Chapter 4 #2
Then she shifted, shaking the snow from her hair, and the spell shattered. He told himself she was only a woman, a foolish one, walking in a storm. She would have no lasting effect on him.
But it was a long time after he heard her come inside before he went downstairs again.
She was sleeping on the sofa, books piled at her feet and on the floor. One of the exquisite throws was tossed over her. Despite the volume of the stereo, she slept deeply. Nearby, the fire blazed.
She didn’t look invincible now, Jacob decided. She looked disconcertingly serene. He supposed it was foolish to notice how long her lashes were as they shadowed her cheeks. How soft her mouth was when relaxed in sleep. How her hair, mussed from the wind, shone in the firelight.
They were only physical attributes, and in his time physical appearance could be altered simply and safely. It made life more pleasant, certainly, to look at a beautiful woman. But it was superficial. Totally superficial. Still, he looked for a long time.
***
Sunny woke like a shot when the music cut off.
The abrupt silence had her leaping out of sleep with eyes wide and curses on her tongue.
Disoriented and irritable, as she always was upon waking, she stared around the darkened room.
The fire had burned down to a soft glow and shed little light.
Though she didn’t think she had slept long, night had fallen. And so, she realized, had a power line.
With a sigh, she pushed herself from the sofa and groped her way across the room looking for matches. With a candle in one hand and a pack of matches in the other, she turned and walked into Jacob.
At her quick squeal, he brought his hands to her arms, both to steady and to reassure. “It’s only me.”
“I know who it is,” she snapped, infuriated that she’d jolted. “What are you doing?”
“Before or after the lights went out?”
She could see him well enough, silhouetted by the firelight, to make out the smile. “It’s the storm.”
“What about it?” The muscles in her arms were tensed. He had to resist the urge to slip his hands up the sleeves of her sweater and soothe them and stroke her skin.
“It knocked out the power.”
He hadn’t let her go. He’d told himself to, but his hands hadn’t listened. “Would you like me to fix it?”
Her laugh was quick and a bit unsteady. She wished she could blame the power failure for her nerves, but she’d never been afraid of the dark. Until now. “It’s a little more complicated than a toaster. The power company will get to it when they can.”
He was sure he could jury-rig something, but he didn’t mind the dark. “All right.”
All right, she thought, letting out a long breath. In the meantime, she was alone with him. Added to the fact that she wasn’t sure about his mental balance was the very real problem of being attracted to him. One thing at a time, she told herself, and took a deliberate step back.
“We have plenty of candles.” To prove it, she lit the one she held in her hand. It helped her confidence when she saw the flame hold steady. “And plenty of wood. If you’ll put a couple of logs on the fire, I’ll deal with getting us more light.”
He watched the way the small flame flickered in her eyes. She was nervous, he realized, and wished that didn’t make her even more seductive. “Sure.”
Sunny gathered every candle she could put her hands on.
Too late she realized that one or two would have seemed rustic.
The dozen she had scattered through the room only added an impossibly romantic atmosphere.
Stuffing the matches in her pocket, she reminded herself that she wasn’t affected by things like atmosphere.
“You wouldn’t know what time it is, would you?” she asked him.
“Not exactly. Around six.”
She sat on the arm of the sofa nearest the fire. “I slept longer than I thought.” Now she was going to have to make the best of a bad situation. “So, did you entertain yourself this afternoon?”
“I fixed the faucet.” It had taken more time and given him more trouble than he’d anticipated, but he’d managed.
“You’re a regular Harry Homemaker, aren’t you?” Because it sounded sarcastic, she smiled. They really did only have each other at this point, and alienating him wouldn’t be wise. “I could fix some sandwiches.” She rose, willing to be gracious if it kept her busy. “Want a beer?”
“Yeah. Thanks.”
Sunny took two of the candles into the kitchen and nearly relaxed before she realized he’d followed her in.
“I can manage this by myself.” She opened the refrigerator and swore when she remembered that the light wouldn’t come on.
Saying nothing, Jacob handed her a candle. She shoved two beers at him.
He remembered how she had dealt with the bottles that morning, and he was delighted when he found the same tool and popped the tops.
“Switch on the radio, will you?”
“What?”
“The radio,” she repeated. “On the windowsill. We might get a weather report.”
He found a small plastic box. He was grinning at it as he found the dial and turned on static.
