Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
B rock Osprey didn’t have time to deal with many things in the world, and a pretty FBI agent—city girl, no less—with eyes as blue as a deep lake and an ass made for a man’s hands topped the list. Hell. At the moment, she was the list. The woman smelled like fresh strawberries, and wasn’t that a pisser? He loved strawberries.
He unceremoniously plunked Ophelia’s luggage on Widow Flossy’s weathered front porch before knocking heavily on the door. The wind whistled from the west, a foreboding chill that was coming fast, knocking against the cheerful Christmas lights already iced over on her eaves.
A shuffle came from inside, and then the door opened a crack, cloudy brown eyes looking way up from a tiny face. “Brock.” She pulled the door open all the way, and her scrawny neck stretched as she craned to see beyond him. “I thought you planned to fly the FBI agent lady back to Anchorage.”
A huff of breath, feminine and somehow a little sexy, came from behind him.
“Nope.” He grabbed both suitcases again and strode inside, carefully wiping his boots on the interior Chirstmasy green welcome mat covering Flossy’s polished wooden floor. A Christmas tree decorated in red and silver sparkled from the corner, and a row of Santas appeared to march across the fireplace mantle. “She in the blue room?”
“Oh, um, well now…No. Let’s put her in the pink room.” Flossy blinked behind thick glasses and reached out a gnarled hand. “Hello there. You must be freezing. Come inside, sweets.”
Brock turned toward the polished curved staircase, ready to ditch the bags and get back to dealing with his family.
“Brock Osprey.” Flossy released the woman and slapped him ineffectually on the arm. “Your manners are better than that. Much.”
Ophelia snorted. Not so lightly, but still sexy.
Heat tinged Brock’s ears. His manners were nowhere near better than this. “Sorry, ma’am,” escaped him before he could stop the words. He partially turned. “Mrs. Floridian Veltinbelt, please meet Special Agent Ophelia Spilazi of the FBI.”
“Call me Flossy,” Flossy said, just as the agent said to call her Ophelia.
The women laughed at the same time, caught together in some weird, shared moment he’d only seen women bond over.
Instead of grumpily asking if he could now deliver the bags to the pink room, Brock forced a smile and reminded himself that he was an adult and should probably act like one. Plus, Flossy wouldn’t hesitate to grab a wooden spoon and smack him on the ear, and he had enough brain issues. “May I help with the bags and deliver them to the pink room?” he asked, tongue in cheek.
Flossy smiled, approval dancing in her faded eyes. “Of course. You’re so kind to help, Master Chief Osprey.” She leaned to the side to better see the city girl. “He reached such a high rank and became a true hero in the Navy, you know.”
Oh, for Pete’s sake. He grabbed the handles of the bags with a little more force than necessary and stomped up the stairs to the third door on the left.
“He’s still a mite cranky from his time in the service,” Flossy explained, not so quietly, from the first level. “Anyhoo, welcome to my Bed and Breakfast. I have three guest rooms, but you’re probably my only guest for the rest of the season. Are you sure you want to be here for winter? I have to tell?—”
The rest was cut off as Brock entered the room. The sight of all the bright pink furnishings and white lace brightened his mood. It definitely didn’t fit the taste of the city girl in her black leather jacket and stylish boots.
The voices came closer, and Flossy brushed by him, gesturing toward the antique milk glass lamp. “That was my mama’s.”
He turned just in time to see the agent’s reaction to the room, then halted.
Genuine wonder widened the woman’s eyes as she took in all the girly pink and lace. “Oh, Flossy, it’s so beautiful.” Her husky voice hushed, and an almost childlike delight brightened her angled features.
He gaped. Pure and simple, that unguarded moment slammed into his chest stronger than a punch he’d taken from a drunk Russian while on a mission years ago. He frowned, staring at her, trying to decipher what he’d missed when taking her measure earlier.
She didn’t notice and instead headed right for the hand-crocheted doilies, perfectly arranged across the dresser. “Oh, these are lovely. Did you stitch them?”
