Chapter 6 #2
“Is that…” she started, clearing her throat. “Is that—are those—loaded?” Her eyes wavered between the gun on the table and the rifle on the wall.
Guns had always made her uneasy. She had no experience with them—no uncles, no grandfathers, no one in her family had ever owned one. Between the police dog, the dead trophy deer, and the weapons, regret was swiftly overtaking her optimism.
The sheriff turned and followed her gaze. “Yes.”
She nodded hesitantly. Okay. She could understand that. There were wild animals in these mountains, after all, and protection was necessary. It was just… “Guns make me nervous.”
Slowly, the sheriff rose, the fire casting shadows across his face. All traces of heat from the shower were long gone, leaving his expression unreadable. “You know I’m a sheriff, right? It’s part of my job.”
“I know,” Lily admitted. “I’ve just always been kind of a pacifist.” Her eyes darted to the gun and cuffs again. “Do you really need the cuffs… on vacation?” she blurted nervously. Guns, she could see. He was a hunter, like it or not, but surely the cuffs were unnecessary.
A slow, sexy grin tugged his mouth up, and white teeth flashed against his rugged face. She blinked.
She would be lying if she didn’t admit that the sight was disturbingly attractive. It was good that he kept that grin to a minimum or the ladies of Northfield would break laws all over the place.
He picked up the gun and cuffs and slid them into the back of his jeans in one smooth motion. “There’s no better time to use them, darlin’.”
Lily’s brain short-circuited. Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Nope. No witty comeback. She gave up on words and fiercely willed the telltale pink flush that she knew was creeping up her neck and cheeks to go away.
“Um.” She coughed, suddenly fascinated by the interior design of the cabin. “Look at all that rustic… paneling. Really cabin-y.”
The sheriff’s grin widened, and she scrambled not to make any more idiotic comments. “Do you—um—chop wood?”
Oh my God. What was wrong with her? She wanted to sink into a puddle of humiliation and die, but the look of amusement on his face when he flicked a glance at her kept her rooted in a belated attempt at dignity. Clearly, she had none.
She wasn’t afraid of Sheriff Callahan, exactly. Logically, she knew he was an upstanding citizen and a good man. A hero, even. The kind of man people called when they needed help.
But he was also tall and broad shouldered and oozed a masculinity that made her very jumpy.
He also had another very serious, very impressive “weapon” that she’d been pressed intimately against—naked, oh my God!
—that she had no doubt he knew how to use.
And Lord help her, that image sent her already overworked nervous system into a full-blown meltdown.
“Yes,” he said with extreme patience that let her know he was feeling anything but.
“That’s how we’re going to keep warm. There’s no power or cell service, but we’ve got plenty of canned food, water, and whiskey.
It won’t be fun, but we’ll be fine up here for a few days until someone can plow us out.
” He was all calm authority again, with no trace of that wicked teasing grin, and Lily breathed a sigh of relief.
Despite herself, a tiny spark of curiosity flared. A part of her, the part that had never done anything unexpected or adventurous, perked up. “What kind of food?” she asked, realizing her stomach was growling. Aside from some toast that morning, she hadn’t eaten all day, and she was starving.
“Canned soup sound good for dinner?” he asked, already turning away. “There’s some in the cupboard.”
“Sure, I’ll look.” Grateful for a task, she crossed the room to explore the kitchen.
The cupboards held a mismatched set of utilitarian dishes and cups.
On the counter, an electric coffee maker caught her eye.
She briefly mourned the absence of coffee for the morning, but even that didn’t get her down.
The alternative, she reminded herself sternly, was being on a honeymoon right now with a man who had lied to her.
She opened another cupboard and scanned the shelves. Her stomach sank. “Um… do you have anything that doesn’t involve meat?”
Callahan turned, one brow raised. “You don’t eat meat?”
“I’m a vegetarian,” she said, a little defensively. “It’s better for the planet.” She shot a quick glance at the mounted deer head on the wall and winced. “And no one wants to eat Bambi,” she muttered under her breath.
“Bambi tastes great in chili,” he said mildly.
She turned back to the pantry with a huff, muttering to herself about Neanderthals. A moment later, she felt him behind her, close enough to raise the fine hairs on her arms. He reached past her, his solid arm brushing hers, and set a can on the counter.
“How about tomato soup and crackers?” he asked.
“Perfect. Thanks,” she said.
When she turned around again, he was lighting taper candles on the table. The warm glow cast more shadows along the walls and made the room feel even cozier.
“Mood lighting?” she teased.
He shot her another look of infinite patience. “We don’t have power, Lily.”
“It was a joke,” she said, trying not to smile. He was so serious.
“I’m going to get more firewood,” he muttered, shrugging into his coat.
Lily busied herself heating up two cans of soup in a small saucepan and pouring it into two bowls while Callahan and Cujo went back outside.
When the door opened, a blast of icy wind knifed through the cabin, making the fire in the stove flicker.
She shivered, glancing through the window beside the door.
Beyond the porch, the world was dark, the night sky swallowed by swirling snow that drifted thick and heavy, blanketing everything in white.
Outside, the dog leaped through the snow with a happiness at odds with his beastly appearance.
Callahan tossed a stick and then gave him a good rubdown when he brought it back.
She felt better. A man who could love a dog like that had to have a good heart buried under all that gruffness.
She hoped so because they were stuck together now.
When he came back inside, stomping his boots to shake off the snow, ice clung to his dark lashes, and his cheeks were red from the wind. His energy sucked up all the air in the cabin and made her jittery again.
