Chapter 22
22
“No.” Lachlan squinted at her warily from under his thatch of tousled brown hair. “Why would anyone say that?”
Maybe Maura should be angry. But she wasn’t. So he’d Googled her. That was pretty standard practice here in the twenty-first century, even in Firelight Ridge, apparently. Then he’d jumped to some conclusions that happened to be accurate.
Except that last one. The idea that she could never feel free or safe or happy with him—just hearing him say he wished for those things made her heart glow. Lachlan wasn’t trying to harm her. He was trying so hard to navigate his way through her situation—completely blind, thanks to her wariness. Why? Because he cared about her. How could she possibly be angry at that?
She finished unwinding her scarf, from which rose the comforting smell of wet wool. “Would it help if I told you everything?”
“Yes. No. You don’t have to. You shouldn’t have to. It’s your life.” His words stumbled over each other. “All I need to know is what you need from me. I like clarity.”
“How about…” She closed the gap between them, feeling her heart beat faster. Her heart welled with excitement. She hadn’t felt this way since… No, don’t think about the past. Think about right now. This uniquely lovely man standing before her. “This?” she said softly, once she stood flush against him. Rising up, she brushed her lips softly against his.
She lost herself in his gaze. His eyes were a wild green that spoke of hope and spring fields and mossy streams. His lips were sweet and firm and a little bit chapped. Winter lips. Confident lips. They returned her kiss and immediately turned the tables so he was the one kissing her. Her head swam and she relaxed against him while his arms—stronger than she’d expected—came around her.
Had he mentioned the word “safe?” This kiss didn’t feel safe at all. It felt like a portal to all kinds of unknown and wonderful things about to be experienced.
They pulled apart with a soft gasp. Lachlan ran his tongue over his lips, looking both greedy for more and confused. “Did I accidentally do something right?” he asked, a corner of his mouth quirking upwards. “Because my science brain added things up to ‘no Maura for me.’”
“I mean, you could have asked me rather than Googling me. But—” She held up a hand before he could respond to that. “I understand why you didn’t. I haven’t been making it easy for anyone to ask those kinds of questions.”
“I’m sorry I Googled you,” he said gravely. His hands were on her back, warm and strong, and she leaned against them, loving the feeling of being supported.
“You know, I’m actually not sorry. I’m fine with you knowing everything. It’d be a relief.” She whooshed out a long breath and unzipped the down vest that had belonged to her grandmother and was now repaired with patches of silver duct tape curling at the edges. Even though she’d been so bundled up, and even though skiing at night was hard work, the cold had penetrated through the exposed skin of her face.
He helped her take off the vest, then added it to the pile of winter gear on a chair next to the door. The warmth of the house, after the exertion of skiing through the night, made her drowsy. “Come on,” he said, noticing her heavy eyes. “You sit down next to the fire and I’ll bring you some chowder.”
Had anyone ever said anything so inviting? She let him guide her into the living room, where reading glasses sat atop a pile of scientific journals on the coffee table. “I bet you look cute in your glasses,” she said through a yawn as she plopped down on the couch.
He slid them on and offered his face for her assessment. Definitely cute. “I’m sorry, I meant with just your glasses,” she teased.
He was even cuter when he was blushing, she decided, as he went back to the kitchen for the chowder.
Poor Lachlan, she must be confusing him with her switch from strictly friends to kissing. Even though he was rolling with it, maybe it seemed sudden. But she knew it wasn’t sudden at all. She’d been having these kinds of thoughts about Lachlan for a while; she just hadn’t shared them with him .
She yawned again and curled up with her head on the arm of the couch. Lachlan’s wood stove had a glass window through which you could see the flames. Pinky’s had one too, but it was so sooty you could barely see through it. As she lost herself in the soft flicker of the fire and the pleasant aroma of woodsmoke mixed with the creamy scent of heating chowder, she felt herself drifting off.