“I did,” Flossy said, standing even taller—hitting almost five feet. “You’re so kind to notice.”
“And the quilt.” Ophelia rushed for the thick bedcover, running her hand over the colorful squares. “Did you create this?”
Flossy’s papery cheeks turned the same color as the rest of the room. “Yes. I have a quilting group. There’s not much to do around here in the winter, and we spend hours together creating—often sending our finished work off to shelters to warm others.” She leaned in and pointed to a square with a perfectly shaped silver owl. “My husband, God rest his soul, was nicknamed Owl because he was so observant, so I insert an owl into every quilt I ever create.”
“That’s so sweet,” Ophelia murmured, reverently looking at the perfect stitching of a brown bear in a square. “Also, I’m sorry for your loss.”
“You’re a kind one, Ophelia.” Flossy patted her arm. “It’s been about thirty years, but I do still miss the man. If I added you to a quilt, I’d create a lovely and graceful gazelle.” She eyed the younger woman. “Are you sure you want to stay here for the winter? Once snow falls, there’s no way out.”
Ophelia straightened as if remembering her job. “Oh. Yes. I do.”
Flossy clapped her small hands together. “Then you really must join the quilting club. I can teach you.”
Brock steeled himself for the instant rejection, preparing to soothe Flossy’s feelings.
Ophelia bit her lip. “That’s kind, but I’m, well, not very good at that sort of thing. You know. Sewing, cooking, those types of skills.” Her voice dropped, and truth to shit, she sounded genuinely regretful.
Why hadn’t anybody taught her that stuff if she’d been interested? Brock bit his tongue. Yeah, she was sexy and hot and had legs long enough to wrap around his waist and hold tight. But this sweet side of her? It was too much. Too alluring and intriguing, and damn, he didn’t need this crap on top of the massive pile already falling on him.
Flossy hopped. “Quilting just takes practice. I promise nobody will judge you, and like I said, there’s not much more to do when the darkness falls during the winter. Just say you’ll think about it.”
“I will.” Then the woman had the audacity to smile. Really smile. Kind and genuine and beautiful.
Brock grunted. Life already tortured him enough. He had to do something about this.
The room exuded a delightful charm. Sweet and inviting and all pink. Ophelia had wished for this kind of a bedroom while growing up in government-sanctioned apartment buildings. Well, without the very cranky and overlarge male taking up all the space in the doorway and grunting with what sounded like disapproval. He hovered near the tiny, elderly widow as if afraid Ophelia would somehow hurt the petite woman’s feelings.
Okay. That was kind of sweet. Insulting but sweet.
His gaze caught hers—green and dark and intense. “You left your backpack in the truck.” Without waiting for an answer, he turned on one massive boot and headed down the hallway.
Was she supposed to follow?
Flossy, dressed in a gray cardigan that reached below her knees and touched her tall slippers, turned to trail him. “Get your backpack. I’ll rustle up some warm food. You must be starving after traveling all day.” She walked down the quiet hallway toward the curved staircase, still talking. “I assume you traveled all day. It takes hours to get to Anchorage and then even more to reach Knife’s Edge. You must be hungry.”
Ophelia’s stomach growled, and she followed the elderly woman down the stairs. “I’ll, ah, just grab my pack and meet you in the kitchen.” She assumed the room was beyond the formal living room with its floral sofa and matching chairs, and if Flossy cooked nearly as well as she quilted, then dinner would be phenomenal. It had been so long since Ophelia had eaten a good home-cooked meal that she nearly forgot the backpack and ran straight to the kitchen. However, a little decorum wouldn’t hurt anything, and she needed to remember her job. She’d come to the small town to investigate most of its inhabitants, so she had to take it down a notch.
Clearing her throat, she opened the heavy oak door and stepped onto the rough front porch. Small snowflakes cascaded down as if in a dream, and she looked up, watching the snow fall from a darkened sky with clouds now covering the moon. Wow. Night had arrived quickly.
