Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
B rock caught Ophelia before she could hit the floor. “Don’t move quickly in those snow boots until you get accustomed.” He released her, his gaze narrowing at Jarod. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Of course.” Jarod leaned back from Amka, his smile probably charming to some. “I’ll stay here and help at the tavern.”
Amka, all business, grabbed another thermos from beneath the bar. She filled the silver flask and handed it to Brock. “For you and Olly. Keep in contact.”
“Yeah. Keep in contact.” Jarod reached for a beer in the cooler and continued around the bar to head toward the food on the pool table.
The guy had always been a jackass, but it seemed he’d gotten worse. Yet another problem to deal with later. Brock motioned toward a massive whiteboard leaning against the far wall, stained black in many areas from years of use. He raised his voice for the crowd. “We’ve separated the search area into grids. If you haven’t done so already, write your name in the grid you’ll be searching before heading out.”
He looked Ophelia over, reaching for a knit hat from his pocket. “It’s orange, which seems to go with the rest of your ensemble.” She wore a myriad of colors, from an obnoxious pink to green gloves to a dark jacket with purple fur, and somehow, she made it work, looking adorable instead of her normal sexy and edgy. He plunked the hat over her head and then pulled the coat hood over it, securing the ties at her throat.
“I look ridiculous,” she murmured.
“So long as you’re not freezing, it’s good.” His voice stayed gruff as he reminded himself that they didn’t stand on the same side of pretty much anything. Except for the search today, and even that felt iffy. Her soft skin wouldn’t take the wind well, and he didn’t have a balaclava, much less an extra one. When was the last time he’d taken the time to care for a woman? This had to end. Even so, he couldn’t help but ask, “Amka? You have any Vaseline?”
“Sure, Sheriff.” Amka blanched. “I mean, Brock.” She dug beneath the counter and stood, tossing over a small jar.
Ophelia frowned. “What are you doing?”
He dug a finger in and then reached for her cheekbone.
She took a step back. “Seriously. What?”
Why was he taking care of her skin? He didn’t care about her soft and way-too-tempting face. “The wind is going to cause damage. This’ll protect you.” Grasping her arm with his free hand, he gently brushed the gel across her cheekbones and the top of her nose. Yep. Soft like a fine canvas.
He was becoming maudlin in his old age and needed to get away from this woman as soon as possible. Her eyes lightened to an enticing blue, softening as she held still for his ministrations, surprise still evident. For a tough FBI agent, she had a sweetness that hit him like a siren’s call.
Closing the lid, he placed the jar on the bar and gestured Ophelia toward the doorway. “If your hands or feet get too cold, let me know. We’ll use the warmers then.”
The idea of warming her—in any way—shot a spiral of heat through him. He had to get a grip. Pausing, he looked back at the crowd, all gearing up for a rough day of searching. “Remember that we’ve had a late freeze. Most cricks, creeks, and rivers won’t be frozen over, no matter how solid they look. Keep the sleds on solid ground. Same with feet.” Sylvie had called him for help, so that put him in charge. No other reason, he tried to remind himself. He shoved the door open and stepped into the storm, which might calm soon. Hopefully.
“I spoke with your brother.” Ophelia followed him into the snowstorm and instantly chilled his desire.
He had to keep her away from his family. “You talked to Ace again?”
“No. Christian. He came to the back door for coffee and wouldn’t answer my questions.”
Ha. Christian wouldn’t answer anybody’s questions. “You should probably avoid him. He won’t help on the investigation, and he isn’t good with people. Not at all.”
“Is he dangerous?” She tugged her gloves farther up her hands.
Christian was definitely dangerous. “Not to you. He just isn’t a big fan of new people, and he definitely won’t want to talk about Hank or Hank’s death. It hit him hard, and with everything else he’s dealing with, he’s not ready to handle it.” Why was Brock still talking? He wasn’t a talker. But whenever this woman asked him questions, he became a chatterbox. Still, he couldn’t let the agent believe Christian posed a threat to law enforcement or women. He most certainly did not.
The snow had lightened, and flakes dropped onto her nose. “Are you sure I won’t slow you down today?” The doubt in her voice came through softly but clearly.
“Don’t be sweet, Olly.” He couldn’t deal with sweet, so he swung a leg over his hill climber. “This is a Ski-Doo. There’s room for both of us, but you’ll have to press close.” God help him.
“Um, okay.” She used his shoulder for balance and swung her leg over behind him, settling naturally into place as if she belonged there. Her long legs felt right against his.
He tried to concentrate. “The ride will be rougher than the one last night down the street to Flossy’s. Hold on and try to match your movements to mine. If I lean left, do the same—but not much.” He paused. “Forget that. Just plaster yourself to me and let me move you. We’ll ride along the river for a few miles. It can get rocky.” He held back a helmet for her before donning his own.
People filtered out, all heading to snowmobiles, side-by-sides, and four-wheelers to tackle their assigned grids and searches. He’d figure out later why he couldn’t trust her safety to anybody else because any single man in that tavern would’ve willingly let her ride behind him.
Instead, her body plastered against his, and damn if the smell of strawberries, even through his helmet, didn’t make his mouth water.
This ride would be hell.
