Chapter 4 #2
Even though she didn’t know he’d almost kissed her.
Now here he was, mostly naked, alone in a cabin with her, dancing a dance where he didn’t know who was leading. The way she rested against him felt so intimate, yet he knew it was clinical.
Skin-to-skin contact was purely for medical reasons. That much he knew, even if Colleen let off confusing hints of more.
He was just reading the signals wrong.
There were no signals.
Just misinterpreted noise.
He heard running water from the bathroom, a thin trickle that confused him. Had he missed plumbing? Nothing in the kitchen indicated that there was any.
Colleen appeared, smiling. “They have a sink in there! Five-gallon fresh water tank. Foot pump. I washed up.”
“Feel better?”
“Yes.” She made a face. “The hot-and-pricklies are back.”
“You sure that’s not just your attraction to me?” he joked.
Or not.
Maybe it wasn’t a joke.
Desire flashed in her eyes. He wasn’t imagining it. The mask of sarcasm returned, though, and she said, “Both feel super creepy and easy to confuse with the other.”
Awkward yet again, she stood before him and he patted the bed.
“What do you need right now?”
“More heat.”
“I’ll add a log to the fire.”
“I hate to ask, but…” She reached slowly for a mug and brought it to her lips, the pause killing him. To fill the void, he went to the stove to add the wood.
“Mmmm,” she said. “Warm water is really helping.”
“No rum in there.”
“Save it for later. I’ll need it.”
“For what?”
“I’m shivering. I think PTSD will kick in next.” Wild eyes met his. “I’m starting to freak out.”
“Starting?”
“Moore.” The crack in her voice made him shove the log he was contemplating straight into the stove, slam the door shut, and pull her into his arms, cradling her as he stretched them both out on the bed again, turning their intertwined bodies into a down-comforter burrito.
Chilled in some places, she was surprisingly warm in others, her now-dry hair tickling his neck as he held her. Their breathing synchronized as they rested on the bed until he couldn’t tell the difference between his own and hers.
“You need to drink, too.”
“I’m holding out for rum.”
“Hydrate.”
“Yes, Nurse.”
“Whatever it takes, you old lump.”
As he reached across her for his mug, her breast pressed against his biceps, the soft fullness of it nearly making him groan. Every part of him yearned for her, but all he was to her was a friend.
And a human heating pad.
That needed to be enough. More than enough. If the only thing he could do in this crazy situation was be the one who saved her, he could handle that. Her presence in his life meant more than being her romantic partner.
Not that he had any choice in the matter.
Risk-reward ratios were part of daily life in his business, managing inventory, going on buying trips, deciding whether a specific gem was worth the investment. Love You Jewelers was a thriving business, but it was also an entirely mainstream business.
Mainstream meaning boring. People wanted the same basic things–promise rings, engagement rings, wedding bands, and lots and lots of heart lockets, all stamped with the words Love You.
Boring for Moore, but never boring for the people who used these precious items to mark special, first-time events in their lives.
First kisses.
First dates.
First loves.
Proposals.
Weddings.
You name it.
While Moore sold thousands of identical quarter-carat diamond engagement rings each year, each one was unique for the person buying it. Moore pedaled love in a town steeped in it, but he couldn’t find his own true soulmate.
Hypocrite? Maybe, but a well-paid one. Plus, he genuinely liked what he did for a living. Everyone came into his store looking for a symbol of love and left clutching one.
As he stroked Colleen’s hair, he halted at that thought.
He’d found her.
Just couldn’t have her.
“Sorry,” she whispered through sniffles. “I’m a hot mess.”
“That is not a news flash.”
A giggle gave him hope.
“You always know how to make people feel better about themselves, Moore. You missed your calling. You should have been a therapist.”
The warm water was boring, too, but it made him feel better instantly. Colleen had drained her mug as well, so he peeled himself away from her, realizing as he got out from under the warm covers that the air had warmed.
“That stove is working.”
“Whew. Then we’re safe.”
Outdoors, the light had taken a turn, and darkness was falling. A wall clock said 5:22, which seemed impossible. Really? Had it only been a few hours since that whole mess back at the airport?
Some chunks of time were denser than others. This one felt like a neutron star. Like osmium. So many emotions and actions and events crammed into such a short space of time. Colleen had been part of his entire life, so how could the last few hours hold more meaning than everything that went before?
Except that wasn’t true. It was precisely because of all the previous years that these moments were weighted so heavily.
Colleen was precious cargo, clutched in his arms as he pulled her out of the pond and carried her here.
Now that she was talking and joking in the warm cabin he’d found, his hands like hot oven mitts as they warmed up, his muscles starting to scream for recognition from all he’d just suffered, Moore felt himself sinking.
Pausing.
Standing down.
“Moore?”
Colleen’s voice had an edge to it.
“Hmm?”
“You okay?”
No, he wanted to answer. No, I’m not. Wasn’t okay before all this happened.
I’m a screw-up and will always be a screw-up.
My kid hates me. My latest girlfriend dumped me by text.
I couldn’t stop the crash we just had. Barely got you out.
Now you’re in my arms, my body all yours to keep you safe, and…
And…
And what?
And he was too chicken to say more.
Moore couldn’t say… more.
“Sure,” he finally replied, shaking himself out of his stupor as he poured them both more water, his hand tremoring so much, he spilled hot water on the counter.
“You just went through an enormous trauma,” she said in a voice of dawning awareness. “You’re not okay.”