“Get used to the darkness.”
She yelped and jumped to see Brock at the bottom step. The shadows swallowed him, leaving only the sizzling green of his eyes visible. He took a step toward her, looking dangerous for the first time. Like a predator in the night. “Maybe I like the dark.” Her voice shook just enough to be noticeable.
His grunt, once again, told her nothing. A quick jerk of his head toward the B&B conveyed that he wanted her to go back inside, and a perverse part of her wanted to stand in place. Smack dab in the middle of his path.
So, she did.
He took the second step, leaving them eye to eye. Man, he was tall. Most guys would’ve asked what she was doing or requested she move.
Not Brock Osprey.
He stood there, his eyes glittering, and his wide shoulders catching snowflakes that instantly melted.
Her breath quickened, and she stared him down with her best FBI look—or she tried to, at least. No reaction came from Brock for long enough that her heartbeat began echoing between her ears.
Finally, he spoke. “Are you, for some odd reason, trying to challenge me, Agent Ophelia Spilazi?”
It certainly appeared so. She didn’t really have an answer that made sense, so she bit her tongue. What in the world was she doing facing down a mountain man in the snow for absolutely no reason other than he had gotten under her skin—without trying to do so? “I don’t know how to decipher your grunts,” she said, instead of going with the truth, whatever it might be.
His chin, rugged and strong, lifted just enough to be intimidating. “My last grunt meant for you to get your sweet ass back inside the warm house.”
She gasped, and her hackles rose. “Oh, you did not.”
“I did.” More snowflakes landed on his five-o’clock shadow, mixing with the dark bristle. His nose was straight, his cheekbones high, and his skin smooth and bronze. “You’re out of the city, Agent. You might want to take note of that fact and head back to safety at first light.”
Did he want to tick her off? Something told her he wouldn’t make the effort, so he was just being himself. “I’m here for the duration.” Why did this man make her want to smack him? As a reasonable woman who had graduated at the top of her class, she could handle all sorts of personalities. Yet this guy, without even trying, was truly pissing her off. “I can’t help but think you want me to leave. Why is that? Are you afraid I’ll do my job and solve your guardian’s murder?”
He took the next step, and his coat brushed hers. “No.”
Prickles erupted along her skin when she had to tilt her head to keep his gaze, even though he stood a step below her. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, it’s not working.” Good. Her voice had steadied.
His long eyelashes brushed his cheeks as he slowly, very slowly, blinked, the move oddly threatening. That strong jaw moved, but before he could speak, a phone buzzed in his pocket. Keeping her gaze, he handed over her backpack and withdrew the cell to press against his ear. “Osprey.”
Cold swirled around her, and she shivered, her cheeks chilling.
The door opened behind her. “Oh, Ophelia. It’s freezing out there. Get inside,” Flossy said, fluttering across the porch and grasping her arm to tug.
Ophelia let the woman turn and lead her into the home, where warmth instantly slammed into her.
Heavy footsteps thunked as Brock followed. “All right. Thanks, Amos. I’ll spread the word.” He slipped the phone back into his pocket, more heat coming from him than the B&B interior.
Flossy peered around Ophelia. “That was Amos? How fortunate we still have cell service. Maybe it’ll hold up better this year. Well? What did he say?”
Ophelia partially turned, acutely aware of the odd current running between the mountain man and her. What in the world? Perhaps all of the travel had exhausted her.
Brock kept a hand on the door. “Storm tonight with a clearing for maybe twenty-four hours.” His gaze dropped to meet Ophelia’s, no expression revealed in them. “So, if you want out of here, according to our one and only weather guru, your chance will be tomorrow afternoon. Otherwise, you might be here for months. Think about that, Agent.”
He gave Flossy a nod and then stepped back, shutting the door.
Ophelia breathed out for the first time since meeting Brock Osprey. If he thought she could be easily frightened, he had another think coming straight for him. She turned, smiled at Flossy, and finally focused. “So. What can you tell me about the Osprey family?”