Chapter 2
TANK
C ar windshields could conceal a lot, especially in a haze of snow.
Even after she stepped out of the car, the woman’s fur-lined hood had covered most of her face. But as soon as she walked through my front door and slid that fur-lined hood off, all the air seemed to be sucked right out of my lungs. What had I gotten myself into?
I didn't have a choice, though. It wasn't like I could just leave a woman stranded in her car in ten-degree temperatures. So here she was under my roof, coat on a hook next to my front door, clutching a mug of hot cocoa between both hands as she sat on my couch.
The oversized sweater she wore couldn't hide her curves, and when she shifted to tuck her legs under her, the movement drew my attention to the long line of her thighs.
I forced myself to look away, but not before she caught me staring.
A flush crept up her neck, and she bit her lower lip—a gesture that sent heat straight to my groin.
"It's just a few miles," she said, her voice slightly breathless. "I'm sure in the morning my dad can come get me."
I almost laughed out loud at those words. During our introductions, she’d revealed she was from South Carolina—a place that had probably never seen snow like this. They'd be lucky if they ever even got a light dusting.
"The main road might not be passable tomorrow," I said.
It might not be passable for a week. She didn't need to know that, though.
I could be stuck with her for days. The thought of having her here, sleeping in my spare bedroom just twenty feet away, tempting me with those big blue eyes and full lips, should have bothered me.
Instead, a thrill of excitement went through me.
No matter how hard I tried to tamp it down, it was still there.
"When did you last eat?" I asked, watching her cradle that mug like it was a lifeline.
She blinked at me. "Eat?"
"Food. When?"
"Um…" She bit her lower lip again, and this time I couldn't look away fast enough.
Our eyes met and held for a moment too long.
The air between us crackled with something I didn't want to name.
"I had a granola bar around noon, but I was so focused on beating the weather that I didn't want to stop for dinner. "
I shook my head and started for the kitchen, grateful for the distance it put between us. Distance that I needed to catch my breath.
"Can't have you starving under my roof,” I said.
The refrigerator held the basics—eggs, cheese, condiments. I found some leftover chili I'd made yesterday and set it on the stove to reheat, then pulled out a sleeve of crackers and a block of sharp cheddar.
"You don't have to cook for me," she called from the living room.
"Already doing it." I sliced the cheese into thick chunks and arranged them on a plate with the crackers. "So, what brings you to the mountains for Thanksgiving? Besides getting lost in my driveway."
"My parents moved here last year. Dad retired from the school district, and they wanted somewhere quieter."
Her voice got closer, and I turned to see her standing at the kitchen entrance, still holding that mug.
She'd moved silently, like a cat, and now she was close enough that I could smell her shampoo—something floral and sweet that made me want to step closer and breathe her in. Instead, I gripped the wooden spoon tighter and focused on stirring the chili.
"What about you?” she asked “Are you from here?"
"Charlotte." I stirred the chili as it warmed, hyperaware of her presence behind me. "I run a trucking operation down there. Multi-state routes, mostly freight."
"Charlotte's a couple of hours from here."
I glanced over my shoulder and found her watching me with those blue eyes that seemed to see too much. "I'm helping a friend set up his Christmas tree lot. Thanksgiving weekend is huge for sales, and this storm is going to cost us."
The words came out sharper than I intended. I’d been stressing about the snow for the past few hours. It had popped up fairly suddenly in the forecast, and that hadn’t given my business partner, Luca, and me any time to prepare.
She stepped into the kitchen, close enough now that I could feel the heat radiating from her body. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to?—”
"Not your fault." I turned back to the stove, but I was intensely aware of every move she made. "Mother Nature doesn't check business schedules."
"Your friend must really need you for you to travel all this way this time of year.”
"Luca's good people. We go back a few years." I ladled the chili into two bowls and set the cheese and crackers on the table. When I turned to hand her a bowl, our fingers brushed. The contact was electric, and she jerked her hand back like she'd been burned.
"What about you?” I asked. “What do you do when you're not getting lost in blizzards?"
"I manage a bookstore. Nothing as exciting as trucking." She set her empty mug on the counter, her movements careful, deliberate. "It's right on the beach, so we get a lot of tourists in the summer."
"Books, huh?" I asked. "Romance novels and beach reads?"
A smile tugged at her lips, and I found myself staring at her mouth. "Among other things."
We sat at my small kitchen table, and she dove into the food like she hadn't eaten in days.
Which, based on what she'd told me, wasn't far from the truth.
She built herself a cracker with cheese and took a bite, closing her eyes as she chewed.
A soft sound of pleasure escaped her, and I had to shift in my chair.
"This is incredible," she said between bites. "Thank you."
I shrugged. "Just chili."
She took another spoonful, then built herself another cracker, this time loading it with more cheese. "What's your secret? There's something I can't identify."
"Cumin. And a bottle of beer."
"Beer in chili?" She looked skeptical.
"Trust me." I watched her take careful bites, like she was trying to solve a puzzle with her taste buds. "My Navy buddy taught me that trick."
“Navy?” Her spoon paused halfway to her mouth. "How long were you in?"