“Mess with the tuner,” she advised him.
He was contemplating borrowing it and taking it back home. “Mess with it?”
“You know . . . fool with it. See if you can come up with a station.”
He stared at the little portable for a moment, wondering how one fooled an inanimate object. Making sure Sunny’s back was to him, he took the radio off the windowsill and shook it. Because that seemed stupid, he began to turn dials. The static faded in and out.
“Mustard or mayo?”
“What?”
“On your sandwich,” she said, striving for patience. “Do you want mustard or mayo?”
“It doesn’t matter. Whatever you’re having.
” He found some tinny music that was almost audible.
How did people tolerate such unreliable equipment?
he wondered. At home he had a portable unit that could give him the weather in Paris, a play-by-play of a ball game, a traffic report from Mars and a passable cup of coffee.
Simultaneously. This antique child’s toy wasn’t coming up with anything more than what sounded like a banjo playing in a wind tunnel.
“Let me try.” Setting the sandwiches aside, Sunny snatched the radio from him. In moments there was a blast of music. “It’s temperamental,” she explained.
“It’s a machine,” he reminded her, miffed.
“A temperamental one.” Satisfied, she set it back on the counter, then carried her sandwich and her beer to the table. “Weather report’s not much use anyway.” She applied herself to the sandwich. “I already know it’s snowing.”
Jacob picked up one of the potato chips she had piled beside the bread. “More to the point is to know when it’s going to stop.”
“Speculation.” She shrugged as he joined her. “No matter how many satellites they put up there, it’s still guesswork.”
He opened his mouth to contradict her but thought better of it and bit into his sandwich instead. “Does it bother you?”
“What?”
“Being . . .” What phrase would she use? “Being cut off.”
“Not really—at least not for a day or two. After that I start to go crazy.” She winced, wondering if that was the best choice of words. “How about you?”
“I don’t like being closed in,” he said simply.
He had to smile when he heard the light tap of her foot on the floor.
He was making her nervous again. He took an experimental swig of beer.
“This is good.” He glanced around when a voice broke into the music to announce the weather.
The cheerful, painfully breezy announcer carried on for several moments before getting to the mountains.
“And you people way up in the Klamath might as well snuggle up. Hope you’ve got your main squeeze with you, ’cause it looks like you’re in for a big one.
The white stuff’s going to keep right on falling through tomorrow night.
Expect about three feet, you hardy souls, with winds gusting up to thirty miles an hour.
Brrr! Temperatures down to fifteen tonight, not counting old Mr. Wind Chill.
Bundle up, baby, and let looove keep you warm. ”
“Not very scientific,” Jacob murmured.
Sunny made a rude noise and scowled at the radio. “However it’s presented, it means the same thing. I’d better bring in some more wood.”
“I’ll get it.”
“I don’t need—”
“You made the sandwiches,” he pointed out, sipping more beer. “I’ll get the wood when we’re finished.”
“Fine.” She didn’t want him to do her any favors. She ate in silence for a time, watching him. “You’d have been better off to wait until spring.”
“For what?”
“To come to see Cal.”
He took another bite of his sandwich. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it was terrific. “Apparently. Actually, I’d planned to be here . . . sooner.” Almost a year sooner. “But it didn’t work out.”
“It’s a shame your parents couldn’t come with you . . . you know, to visit.”
She saw something in his eyes then. Regret, frustration, anger? She couldn’t be sure. “It wasn’t possible.”
She refused, absolutely, to feel sorry for him. “My parents couldn’t stand not seeing Libby or me for so long.”
The disapproval in her voice rubbed an already raw wound. “You have no conception of how the separation from Cal has affected my family.”
“Sorry.” But she moved her shoulders to show that she wasn’t. “I’d just think if they were anxious to see him they’d have made the effort to do so.”
“The choice was his.” He pushed back from the table. “I’ll get the wood.”
Touchy, touchy, she thought as he started toward the door. “Hey.”
He rounded on her, ready to fight. “What?”
“You can’t go out without a coat. It’s freezing.”
“I don’t have one with me.”
“Are all scientists so softheaded?” she muttered. Rising, she went into a long cupboard. “I can’t think of anything so stupid as to come into the mountains in January without a coat.”
Jacob took a deep breath and then said calmly, “If you keep calling me stupid, I’m going to have to hit you.”