Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Alice walked into the living room the next morning. She’d had trouble getting to sleep, but once she had, she’d slept like the dead.
Then she’d delayed coming out here for as long as possible. But she was dressed, her stuff packed, and she should really leave before she outstayed her welcome.
Only problem was that it was still snowing outside.
And she felt really nervous about driving in it.
“Good morning,” she said as she stepped into the kitchen to find him at the coffee pot.
He grunted. “How do you take your coffee?”
“Oh, I can make it.”
Turning, he shot her a look and she swallowed nervously.
“Hazelnut creamer, please. It’s in the fridge.”
Without a word, he made her coffee and put it on the counter.
“Thanks,” she whispered. “I should, um, get going soon.”
“Nope.”
“Nope?” she repeated, her heart racing.
He gestured to the window. “It’s a storm out there. No driving in that. Especially when you’re not experienced with driving in these conditions.”
“Oh. I, um, I don’t want to put you out, though.”
Something that looked like amusement filled his face. “What are you going to do if I tell you that you are putting me out?”
“Figure out how to drive in a snowstorm?”
He shook his head. “You’re staying until the storm passes.”
Relief filled her even if he was being extremely bossy.
“Thank you.”
He waved a hand through the air in response.
“Is there anything I can do while I’m here? Housework? Cooking?”
Anson eyed her for a long moment. “You’re not my housekeeper or my cook.”
“Yes, but I’m staying here. Oh, shall I pay you?”
“Pay me?” he whispered.
Uh-oh. She had a feeling that she might have offended his mountain man sensibilities.
“I . . . I . . . yes.”
“You are not paying me, understand?”
She nodded frantically, her heart racing. Sheesh.
“You’re cooking, you can make me some extra but you don’t need to cook for me. Keep your room and bathroom tidy, pick up after yourself. But you’re not here to clean. We clear?”
“Crystal,” she said, taking a step back. “I think I’ll just go . . . do some . . . work.”
Anson watched her practically run from the room with a sigh.
Fuck.
Could you be more of an asshole?
He didn’t mean to be. It was just . . . pay him? He shook his head.
There was something about her that roused his protective instincts. Maybe it was something to do with how jumpy and nervous she was.
It made him wonder if she’d always been like that.
Or if someone had taught her to be.
Alice startled at the knock on her door.
She glanced over at the time, blinking in shock. It was after six. How had it gotten so late? She’d been here for two nights now. She’d spent most of that time in her room, working.
“Alice, come out. Now.”
She rolled her eyes at his bossy command. Then she grimaced. She was being rude.
“Coming!” she called out.
Getting up, she walked over to the mirror in the bathroom and let out a small squeal of shock.
She looked terrible. She brushed her shoulder-length hair and washed her face before finding the courage to leave the room.
As she walked into the living room the smell of food made her stomach grumble. When was the last time she’d eaten?
Yesterday, she’d snuck out to get snacks and brought them back to her room. But today she’d gotten so involved in her book that she couldn’t remember eating at all.
“Something smells nice,” she said.
“I cooked. Sit. Eat.”
“You’ve very bossy,” she told him.
He settled into a chair at the dining table with a grimace. “I’ve been told that. I also don’t like to repeat myself.”
Right. She slid into a chair across from him. Yum, looked like he’d cooked roast beef and vegetables.
“Shit. Forgot the gravy,” he grumbled, pushing his chair back.
“I’ll get it.”
He shot her a look. “Might be injured, but I’m not helpless.”
She bit her lip. Shoot. What was she thinking?
Suddenly, he sighed. “Fuck. Sorry.”
Surprised, she glanced up at him. “What?”
“I didn’t mean to snap. I have . . . issues letting people do things for me. But if you could get the gravy that would be good.”
“Of course.”
Jumping up, she grabbed the gravy boat off the counter. She carried it carefully back to the table and placed it next to him before sitting again.
“This looks delicious. Thank you.”
“You haven’t been eating,” he said.
“I, um, well . . .” She thought about telling him that she’d gotten involved in her writing. But she wasn’t ready to tell anyone about her work yet. It was so important to her that if he was to make fun of it or scoff at it . . . yeah, that could cause real damage to her confidence.
So for now, it was her secret.
“My fault,” he added.
Huh?
“What?”
“I’m not that easy to be around.” He grimaced. “I was better before I hurt my leg.”