About two hours into the ride, Ophelia had seen enough snow for a lifetime. The wind pierced her from behind, and she began to shiver, even with all the gear. Brock drove the snowmobile smoothly and efficiently with the two handles, watching the speedometer protected by a short windshield. He avoided rocks and tree branches sticking up from the icy ground while the river flowed next to them, often appearing iced over.
She had her hands clasped tightly at his waist and kept her thighs pushed against his, trying to gather even an iota of warmth. His broad back and tall shoulders blocked her view, so she turned her head and watched the river to the side, looking for any indication of the missing man. White and more white, interspersed with some green from trees and a little ice-blue when the river flowed smoother, were the only colors anywhere around.
Finally, Brock turned off to a barely there trail between snow-capped spruce trees. He slowed into a quiet alcove protected by mammoth boughs and then stopped, the silence sudden and absolute when he cut the engine.
She swallowed and released him, groaning at the ache in her arms. It had only been two hours, for goodness sake. The blood rushed through her ears, and the skin along her chin tingled from the chill, although the sun had finally begun to break through the clouds and sparkle off the snow. Her lower back and neck ached from the bouncing.
He pulled off his helmet, tucked his gloves in it, and reached back for her arm. “You okay to slide off?”
“Yes.” She forced herself to swing one leg free and step into the snow, sinking down to mid-calf.
He partially turned, swung a leg over, and lifted the face shield from her helmet. Then he grasped her shoulders, his eyes a deep green and a shadow already starting to cover his rugged jaw. “I felt you shivering. How cold are you?” He took in her face, his expression serious and practical.
Her teeth chattered, but she shook her head. With the silence, it felt like they were the only two people in the entire world. The solitude threw her off-balance and created a sense of intimacy and trust that neither of them could afford right now. She lifted her chin. “I’m fine.”
“Uh-huh.” He looked closer and then glanced down the trail. “Most of the wind is coming from behind us, so I couldn’t shield you from it. We could use the hand and feet warmers, but that won’t help your core.”
She couldn’t let him regret bringing her. They needed to proceed as work colleagues, and she had to carry her own weight. “It isn’t your job to shield me.” An odd sensation filtered through her, and it took her a moment to recognize it as regret. Maybe she should start dating once she finished this job and headed back to a city. Anchorage must have available men, right? She tried to keep her expression placid, even as too many bizarre thoughts ran through her brain. The cold must be getting to her. “I’ll be fine, Brock. Let’s get going.”
He tugged a radio out of his pocket and pressed the side button. “Ace? It’s Brock. Status?”
It figured that Ace would be his partner for the buddy system. The radio crackled. “Ace here. Status good. I’m about three miles east of the river, heading in from that direction. I haven’t seen anything, but I wasn’t expecting to yet.”
“You alone?” Brock asked quietly.
“I have a shadow with a large wolf-husky pup at his side,” Ace said dryly. “He’s on a Polaris and broke off a few times to climb hills, but he’s keeping close.”
Ophelia wiped snow out of her eye. “Christian?” she whispered. Did the guy stay away from even his brothers?
Brock nodded, pressing the button to speak. “The agent and I are leaving the river trail and heading along McDonnel Plough from the other direction. Check in again within a couple of hours.” Brock slipped the radio back into place. “I have an idea. This trail is pretty smooth for the next thirty miles, and the snow will be thick enough through here that rocks and roots aren’t a problem. Let’s put you in front for a while.”
In front? She frowned and looked at the sled. “Why?”
His too charming grin disappeared way too quickly. “You’ll see.” He held out a hand.
She swallowed and then took it, anticipation rippling through her. Even with the current somber search, it’d be fun to drive the powerful machine. “Well, okay.” She gingerly lifted her leg, and when Brock moved back, she settled into place in front of him. Heat from his body, even through their heavy coats, slid her way, and she fought a grateful moan. Business. This was business. There could be nothing personal between them.
He pulled his gloves on and then reached for the helmet, no doubt putting it on with the face plate up. “Hands here.” He took her hands and placed them on the grips. The very warm grips.
“Hey,” she murmured.
“They’re heated.” He set his big boots on the runner behind hers and partially lifted her knee. “Put your feet up along the slide, as far as they’ll go.”
She did so, and instant warmth surrounded both feet. “Those are heated, too.”
“The engine heats up by the top, so you’ll stay warmer.” His rough voice kept businesslike. “This is why you should always drive your own sled unless it’s springtime. If you’re sticking around, you’ll need to learn how, so let’s start now.”
With his solid body behind her, the wind couldn’t get to her, either. Not much, anyway. She settled in better, her butt brushing his thighs.
Was that a groan from him?
He started the engine and tapped her right hand, his voice roughening. “This is the throttle. Press it forward with your thumb to increase speed. Start by gently pressing it, and just keep it slow until you get the hang of it.” He put her hand on the left grip and showed her a lever. “This is the brake. Use it anytime you want. Don’t worry about the speedometer, and just watch the trail ahead. My hands are right outside yours, so if anything goes wrong, I’ll handle it. Give it a go, Agent.”
That was the third time he’d called her by her job title instead of her name. Did he wish to distance himself? If so, with his body wrapped around her, it would be more difficult than he hoped. Plus, she had an active case—or two—and nothing would shake her free until she had answers.
For now, she would drive this powerful machine with his powerful body shielding her. She shivered, though not from the cold this time. Yeah, she needed to learn to drive her own snowmobile.
That would be safer. Without question.