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Melinda was grateful for his arm as they made their way through the snow to the mercifully warm cabin.
~
Melinda appeared only a little dazed as she shucked off her boots and padded over to the fire to warm her hands.
Grant secured the slider beneath the roar of blood pumping through his ears. He sat hard in the alcove’s straight-backed wooden chair and shoved numb fingers through his snow-frosted hair.
What the hell was that?
Grant had been dreaming of Melinda’s lips for nearly forty-eight hours. Surely no one could convict him of kidnapping or assault if they saw her mouth.
He snorted. He was pretty sure that was what all kidnappers said. Time to beef up his legal defense.
But her lips had been so soft.
No, idiot. Knock it off.
Snow crystals had iced her lashes and she had looked like an ice princess. Frozen and fierce. Had there been a visible spark as their lips touched?
Idiot!
He couldn’t think. He needed to think.
He should melt more snow.
He should chop more wood.
He should bury his head in the snow and cool the hell off. Or walk through that field of snow again. Maybe the snow had reached waist-deep and one of his more pressing problems would solve itself. Grant vaguely recalled promising something warm to drink. How was he going to talk his way out of that?
Appear confident. Easier said than done.
“We need water for dinner.” Grant stood abruptly and clomped toward the kitchen. He saw Melinda’s startled look, but he was too busy stiff-legging past her to care. He grabbed the first empty vessels he found in the kitchen, tucked his tail, and stalked out the front door.
His relieved breath was short-lived as he stared at the items in his hands. Two coffee mugs and a sauté pan. Idiot.
Grant scooped a useless amount of snow into the mugs and pan and wondered how he was going to avoid her until the cops arrived to arrest him. Why wasn’t there a side entrance to Paul’s infernal cabin? Maybe he could walk to town. Great idea, Lewis and Clark. Maybe he could leave the mugs inside the front door before he grabbed the maul and snuck out again. Coward, his mind jeered. Survivalist, he growled back.
In the end he got lucky. He tiptoed into the house, listened for movement, and found that Melinda was miraculously in the bathroom. Like a stumbling paramour, Grant deposited his offering, snagged the maul from the closet, and fled.
He nearly sprinted to the end of the walkway and found a lamentably small stack of pine rounds. There weren’t nearly enough to quench the fire coursing through him. Maybe I could dismantle the cord and restack it again. He eyed the wall of stacked wood. Better yet, he could dismantle and reassemble the house.
Half an hour later he’d split the whole pile and got to work adding it to the cord. Now what? Splitting wood brought minor relief, just not enough to survive another night in close proximity to Melinda.
Grant pulled the tarp over the freshly split wood and eyed the other end where the dried wood lay. Probably, they could use more kindling.
Probably, you could grow some balls, his mind taunted. Grant gritted his teeth and headed down the walkway to the cabin. It wasn’t tiptoeing, he assured himself. It was being cautious. He pushed through the front door, traded the maul for the hatchet from the closet, and shut the front door with care.
He would never tease Paul about his tool obsession again. He grabbed a few lengths of wood and turned to the splitting round. He crouched down. Time to get his mind straight.
Sure.
Maybe I pick women who’ll leave me so I don’t have to face the fact that they’re not right, he’d said.
Where had that come from? He didn’t know. Well, he might.
Grant slid the hatchet into a split in the quarter round and pounded the blade through.
He hadn’t answered when she’d asked how it felt to admit that. Grant stared at the hatchet, fingers frozen in the act of finding the best vein. How did it feel? It felt scary as hell. It felt ludicrous. It felt contrary to what he’d been telling his friends, his father, his brother, even himself for the past ten years: that he couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t met someone already.
