoy the anticipation.

  The storm winds pounded the building intermittently, but the sturdy timbers held without protest and the weather stripping dulled even the rattle of windows, making his quarters feel snug and the rest of the world seem very far away.

  “How’s your dad?” she asked. “Are you worried about him being up in the foothills, all alone?”

  “Yes and no. I wish I could get him to spend more time down here, especially in weather like this. But at the same time, I know he’s in good shape up there. He’s got backups for his backups, and enough know-how to be on one of those survivor shows. He said he’d check in tonight. How about you? Did you phone home?”

  She nodded. “My gran said to say hi and my mom said, ‘I can’t believe you’re not here to help me paint.’ Which, for the record, is the first I’ve heard about us having a painting date this afternoon.”

  He chuckled. “How is the redecorating going?”

  “Honestly? Better than I expected. I think having negotiated the terms of my surrender helped. She’s been good about getting my approval on most everything, and the stuff that she’s picked out isn’t nearly as crazy looking as I was afraid it might be. So far, anyway.”

  “Good to hear.” He held out her mug. “Cocoa’s done. You ready to have your world rocked?”

  “Fluff and marshmallows? You’re really pulling out all the stops.”

  “Let’s call it a blizzard special for my special lady.”

  “Your special lady,” she said softly. “I like that.” And there was something new in her eyes. He couldn’t identify the deep, drugging emotion, but it reached inside him and cranked up the heat and the tenderness. More, it made him want to haul her into his arms and carry her to the bedroom.

  When she reached for the cocoa mug he didn’t let go, so their fingers overlapped, the pressure as tangible as the way their eyes synced up. “Jenny,” he began, and then stalled, caught in her gaze and the push-pull of wanting this, yet wanting it to be right for her.

  “Yes?”

  “This,” he said. And instead of giving her the cocoa, he reached past her to set the mug on the counter, then slid his hand up her arm to the back of her neck, and kissed her. The heat that had been on a slow simmer all week boiled over in an instant, but he held himself in check, loving the smooth suppleness of her skin against his, and the way she murmured softly at the back of her throat, wrapped her arms around his neck, and returned the kiss with a sweet, wondrous enthusiasm that said this was all exactly right.

  19

  Ever since Jenny had decided to turn toward Nick’s clinic rather than home, the question had been there, running beneath the surface like a delicious itch. How far are we going to take this? She would be spending the night; that much was clear. But would she be in the guest room or his bed? She hadn’t been sure. Now, as he kissed her with all the pent-up heat that had been building since the first moment she walked through his door two weeks ago, she still didn’t have any of the answers, but she wasn’t sure she cared. Because if she knew one thing, it was that she trusted him. Whatever happened—or didn’t happen—next, they could talk about it, figure it out together. And that was a wondrous thing.

  Parting her lips beneath his, she sighed into his mouth and let him in. Their tongues touched, stroked, and he pulled her against his body, banding his arms around her and holding tight. He tasted sharp and intoxicating, making her head spin like she’d been sittin
g around a campfire, passing around a bottle of something strong and spicy.

  He changed the angle of the kiss, diving in, devouring, enfolding her. Warmth went to heat, and from there to an inferno.

  On one level, she was aware of the howling wind and lashing snow, and the way it made his place into a warm, safe shelter. On another level, though, the storm was inside her, making her want to rake her fingers through his hair and down his back. Making her want to accept all that he was giving her, and then take more.

  Instead, he eased back and let out a long breath that was almost a growl. Then, taking a moment to pull himself together, he reached past her once more, handed her the mug, and took a big step back. “Drink.”

  Shaky enough to follow his order without protest, she took a sip. Then, as the spicy chocolate and almost too-sweet sugar of the marshmallows hit her tongue, she moaned and took another, longer drink.

  “Don’t do that,” he warned.

  “Do what?”

  “We need to have a serious conversation, and it’s not going to happen if you make chocolate orgasm noises.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have added the fluff.”

  The laugh lines deepened at the corners of his eyes. “Noted.”

  She took another sip, then studied him over the rim of her mug. “Would it help if I said I’ve got a hard-and-fast rule about not doing what I think we’re talking about doing until at least the fifth date?”

  It was a good rule, one that had kept her from making several hormone- and cocktail-driven blunders over the last few years. If a guy didn’t want to put in at least a little effort to get to know her—and vice versa—then sex was a bad idea. But this was different, wasn’t it? She already knew him better than she had known her last few just-for-fun guys. She liked him, trusted him, wanted him. . . . The thought of being with him sent her senses into overdrive, heating her center with a low throb and making her very aware of his cracked-open bedroom door. Something inside her held back, though. Maybe it was the suspicion that the storm was moving up their timeline, or the way he was so different from the guys she usually went out with. He was settled, centered, landlocked.