A Week in the Snow (6 page)

“Can I help?

“Thank you, but no need. It’s almost done.”

Rebecca pulled a chipped mug from a hook underneath the cabinet and poured a cup of scalding hot coffee. She gingerly took the first sip. The coffee last night was simple and serviceable, but this was a surprise—it had a deep, rich flavour, complemented by just the right touch of hazelnut.

“This is delicious,” she said, braving another sip. The coffee lit warm embers in her belly.

She sat down at the table and looked around the country kitchen. Everything from the night before seemed like a bit of a blur, and she hadn’t taken the time to appreciate the room until now.

The stove was working hard, all four burners going with something good in the pans. Copper pots hung from a decorative rack above the stove. In the pitcher on the counter there were a dozen wooden spoons, stained and well-used. The counters were spotlessly clean, and the table was big enough for a family, though it appeared Richard lived here in the big house alone. She hadn’t seen a single picture of kids or a wife, and he wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

“It’s just you in this big house?” she asked.

“Yep. Just me.”

“Thank you for letting me stay here last night.”

Richard smiled as he flipped a slice of bacon. “You really need to stop thanking me.”

“I will eventually.”

He laughed, the sound hearty and strong.

“Is it really as bad as it looks?”

She was gazing out of the window at a world of white. Trees dotted the landscape. They looked like big, abstract snowmen.

“It’s worse,” he said. “The roads are still closed down, and probably won’t open today. Emergency vehicles only.”

Rebecca sighed, staring into her coffee cup. “I’m sorry to be a burden.”

Richard turned to look at her. She was sitting in that chair as if she wished it would swallow her up. There were dark circles under her eyes. She met his gaze as she took another sip of coffee.

“Why would you think you’re a burden?” he asked her.

“It must be hard to have someone invade your house like this,” she said. “I’m sure you weren’t expecting company, especially company that might stay a while.”

Richard put the last of the bacon on a platter, next to the sausage, and gave the gravy a stir. He opened the carton of eggs. “How many?”

Her stomach was still rumbling despite the coffee. “Three. Over easy, please.”

Richard cracked eggs into the pan. They sizzled for a moment before he moved them around a bit with the spatula. “I hadn’t expected company, no. But you’re safe and warm here in my house, instead of freezing to death in that car out there. I’m happy to have you here, Rebecca.”

She smiled, feeling the first flood of emotional warmth since her fight with Gene last night.

Richard pushed bread into a toaster and gave her a sheepish grin. “I’m pretty good in the kitchen, but homemade biscuits are where my expertise ends.”

“It’s fine,” she assured him. “It’s all fine.”

Minutes later they were sitting together at the kitchen table, eating breakfast and not talking much. Rebecca was too busy appeasing her hunger, and Richard was too busy watching her do it. She seemed rather quiet and shy, something he wasn’t accustomed to seeing. Everybody in Crispin knew who he was and nobody was ever shy about talking to him, especially when they had something to say about the paper.

“What do you do for a living?” he asked her.

“I’m a photographer.”

That piqued his interest even more. “How long have you been doing it?”

“Ten years now. Since high school.”

So she was in her late twenties. Richard nodded. “I know what it’s like to start young. I’ve been the editor of the newspaper here since the day I graduated college.”

Her smile lit up her whole face. “Somehow I knew you were the creative type. There’s a certain vibe to us artsy ones, isn’t there?”

“Absolutely.”

Happy to find a kindred spirit, Rebecca started to talk, telling him all about the pictures she had taken on her way up to Iowa. When she told him about the gorgeous mellow light of southern Illinois, and the juxtaposition of an old, weathered silo beside a tall and modern windmill, she came alive with passion for what she did. She told him about taking pictures of kids who didn’t want to have their pictures taken, or about taking pictures of CEOs for their company brochures, and explained how those were the things that paid the bills—the real thrill was in the creative work, and she was becoming better at it every day, and making a name for herself.

