Chapter 21
21
Lachlan was deep into an article about extremophiles—bacteria that were able to survive extreme temperatures—when a sound wrenched him out of his thoughts. He stilled, listening.
The house was quiet, as Gil and Ani were on a shopping run to Blackbear, and not due back until the next day. Snow fell softly in the darkness outside the picture window in the living room. He was reading by the light of a propane lantern that cast snowflake shadows on the ceiling. The only reason he knew it was snowing was that it was collecting on the lower frame of the window, like a low dune.
“Hello?” he called into the empty house.
He should really adopt a dog, he thought, for the millionth time. Maybe Lasse had a puppy that wasn’t suitable for a dog team—too much of a runt, or too disobedient, or too rascally. A misfit dog who needed a home.
The sound came again, and he realized it was a muffled knock on the door, as if the visitor was wearing gloves so thick they didn’t make much of a sound against the wood.
He checked the time on his phone. Even though it felt like the middle of the night, it was only eight. Which, here in Firelight Ridge, was the same thing as midnight except for the hardy folks who liked to shut down The Fang, then count on muscle memory to get themselves home.
In his thick wool socks—a hand-knitted gift from Lila—he crossed to the door, which had a glass lunette through which he could see exactly nothing at night. “Who is it?”
“It’s Maura. Jeez. It’s freezing out here.”
He opened the door and stepped aside for what looked like a walking bundle of outerwear, as if a pile of coats at a party had come to life. From between two hats and a scarf that she’d wound several times around her neck, Maura’s deep blue eyes met his.
“How long have you been standing out here?”
“I don’t know, maybe five minutes? I knocked a bunch of times. Didn’t you hear?”
“I was in the middle of something.” He was embarrassed to admit how lost to the world he became when he was immersed in something interesting.
“Reading?” she guessed dryly.
So she knew that about him by now. Figured. “What are you doing here?” Then, alarmed, “Is everything okay?”
“Yes, don’t worry, I wasn’t chased by any wolves.” She unwound the scarf, which was crusted with ice crystals from her warm breath. “Not that I know of, anyway. I came because…can you help me?”
She thrust her right arm toward him, and he realized she’d layered so many coats, one on top of the other, that she couldn’t get them off. He held her cuff while she tugged her arm out of the sleeve.
It took them a good five minutes to extract her from all her layers. “I couldn’t find my parka,” she explained, breathless, when she was finally down to a turtleneck sweater and fleece leggings that might have technically been long underwear. Lachlan forced himself not to look too closely at them. Static electricity made her black hair dance around her head. “Pinky wouldn’t let me leave the house until I layered up like the Michelin Man.”
He led the way to the kitchen, where he poured her a glass of water from the filtered jug. “Here, you’re probably dehydrated.”
She drank it down in one gulp, then gasped with relief. “You’re right, I was. That’s the best water I’ve ever tasted.”
He smiled as she used her damp hands to get control of her hair. “So, it must have been something urgent to bring you all the way out here.”
“No. Not exactly. Well, sort of. I needed some exercise anyway. I’ve been cooped up working on lesson plans and Pinky’s holding a cribbage tournament at the house and…”
He waited patiently. None of those things explained why she was here , specifically, in his house. He’d been sticking to his arm’s-length approach so as not to crowd her. At the same time, he’d kept a watchful eye on anyone and everyone who came through The Fang, especially strangers.
“I wanted to talk to you,” she finally said. “About some things Ruth told me.”
“Okay.”
He didn’t think that was the whole reason. Information from Ruth could have waited until daylight, or until they were both in town. She’d taken the trouble to ski from her house to his after dark. Had something happened involving the mystery officer in that photograph? He couldn’t push her about that; if she wanted him to know, she’d tell him.
“Are you hungry?” he asked instead.
“You have food?”
“You sound surprised. Of course I have food. A man can’t live on soil samples. How about some smoked salmon chowder?”
“You have smoked salmon chowder ? Did you make it?”
