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“I won’t let you go.”

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“Oh, really?” she laughed shortly. “And how did you think you were going to stop me?”

“Simple.” With a grand flourish, he tossed her tennis shoes, one at a time, into the nearby flames.

Her mouth fell open as she watched, horrified. “You didn’t!

Oh, no, you didn’t!” She rushed over to grab one of the pokers, trying to rake them out of the flames. “Are you out of your mind?!”

“I must be.” He rose and, calmly climbing back into his jeans, removed the iron implement from her hand, returning it to its place.

“I’ll go.”

“What?”

A huge blast of wind rattled the frosted windows of the old house. “I said I’ll go.”

*

*

*

She watched him prepare to leave with mixed emotions as she huddled into the curve of the couch. “Layered clothing.”

Russ paused, giving a strangling twist to the laces of his boots.

“What?”

They were good, practical boots, she noted, with rubber soles and enough tread to rival that of a tire. Good. She wanted him to
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have every advantage. “They say layered clothing is the key to keeping warm in the cold.”

He climbed into a thick, cable-knit sweater and tucked his jeans inside the boots. “I’ve been dressing myself for a coupla years now, Iris. I think I can manage.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted him to manage. She didn’t want him to dress. She wanted him as he’d been, his skin hot and bare to her touch. She wanted to taste him, to feel him slowly filling her. But most of all, she wanted him safe, right here with her.

But she needed to know the truth.

She curled her bare feet beneath her, hating the feeling of helplessness. “Are you sure it’s best to take the car? Maybe you should walk. It might be safer.”

“I’d be a popsicle in less than a mile. And if I should fall and break something, you’d have nobody to seduce.” He bit his lip to suppress a smile. “And then hour by hour, minute by minute the thought of dying celibate would possess you, eat away at your good breeding, and you’d wind up sitting here playing with yourself while I became road-kill in the making, and that would really piss me off.”

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She sighed. “You are one sick pup, Russell Carr.” She wanted to laugh, to give him the encouragement he needed, but she couldn’t seem to manage it. She was having enough trouble holding back her tears.

Pulling on a thick, goose-down parka, he searched the shelf at the top of the closet for his leather gloves. “As soon as I get to town, I’ll hit the video store and pick up that ‘Attack of the Killer Tomatoes’

tape. I was considering ‘War of the Worlds’, but that’s hitting a little too close to home just now. Anything for you?”

“Chinese,” she said softly. He really didn’t want to go either.

He was doing this for her, practically risking his neck for her. “I’d like a little more Chinese take-out food. This time with better fortunes.”

“Done.”

She followed him to the door, dragging her feet as he pocketed his keys. It suddenly occurred to her that she might never see him again. A childish thought, a foolish one. But she couldn’t shake it off.

“This is all Charlene Weller’s fault, y’know.”

“Who?”

“Charlene Weller.”

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He hesitated with his hand on the knob, blinking back at her.

“Who the hell is Charlene Weller?”

“You brought her to my brother’s eighteenth birthday party.

You were twenty years old. She wore a 38D and lipstick and expensive perfume. She was the prettiest girl in town. I was fourteen and a half, with a big zit on my forehead and a broken toe from trying too hard to win a dance competition.”

“It rings a bell,” he replied cautiously. “But how do you figure that poor Charlene’s responsible for all of this?”

She raised her shoulders, as if warding off a chill. “Because that’s when I knew. That’s when I realized that you wouldn’t wait for me.”

Russ stood absolutely still, his keys slicing into his hands and saying nothing.

“Not that I expected you to,” she added hastily. “But I wanted you to.” Iris fastened her eyes on the floor, avoiding his. What was she doing? This wasn’t the time for pointless confessions. He didn’t need this now. It could be done later, when he came back to her. And he must come back to her. “You wouldn’t understand. It was all a silly, little-girl kinda thing.”

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“So I’ve never been a little girl. So tell me anyway.”

She hesitated, sorry she’d brought it up. As if her attempt to seduce him hadn’t been embarrassing enough! “I…I just had a lot of silly ideas about you. I mean, you were this strong, silent masculine archetype to me. Thomas was so into his girls and sports, and with Daddy gone—well, it was like you were the last man on earth to me.

The only real man left. I guess I needed to have somebody to believe in, y’know?”

Russell remained silent and still.

Iris took a deep breath, and the words, at last, broke free. “You were older, and I could never seem to catch up to you, and you just thought I was this pest of a lanky kid, and you always had all these silly women chasing you and I never wanted to be like that. I wanted to be better than that, more important to you.” Her voice tightened, hoarsened as he stared at her. “Except for that one night. That night I wanted to be Charlene Weller.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, and he reached out to touch her, to run a light finger across the cheek that, minutes ago, had been wet with tears.

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“And little girls have silly thoughts, ideas that are hard to dismiss even after you’re all grown-up and sensible,” she continued shakily. “I always blamed Charlene, because I could never be like that. And if it weren’t for her and all the others like her, you might’ve waited for me. And then I wouldn’t have needed Milton or Gary, or anybody else, because you’d secretly wanted me all along.” She sniffed, trying to smile. “Silly stuff, I know.”

“A crush,” he murmured, his sharp eyes holding hers. “It was just a schoolgirl crush. But maybe…maybe if I had known…”

Her fingernails sank painfully into her palms. “Maybe what?”

He tilted his head, staring at her mouth, and for a moment she thought he might kiss her. And then she found herself praying that he would. It might be their last chance. “Maybe I would have tried to wait.” He grazed her bottom lip with his thumb. “For you, Iris—maybe I would’ve waited until hell froze over.” He brusquely removed his hand and shoved it into his glove, gesturing toward the icy world outside. “And see? I did!”

