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And so was she.
Melinda closed her eyes as Grant brushed a snowflake from her cheek. When she opened them he was still there, still staring at her like she was lunch. Her stomach flipped.
“So which way...” Her voice faltered and she cleared her throat. “Which way do we go?”
For as thick as it was, the air took a millisecond to clear.
He grinned at her. “Let me stash this wood and grab my coat.” He hoisted the wood into his arms and carefully placed it atop the existing row of stacked wood, then replaced the tarp. To Melinda’s surprise he walked to the other end of the long row of split wood, uncovered it, and gathered a bundle of wood in his arms. He tucked the axe under his arm and clomped down the walkway and into the cabin. He made three more trips until at last he shrugged into his coat and joined her at the end of the walkway.
She scrambled for acceptable small talk. “Why the do-si-do with the wood?”
Grant smiled. “That pile is freshly cut. If we burned that, it would take longer to catch because it’s still green. Even though that wood, that wall of about four by eight feet right there, has been partially exposed to the snow, it’s still going to burn better. It’s been split. It’s had wind drying it out. And also, I know this isn’t a vacation or anything, but splitting wood is a good way to keep warm, and it makes me feel good to replace what we use up here.”
He chuckled. “Don’t know if that made sense at all.”
“I get it,” she said. “I didn’t see the axe in the house.”
“Gorg—Melinda, that was a maul”—he grinned wider—“and it was in the closet below the guns, next to the thirty yards of rope and military rations.” He laughed out loud. “Paul has to have every tool. But hey, turns out he’s right. Pretty much everything’s been useful so far.”
Melinda’s head spun. Had he said her name aloud before? Maybe just once, the night before. Something about his bass gliding over the syllables awakened her senses like so much frigid air.
“What’s down there, beyond the cabin?”
“Paul’s property curves back a ways. In the summer it’s a really nice meadow with conifers and aspens all around it. We can walk through the clearing a bit. We just need to come back before too long so the snow doesn’t start on us. And we won’t walk under the trees.”
She shot him a confused look. “Aren’t we going for a walk in the woods?”
“Near them but not under them,” Grant said. “At this point in the snowfall we need to stay out from under the branches. They get so laden with snow that they’ll dump their load on us, which I don’t recommend. Or they can completely break off and kill you.”
Melinda’s eyes widened.
“It’s not a nice way to go. Have you been hearing the branches snap?”
She shook her head. Actually, she’d been day drinking and flinging her undergarments around a stranger’s house. She hadn’t paid much attention to the warning sounds of nature.
“The weaker branches are feeling it today. Some are giving way. We’ll have to be careful.”
She stared at the hand he offered her. She looked at the fifteen-foot slope in front of them. Odds were she’d eat snow if she didn’t hold on to something.
Snap out of it, you patsy.
“That’s okay.” Her chin lifted. “I’m fine.” And for the first three feet, she was. Then her heel hit ice and she skidded down the hill, legs splayed, until a rock halted her slide and she stopped, entire body hinged on the pebble beneath her right foot. Arms outstretched, legs trembling, Melinda held her breath for fear any movement would catapult her again into a one-woman landslide.
“Still okay?” Grant’s voice floated down from the top of the slope, tone almost neutral. Melinda’s cheeks could have melted glaciers.
Melinda said nothing but extended a wobbly hand toward him. After sidestepping halfway down the hill with a minimum of awkwardness, Grant wrapped a gloved hand around hers. Layers of wool and fleece couldn’t dull the thrill of being held by his strength. Don’t romanticize static electricity! It’s dry mountain weather.
Grant wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her above the snow. Melinda squeaked as he held her airborne, then lowered her again into the ocean of white.
“Okay?” he asked with a straight face and a small twinkle in his eye. He was laughing at her, but just a little. She could deal with a little.
“Okay,” she answered, resentful to find herself breathless.
Even as she regained her footing, he didn’t let go of her hand, and clumsily, clunkily, they found a rhythm and made their way down the hill. Knee-high snow slowed their descent as they inched their way down the embankment. With every step, Grant planted his feet to anchor her as she slid and pivoted past him, arms rigid, back outstretched.
Soon enough the absurdity of the situation overtook her embarrassment and by the time they reached the meadow, Melinda was degrees warmer and laughing. The hand Grant held tingled from their contact and she dropped his as soon as possible. She glared at her fingers. Traitors. She focused on her surroundings and found a snowy lagoon surrounded by a forest of greenery that resembled white-cloaked wizards more than Christmas trees.
“Wow,” she breathed, entranced, and immediately tripped and landed up to her armpits in snow.
