Chapter Four #3
I hit her in the hip.
She straightened.
“That was cheap.”
“You were distracted by your independent contractor.”
“I notice you accept my terminology when it’s useful.”
Caprice came at me with a snowball in each hand.
I ducked the first.
The second clipped my hat and knocked it sideways.
She shouted in triumph.
Bear barked and ran between us again.
I reached for more snow.
Caprice took off.
Her stride was shorter in the loaner boots, but she was faster than I expected. She almost reached the nearest pine before Bear decided running together required physical participation and cut across her path.
Caprice tried to dodge him.
One boot sank deep into the powder.
She went sideways into a drift and disappeared almost to her waist.
I was moving before she finished landing.
“You okay?”
Her head came up.
Snow covered one side of her hat, cheek, and shoulder.
For a second she looked stunned.
Then she started laughing.
Not the quiet laugh I’d heard over dinner. This one took her over completely until she had to brace both hands in the snow.
“I told you he’d probably knock one of us down.”
“You said probably.”
“I was trying not to scare you.”
“That was your mistake.”
I offered my arm.
Caprice ignored it, rolled onto her knees exactly as I’d shown her, and pushed herself up.
“Look at that. I retained training under pressure.”
“You did.”
She planted one boot, stood, then shoved a handful of loose snow down the front of my coat.
Cold slid straight across my chest.
I sucked in a breath.
Caprice backed away, eyes bright.
“That wasn’t covered in the briefing. You laughed when I fell.”
“You were laughing too.”
“Those facts can coexist.”
She ran.
I caught her around the waist before she made three steps.
Caprice squealed and grabbed my forearms.
“You can’t use superior reach after a rules dispute.”
“You put snow down my shirt.”
“I was making a point about adaptability.”
“You’re about to adapt to a snowbank.”
She laughed harder.
“Lucky, don’t you dare.”
I stopped.
Her laughter eased when she realized I’d gone still.
I kept my arms around her waist without moving her anywhere.
“You want down?”
She looked over her shoulder.
“No.”
The answer hit harder than the snowball had.
Caprice settled back against me.
Even through both coats and layers underneath, I remembered exactly what she felt like.
She turned in my arms.
Snow had melted into tiny drops along her cheek. Her nose was pink with cold, and a few strands of blond hair had escaped under the hat.
She smiled.
“What were you going to do with me?”
“Nothing you didn’t want.”
“I know.”
She rose as high as her boots allowed and kissed the bottom of my beard.
Then she scooped snow from my shoulder and smeared it over my neck.
I swore.
Caprice ran again.
This time I gave her a head start.
The next hour got away from us.
We threw snow until my shoulders warmed under my coat. Bear chased, rolled, shook powder over both of us, and eventually stole one of Caprice’s gloves when she removed it to wipe her face.
“Bear.”
He bounded away with the glove hanging from his mouth.
Caprice pointed at him.
“Your criminal enterprise is expanding.”
“He likes consistency.”
“I’m not losing another item of clothing to that dog.”
She chased him.
Bear considered that an invitation to improve the game.
He ran in a wide circle while Caprice followed, shouting increasingly specific legal threats.
I stayed out of it until he made the mistake of circling too close to me.
I caught his collar and took the glove.
Caprice arrived breathing hard, cheeks bright from cold and exertion.
She held out her hand.
“Thank you.”
I gave it back.
She looked at Bear.
“You’re on probation.”
Bear leaned against her legs.
Caprice immediately scratched his neck.
“Probation seems generous.”
“It allows affection. Management requires flexibility.”
“Convenient.”
I laughed and brushed snow from her hat.
She caught my wrist before I could lower my hand.
Her smile softened.
“You’re having fun.”
“I am. And judging by that smile, so are you.”
“So am I.”
Caprice looked out across the open area we’d destroyed with footprints, paw prints, falls, and scattered chunks of broken snowballs.
“I haven’t done this in years.”
I waited.
She sounded surprised more than sad.
“My brother and I used to do this when we were kids. Somewhere along the way, getting soaked became laundry and inconvenience instead of fun.”
“That sounds like adulthood.”
“It does.”
She glanced at me.
“I’m not renouncing adulthood.”
“Good. I’d worry about your production.”
Her smile came back.
“I’m renouncing nothing. I’m just acknowledging that there’s snow inside one glove and I’m not interested enough to fix it yet.”
“You will be when your fingers get cold.”
“Then I’ll fix it.”
That sounded exactly like Caprice.
She could run a production, explain technology I barely understood, chase a dog through six inches of snow, and still decide a wet glove could wait five minutes.
I liked every part of the combination.
Bear suddenly left us and headed toward the trail to my house.