She loosely wrapped her arms around his neck, hiding her tears behind her eyelids, afraid that if she held him too tightly she could not let him go.

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Russ gave her a gentle, friendly pat on her back, then quickly turned away, shoving the bolt back on the door. It immediately flew open, propelled by the gale, and he zipped his coat, prepared to do battle.

“I want you to stay down here, right here, by the fire,” he ordered, turning to her one last time. “Don’t let it go out, and don’t go wandering around the house. There are a few bad floorboards here and there. The radio in the kitchen’s set to ‘on’, so if the power comes back, grab a listen. Don’t leave, and don’t sit around worrying.

I don’t wanna worry about you worrying. And above all, you keep this door locked. If it’s not bolted, it has a tendency to gradually swing open. I’ve got my key, so don’t unlock it for anybody. If something has happened out here, there might be people…” He paused, and she understood that he was trying not to frighten her. “There might be people looking for a handout.”

She nodded, trying to find words, sure that her heart had given up the ghost. But she would not cry, refused to cry, even though her parting view of him was blurred by a veil of tears.

She couldn’t even feel the cold whipped in by the ferocious wind. She felt completely numb. “You hurry back, Russell Carr.

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Don’t you leave me here all alone. I need you. For the work, of course,” she added too hastily. “We have a business to run. We wouldn’t want to disappoint our customers.”

He seemed to be about to speak, but turned abruptly away, waving, and took his first cautious steps toward the car.

“Russ!!”

He stopped again and nearly fell, shielding his eyes from the pellets of ice as he struggled with the storm.

What to say? What could she say? She wanted to tell him that she loved him, that she had always loved him, that she really didn’t want him to go and that she would die if he didn’t come back to her…

“Never mind.”

“What?”

The wind was drowning out her voice. The voice of the little girl who couldn’t catch up. And maybe that was just as well. “Never mind about the Chinese food. Just drive safely!”

She saw his grin beneath the gap of the parka’s hood as he waved once again. “Then maybe I’ll have time to look up Charlene,”

he shouted back. “I hear she’s still in town…”

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She laughed, unable to stop herself, and slammed the door behind him. Running to the nearest window, she held her breath until she saw him climb into the car, let the engine warm, and take off at a snail’s pace down the drive.

And then she cried for all she was worth, burying her face in the hem of the shirt that still smelled of him as the storm relentlessly battered the building, the only sound now in the still, small silence.

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A wayward shutter, loosened by the powerful winds, banged relentlessly against the upper floor of the house as Iris stared into the flames, unconsciously counting every blow.

She wondered what time it was. Without the electricity, there seemed to be no way to tell. The dull gray skies of morning had become the leaden skies of afternoon, blending perfectly together in a depressing watercolor wash. She had failed to bring her watch, and God only knew where Russell had left his. He made his own time.

The exact hour of day was irrelevant, of course; but the number of passing minutes made all the difference in the world. She could not tell how long he’d been gone, couldn’t even speculate on how long it might take him to return.

It already seemed like hours.

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Despite the large size of the house, she was already beginning to feel like a prisoner. A prisoner not only confined to one room, but tormented by the blustery, repetitive sounds of rampaging nature.

And tortured by the thought that Russell was out there alone and vulnerable to the storm, and she could do nothing to help.

The sleet dinged like popcorn against the roof, and she gazed sadly at the buttered bowls and champagne flutes from the night before. What would it have been like, she wondered wistfully, to make love with him…

“No!” she shouted, startled at the sound of her own voice. “No, not making love. Sex. Just plain, simple, raw, down and dirty sex.

‘Fucking buddies’. That’s all we’d be, just until this nightmare is over, and…”

A sizzling flash of lightning, immediately followed by a deafening explosion of thunder made her hold onto the sofa for dear life. “That’s it,” she whispered. “The earth is going to open up and swallow me any minute, just for telling that lie.”

As if agreeing, the earth seemed to tremble and heave, and another ear-razing sound brought her quickly to her feet and racing toward the window.

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Almost afraid to look, Iris yanked the curtains back. Something had happened, something that made the house shudder on its foundations, as if in fear.

She was not superstitious. She did not believe in omens. But the sight of the huge old maple, toppled by the tempest, its clawing, brittle branches laying claim to half of the garage roof, took her breath away.

It had landed exactly where Russ had been parked, where she had last seen him get into his car.

She clutched at the curtain in fear. It meant nothing. He was fine. He was a strong, capable man. And he would return to her in a short time, laughing about how silly they’d been and teasing her about her eagerness to abandon her celibacy, and about giant tomatoes chasing people down the streets of the city.

She was perilously close to crying again, and she would not have it. She was of no use to him right now, but, at least, she could make herself somewhat useful here.

Iris stoked the fire, adding fresh logs and removing the remnants of her shoes so that it burned with a cheerful intensity. She cleared all of the dirty dishes, tempted to wash them, but decided it
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would be best to save the water. She lugged the sofa closer to the heat, and whimsically arranged the pillows so that they would be perfectly positioned for the two of them to lie there together.

Because no matter what news Russell brought back with him, she fully intended to end her celibacy—with him.

Grabbing the remaining full bottle of champagne, she parked it in what was now the slush of his ice cube bin and removed a rubbery package of thawing steaks. Placing it near the heat of the flames, she paused, wishing she had something delicious to wear for him. For all he meant to her, and all he’d tried to do to set her mind at ease.

The groaning sound of the felled tree, still buffeted and stirring on its side, brought her quickly back to reality. What if it should continue to move, if it should roll right against the house? What if she needed to clear quickly out? He’d burned her damned shoes! She couldn’t run, couldn’t find shelter…