Chapter Twenty-One
“I need a bigger gun.”
The comment came out of nowhere. Ben’s eyes popped open. The gray light of dawn pushed at the windows but he’d been awake
for a while, content to hold her, in no hurry to get up. He wasn’t someone who lay around in bed, he got up and began doing
something . . . until now. This was different. Lying in bed with Sela was the best use of his time he could think of.
In the firelight he could see her staring at the ceiling, her mouth pooched out as she considered whatever she was considering,
which in light of her comment didn’t seem to be world peace. An unfamiliar sensation rose in his chest, his throat, and suddenly
he was laughing, truly laughing. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. “That’s what Olivia said, too.” And
he was just as startled now as he’d been then.
“I’d already thought about it, then forgot, but—we were lucky, because we were way outgunned. I don’t want that to happen
again. Even after you find whoever was trying to steal the gas, there’ll still be times in the future when we’ll have trouble.
Not constantly, but other people will try to come in, try to take what we have. So I need a bigger gun.” She wiggled her pursed
lips from side to side. “I bet I can trade something for one.”
“Don’t forget ammo. A more powerful weapon is useless unless you have the ammunition for it.” Her head was lying on his arm
and he crooked his elbow, bringing her closer so he could kiss her hair. “But don’t worry about it, I have you covered.” He
had a hidden arsenal at his house, weapons he wouldn’t be bringing out short of outright war. He hadn’t exactly come by them
legally, which was why they were hidden. Sela didn’t need a grenade launcher, though; she needed a deer rifle—and practice.
Lots of practice. If he’d been the one doing the shooting at the store, there wouldn’t have been any “maybe” about wounding
someone, there would have been bodies all over the parking lot.
He rubbed his hand over her bare stomach, silently marveling that he had the freedom to touch her in that manner, and more
intimately if he wanted. Three days ago he’d still been firm—mostly—in his policy of isolation, but then Sela had come up
the mountain to his place and all of that had turned on a dime. Now they were lying naked together, watching the room get
lighter as the sun rose and neither of them willing to get up and get busy because they didn’t want this time to end, even
temporarily.
Then she stretched and yawned—an action that for some reason made his hand slide up to her breasts—and said, “Bacon.”
“Uh . . . all right.”
“Barb’s probably started cooking by now; they have breakfast fairly early. She’s going to cook pancakes today, she said so
last night while we were cleaning up. Pancakes and bacon.” She sighed, the sound blissful with anticipation. Then she gave
him a look as serious as any he’d ever seen. “I need bacon.”
Mentally he slapped himself upside the head. “I brought a can of bacon for you, too; I forgot about it and left it in the
truck.”
She sat up in the blankets, her expression excited. “You did? We can have bacon here?”
He kissed goodbye to his fantasy of lying there in the warm blankets for an unspecified length of time, though the blankets
were now pooled around her waist and her pretty breasts were exposed, her nipples tight from the cold. His fantasy also included
getting back on top of her, something else that wasn’t going to happen right away. He got up and began putting on his clothes.
“I’ll get it.” And if he hadn’t forgotten the night before, he would still be lying there beside her, which proved the point
that forgotten details could come back to bite you in the ass.
Unfortunately, she got up and began dressing, too, signaling an end to the naked lazy-day cuddling. He hadn’t known he liked
naked lazy-day cuddling until now. Sela was making him rethink a lot of things, making him consider details he’d never considered
before.
One of those details had him pausing at the door, assessing all of the variables of their relationship. What he was assuming
and what she was thinking might not be the same thing. The valley people weren’t prudes and wouldn’t shun her for letting
him spend the night, but they would talk, and that might embarrass her. Cautiously, not certain at all how she’d reply, he asked, “Do you want me to start my
truck and let the windows defrost, so it won’t look as if I’ve been here all night?”
She’d been in the process of making coffee and she stopped cold, her mouth falling open as she stared at him. His gaze was
steady, though he unconsciously braced for her answer. If she wanted to keep their relationship on the down low, that wouldn’t
mean anything more than that she was cautious. That was what he tried to think, but his gut was tight as he waited.
“That depends,” she finally said, her tone careful, and his gut tightened even more. “Is this just a booty call for you?”
That answer was easy. “No. Not even close.”