"Eight years. Got out about five years ago." I finished my bowl and got up to ladle myself more. "Want seconds?"
She nodded, pushing her bowl toward me. "What made you leave?"
I hesitated, not used to sharing personal details. But something about the way she asked—genuine curiosity without pushiness—made me answer.
"Ready to be my own boss,” I said. “Build something that was mine."
"Hence the trucking company."
"Started with one truck and a prayer." I set her refilled bowl in front of her, our fingers brushing again. This time, neither of us pulled away immediately. "Now I've got twelve trucks and routes in four states."
"That's incredible." She took another bite, considering. "Do you miss military life?”
"Parts of it. The brotherhood. Having a clear mission." I found myself studying her face as she ate. The way she savored each bite, like she was making the most of it. "What about you? Always wanted to run a bookstore?"
She laughed, building another elaborate cracker.
"God, no. I was going to be a teacher like my parents. English literature. But after college, I took a summer job at this little bookstore, and…” She shrugged.
"I fell in love with it. The owner was retiring, so when she offered to sell it to me, I couldn't say no. "
"Big risk."
"Terrifying risk." She popped the cracker in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "But worth it. I love matching people with the perfect book. There's something magical about that moment when someone finds exactly what they didn't know they were looking for."
The way she talked about her work, the passion in her voice—it did something to me. Made me want to hear more, to understand what made her eyes light up like that.
"Sounds like you're good at taking care of people," I said.
A blush crept up her neck. "I suppose I am."
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the clink of spoons against bowls and the wind howling outside. I found myself watching the way she moved—economical, graceful. Everything about her seemed deliberate.
"This really is perfect," she said finally, setting down her spoon and looking around the cabin. "Do you stay here often? It's really nice."
"When I'm in town."
I kept my answer short. The cabin was mine, bought with the first real money I'd made after getting out of the Navy, but I didn't need to share my life story with a stranger. Even a beautiful one who made my chest tight every time she smiled.
"So you'll be here through the weekend?" she asked, her fork pausing midway to her mouth.
The question was innocent enough, but something in her tone made me look up. Her eyes held a vulnerability that caught me off guard.
"Yeah."
"With your family?"
There it was. The assumption everyone made. "Don't have family."
Her fork paused midway to her mouth. "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know.”
"Nothing to be sorry about." I stood and grabbed my empty bowl, needing to move. "Picked up a turkey yesterday. Was going to have a quiet day."
She was silent for a moment, watching me rinse dishes in the sink. When she spoke, her voice was soft. "That sounds lonely."
"Sounds peaceful."
"Maybe both?"
I turned to look at her. Those blue eyes held too much understanding, like she could see right through the walls I'd spent years erecting. It made me want to step closer and back away at the same time.
"I don't want to impose," she said suddenly, standing and carrying her bowl to the sink. She moved close—too close—and I caught another whiff of that floral scent that was driving me crazy. "Maybe I should try to make it to a hotel or?—”
"In this weather?" I turned to face her, and suddenly we were standing inches apart. I could see the gold flecks in her blue eyes, the way her pulse fluttered at the base of her throat. "You'd end up in a ditch. Or worse."
"But staying here, in your space?—”
"What choice do you have?" The words came out rougher than I intended, and her lips parted slightly. "You think I'm going to let you drive off into a blizzard? Risk your life because you're worried about taking up space?"
"I just don't want to be a burden."
"You're not." The honesty in my voice surprised us both. "Trust me, Candace. You're not a burden."
Something shifted in the air between us. Her eyes searched mine, and I saw the exact moment awareness flared between us. Her breath caught, and mine did too.
"I should show you where you'll sleep," I said, my voice hoarse.
She nodded, probably not trusting herself to speak, and followed me to the small spare room off the main living area. Clean sheets, a quilt my neighbor had made years ago, and a view of the woods that would be beautiful once the storm passed.
"This is perfect." She turned to face me in the doorway, and the space between us felt charged with electricity. "Thank you. For everything. I know this isn't how you planned to spend your evening."
"Plans change." The words came out rougher than I intended.
She was close enough that I could smell her shampoo—something floral that didn't belong in my masculine space but somehow made it better. Her lips parted like she wanted to say something else, and I found myself leaning closer, drawn by some invisible force.
"Tank," she whispered, and the sound of my name on her lips nearly undid me.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For making me feel safe."
Safe. The word hit me like a punch to the gut. When was the last time anyone had felt safe with me? When was the last time I'd wanted to be someone's safe harbor?
"Good night, Candace."
"Good night, Tank."
I closed the door between us and stood there for a moment, listening to her move around the room. This was going to be a long night. And if the storm was as bad as the forecast predicted, an even longer few days.
But as I headed to my own bedroom, I couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, that wasn't such a bad thing after all.
I stripped off my shirt and lay down on my bed, but sleep was the last thing on my mind. All I could think about was the woman twenty feet away, probably undressing for bed right now. The thought sent heat coursing through me, and I groaned, pressing the heels of my hands against my eyes.
This was going to be torture. Sweet, exquisite torture.