Safe , she thought with the last vestiges of consciousness. Lachlan makes me feel safe.
She barely woke up when he lifted her into his arms and carried her to something soft and warm—a bed. He pulled the covers over her and murmured in her ear that he’d be on the couch if she needed anything. She wanted him to get into the bed next to her, but wasn’t awake enough to express that out loud.
Then she fell back asleep so thoroughly that nothing else existed—the chowder, the kiss, the snow, the mountains, but especially, the fear.
When she woke up, it was daylight. Out the window, she caught sight of patches of coral pink sky behind the spruce trees. She was in Lachlan’s bedroom. Lachlan’s sheets—cozy plaid flannel—cocooned her in softness. Lachlan’s smell—outdoorsy and healthy—comforted her. She took a moment to stretch and survey the room. An overflowing laundry hamper sat in one corner, a set of weights in another. Framed pieces of art filled the wall space—a pencil sketch of a nude woman, a signed botany print of an orchid. A stunning photograph of a climber halfway up Ice Falls caught her attention—then she realized that it was Lachlan.
Was she the only one awake? She sat up and listened to the quiet. Where was Lachlan? Oh right—he’d told her he’d be on the couch if she needed anything.
Sure enough, she found him stretched out on his back under an orange crocheted blanket, a pillow squished between his ear and his shoulder, one leg dangling off the side. A soft snuffling snore made a rhythmic sound that followed her into the kitchen. She found her phone, which she’d left on the counter, and saw that it was nearly ten in the morning.
Did Lachlan have somewhere to be? Should she wake him up? She went back into the living room and gazed at him for a long moment. He must have stayed up late reading, because all those science journals were scattered across the table and even the floor. A yellow notepad held notes written in scrawling handwriting. Some ink from the pen had gotten onto his hand, which lay on his chest.
He was just so freaking adorable, she thought. Somehow he’d wormed his way under her defenses and all she wanted to do was wake him up and drag him back into his bedroom.
She’d make coffee and breakfast, she decided. What better way to wake up than to the smell of coffee? In the kitchen, she found the coffee maker and some eggs and got to work.
The coffee was dripping and she was whipping some grated cheese into the eggs when a sleepy, sexy voice made her look up from the counter.
“I’m dreaming, right?” Lachlan made a show of screwing his eyes shut, then opening them again. He was wearing thick fleece sweatpants and a t-shirt with a picture of the periodic table of elements. So nerdy, that shirt—yet she could see his bare skin through a hole under the neckline, and somehow that made it sexy. How was he so adorable?
“Hey, I’m hungry. I never got my salmon chowder last night.”
He tapped the side of his head. “I saw that coming. Put her to bed before she eats, I thought. That way she’ll have to make breakfast. Who says my science brain isn’t good for anything?”
She laughed with him, then stopped abruptly. Over Lachlan’s shoulder, she could see part of the picture window with its view of a snow-filled valley. Had a shadow just passed by it?
Lachlan turned to see what she was looking at. There was nothing outside the window now. Just snow and forest. The wind was picking up surface snow and spinning it into sparkling drifts of ice mist. That must have been what she’d noticed.
“I should tell you what Ruth said. I was going to, last night, before I kissed you, then fell asleep.”
He looked especially interested in her mention of kissing. “Can we talk about that last part first?”
“The sleep?”
“The kiss.”
“It was a good one.”
“It was a very good one.” They smiled at each other. “Count me in for more of those, if you’re onboard,” he said.
“You could have slept in the bed with me last night. I was hoping you would.”
“Stay another night and we can do it that way.” Lachlan’s eyes shone like spring itself. “I wasn’t going to make any assumptions.”
She nodded, and now that she thought about it, she was glad he hadn’t slept next to her. Her brain might think it was fine, and even her heart, but her body might have residual fight-or-flight reactions. She hadn’t woken up with another man in her bed since the one cursed time she’d slept with SS.