“No, the salmon jumped out of the freezer and dove into some milk, after chopping potatoes and carrots on its way. Of course I made it. I like to cook.”
She watched him as he took the pot from the refrigerator and set it on the stove. “Why did I not know that when I was showing off my meatballs?”
Showing them off? He hadn’t realized that was what she was doing. “I still dream about those meatballs,” he told her.
“They’re about to get even better. I acquired some oregano from Paulina Volk’s dried herb collection. I had to trade her for a sketchbook. It was a pretty high price, but so worth it. The next time I invite you, you should come over.”
He made a noncommittal sound. Refusing her last invitation had been difficult enough. He probably couldn’t do it twice. Now that she was here, he couldn’t stop stealing peeks at her flushed face and star-shine eyes. Her curves were so pretty in those leggings…his hands itched to settle on her ass and pull her against him.
No.
He wasn’t going to act like the man who had scared her. He was going to keep his distance and be her friend and not upset her. That was what he’d decided, and he was going to stick to it.
“See?” Maura jabbed a finger in his direction. “ That’s the other thing I wanted to talk to you about.”
“What?” He looked around the kitchen, puzzled. What was bothering her—the chowder? The pile of dishes he hadn’t gotten to yet?
“That ‘hmmm.’ Like you don’t know if you should come over for meatballs again. You’re giving me the cold shoulder and I thought we were friends.”
“We are.” Even though a hollow feeling settled into the pit of his stomach, he gave her a smile. “Of course we’re friends.”
“Then what’s going on?”
He stared at her helplessly, unable to think of a way to avoid a direct question. “I want to be your friend. I am your friend. I’m the kind of friend who doesn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
“But you don’t do that. What are you even talking about?” Something seemed to click. “Oh, because you asked me on a date way back when? I didn’t know you then. That’s not even…you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”
He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. How to explain himself without telling her he’d Googled her and found out about that officer?
“No, of course it’s not that. I can handle rejection. We’re way past that.”
But she was shaking her head, as if he hadn’t understood her. “What I mean is, maybe things would be different, if you asked me now. I know you so much better than I did then. Why do you think I keep offering you meatballs?”
The salmon chowder made a thick bubbling sound on the stove, and he quickly moved to turn it down. Something wasn’t computing. Was she saying that she was asking him for a date? “Clarify, please. Are you asking me out?”
“Yes. I mean, it’s the Firelight Ridge version, since we can’t go to the movies or out dancing or anything like that.” She offered him a winning smile. “We could pick up a DVD from Kathy. I can play it on my computer. Dinner and a movie?”
“But…” He wanted to say yes, that dinner and a DVD sounded perfect. But his conscience wouldn’t let him. He had to tell her the truth. “I Googled you,” he blurted.
She froze. In the silence, he heard the drip of water from her scarf onto the floor. They both ignored it.
“Why would you do that?” she asked.
He didn’t answer that very valid question. “I saw some newspaper photos of you with a police officer staring at you in a very disturbing way. Maybe I misinterpreted it, but it looked to me like he was some kind of obsessed stalker. I came up with a theory. He was stalking you and you came here to get away from him. You aren’t interested in me or any other man because you were—are—scarred by that experience.”
She blinked once, twice, her blue eyes nearly black from the dilation of her pupils. “Just tell me why you Googled me,” she repeated.
“I wanted to know what you’re so afraid of. I’m curious about you. I think about you. I care about you. I wanted to be able to help you. So I Googled you and I saw what I saw. I saw those photos, that man. Now I know that we can’t ever be anything other than friends because I would never want you to feel anything except free and safe and happy. But now that I went behind your back and Googled you, you could never feel that way with me. You might not even want to be friends.”
Her lips twitched.
Which was basically the last thing he’d expected. He stared at her as a smile slowly spread from her lips to her eyes.
“Lachlan McGowan, has anyone ever told you that sometimes your brain gets in your way?”