Chapter 3
Kellen
“What the fuck?” Panic seized me as the couple of lamps I’d turned on flickered off.
Night had fallen, so no light came from outside.
The beautiful view of the snow-capped mountains across the lake had vanished in the snow.
Among my very few memories were those mountains.
They’d been obscured today by the falling snow.
I’d taken comfort they were there—a monument to the test of time.
Now…just nothing.
A light flickered on.
The guy stood holding a battery-powered lamp.
“I suppose you were a Boy Scout.”
“Yep. And you’re damn lucky I am. I have enough batteries to last for several days.”
“You knew this might happen?”
“Uh, let’s see, shall we?” He rolled his eyes, which I was only now noticing were a lovely dark-brown.
“Lots of trees. Lots of powerlines. Snow makes branches heavy. Branches break off and take down powerlines. Yeah, I knew this might happen.” He snagged his phone from his back pocket.
“Why your dad doesn’t have a generator, I’m not certain. ”
“He doesn’t come up here much in the winter.”
The guy met my gaze.
I swallowed, panic continuing to rise. “I’m Kellen. Kellen Parsons.”
“You already said that. And I sort of figured—the Parsons part anyway. I’m Marco Moretti.
Nice to meet you.” He scrolled on his phone.
“Well, BC Hydro is aware of the outage. It’s massive.
I hope it’s just one tree and that they’ll be able to restore service.
Someone will have to come up here, as they likely won’t have anyone nearby. ”
BC Hydro. British Columbia, undoubtedly. “They’re the power people?”
He arched an eyebrow. “Never paid an electricity bill, eh?”
“Uh…no.”
I could’ve sworn he muttered, little rich kid under his breath. Likely, he didn’t expect me to hear. I puffed out my chest. “Not so little. I’m taller than you.” Not by more than a few inches, but I’d take whatever advantage I could.
He arched an eyebrow.
We both had lanky frames.
Without a response, he put the lamp on top of the mantelpiece.
He grabbed a small rectangular box, then he made his way over to the wood stove.
He opened the top, struck a match along the side of the box, then dropped it into the stove.
“I filled it with wood yesterday, so this will last for a while.” He pointed to the fireplace.
“I’ve got that stocked as well, and I can light it later.
For the moment, I’m hungry. You want some beans? ”
“Beans?” I blinked.
“Brown beans in maple syrup-flavored sauce. Good source of protein and doesn’t taste too bad either. I can also toast some bread and give you that with a bit of honey butter. I don’t want to use any more wood than I have to.”
“What does that mean?” I moved closer to the wood stove and extended my hands.
The room was already getting chilly.
“Do you have wool socks?”
“Uh…no.”
“Wool sweater? Turtleneck? Long underwear?”
“That would be a negative.”
He rolled his eyes. “I’ll see what I can scrounge. Your dad hasn’t left much up here. I suppose I can lend you stuff.” He padded off toward the bedroom.
I continued to hold my hands near the stove.
Clearly, you didn’t think this through. You should’ve headed south.
Down to, I dunno, California or Mexico. Although those places sounded toasty and warm, I would’ve had to go to the States to get there.
Given I wasn’t even driving my own vehicle and only had a small bag packed, I likely would’ve had trouble at the border.
You should’ve at least packed properly. Or stayed in a motel.
I pursed my lips. My credit card did have a high limit—but using it meant my father would know where I was.
Because of course he paid the bill. I’d never held a real job in my life. Which, at twenty-three, made me a little pathetic.
Marco returned. He tossed a pile of clothes my way.
I caught them.
He stalked off again and returned a few moments later with two pillows and a pile of blankets, including an old-fashioned quilt.
I arched an eyebrow.
“Well, the warmth won’t make it as far as the bedroom, so that room will be frozen.
The pipes are insulated, and I’ve got the bathroom sink dripping—don’t turn it off entirely, okay?
There are jugs of water in the bathroom that you can use to flush the toilet.
The old-fashioned pump in the kitchen sink works admirably to get water for cooking and dishes.
Like I said, don’t turn it off entirely.
Nothing like dealing with a burst pipe in the middle of nowhere. ”
“So you admit we’re in the middle of nowhere?”
“Duh.” He dropped the pile of blankets on the floor near the stove. “To warm them up. We’ll appreciate it when we get into bed.”
“Bed?” I glanced around.
“The couch has a pullout double bed. It’ll be tight with the two of us. Unless you want to sleep on the floor.”
“No, bed sounds nice.”
“I thought so.” He headed over to the kitchen area.
This great room was just one massive space with vaulted ceilings. The kitchen lay against one wall, while the rest of the space was dominated by the large sectional sofa and a recliner.
“Uh, I could sleep on the recliner.”
He chuckled. “For reasons I will never understand, the chair doesn’t recline.
Your father is rich, but he didn’t spend any of that money on this place.
” He opened the can with an opener, dumped the contents into a pot, grabbed a wooden spoon, and headed to the stove.
He put the pot on top and handed me the spoon. “Stir.”
