Nobody's Dream (7 page)

“The blower broke a month ago, but the flames still put out more than enough heat.” He turned to find Cassie setting two mugs on the coffee table.

“Not if you’re more than a foot away. Do you have any auxiliary heat source?”

“Of course. I would be foolish to rely on only one up here.”

Okay, he’d pissed her off—again. Touchy woman, but he’d cut her some slack after what he’d done to her in the bedroom earlier.

“I have two back-up sources—propane and the fireplace in the main house and a wood/coal-burning stove in my studio.”

“Why don’t we turn on the propane to take the chill off?”

She cast her gaze to the floor. “I only have enough left this season for cooking.”

If that was one of her backup fuels, how could she let it nearly run out?

As if she heard the accusation in his thoughts, she put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “I
like
it cold. This is
my
house, and I was not expecting to have company.
You
are the one complaining about the lack of heat, not me.”

True enough. He ran his hand through his hair. “Listen, I’d like to see if I can fix this blower. I’ll probably need to pull the insert out. Can’t do that until the fire dies down. Mind if we just bank it tonight and clear out the hot coals in the morning so I can have a look?”

She stared at the hearth and then back at him. It wasn’t like he’d just asked if she wanted to go back to bed to have some rough, raw sex. He was talking survival here. His, anyway.

“You are not here to repair things. You need to stay in bed where you belong.”

“Darlin’, I grew up in West Texas. One, real men earn their keep. Two, I don’t intend to freeze my ass off if I don’t have to.”

She raised her chin and looked cute as hell when she was all riled up. “As long as you are my guest, you will not be working.”

Luke sighed. He’d never spoken to a woman like that. “Sorry. Listen, my head’s splitting, and I’m cold.”

“Then why not put some clothes on?” She glanced at his crotch, and he could have sworn she blushed before averting her gaze with haste. “I washed and dried your jeans and shirt. They are folded on the chair next to the bed.” She bit the inside of her lower lip, and his cock jolted to life. He’d better move before he embarrassed himself—or her. “While you dress, I will find you something for that headache.” She walked toward the bathroom.

After dressing in the bedroom, he returned to the living room to find her staring into the flames.

She turned toward him. “Lucas, if you want to repair the blower fan in a few days, fine, but until then all you are going to do is rest and eat. Nothing more. Do you understand?”

Maybe she wouldn’t be sharing her warmth with him in the bed any longer, but damned if he would keep her out of her own bed. “I’m not taking your bed and blankets away anymore.”

“I am fine sleeping in here. When you are feeling better and I do not need to be as close, I can sleep in my studio. If you stay in the bedroom, you should stay plenty warm. I have turned on the space heater again.”

He’d prefer to curl up with Cassie again, despite her mood at the moment, but knew that wouldn’t be happening anytime soon.

“Fine.”
For the time being.
He walked over to the coffee table and picked up one of the mugs she’d set down. Coffee smelled as strong as before. He took a sip and thought he’d died and gone to heaven. “You make damned good coffee. And something smells awfully good in the kitchen.”

“Black bean soup. Sit down.” She pointed to a glass of water on the table and two white capsules beside it “Take those Tylenol for your headache. Excuse me while I prepare you a bowl of soup.”

“Grab yourself one, too. We can eat together.”

She turned away and started for the kitchen. “No, thank you. I am not hungry.”

Like hell
. Luke followed her into the kitchen. No way was she going to skip dinner on his watch. She barely weighed anything as far as he could tell under that baggy poncho she wore constantly. A strong wind coming down off the mountain would have blown her away.

He smiled as he remembered the feel of her naked body against his, though. Soft in all the right places.

Small and functional, her kitchen was as spartan as the rest of the cabin. A rustic wooden table for four stood butted against the wall in the corner, with only two chairs. Books were piled on one end. She probably read while she ate. Living alone, he did that, too. The small gas stove had two burners, and the large stockpot occupied half the range’s top.

“Smells good.”

She turned toward him and sparks blazed from her eyes. “I thought I told you to wait in the living room.”

He’d invaded her territory. “Never been much good at following orders.” He grinned, finding perverse pleasure in teasing her. At least being pissed at him was a response. More emotion than he’d receive otherwise. He glanced in the direction of her covered arm. Well, except when he’d hurt her a short while ago. He hated that.

She sighed and resumed stirring the pot. “It is a simple soup. Marc said to go easy at first.”

“You talked with Marc again?”

“No. He told me what to do the night of your accident, though.”

He grinned at the thought of the expression on her face when Marc delivered the news about how to do to avoid any worsening of his hypothermia.

“Oh, Angelina called while you were asleep. Matteo is staying at your ranch. I wrote down his number for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll give him a call in a little bit.”

Cassie crossed the tiny space to the cutting board on the table where a loaf of home-baked bread awaited. “I hope you like brown bread.
Mi
mamá’s
recipe.”

“Looks wonderful. Thanks for going to all that trouble.”

She shook her head. “No trouble. I make it several times a week.” She cut several thick slices before placing a dish of softened butter in the center of the table. “Please, sit. You should not be on your feet.”

Bossy little thing.

From the cupboard, she pulled out a hand-thrown earthenware bowl with a deep green and rust-colored pattern and ladled out his bowl of soup. When she turned to place the bowl on the table, she saw he hadn’t sat down yet and scowled at him.

“You take that bowl,” he said, motioning to the other chair. He might be weak as a kitten, but he wouldn’t forget his manners. “I’ll grab my own.” Call him stubborn, but he’d been taking care of himself for a long time and wasn’t about to start letting her or anyone else wait on him.

“It is my duty to take care of you.”