A slow, radiant smile curved her mouth. “It isn’t for me, either. Don’t bother with the windows.” She turned back to the task
of measuring coffee into the percolator.
His muscles relaxed, and the weight of dread lifted off his shoulders. Ben found he was smiling as he went out to the truck.
The thin layer of snow crunched under his boots and an icy wind cut through his clothes, but he could see breaks in the clouds
that promised the snow was over. He looked around, by habit checking for movement, but the early morning was still except
for a few birds. The smell of woodsmoke was familiar and cozy, resonating with some cellular memory. Humans had huddled around
a wood fire for thousands of years more than they had an air vent.
He unlocked his truck and retrieved the can of bacon. They might have nothing but bacon and coffee for breakfast, but he was
good with that.
But breakfast was more than he’d expected. She unearthed some pancake mix that required only water, and though she didn’t
have butter, she did have a half-empty bottle of butter-flavored pancake syrup in her cabinets. Soon the bacon was being crisped
up in a heavy-ass cast-iron frying pan, then while he wrestled the mattress back into the bedroom to clear the space, she
knelt in front of the fireplace and carefully made the pancakes, one at a time.
They ate sitting on the floor in front of the fire, though there was a perfectly good table with four chairs, as well as the
couch. But the rug was fine, and it kept the percolator within reach. For some reason sitting on the floor felt more intimate,
and that made him happier than it should. He was a little amused and bemused at himself, turning into such a sap.
Afterward she heated some water to clean the dishes, then more water for them to wash off. She removed the bandage on his
shoulder, cleaned the wound, rebandaged it. “It looks okay,” she said. “No red streaks or anything.”
He’d known it was okay, because the wound was sore, but not throbbing. What was better than okay was the way Sela fussed over
him. He was naturally a loner and generally he’d taken care of himself, yet having her take care of him was a surprisingly
touching novelty. He frowned, thinking about it. As he pulled on his shirt he studied her—no makeup, hair simply brushed and
pulled back, wearing jeans and thick socks and a sweatshirt. He’d never wanted a woman more, never felt more satisfied by
the having of her. The first time had been fast and hard, the times after that less urgent so he could take his time and enjoy
the process, pay attention to what she liked, savor the slow push and pull. After five times he didn’t think he could come
again if his life depended on it—and he still wanted to be on top of her, inside her.
Everything had changed. Because of her, he wasn’t alone, didn’t want to be alone. And he wasn’t even panicking over it. Damn.
She noticed him watching her; he could see her face turning pink. “What?” she asked, unconsciously tugging at the hem of her
sweatshirt as if he hadn’t spent all night naked with her and had already seen every single inch.
He wasn’t a poet. He’d never in his life said anything remotely graceful. The closest he could come now was a somber, “You’re
sweet.”
“I—what?” Now she pushed at her hair, turned even pinker.
“Sweet. You’re a sweet person. You took your generator to your aunt’s house. You don’t eat much so they’ll have more. You
put bandages on me.” Yeah, that was poetic. Uncomfortably he shifted his weight. “I don’t know sweet, don’t know what to do
other than eat—” He paused, and a slow, purely male smile curved his mouth. “Okay, maybe I do know what to do.”
Now the pink in her face turned to red and she clapped her hands to her cheeks, which made him think maybe her dickhead of
an ex-husband had never done that for her, to her, with her. If he hadn’t, tough shit for him, because Ben didn’t intend to
make that mistake.
He went to her and put his hands on her waist, pulled her close. Immediately she nestled against him as if there was no place
on earth where she wanted to be more than right there, her head resting on his shoulder, her arms around his neck. Perfect.
Maybe they couldn’t spend all day together here, maybe there were things that needed doing, but right now there was nothing
that couldn’t be put off for a couple of hours.
Right now, they needed only this.
“Look, Ted. It snowed during the night.” Meredith was in the kitchen putting together breakfast—it wasn’t eggs and waffles,
but so far they were still doing okay on food. Ted kept an eye on their food supplies. He wasn’t a hunter, so he couldn’t
provide for Meredith that way. He’d thought about trying his hand at fishing, but he didn’t know a lot about that, either.
One of the reasons he’d joined the community patrol was because the members got a portion of food to pay them for their time.
She’d stopped her food preparations, opened the curtains, and was looking out the kitchen window.