One Night in the Ice Storm (5 page)

Her
mother’s kitchen was always stocked with food. She went grocery shopping almost
every day, and she never bought anything cheap or on sale. She’d never used a
coupon in her life. So the deli meat, cheese, and condiments Rachel gathered
were all as gourmet as was possible to find in the rural county.

It
was only after Rachel had started living on her own that she realized how
expensive such items could be.

“It’s
still cold in the refrigerator,” she said, taking her haul to the big kitchen
table. She was mostly just making conversation. “Hopefully, the power will come
on before my mom loses all of this food.”

“We
could always just move it outside.” David’s voice was light and dry, and his
focus was on stirring the pot of soup.

Feeling
the need for extra fortification, she went over to the bar and poured herself a
glass from an opened bottle of red wine. “Do you want a beer?” she asked over
her shoulder.

“Whatever
you have there is fine.”

She
poured him wine too and then took the glasses and bottle over to the table.

She
made sandwiches quickly. Since the soup wasn’t quite hot yet, she killed time
by checking her smartphone for email and the forecast.

“They’re
saying it’s supposed to stop around midnight and then warm up tomorrow, so
hopefully it shouldn’t be bad for long.”

“Good.”

She
felt uncomfortable and strangely shy—and she hated feeling that way—so she kept
going through email and texting back a couple of friends as David brought the
soup over to the table in two big bowls.

“Anything
going on?” he asked, nodding toward her phone.

She
shook her head. “Just looking at work email.”

She
put the phone away as they ate. Her mother had taught her manners, and that
would just be rude. It was a safety net anyway, and she’d rather be strong
enough to get through this meal without artificial security.

“How
do you like your job?” he asked before taking a bite of his sandwich.

It
was a perfectly innocuous question. The kind of casual inquiry anyone might
make to be polite. She and David weren’t casual, though, and they weren’t
innocuous.

They
weren’t anything.

She
forced down the swell of defensive resentment and made herself answer. “It’s
fine.”

“Your
mom said you got another promotion this year.”

“I
did.” She took a slow sip of wine, mostly to pause and collect her thoughts.
There was no reason for it to be a problem, but it bothered her that her mother
had been talking to David about her job. “My philosophy is that if you show up
on time and do all your work without causing any problems, you’re probably
doing better than most other people and they’ll eventually promote you.”

“You
don’t think you’re good at what you do?”

“Oh,
sure. I think I do a decent job. But I’m not a marketing guru or anything.”

His
dark eyes, almost black in the glow of the firelight, were focused on her for
real, not looking just past her the way he’d been doing since they’d entered
the kitchen. “Do you enjoy it?”

“Sure.
It’s like any other job. Sometimes it’s good and sometimes it drives you
crazy.”

“You
used to want to run a flower shop in town.”

She
put down the spoon she’d just been raising to her mouth and stared at him. “Are
you serious?”

“Isn’t
that what you wanted to do? You said you wanted to be surrounded by flowers.”

“I
was twelve!”

“You
said something similar when you were older.” He shrugged. “I thought you were
serious.”

She
swallowed hard. She couldn’t believe David remembered such a random, foolish
detail, and it bothered her unduly. “Kids are serious about a lot of silly
things. This community could never support a flower shop.”

“A
lot of people die and get married and have anniversaries in this county and
want something better than grocery store flowers. With your marketing
background, I’m sure you could—”

“Would
you stop?” she interrupted, sounding sharper than she’d intended. “I’ve already
got a good job.”

“Do
you like living in Richmond?”

She
raised one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Sure. It just gets some getting used to.”

“You
still come here a lot to visit. Do you miss it?”

He
knew far too much about her life, and he was asking too many questions. It was
none of his business if she missed her home town—which she did—or if she would
be happier doing something different than she was.

“Why
am I the one getting the interrogation? What about you? Didn’t you want to make
furniture when you were younger?”

She
asked it in a tone that implied it was a very vague memory, but she knew very
well it had been his dream for years.

He
met her eyes evenly. “I do make furniture.”

“On
the side, maybe. But you can’t have a lot of extra time with all your
business.”

He
just shrugged, much as she had earlier.

“Do
you like what you do?”

“I’m
good at it, and people need a trustworthy contractor.”

“I
know that, but it’s not what I asked. Wouldn’t you rather just be doing
carpentry?”

He’d
finished his sandwich, but he still looked down at his empty plate. Finally, his
eyes lifted to hers again. “We all grow up.”

She
understood him. She understood him perfectly. She’d gone through the same
experience. In the real world, you couldn’t always do what made you most happy.
You made do. You adjusted. You let go.

She’d
held his gaze for too long, and she felt her cheeks warming as she glanced
down, flustered and confused.

She
finished her soup without talking.

When
they’d washed up, she picked up a flashlight and said, “I guess I’ll find
something to read. Or something.”

David
nodded. “I’m going to check outside and make sure everything’s okay with the
house.”

It
was pitch black outside and sounded awful, but she didn’t object. He was a
grown man. If he wanted to go outside in this weather and be idiotic, then he
was allowed to do so.

She
went to the bathroom and then decided she might as well get ready for bed. She
changed into a pair of fitted fleece pajamas—the warmest she had—and pulled the
sweatshirt on over them. She found a book, poured herself another glass of
wine, and got the ice pack for her ankle. She was stretched out on the big
couch in front of the fire when David came back in.