I wanted to fight against his highhandedness, but I was also starving.
The last place I’d stopped was a fast-food place near Prince George.
I hadn’t thought of stopping at a grocery store to pick up food.
I supposed I had assumed this place would be well-stocked.
Or that, come morning, I’d be able to run into town.
Should’ve checked the weather forecast. One of only about a dozen mistakes I’d made so far—some of which might’ve gotten me killed.
Yeah, but would anyone have noticed? I didn’t like my inner voice’s question…
but he had a good argument. At some point in time, my father would wonder where his SUV was.
Or Lori would ask about my well-being. For all that she was hellbent on proving herself to Dad, she did—on occasion—notice me. So I stirred.
Marco returned with two slices of buttered bread on a frying pan. He handed me a spatula. “Flip every few minutes—don’t let it burn.”
Not wanting to appear stupid, I merely pursed my lips.
He reappeared a moment later and handed me a glass of water. “You need to stay hydrated.” He looked me up and down. “What is it that you do exactly? That you can just come up here and what, hang out?”
I jutted my chin. “I…am very important.”
“Flip the bread. More like you’re a waste of space. I don’t need to be watching out for your ass, but if I return you to your father with frostbite, I doubt that’ll go over well.”
“My father wouldn’t give a shit.” I muttered the words as I flipped the bread.
Damn, a little singed. Pay attention, dammit.
I stirred the pot of beans. Have I ever eaten brown beans?
Shit. I can’t even remember. Oh well, I’m going to pretend they’re the best thing ever made.
I sipped the water, then put the glass on the mantel so I could continue stirring and flipping.
“I am not a waste of space.” I said the words louder than needed in this small space—but I had to get my point across.
“How do I boil water for my hot chocolate? Is there no microwave?” I frowned.
“I guess they would require power. But that kettle thingy…” I pointed.
“And where are the marshmallows?” Because one simply couldn’t have hot chocolate without marshmallows.
“There’s a kettle I can put on the wood stove to boil water.” He glared. “I don’t have fucking marshmallows. And who said you could drink my hot chocolate?”
I bit my lower lip. “Well, I just thought—”
“Don’t think. Just stir and flip.” He kept doing something else in the kitchen I couldn’t identify.
Finally, he returned with two plates. He placed them on the coffee table, grabbed the handle of the pot with a potholder, then removed the wooden spoon from my hand. He apportioned us each some brown beans.
Despite myself, I was grateful he split them pretty evenly. My stomach gurgled.
Whether he heard or not was a separate question.
He put the empty pot in the sink, then returned with the potholder.
He grabbed the frying pan along with the spatula.
A moment later, he placed a piece of toast on each plate.
He put the frying pan in the sink, then returned a moment later with two spoons.
He handed me one, grabbed his plate, and settled on the recliner that didn’t recline.
Taking that as a signal, I grabbed my fork and plate, then sat on the couch.
The thing wasn’t that far away from the stove, but I missed the warmth.
Admit it—you’re a softie. I wasn’t certain softie was the right word.
If it meant I was soft, then that was certainly true.
If it meant I was a caring and gentle individual who let himself be walked all over?
Yeah, that too. I ate in silence, trying not to feel uncomfortable, yet not able to relax either. Once I’d sopped up the last of the sauce with my bread, I could admit the meal had tasted better than I expected.
Not that I was going to admit that to the prickly man sitting near me. Still, I had to do something to break the deafening silence. “So what is it that you actually do?”
“I’m an environmental science doctoral student. I’m studying the effect of climate on ice formation.”
I frowned. “Really?”
He cocked his head. “You realize companies like your dad’s are ruining the world, right?”
“And yet you asked him to let you stay here.”
“I made a persuasive case. I made the macro micro.”
I frowned. “You did what now?”
“I convinced your father that my research could help explain the anomalies he’d seen in the past few years to do with his lake. I can’t believe he owns an entire lake.”
“Yep, that’s my dad.” I brushed a crumb off my shirt.
“You know climate change isn’t real, right?
” I licked my fork. “That it’s just variations on atmospheric changes.
Fifty years ago, they were studying why the Earth was getting colder.
Predicting another ice age. Twenty years from now, we’ll have moved away from this climate-warming thing. ”
His jaw dropped. “You realize that nine of the ten hottest years on record were in the past decade? That we’re warming our planet at an alarming rate? That your father’s companies are contributing to the accumulation of greenhouse gases in the environment?”
“I don’t understand what any of that means.”
He rose, stalked over to the bookcase, grabbed a book, and brought it over. He dropped it onto my lap. “Read this while I wash the dishes. Then you’ll want to piss, brush your teeth, and help me get the bed organized.”
“It’s barely six o’clock.”
“Yes, that’s true. And without light, there isn’t much else to do.
I’m exhausted after a day of collecting data.
Since I can’t work on my laptop, I figure I might as well go to bed.
Now, are you going to be a spoiled brat and throw a temper tantrum, or are you going to come to bed like a good little boy? ”
I scowled.
He glared.
I relented.
He grinned.