He told her about the paper, about finding a niche that allowed him to compete with the huge papers in Des Moines, and how he loved to write about the most unexpected things. Sometimes he came across a difficult or even heartbreaking story, but he tried to write it in such a way that the townspeople were inspired to help, as they so often did. He talked about going to college and planning on being in the big leagues, but after a few years spent at the
Chicago Tribune
, he’d decided the smaller towns and simpler life were what suited him best.
Over eggs and bacon and toast they got to know each other, and by the time the plates were clean they were talking about everything under the sun. Their common ground had broken the ice.

Then Richard asked her if she had made that call last night, and if her boyfriend was worried. A dark shadow descended in her eyes.

“He’s not my boyfriend anymore.”

Richard raised an eyebrow in surprise. “That was fast.”

“It was long overdue.”

“I’m sorry, regardless.”

Rebecca’s smile was sad. “It was my choice.”

An awkward silence took over. Richard started to clear the table of their plates. He had no idea what it was like to make the choice to end a relationship, because he hadn’t been the one to end his. Amanda had taken off for parts unknown and left him with very little choice in the matter.

“Does that make it easier?” he asked. “That it was your choice?”

Rebecca sighed. “No.”

Richard set the plates in the sink and ran hot water over them. He opened the dishwasher. Rebecca watched him as he moved. His motions were deliberate, but not slow. He seemed the kind of man who wanted to make sure a job was done right the first time. His body was long and just slightly overweight, but not enough to detract from how handsome he was. His brown hair was cut close to his head, his face neatly shaven. He looked like an accountant, or a banker, or exactly what he was—the editor of a newspaper.

When he looked at her the way he had over those plates, studying her and completely absorbed by what she was telling him, his eyes lit up and made him look much sexier than he first appeared.

She contemplated this as he refilled her coffee mug and started the dishwasher. When there was nothing left in the kitchen to do, he rested against the counter and looked at her. They studied each other openly, without any words, while the sunlight streamed in from the wide windows.

“I might try to go into town today,” he said, almost to himself. “I’m sure there are things you need, either from your car or from the store.”

“Yes, but there’s no hurry.”

“Want to see the rest of the house?” he asked, suddenly remembering he hadn’t shown her where things were.

Rebecca rose from the kitchen table. When she walked past him into the hallway, he caught a whiff of her hair, clean and smelling of his own shampoo. For no reason whatsoever his heart began to pound and certain other parts of him began to respond in kind. He tried to think of anything else, but the images of his fantasy from the night before came back with a vengeance.

As she looked over the dining room he wondered, for the briefest of moments, what it would be like to bend her over the table.

Rebecca didn’t think anything out of the ordinary until they went up the stairs, where they looked at his office—quite messy compared with the rest of the house—another large bathroom, and the bedroom where Richard slept.

He hadn’t intended to show her the room, but she opened the door as he motioned towards it, and what was he supposed to do? Shout out for her to stop? She stood in the doorway and looked at his most private space. The bed was unmade and the pillow still held the indentation of his head. On the bedside table were a small lamp and a few books, and beside the bed was a bookcase, every available inch crammed with the printed word. The door to the closet was open and, though clothes were hung neatly on the bar inside, the floor of the closet was covered with clothing, obviously waiting for a washing machine.

Rebecca grinned when she saw that, and she turned to make a funny comment to Richard about it. But before she could say anything, she suddenly realised they were standing in his bedroom door, and he was looking down at the floor, shy and uncertain, almost like a schoolboy who had been caught doing something wrong.

God, she wanted him.

The thought came out of nowhere and made her forget what she was going to say. She immediately began to discount that moment of attraction. He had saved her life, so of course she should be attracted to him, right? Besides that, she had intended to spend the evening with Gene last night, getting laid in every position imaginable and some that were not, and her body had been amped up with anticipation for weeks. Richard was the man who happened to be there, and her body was still craving a touch…so it made sense, right?