“What happened?” she asked. “I mean, if you want to tell me. You don’t have to.”
“Car accident. My leg was basically crushed. I’m lucky to have it, although sometimes I think it might be better if I didn’t.”
“It must cause a lot of pain.”
“It does, but the worst thing is having to accept help. To accept I can’t do everything myself. I know I can be abrupt and rude. But you don’t need to be scared of me.”
“I . . . I’m not scared of you. I just don’t want to get in the way. To be a nuisance.”
“You know what would be a nuisance?” he asked.
“What?”
“You dying of starvation in my spare bedroom.”
Her lips twitched.
“Eat,” he commanded.
A moan escaped as she took a bite. “Oh my god. Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he said huskily, giving her a strange look.
“It’s really good,” she told him. “My husband never cooked.”
Darn it. Why did she tell him that?
“Never?”
“Uh, no. I did all the cooking. I got a bit sick of it.” George would never have done something like this for her.
“You’re divorced?”
“Hopefully soon,” she told him. “I left him a while ago.”
He nodded. “Figured if you had a man of any worth he wouldn’t let you drive up here alone.”
“Let me?”
“Yeah. You were mine, no way in hell you’d be driving up a mountain alone in winter. Probably not any time of the year.”
“You don’t have a significant other?” she asked carefully.
“Not anymore. You finished?” He gestured at her empty plate.
“Oh yes. But I can clean up.” She got to her feet and grabbed the plates. Then she remembered his aversion to having people help him. “You cooked, I clean. Fair?”
“That seems fair.”
“Do you think this storm will last much longer?” she asked. “I kind of thought storms only lasted a day at most.”
“This one is pretty bad. Probably another day, but it’s likely another day or two after that before it’s safe for you to drive. You’re eager to leave?”
“No!” she said quickly. “I mean, only if you’re not in a hurry to get rid of me.”
“No hurry, Alice. You can stay as long as you need to.”
You can stay as long as you need to.
Anson was still shaking his head over those words the next day when he walked into the kitchen. It was mid-afternoon and he’d barely seen his guest again today.
He wasn’t sure why, but for some reason that was starting to annoy him.
The storm had finally eased up this morning, but like he’d told her, she needed to wait a few days to drive. He’d have to get Joey up here to plow the driveway first.
Spotting her sitting at the counter, he stopped to study her for a moment. She wore an oversized sweater with some yoga pants and thick socks on her feet.
It was an outfit that his ex would never have been caught dead in. But Alice looked adorable.
Fuck.
What was that thought? He didn’t think she was adorable. She was an annoying house guest.
Except he’d noticed how gorgeous she was. How sweet she smelled.
This was not what he needed right now. He did not need to be attracted to her.
“What are you doing?” he asked more abruptly than he’d intended to.
She let out a cry and turned, holding her left forefinger with her right hand.
He peered around her, noticing the chopped apples and sharp knife.
Shit.
“Did you cut yourself?” he asked with alarm, moving over to her.
“I’m okay.” But her voice wobbled and there were tears in her eyes.
“Show me,” he demanded as he stopped in front of her.
She shook her head.
“Alice,” he said in a low voice. “Show me.”
Trembling, she showed him her finger. It had a slice across it. Thankfully, it wasn’t too deep. Didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured.
She sucked in a breath and he realized what he’d just called her.
Shit.
But he decided to pretend that didn’t happen. Grabbing hold of her wrist gently, he turned her to the sink. Then he twisted the tap to make the water run and placed her hand under it.
“Wash it off. I’ll get the antiseptic and a plaster.”
“It’s really nothing more than a scratch.”
“What were you doing?” he asked, getting the first-aid kit.
“I was going to make an apple pie,” she explained as he got some paper towels to dry off her hand.
He turned off the tap and grasped hold of her hand again.
“It’s really not worth fussing over.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” he informed her as he put antiseptic on it.
“Ouchie! Ouch! Ouch!”
Surprise filled him as her voice took on a different pitch. She sounded so . . . young.
“Christmas bells. Sorry,” she said. “I’m being such a baby.”
“You can be whatever you like,” he told her as he put a band-aid on the scrape.
Without thinking, he drew her hand up to his mouth to kiss her finger.
“There, all better.”
What the fuck was that?
He took a step back, needing some distance between them before he did something really stupid.
Like kiss her.