“I heated up dinner,” she said, watching surreptitiously as he stripped the sheepskin coat off.
It must have been heavy from the snow, but his movements were easy.
Snow melted along the collar of his flannel as he moved toward her, and it took effort not to stare at the way it clung lovingly to his wide shoulders.
Lord, he was huge, and she was alone in a remote cabin without panties or a bra, her brain whispered helpfully.
They ate by candlelight, shoulder to shoulder on the small couch facing the stove.
The cushions dipped toward the middle, forcing her thigh firmly against his.
Rush’s leg was hard-muscled and twice as long against her own much softer, smaller body.
She held herself stiff then gave up fighting gravity and let his warmth seep into her.
Awareness tingled in every nerve, making heat zing straight through her thighs to between her legs.
When she glanced up, his eyes were already on her face. Then lower.
To her mouth.
Oh. She licked her lips without thinking then cleared her throat, trying to ignore the sudden flush crawling up her neck as she turned back to her soup.
The fire crackled merrily, the spoons scraping against bowls the only sounds while Lily pretended the room had not gotten a whole lot smaller.
When the last spoonful of soup was gone, Callahan took their bowls, set them on the floor, and sat back slowly, leveling her with a look. Up close, his eyes were steely gray, lit with silver flecks that caught the firelight. The weight of that cool stare made her want to squirm.
“Tell me what happened today.” His voice was low and calm but laced with an unmistakable command that made her jump to attention. She frowned. She needed to get ahold of that reflex.
“I’d rather not talk about it, Sheriff.” No way was she confessing Tucker’s infidelity. She hadn’t even told Evie yet about the photo. It was too raw and humiliating. “I just… needed to get away.” She braced herself, waiting for him to push, for the inevitable questions.
He held her gaze for a long moment while she tried not to crumble like a sandcastle at high tide.
“Fair enough.” He gave her a short nod. “Call me Rush,” he ordered instead.
She sighed in relief, grateful he hadn’t pushed. Knowing his unfortunate effect on her, she probably would have told him everything, and she wasn’t ready to face that right now, even to herself.
Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t awkward. Strangely, she felt peaceful and more than a little tired now that the adrenaline had mostly worn off.
“So, what about you?” she asked, sinking deeper into the soft couch.
Their bodies touched from shoulder to hip now, but instead of pulling away, she settled into it.
Maybe it shouldn’t feel this easy with a man she hardly knew, but after everything they had been through today, the intimacy felt almost natural. “What brought you up here? Vacation?”
He stared at the fire. “No. It’s not a vacation.”
The light from the flames carved sharp shadows across his face, and something in the tightening of his jaw made her stop smiling. “Then what?” she asked gently.
No answer. He didn’t move at all, still a warm, solid body pressed against her, but she sensed his withdrawal anyway. Her heart pulled tight in her chest, remembering.
She knew the story. Everyone in Northfield did.
The night he pulled Chloe Whitmore from the canal was a town legend by now.
The newspapers had gone crazy with the story, painting him as a local hero.
“Northfield’s Own Guardian Angel,” one headline had read.
Another had called him the “Sheriff with a Hero’s Heart. ”
The media had eaten him up—the decorated Marine-turned-small-town-sheriff, risking his life when he wasn’t even on duty to save a drowning child.
The little girl’s mother had slid on black ice and driven straight into the Erie Canal, and while Rush had managed to pull the five-year-old from the icy water, tragically, he hadn’t been able to save the mother.
The town had celebrated him. They’d held a fundraiser for the little girl, who now lived with her grandparents in Northfield, and toasted him at the local pub.
Lily and her family had all attended, but the sheriff had barely made an appearance.
He’d looked visibly uncomfortable with the handshaking and people clapping him on the back, thanking him for what he’d done, and he’d left early.
Lily had been at the Northfield town meeting when he was nominated for a local award, and she’d seen his face—hard and blank—a little like it was now. His expression gave nothing away, but she could see the weight of that night in the clench of his bruised knuckles and the tic in his jaw.
“Needed to get away,” he said at last, curtly.
A simple answer, but his tone made it clear he wasn’t going to offer any more details. She nodded, taking the hint. She almost reached out—almost—but stopped herself. He wouldn’t welcome it. Neither one of them was willing to dig too deep. Fair enough.
“I get that,” she said softly. “I guess you could say the same about why I’m here.”
His shoulders shifted again, and he nodded. “There’s a new toothbrush in the bathroom,” Rush said, getting up. “Anything else you need should be in the cabinet.”
“Thanks.”
Lily pushed herself off the couch. The warmth of the fire had made her limbs heavy, and exhaustion clung to her.
In the bathroom, she found the toothbrush still in its packaging, along with toothpaste and a comb.
As she brushed her teeth, her eyes caught on her white silk panties still in a soggy pile on the floor with her dress.
She took a minute to wash them with the bar soap and hung them over the towel rack to dry before padding back out to the couch.
Rush crouched by the stove, adding another log and watching the flames catch. The warm glow flickered over the walls, making the room feel smaller and more intimate. He absently rubbed the scar she’d seen on his thigh, his frown deepening until she made a noise, and he stood up quickly.
She lay down, curled up on the couch and yawned hugely as her eyes grew heavy. Even with her eyes closed, she knew when he had stepped closer. The tiny hairs on the nape of her neck stood at attention, and she felt the heat of him as he draped a quilt over her.
“Here’s another blanket.” His hands hesitated for half a second at her shoulders, like he might tuck it around her. But then he pulled back.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Get some rest, Lily.”
She wanted to answer, but the pull of sleep was stronger.