Ice
was falling off him in little clicks as he moved.

“How
is everything?”

“Looks
okay. You’ve lost a few branches but none of the trees. And the roof is holding
up well.”

“Good.”

Since
she’d brought the bottle and his empty glass into the living room, he poured
himself the last of the bottle.

She
was trying to occupy herself with her book, but she couldn’t help but look over
at him.

He
was as scrumptiously masculine as always, his five-o’clock shadow even darker
and his skin flushed slightly from the wind and cold. But he also looked uncomfortable
in his boots and jeans.

“You
can check Brad’s old room for something to change into for the night, if you want.
He’s still got tons of sweats and stuff up there. You might find something that
fits. You might as well be comfortable.”

He
hesitated slightly. Then nodded.

She
was doing no better about focusing on the book when he returned about ten
minutes later.

He
wore an old pair of black sweats—just slightly too short—and a gray sweatshirt
that matched the one she was wearing—also from their high school football team
but with a different year’s logo.

“Don’t
laugh,” he said, catching her scrutiny. “I didn’t realize Brad was so short.”

She
did laugh, finding the little twitch at the corner of his mouth irresistible.
“Don’t tell him that or you’ll hurt his poor feelings.”

Brad
wasn’t particularly short, four inches taller than she was, but he was two
inches shorter than David.

David
looked different than normal. More relaxed. Less protected. Just as sexy.

It
gave her a painful twist in her stomach.

He
sat down at the end of the couch and put her feet in his lap. When she gave him
a questioning look, he just said, “You should keep the ankle elevated.”

This
sounded reasonable enough, and she could hardly banish him to one of the two
wing chairs—which weren’t comfortable to sit in for very long—or the window
seat, which was much farther from the fireplace.

He’d
found a book too, so they both read for a while by the light of the fire and
the lantern. David would occasionally get up to return the icepack to the
freezer, tend the fire, or get another icepack for her ankle.

After
a couple of hours, Rachel had to put down her book, since she was too sleepy to
concentrate on the words.

She
was getting chilly, despite the fire. The temperature must be dropping even
more in the house.

She
got up to go to the bathroom and find flannel sheets and a heavy blanket. She
was on her way back when she stepped on her ankle wrong. She went down, wrenching
her ankle even more in the process.

She
cursed and bit her lip and tried to stifle involuntary whimpers at the pain.

It
took her a minute to get her breath back and then another minute to get herself
back to her feet. She was in the middle of the hall, and there was nothing
except the wall to pull herself up by.

She
was finally up and shuffling back to the living room with her arms full of sheets
and blanket, her teeth chattering from cold and her ankle throbbing brutally,
when David appeared in front of her.

He
was the last person she wanted to see.

With
an impatient look, he moved quickly to put an arm around her to support some of
her weight. He also took the blankets out of her hands. “What happened?”

“Nothing.”
She was cold, hurt, and frustrated—and now she was embarrassed. “I just fell
down. I’m fine.”

“Why
the hell didn’t you call out for help?” he demanded, sounding as bad-tempered
as he’d been that afternoon.

“Because
I didn’t
need
help.” She gritted out the words through a clenched jaw
and eyed him resentfully. She should have known he couldn’t stay un-obnoxious
for long.

“You
did need my help. You can barely walk now and you’re freezing.”

She
tried desperately to keep her teeth from chattering but she couldn’t seem to do
it.

“I’ve
never seen anyone as stubborn as you.”

“Have
you looked in a mirror?” she snapped, with what she thought was impressive
acuity.

“If
I had a sprained ankle, I would damned well let someone help me.”

“You
would not. You would hide away until it got better. You have no right to
reproach me for being stubborn. Remember when you were fifteen? You wouldn’t
let the church help your mom when her basement was flooded. You insisted on
doing the whole thing yourself. You built your whole damned house by yourself,
even though Brad tried to help almost every weekend. You haven’t accepted any
gift or gesture of charity for the last fifteen years. How dare you try to tell
me that
I’m
too stubborn?”

He
was stewing and glowering as she lashed out, but at least he was also being
proactive. He’d gotten her back to the couch, helped her spread the flannel
sheet on the couch, and covered her up with a blanket when she’d sat down and
then stretched out.

Now
he just walked out of the room, leaving her so surprised she couldn’t even be
outraged.

She’d
never known him to walk out so rudely on an argument.

He
returned almost immediately with a fresh icepack. He tried to put it on her
ankle, but she jerked away as soon as she felt it.

“It’s
too cold.” She huddled under the blanket, trying to suppress her helpless
shivering. The fire helped, but not fast enough.

“You
need it,” he said mildly, “Or your ankle will swell up even more.”

She
knew he was right, so she didn’t argue any further, but the icepack made her
whole body even colder.

He
looked down at her for a long moment, and she didn’t understand the look in his
eyes. Then he gestured with his hand. “Can you scoot up a minute?”

She
did as he said, although she had no idea why he was asking.

She
found out soon enough when he lowered himself to the couch beside her. Before
she knew what was going on, he’d rearranged them both so she was in his arms,
leaning back against his chest.

It
was wrong. It was utterly wrong. She was so cold, though, and his body was
deliciously warm. She really liked how it felt to be held by him.