I checked the time.
Almost three-thirty.
“We stayed out longer than I thought.”
Caprice’s eyebrows rose. “You lost track?”
“I was distracted.”
“By what?”
I looked at her.
Her smile went slow.
“That is extremely satisfying.”
“You’re also soaked.”
She looked down.
The knees of her snow pants had darkened, one sleeve carried a wet patch from Bear’s last collision, and melting snow dampened the edge of her hat.
“You’re not exactly dry.”
“No.”
“Is the rental closer?”
“From here, my house is about the same distance.”
Bear waited near the path.
“He needs food anyway. Come over. We can get warm, dry your clothes, and head back later.”
Caprice followed the trail with her eyes until it disappeared between the trees.
Then she looked at me.
“You’re inviting me to your house.”
“Yes.”
“I know you live there. I’ve heard about it. I’ve apparently walked past the turn several times without knowing.”
“You have.”
“But I haven’t seen it.”
“No.”
Her expression warmed.
“I’d like to.”
Those three words meant more than they should have.
My house wasn’t a resort property. It wasn’t polished for guests, and there was nothing there designed to impress her.
She wanted to see where I actually lived.
I took Bear’s leash from my pocket.
“Then let’s go before that glove becomes a problem.”
“I knew you were coming back to the glove.”
“You told me you’d handle it when your fingers got cold.”
“I regret giving you evidence.”
We followed the wooded path.
Snow softened every sound except the crunch beneath our boots. Bear walked ahead, calmer now that he’d burned off most of his morning enthusiasm.
My house appeared between the trees.
Caprice slowed.
The roof was dark timber under white. Smoke rose from the chimney. Two pairs of work boots sat on the covered porch beside a wood rack and the shovel I’d left against the rail.
“This is yours.”
“It is.”
“You built any of it?”
“Parts. My dad helped with some of the early work, and I’ve changed things over the years.”
I opened the mudroom door and let Bear go in first.
Caprice followed.
The house smelled like the woodstove, pine, and the faint remains of morning coffee.
Warmth hit us immediately.
Caprice exhaled.
“Oh, that’s good.”
“Get the wet coat off before it starts running down your back.”
“I was already doing that.”
“I know.”
We stripped out of the outer gear in the mudroom. I hung her coat beside mine, spread the snow pants where they could dry, and put her gloves near the warm-air vent.
When Caprice stepped into the main room in leggings and her sweater, she stopped.
I knew what she was seeing, even though none of it looked unusual to me anymore.
Pine floors worn smooth along the paths between the kitchen, stove, and hallway.
Heavy beams overhead. The old couch Bear considered partly his.
A kitchen table scarred twice by mistakes I’d never bothered sanding out.
Cookbooks mixed with repair manuals on the shelves.
Family photographs at one end. A stack of unopened mail. Apples on the counter.
Nothing had been selected as a set.
I’d just accumulated a life.
Caprice moved farther into the room.
“You were right.”
“About what?”
“This isn’t a cabin. It’s a really nice house.”
I smiled. “I’ve been saying that. Thank you.”
She touched the back of a kitchen chair lightly before glancing toward the shelves.
“You actually use this kitchen. I can tell.”
“That sounded judgmental.”
“It wasn’t. The rental kitchen looks like it expects photography. This one expects dinner.”
That was one of the best descriptions of my house I’d ever heard.
Bear went to his bowl and stared at me.
“Right.”
I fed him while Caprice wandered toward the photographs.
She leaned closer but left the frames where they were.
“Your sister?”
“Yeah. Her husband and the kids.”
She moved to another.
“Your parents.”
“Right.”
“And that must be your brother.”
He stood in uniform beside me in the last photo we’d taken together.
Caprice smiled faintly.
“You look alike around the eyes.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“Not everywhere.”
I glanced over.
Her attention had dropped lower.
I laughed.
Caprice turned from the shelf. “What?”
“Nothing. I’m respecting your inspection.”
“That was definitely something. My inspection is excellent.”
The room quieted around us.
Bear ate behind me.
Caprice’s damp hair had started curling slightly near her neck. Her sweater clung where melted snow had reached the collar, and her nipples showed through the knit.
My cock hardened.
Her gaze dropped.
Then she looked back at me.
“You should warm up before we do anything else,” I said.
“I am warming up.”
“You’re still damp.”
“That’s true.”
I nodded toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s there. Take a shower. I’ll find you something dry.”
Caprice stayed where she was.
“Lucky.”
The sound of my name in that voice tightened every muscle I had.
“Yeah?”
“I want you to come with me.”
I held her gaze.
“Into the shower?”
“Yes.”
She stepped close and put both hands flat against my thermal shirt.