“I like to come up here to get away from things. Walking in the woods helps to clear my head. Down there” — he jerked a thumb somewhere to the south and east — “things can intrude too much. But up here I don’t have to think about being a Wilcox or the primus’s brother or any of that. I guess that’s why I wanted you to come up here with me. Because whatever comes next, remember that it’s only a small part of the picture.”
Following his gaze, I looked at the ponderosa pines looming around us, the purple-indigo of the mountains, the aching blue of the sky. There were the faintest, thinnest streaks of clouds painted against that sky, like the traceries in a stained-glass window, and somehow I felt as if I stood in a cathedral, hushed and quiet and holy.
Movement caught my eye, and I held my breath. From within a stand of pine a large mule deer buck stepped forth, then paused. His antlers were sharp and dark against the snow-covered branches around him. For the longest moment he stood there, black eyes fixed on Connor and me. Then he dipped his head, as if acknowledging us, before turning and heading back into the forest.
Connor’s gloved fingers tightened around mine. He was silent for a few seconds, watching the spot in the trees where the buck had disappeared. At last he expelled a breath, which wisped up into the frigid air, then said,“Well, it appears as if the lord of the forest has given us his blessing.”
“I - I guess so.”
He bent and kissed me, his mouth warm even though the air was bitterly cold. “I don’t think there’s any way to top that. Besides, your lips are starting to look a little blue. I’d better get you back and get some breakfast inside you.”
Breakfast sounded wonderful. Christmas dinner had been a very long time ago. “Are you cooking for me?”
“Since I don’t want to poison you, no. I’ll take you someplace that makes the best omelettes you’ve ever had.”
“And they’re open on Christmas?” I asked. Somehow I found that hard to believe.
“Three hundred and sixty-five days a year,” he replied as he opened the car door for me, then helped me in.
My stomach growled, and in that moment I didn’t really care that I had snarled hair and no makeup on and was wearing the same clothes I’d worn the day before. “Sounds fabulous.”
* * *
Well, it wasn’t exactly fabulous, just a little diner off Highway 180 on the way back to town, but they were open, and the food was good — although I wasn’t quite ready to admit that their omelettes might be just as good as Aunt Rachel’s — and nobody seemed to give a damn what I looked like. The waitress gave Connor a hearty hello and took our orders promptly, and returned even more quickly with some much-needed coffee.
I waited until she was gone, then asked quietly, “Does she know?”
He seemed to guess right away what I was really asking. “No. This place isn’t a Wilcox hangout. My friend Darren brought a group of us here once when we were going out to do some cross-country skiing, and I’ve been coming back ever since. Sometimes it’s nice to be in a place where no one knows much about you.”
That made a lot of sense. Being the brother of the primus — especially when that primus was Damon Wilcox — couldn’t have been too easy. Anonymity had its attractions.
“Okay,” I said. “Then it looks like it’s back to the weather for a convenient topic of conversation.”
He shook his head, then replied in resigned tones, “If you must.”
I laughed. He’d been right — it did feel good to be away and out, someplace where no one knew who you were or what crazy circumstances had brought you there.
Too bad I knew that sensation of ease couldn’t possibly last.
7
Enemy Territory
After breakfast we went back to the apartment. By then it was nearly ten, but we still had plenty of time; apparently the potluck didn’t start until two. And I could tell exactly what Connor had in mind when he pulled off his sweater and T-shirt, then asked, “Ready for a shower?”
Without waiting for a reply, he undid the buttons on my cardigan and eased it off my shoulders, then drew my camisole over my head. Already heat was beginning to swirl through me in anticipation of him touching me once again. Goddess knows I wanted to touch him as well, draw my fingers over that smooth skin of his so I could feel the muscles beneath, then take him in my hands and feel his rock-hard arousal.
“Almost as ready as you,” I replied, and brushed my fingertips against the bulge in his boxer-briefs, then laughed as he gasped. He reached for me, but I slipped out of his grasp and ran up the stairs, with him only a pace or two behind.