Coming In From the Cold(8)

Uh oh, he thought. Here it comes-the moment he would have to let her down. "What?"

"Do you think … are we in danger out here, if the plow doesn't show up until morning?"

He kissed her ear, relieved. "No. The people who die in blizzards are  the ones who leave their cars. Besides-it's only thirty degrees tonight.  At minus twenty, we'd be worried." Then he thought of something, which  made him laugh.

"You said you wouldn't laugh at my question," Willow complained.

"I'm not. I was just thinking about the protocol for surviving subzero  temps." He stroked her hip. "It looks a lot like this." He gave her a  squeeze to emphasize how close they were.

He felt Willow's giggle through her body before he heard it. "I knew that," she said. "That's why I agreed to climb back here."

"That was your reason, huh?" he teased, stroking her breast.

"Mmm-hmm," she said, snuggling against him.

A while later, her breathing evened out and she drifted off. But Dane  did not. Even though he'd been up since the ass crack of dawn, he did  not feel drowsy. His skin tingled with surprise at his proximity to her.  And he drank it in. Because it would never happen again.

It was so quiet. There was more light now, he noticed. The Jeep's back  window had avalanched. And the moon had risen, its beams filtered  through a wicked thick layer of clouds. He lay there listening a long  time, and eventually the growl of a motor approached. Several minutes  later the yellow lights of the plow truck went by. And Dane did not even  consider flagging it down.





Five





"Willow," a voice whispered.

She opened her eyes. "Ohhh," she groaned, her shoulder stiff. The surface beneath her was hard as nails.

"It's almost dawn, sweet thing," a voice said. "And the plow truck went by."

She rolled onto her back, toward the warmth. "It did?" She began to wake  up, startled to see a pair of blue eyes looking down into hers.

"Twice," Dane said. "So the snow won't be up to our knees when we walk out of here."

"Okay," she said, sitting up. Her leg brushed against Dane's obvious  erection. She felt her face get hot at the memory of last night.

He skimmed a hand along her hip. "I'm sorry to wake you."

"Had to be done," she said. "Did you look outside?" She could see only  out of the back window of the Jeep. Everywhere she looked out there, it  was white.

He turned to look. "Powder day." His fingers caressed the base of her neck, and she closed her eyes.

She had to clear her head.

"Is it time to call a tow truck from my house?" she offered. "I keep an old rotary at home for when the power goes out."

"I will take you up on that," he said.

"How about breakfast while we wait for the tow truck?"

"Mmm," he said, kissing her hair. "Now we're talking."





* * *



After the awkward trick of redressing in the Jeep-her panties eluded her  until she found them under the driver's seat-they crawled out.

"Looks like we got a good foot and a half," Willow said. But it was hard to tell, as the snow had drifted everywhere.

"Anything you need from your truck?" he asked, tossing his skis back into the Jeep.

She stared at the snow-covered mound that was her truck. "No. Except for chicken feed. But it's not portable."

"No? Why."

"I buy fifty-pound bags. The Girls can wait one more day. They won't starve."                       
       
           



       

But Dane pulled on his gloves and went over to her truck. He lowered the  tailgate. Then he brushed a ridiculous amount of snow off the back and  hefted a bag of chicken feed off the stack.

"You know my house is about a mile away, right?"

"You know I squat four-hundred pounds at the gym every morning, right?"

She shook her head. "Better you than me."

"Let's walk, then," he said.





* * *



With the road cleared, it was easy going underfoot. Willow found herself  tongue-tied. The strapping stranger at her side would be gone in an  hour or two, and she didn't know what to think about that. They walked  in silence while Willow planned the breakfast she would make for him.  Her stove ran on propane, and even if the power was out, she could still  light it.

"Willow, are you a coffee drinker?" Dane asked.

"Hell, yes. And I can manage some form of coffee whether or not I have power. Coffee is non-negotiable."

He hitched the feed bag further up onto his shoulder. "I knew I liked you."

The words gave her heart a little squeeze. She wanted that-for him to  like her. She wanted to ask him a hundred questions about his life, to  get to know him, to stare into those blue eyes. But he'd been very clear  that their friendship was not meant to develop. Was that really true,  or had he only meant to keep his options open?

She was not going to bring it up. "That's my mailbox up ahead," she said, pointing. "See?"

"I've passed that place," he said. "There's a For Rent sign outside. Going somewhere?"

"I wish," she said. "I would sell, but I'm underwater on the mortgage.  That sign, though, is just for a furnished one-bedroom apartment I have  in back of the house. The previous owner had his mother-in-law living  there."

"Huh," Dane said. "Your sign should say it's for a one-bedroom  apartment, no? I passed it by many times, thinking there was no way I'd  rent a whole house. And I ended up in a seedy room over on Main Street.  Fix your sign, and you'll rent it to some ski tech on the mountain  within the week."

There was a silence, while Willow mourned the loss of Dane, and his  powerful quadriceps, living on her property. Then she laughed. "I'll fix  it today. The lack of rent money has kept me up nights all month."

"I didn't mean to harsh on your sign," Dane said.

"It's okay. I'm kind of a fuckup," Willow said.

"I doubt that," Dane argued.

You really have no idea, she said to herself. Aloud, she continued, "We're here, except for the climb."

"Nice," he said, looking up the long driveway at the house.

Willow followed his gaze to the white gables and the peaked roof. It did  look nice. But for her it was a trap, a financial mistake that was  standing between her and her dreams.

When they reached the side door, and she put her hand on the knob.

"Where does this go?" he asked, pointing at the bag on his shoulder.

"Just set it down, and I'll move it later," she said. "You've done the heavy lifting, as they say."

He jutted his chin toward the barn. "Over there? It's no trouble."

She hesitated for only a second. "Well, thank-you, sir. Let me get the  barn door." She ran ahead to open it. The wind had blown much of the  snow out of her path-it was only a foot deep most places. But Willow had  to quickly shovel a snowdrift away from the entrance. When she opened  it, the chickens came running toward the light. "Hi, girls!" she called.  They gathered around her ankles, pecking at her jeans. She waded into  the fray, grabbed the empty feed bin and pulled off the top. "Just drop  it right in here," she said. "I'll deal with the bag later."

He let it fall into the bin, and the chickens scattered from the sound. They ran away clucking, feathers flying.

Dane laughed. "They're so … chicken," he said.

"It's really true," Willow agreed. "They're afraid of everything. I have  a red raincoat, and if I wear it into the barn they bolt like I'm an ax  murderer."

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the raisins that had not been  consumed the night before. "Look, girls." They came running, falling  over each other's backs to get at her. She kept her hand at thigh  height, and they jumped for the raisins, like retrievers leaping for a  Frisbee disk. Willow had never met chickens until she followed her  asshat boyfriend to Vermont. And now she found them charming. But not  charming enough to stay in Vermont forever.                       
       
           



       

Willow reached into her pocket again and offered more raisins.

"There's no way they're enjoying those half as much as I did."

Willow turned to meet Dane's smile. But then his grew a bit sad, and he turned toward the open barn door.





* * *



Dane waited while Willow fed her chickens, and then he followed her into  the house, into a big old room with wide pine boards on the floor. At  one end was the kitchen, and a thick-topped work table on turned legs.  At the other end of the space was a living area, with an overstuffed  sofa and comfortable chairs. It was the sort of room where happy lives  were lived.