“No,” he confessed, slow and uncertain. “I’m not.”
“I’m so sorry. It’s all my–”
“DON’T!” he shouted, his voice big in this tiny space. It felt good to be big somewhere. To take up room.
To matter.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t say it’s your fault! It’s not your fault.
It’s nature’s fault. Nature nearly killed us both.
No one could have stopped it. Yes, we could have made different choices, maybe gone through Portland instead.
Or I could have been in the driver’s seat and actually gotten us killed.
But no one did this to us, Colleen. It just happened.
And you nearly died. You nearly–” Emotion took over, consuming him, his own vehemence unstoppable.
He couldn’t shut up if he tried.
“Moore,” she said, her voice a thin rasp. “Please come here.”
Bracing himself against the counter, he leaned into his palms, feeling his shoulder blades nearly touch, the pain ripping through him as injuries announced themselves. More than a few cuts were stinging on his hands and feet, and that knee was like a big bass drum, thumping hard.
“Right. You need your water,” he replied, turning back with the mugs.
His barely dressed state rolled into his consciousness now that the immediate threat was over.
Reality check: He and Colleen were virtually naked together.
As he approached the bed, she was on her back, hair spilling on the pillow, her cheeks finally showing a little color, her eyes wide open and looking at him with an emotion he couldn’t name but felt down to his toes.
Moore might have been in denial, but he wasn’t oblivious.
She cared, too.
If she were any other woman, resting on a bed with that look and the words “please come here,” a night of very hot, fun, juicy sex would commence.
This wasn’t any other woman.
“Here,” he said, thrusting the mug toward her. Colleen sat up slowly, seeming a bit amazed by her body doing what she wanted it to.
“Thank you for the water. It really does help. And–and…” Colleen lifted the mug to her lips, looking down, eyelashes long and lacy.
“And what?”
“And I did nearly die. You’re right. But…
” she said, her hand going to his forearm, short nails glistening, coated with clear polish.
Unlike Cammie, Hannah, and nearly every other woman he knew, Colleen didn’t have manicured nails.
She said she hated the feeling, and long nails ruined medical gloves, so why bother?
The difference added to the newness of the moment.
“But?”
“But we’re alive.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes darted to the bottle of rum he’d left on the small table by the kitchen area. “And that calls for a celebration.”
“I thought you said you shouldn’t drink alcohol when you have hypothermia?”
“I think I’m out of the danger zone. My kidneys work. I can sit, stand, walk without chest pain. The numbness and tingling is a good sign. And my shivering–” Her whole body began again, as if her words had triggered it.
Tucking the covers around her shoulders, he waited as she finished her water, then gently took the mug from her.
“Then pirates we be, matey,” he said in his best pirate’s voice.
“You sound like an Australian with a bad case of tongue-tie.”
He stuck his tongue out as far as it could go, then curled it up, almost licking the base of his nose.
“I am not tongue-tied, I assure you.”
Did she just blush through the shakes?
“I’ll handle the shiver-me-timbers part, apparently,” she joked as Moore’s heart lifted, the mood lightening. On the brink of pouring his guts out, the forcefield he held in place when he was around Colleen had thinned so much, it was almost breached.
Almost.
Nerves shot, his body bare before her, he didn’t need to add a dramatic moment of massive rejection to what was already one of the worst days of his life.
Why pile on?
“You’re sure it’s okay to drink?”
Instead of answering, Colleen picked up the jar of peanut butter, opened it, and dipped a spoon inside. As she licked the peanut butter, her eyes met his.
“Ah ant suffin imah tummick.”
“I don’t speak peanut butter. Say what?”
“I want something in my stomach,” she repeated, “before I have a drink. You should, too.”
A loud rumble from his gut agreed with her.
And so Moore found himself dining on peanut butter, sipping water from his mug, and curling under the covers against her still partly chilled skin. As the Franklin stove did its job, he let his guard down.
In his body, at least.
In his heart, not so much. That had been a close call.
“Luke must be going out of his mind,” he pointed out. “It’s been hours. When you didn’t return, I’ll bet he went into cop mode.”
“He’ll find us eventually. Or if he doesn’t, someone will.”
“You sound so serene about it. Not like the Colleen I know.”
“I don’t have the energy to be anything but serene right now.”
Leaning closer, his face inches from hers, he caught her eye. The peanut butter spoon was in her mouth, upside down, the bottom so clean, he could see his distorted reflection in it.
“I will make sure you’re fine.”
“You already did.”
“I’m going to see this through. In the morning, I’ll get dressed and flag someone down on the road.”
Coleen looked at her pile of torn clothes. “Uh, yeah. You’ll have to. You sliced my clothes off.”
“Because you ordered me to!”
“I wasn’t making a judgment against you, Moore. Just stating the facts. And speaking of clothes, you should hang yours up to dry.”
“My suit is ruined. And my shoes are somewhere back in that pond.”
“Yeek. Flagging someone down suddenly requires way more sacrifice.”
Mulling through the complications of how to find help finally turned Moore to the bottle. Gripping it with authority, he poured a shot into the mug and drank it down.
“Let’s take stock. We have a jar of peanut butter.
Two-thirds of a bottle of rum. Water. A safe place for the night.
Your clothes are useless, and mine will shrink to the size of an eight-year-old if I dry them too fast. I have no shoes.
And it looks like we’re getting ten to twelve inches tonight. ”
Did… did her eyes just drift to his crotch?