She had almost talked herself out of it. She had almost regained her composure. Then she chanced a look at Richard again.

He was staring at her with raw, untempered lust.

Rebecca actually took a step back from that gaze, startled by it, but more shocked by her own reaction—her body tingled in the most inappropriate places.

Richard immediately looked away. They stood together at the threshold of his bedroom, neither of them sure what to say. The longer the silence stretched, the guiltier Richard felt. He took a step back from her, then another, using distance as a barrier.

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. “I haven’t had a woman in this room in years.”

Rebecca stared at him for a moment longer, her thoughts running rampant. He wasn’t denying what she had seen, and strangely enough that thrilled her. Most men would have hemmed and hawed and tried to cover up what they had just done, but Richard didn’t make an attempt. Instead of being offended by the way he had looked at her, she found herself impressed by what his response told her.

Richard was an honest man.

And, after all, hadn’t she been thinking the same things?

“Thank you,” she said.

The words from her made Richard look up. He gave her a grin. “I told you to stop doing that.”

“Thank you for being honest with me.”

Richard shook his head, amazed that he wasn’t on the receiving end of a lecture. He deserved a good slap for the lecherous way he had eyed her. “You did catch me in the act, Rebecca. I wouldn’t insult you by telling you otherwise.”

“Thank you,” she said softly, “for looking at me that way.”

Now the silence came from Richard’s side of the conversation, and the blush came from Rebecca. He studied her for a while, not sure what to say, so he did the only thing that felt right. He said the things that sprang to mind, all of them the truth. “It really has been a long time. Years. To see a beautiful woman in my bedroom after all that time, well…that makes me remember what I’ve been missing.”

Rebecca blushed harder when he said she was beautiful. “I’ve been missing it, too.”

“But you said you had a boyfriend?”

Ah, here was the tricky part, the thing she didn’t know how to explain.

“I had a boyfriend for a while,” she said. “But we never actually slept together.”

Richard blinked at her for a moment, taking that in. “How is that possible?”

Rebecca shrugged. “We met over the Internet.”

It all became clear to Richard then. He had never had a true relationship blossom over an Internet line, but there were people he talked to on the phone quite often for business, people he had never seen before, and he knew little details of their lives—the names of their kids, for instance. Over time, he came to care about them, and never failed to ask how their lives were going outside of work. He knew how easily a cordial discussion could turn personal, and how natural it was to come to care for someone, even if he had never met them in the flesh.

“I understand.”

Rebecca didn’t say anything else. She stood there, staring at Richard, thinking things she knew she probably shouldn’t be thinking. She waited until he met her eyes, then she gave him a small smile.

“I know it might be too forward…” she started, but found she couldn’t go on. My God, what was wrong with her?

She let the words hang there between them and watched as his mind caught up to what the rest of the sentence would have been. She watched as he considered how to answer.

The meaning behind her words plunged Richard into a sea of confusion. He was still married, wasn’t he? Just because his wife had been gone for three years didn’t mean he wasn’t still bound to her, by the laws of both God and man. But it had been such a long time, and often he wondered if his wife had slept with someone else in the time she had been gone. In fact, more and more he wondered if her version of “finding herself” had more to do with spending time with someone else. That would never excuse him from doing the same thing…or would it?

Especially if nobody would ever know.

Rebecca was offering him a few stolen moments of passion—if he was reading her right, that was—and what was wrong with accepting something that would make him feel more alive than he had in a very long time?

“It might not be too forward,” Richard finally said.

Rebecca wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. What in the world was she thinking? She suddenly buried her face in her hands and let out a nervous, high laugh. “I have no idea where that came from,” she said.

“Please don’t apologise.”

“It just popped out.”

“Rebecca.”

She dropped her hands and looked at him. He reached out and touched her for the first time since he had pulled her from her car. His hand caressed the side of her face.