Chapter 11 Darby
DARBY
Drowsy and weary in the best way possible, I can barely lift my head as Henrik gently shifts me off his chest to the side.
When he stands and draws on some loose pants, I prop myself up on my elbow. “Where are you going?”
He leans down to swipe hair back off my face. “I’ve got to take the rabbit out of the oven before it shrivels up to something even Skadi won’t eat. Then lay in some more wood. It’ll just take a few minutes, unless you’re ready to get up and eat.”
I don’t even try to stifle a yawn. “As good as the rabbit smells, I’m pretty wiped.”
“Then stay here and keep the bed warm. I’ll be right back.”
I feel bad he’s going back out in the storm—but not bad enough to get up and help. He’s used to living out here and bringing wood in for the fire, right? Though he went with me to take Skadi out…
Sighing, I sit up and untangle my legs from the sheets to swing them over the edge.
His bed is so high I can’t touch the floor.
We were in too much of a hurry for me to see much of his room, so I look around, hoping to see more of his personality revealed in his private space.
The soft glow of the lamp on the bedside table provides enough light to see more of the same as downstairs.
Rounded log walls bare of any pictures or artwork.
The furniture tells me a little more about its owner.
A huge four-poster style bed frame made from thick logs.
Another checked print on the bed—this one blue and black.
The floors are wide wooden planks, but an oval braided rug sits under the bed, cushioning my bare feet from the cold.
A matching dresser and nightstands on either side of the bed are free of any clutter except for the lamps, which are old-fashioned white glass bases with blue shades.
Is he extremely neat? Or a minimalist? Or maybe he just doesn’t care to have a bunch of stuff out in sight. I’m tempted to check out the bathroom vanity to see if he’s as neat in there, but if I don’t hurry, he’ll be done with the wood.
I pick up the first item of clothing I find.
His shirt. Perfect. It’s warm and huge and smells like him.
Woodsy with just a touch of smoke. It hangs down to my knees, so I don’t bother with trying to find my panties or leggings.
I’m not actually going to step outside but at least I’ll be up and ready to help stack wood by the fireplace.
The hallway is darker, so I carefully make my way down the stairs. Even the distance between steps feels exaggerated as if made for a giant. The stairs creak with every step, and the house cracks and pops in the silence. Geez. The wind must be really bad.
Downstairs, it’s completely dark except for a faint glow from the fireplace, the fire even lower than when I first came inside.
I wait a second for my eyes to adjust. I don’t remember seeing wood stacked on the front porch.
Maybe he’s got a back door in the kitchen area?
Surely if he came in the front door when I was dozing on the couch, I would’ve heard him.
Footsteps outside on the front porch have me turning toward the front door. Guess I was wrong. Though why would he knock on his own door?
A blast of snow and cold makes me gasp more than the shock of someone coming inside after a brusque rap.
It’s not Henrik. The vague outline of a man is far too small.
“Ren?” I call out. “Is that you?”
“What the fuck?” A man blurts, definitely not in Ren’s voice.
I back away quickly, hoping I don’t bump into anything in the dark. A light flicks on and a stranger gapes at me. He’s wrapped up in a thick coat and woolen scarf and hat, stomping his boots to get the snow off. Thick reddish beard—does every man on the mountain look like a lumberjack?
“Who the fuck are you?”
Taken aback by his harsh tone, I reply stiffly, “I could ask you the same question. Are you Doyle or Leland?”
He finally manages to shut his mouth, but he still stares at me without answering. Maybe he doesn’t talk much. Then he leaps at me and grabs my arm, pulling me toward the door. “Get out, before he gets back. Hurry!”
“What? Let go of me. Henrik—”
“He won’t take kindly to having a strange half-naked woman in his house. Did Ren put you up to this? He must have. You know his name.”
“Skadi!” I call out, my voice rising with panic. Where is she? She might have gone out with Henrik. The man hustles me to the door, his grip unrelenting. “Henrik! He should be back—”
“Shhh,” the man hisses beneath his breath. “I’m trying to save you, lady. Where the fuck are your clothes? I can’t throw you outside without pants.”
“Henrik went to get more wood. He should be back—”
Finally, I hear a door open behind us and Skadi’s claws clattering on the wood floor.
She growls and snaps at the man, and he immediately releases me, lifting his hands up soothingly.
I don’t think she’ll actually bite anyone, but she puts on a good show.
I stumble backwards, trip over something on the floor, and start to go down.
Only to be snagged up against a mountain I know has to be Henrik. Steadying me against his bulk, he locks me against his side. “Trying to steal my woman, Lee?”
His light, teasing tone surprises me. I assume this guy is Leland, his friend, but the man was trying to hustle me out the door. I wrap my arms around Henrik’s waist and crane my neck to look up at him. “Your woman?”
One corner of his lips quirk with amusement. “Unless you want it to be our woman? I’m game.”
I open my mouth. Shut it. Repeat.
I had to misunderstand him. People don’t go around saying stuff like that. Especially men. Big burly rough and tough men. Right? Right.
Macho lumberjacks certainly wouldn’t joke about sharing a woman so casually.
“Our woman” still echoes in my head.
He laughs, the deep belly-shaking laugh he did before. “You both look poleaxed.”
I glance over at his friend, and from the look on Leland’s face, he’s equally dumbfounded. That makes me feel a little better until he focuses on me. His wide-eyed stare turns to something deeper. More intense. His eyes narrow with what might be speculation. Then darker.
I try to tell myself it’s my imagination.
That certainly couldn’t be interest in his gaze.