Whether she wanted to or not
. The unspoken words hung in the air between them.

“I’m fine. You’ve worked hard enough preparing this meal. I think I can manage to fill my own bowl.” Without waiting for her response, he pulled out a chair for her. She hesitated and finally took her seat. He helped scoot the chair in for her, filled a bowl with the savory soup, and took his own seat on the exposed side of the table to her left.

Head bowed, she reminded him to offer a silent blessing over his meal before he picked up the bread tray and offered her the first slice. She left the heel, which was his favorite, so he took it and slathered it with the creamy butter.

“Is this butter homemade?”

She nodded, placed a spoonful of soup in her mouth, and swallowed before speaking. “Not by me, though. I purchase it from a local farmer.”

After taking a healthy bite, he decided he’d have to find out who sold it. Glancing down at his soup again, he noticed some little balls floating in it that reminded him of pictures he’d seen of caviar. He took a spoonful, minding his manners and trying not to slurp. The balls tasted more nutty than fishy. “Soup’s excellent. What’s in it?”

“Just a hodgepodge of things I had on hand.”

She wasn’t going to enlighten him, so he might as well ask. “What are these little balls?”

“Amaranth. I used amaranth flour in the bread, too. I am sorry if you do not like it, but it is a Peruvian staple.”

“No, it tastes great! Don’t ever apologize for your cooking, darlin’. I didn’t experiment with a lot of exotic foods growing up. Mostly meat and potatoes at my house because my dad wouldn’t try anything else. Angel exposed me to some new things when she was staying out at my place last month, but I’m a functional cook at best. Anything you make, I’m sure I’ll love.”

“Potatoes are a staple in my native country, but we have so many more cultivated varieties than you have here. The Quechua,
Mamá’s
people, have a potato to cure every illness, I believe.” Cassie smiled then averted her gaze. “Sorry.”

“About what? I love hearing about other cultures and places.”

She didn’t continue to share, though. They ate in silence for a few moments. He didn’t feel a need to fill the silence between them as he might have with someone else. Still, after a few minutes, he spoke anyway.

“My wife wasn’t into cooking any more than I was, so we ate out when we could afford it or kept it simple and quick when we ate at home.” She nodded, remaining focused on her soup. She was a quiet one. Normally, so was he, but he felt like talking today. “Growing up, I usually ate whatever I could rustle up from a can or a box. My parents worked long hours on the pipeline projects. I had to fend for myself a lot as a teen, too, even though we’d settled down in El Paso by the time I hit high-school age. Guess I became used to taking the easy route with cooking.” He stopped, wondering what had made him share all that useless information. Maybe the silence between them grated on his nerves after all.

“That is unfortunate.
Mamá
was very traditional and stayed home to care for me and my brother.”

Luke took another bite and swallowed. “I envy you having a sibling.” His childhood had been a lonely one. They’d lived in half a dozen places from when he was born in Wyoming to when Momma declared they were settling down in El Paso—mainly so Luke could attend high school in one place. Lots of friends came and went, but nothing more than surface level until he met Maggie. Later, Marc had become the closest friend Luke had since Maggie.

“My wife was one of five kids. Very different dynamic.”

“I imagine so. Are they in Texas?”

Luke shrugged. “I suppose they still are. They don’t have a lot to do with me.” Her family blamed him for what had happened eight years ago—maybe not unjustly. Hell, they blamed him for taking her away from them, even though they were a dysfunctional mess from what she told him and other things he figured out on his own about how they’d treated her.

Recently, though, he’d come to realize Maggie was the one who had put the two of them in the dangerous predicament that killed her. She had been on yet another quest to find the next rare plant, hoping that doing a scientific paper on its properties might give her a leg up before the tenure board. Honestly, she probably sought the approval of the department chair. She never really lost her insecurities and the desire to please men of authority.

But neither of them knew anything about the mountains when they went to Colorado that spring, assuming winter was over due to the warm temperatures.

The rescue workers forced him away from the ledge
.

Don’t think about that. Nothing he could do to change things now.

Luke’s head continued to throb as he finished the bowl of soup, and he leaned forward to place his forehead in his left hand as his stomach started to churn. He might be revisiting the john soon. Damned if he’d make her think he didn’t love her cooking, though, so he’d try to fight off the nausea.

Nope. Not working.

Luke stood too abruptly, and the room spun. He grabbed at the air to steady himself and found Cassie’s arm around his waist, holding him upright.

“Are you all right?”

“Sure.”
Well, no, not exactly.

“We need to put you back in bed. You are still very weak from that blow to the head.”

“I had a few concussions during my college football days.” Even when he was a decade younger, Luke never wasted the day away sleeping.

“Perhaps that is causing this one to hit you harder. It has only been a couple of days.”

While he didn’t want to start letting his body rule him, he had no fight left. “You might be right.” Now his only thought was reaching the bed, not the bathroom.

“Let me help you.”

Dammit, he would make it to the bed under his own steam
. “I’m fine.”
I’d be better if the floor would stop moving.

“Do not argue with me, Lucas. I do not want you to fall and suffer another injury under my care.” Next thing he knew Cassie placed a hand on his chest and an arm around his back to steady him before steering him into the living room.

Unable to resist even if he’d wanted to, Luke let her guide him one step at a time until he was back in her small, dark bedroom being tucked into bed like a sick kid. He didn’t like being seen by her in that light—no way, no how.

But his stomach stopped churning now that he was flat on his back. Exhaustion made him too damned tired to argue. His body sagged into the tiny bed, and he closed his eyes. He’d rest a few minutes and be good as new.

Seconds later, he heard the click of the door and let the world fade away.

Chapter Two