“Lachlan,” she said, more seriously. “Before we go any further I want to tell you what happened back in Colorado. I think you should know. It’s only fair. But first, about Ruth…”
The scrambled eggs were ready, so she looked around for a plate. Lachlan grabbed two from the cupboard, along with two forks. She dished out the steaming eggs, her mouth watering.
“Ruth told me that the men out there—cousins and uncles and so forth—are working on something that they won’t tell her about. Whatever it is, they think it’s going to bring them a big windfall. But every time she asks anyone what’s going on, they clam up. She’s worried because the kids’ status could be jeopardized by anything illegal.”
Lachlan was listening closely, all flirtation drained from his expression. “Do they know that?”
“Yes, they know. But they don’t seem to care, or they think whatever they’re doing is worth it. She’s worried, but doesn’t know what to do about it. I asked her to tell me if she gets any more tidbits of information. I feel bad for her.” She remembered Ruth’s distressed expression as she related all this to her. “Back in the old days, she trusted them all, but then everything fell apart for the Chilkoots and she was left dealing with the mess. Since she’s the children’s legal guardian, the responsibility falls to her. She told me she won’t ever be that trusting again.”
And that was the moment she and Ruth had connected on a core level. Both of them had been betrayed by people or institutions they’d trusted. Going back to that na?veté was not an option, especially for Ruth, who had six brothers and sisters she had to think about.
“She really opened up to you,” Lachlan was saying.
“I think she needed someone to talk to. It’s a lot for anyone to deal with. I asked her about the wolf attack victim, whose name is Al Grover. She helped treat his wound until they shooed her away. They said it was because he had to take his pants off, but she doesn’t believe that’s the reason. She listened in and it sounded like they were threatening him.”
“Threatening him with what?”
“She didn’t catch it, just the sound of their voices. Oh, and whatever’s going on that they’re keeping secret, a woman might be involved.”
“A woman? Who could that possibly be?”
“I have no idea. This is all based on scraps of overheard conversation. I asked her about the cell phone corporation—TNG—but she hadn’t heard that name at all.”
Frowning, Lachlan dug into his plate of eggs right there on the kitchen counter. She got the feeling he did that kind of thing a lot—kept on task without taking an actual break for a meal.
“Did you ask her about the grenade?”
“I did. She didn’t seem at all surprised. The Chilkoots have always been big collectors of weaponry. A lot of it was confiscated, but she says they still have hidden stashes.”
“Good to know.”
“Right?” She was picking up her own fork—why sit down for breakfast anyway—when a flash of something outside the window caught her attention. “There it is again!”
He spun around. “What?”
“I don’t know. A shadow. Something flashing past the window. Now it’s gone.”
He abandoned his plate of eggs and strode into the living room. She followed, her heart in her mouth. “Maybe it was just a bird flying by.”
“Maybe. Was it high up or lower down?”
“Lower,” she said, realizing that her bird theory probably wouldn’t hold up. “And fast. Like a streak of?—”
She shrieked and jumped back as something lunged at the window, all bristling fur and snarling teeth. The creature—a wolf?—attacked the glass with its front paws. It lifted its head and let loose a howl that gave her chills even through the thick pane. Then it butted its head against the glass, hard. And again.
She clutched at the back of Lachlan’s t-shirt. He was lunging toward the wolf, waving his hands in the air and shouting, “Go away. Go on, get out of here,” as if it was a dog escaped from the neighbor’s yard.
The wolf slammed its head against the window again, and Lachlan spread his arms wide as if to shield Maura from the inevitable moment it cracked the glass and charged through.
It couldn’t break the window, could it? The horrifying thought streaked through her, just as the wolf dropped down to all fours. It spun around and loped off the deck into the snow, then toward the dark shadows of the woods, dripping blood on its way.
There was a smear of blood on the window too. The poor wolf had bonked himself bloody against the glass.
Maura and Lachlan looked at each other.
“What the fuck ?” they both said at the same time.