LELAND
I can count the times I’ve heard the big guy laugh like that on one hand. One finger, in fact. This is the only time Henrik Zondag has ever made such a carefree sound of amusement in my presence.
Maybe he laughs his ass off in the privacy of his home listening to comedy specials, but I seriously doubt it. Unless everything about his Mighty Zon persona is just a fake personality he’s built over the years.
I dismiss the thought as soon as it occurs to me.
I’ve known Henrik since middle school. The biggest kid in our class, always silent and careful because of his size.
A casual shove in the lunch line would flatten a kid, and he was a beast on the football field.
No one ever touched our quarterback if Henrik was on the line.
But his true passion had always been hockey. I played through high school but quit as soon as I graduated. I never had his instinctual skills. He guarded the net as carefully as he guarded our quarterback, effortlessly putting his mitt or body in the way of a flying puck without hesitation.
I always assumed he’d be a possessive son of a bitch, smashing skulls and cracking necks of anyone who looked at his woman sideways. That’s why he remained single, or so I thought. Ren, sure, we double-dated and sometimes even shared the same date without any issue. But Henrik? No fucking way.
Evidently, I couldn’t be more wrong. Even though I’d known him most of my life.
In a million years, I never would have guessed that Henrik would fall first. Let alone be open to the possibility of inviting the rest of us into their relationship.
“Babe, this is Leland Daniels. Lee, meet Darby. I don’t know her last name.”
“Barclay,” she adds. “From Denver. I’m on my way to Vegas to visit my parents.”
Mind blown, I can only stare. Tousled, messy black hair about her shoulders.
Full, luscious lips. Shapely legs beneath the dress of a shirt she wears.
Baby blue eyes. With the shy tilt of her head and the way she peeks around Henrik, clinging to him, she reminds me of a doe in the woods.
Ready to flee at the slightest noise or any sudden movement.
How the fuck did she end up here in Henrik’s cabin? His bed? Did they know each other? They must. But when’s the last time he even went to Denver?
All I say is, “Sorry about trying to hustle you out of the house. I hope I didn’t scare you.”
The corners of her mouth tip up in a soft smile. “Sorry about Skadi barking at you. I hope she didn’t scare you.”
Hearing her name, the dog trots back over and starts sniffing me, giving me a more thorough inspection than any captain or sergeant I’ve ever reported to. I hold out my hand, waiting until she accepts a pet. Instead of rubbing her head against my palm, she turns to the side and offers her butt.
Darby laughs. “Sorry. She likes butt scritches.”
From her doggie grin, Skadi’s laughing over her shoulder at me, but I don’t mind. Not if her owner smiles again. Obligingly, I scratch up her spine above her tail. “Is that rabbit I smell?”
Henrik heaves out a rumbly sigh. “Yeah. Hungry?”
“Always, especially if you’re cooking.”
“I was going to take it out of the oven. I suppose we might as well sit down and eat dinner since we’re up anyway.”
The scowl he shoots my way tells me he won’t soon forgive me for the transgression of showing up and interrupting whatever round they were on.
“Is there anything I can help with?” Darby asks.
“Nope, take a seat at the table. Lee’ll show you the way. I’ll be along in a sec.”
I make a mental note that she hasn’t been here long enough to know the layout of his cabin yet. I lead the way behind the stairs past the kitchen to the opposite side of the house, pointing out the other rooms past the dining nook. “Bathroom, guest room, office at the end of the hall.”
“Oh, this is lovely. I bet there’s a gorgeous view with all the windows, at least when the snow’s not blowing so crazy.”
“Absolutely.” I pull out a chair for her and then sit in my normal place with my back to the bay window. “On a clear day, you can see Ren’s house across the lake. Sometimes Doyle’s too.”
“Doyle’s the other friend?”
A thousand questions burn in my mind. But after years of working my Chicago beat, I know a direct attack won’t get me the information I seek. It’s better to give a little more than I take, just like reeling a feisty trout. “Dr. Doyle Flanagan, one of the founding members of Mooseville.”
She smiles. “I saw the sign, population five.”
I point over my right shoulder. “My cabin’s on this side of the lake across the creek. Have you met them yet?”
“Just Ren. He picked me up in Big Bertha.”
“You were out on I-70?” Then it clicks, what she said before. “I’m on my way to Vegas to visit my parents.”
“No fucking way,” I mutter, shaking my head.
“Yeah.” She heaves out a sigh, her cheeks pink. “I thought I could make it through the mountains before the snow got too bad, but I was wrong. Luckily Ren didn’t hit my car at the bottom of the exit. I couldn’t believe there isn’t any hotel or even a gas station on your exit.”
My eyebrows rise, my jaw hanging on the floor. “You don’t know him.”
“Ren? No. He just happened to come by when I got stuck.”
“No, Henrik. You just showed up here and…”
Her cheeks burn scarlet. She shifts in her seat and starts to rise. “I’m going to go—”
I close my hand over hers on the table. “No, I’m sorry, Darby. Tell me everything. Please.”
She doesn’t meet my gaze but shrugs her shoulders. “There’s nothing to tell.”
“A misunderstanding,” Henrik says.
She jumps, jerking her hand out from beneath mine and flicking a quick, guilty glance up at his face. He sets down plates and silverware on the table. Then wraps his palm around her nape.
Her eyes flare and then all the tension bleeds out of her shoulders. She melts beneath his grip.
“I assumed she was one of Ren’s groupies. She quickly set me straight, and we hit it off. End of story.”
I call bullshit. No fucking way that’s the end—unless it’s only chapter one.
I want every single word of this epic tale of how one pretty little gal wrapped the formidable Mighty Zon around her pinkie.