Midwinter Night's Dream (8 page)

Surely they would clear the highways today, and he could get out and see about taking care of Bessie.

The urge to empty his bladder hit, and he wriggled out of his sleeping bag and headed for the bathroom. The water coming from the taps was tepid at best. Time to stir up the fire, heat up some water on the stove, and make some coffee. After watching Joe do it, Errol felt confident enough to try it and let Joe sleep.

In stocking feet, Errol moved around the kitchen, stoking the stove with kindling and getting it burning. He filled the kettle with water and set it on the stove to heat while he readied the gravity filter full of ground coffee over the carafe.

Much as he’d like to make breakfast for Joe, Errol didn’t have enough confidence in his cooking skills to attempt making a meal on a wood-burning stove. Boiling water was one thing, but frying eggs was another. Hard to believe people had once relied on this kind of appliance and managed to control the heat for everything from eggs to baked goods. The cast iron radiated a lot of heat.

“Keep your hips back from the stove. Don’t want to burn your bits.”

How long would it be before the plows came down this far? Noon? Later? Not that he had anything to pack. Joe could take him to a phone, and Errol could arrange to get Bessie towed by some place that’d do it for under seventy-five dollars. On the twenty-sixth he could check out a couple of bars, see if they were hiring dancers or servers or busboys, whatever might make ends meet.

The kettle gave a low chirp. He wrapped a hot pad around the handle and pulled it from the heat before it could shriek and wake up Joe. Steadying the carafe with his left hand, he poured the steaming water into the filter, and the elixir of life began a trickle into the pot. The rich scent of French roast filled the air, and he breathed it in. Pure luxury. There was nothing like the smell of fresh-brewed coffee in the morning. He’d adapted to the flat taste of generic instant coffee over the past few months. It was either that or tap water, and the water at his place left something to be desired.

He set the kettle back on the stove. Now for the fire—

“Hey.”

Errol whirled. “Uh, hey. I—I made coffee.”

“I see that.” Joe stood next to the bed, clothes rumpled, eyes at half-mast, and a good case of bedhead. Too attractive for his own good.

“How’d you sleep?” Errol asked.

“Fine. You?”

“Fine.” Errol pulled a couple of mugs from the cupboard.

“I’ll be back in a minute.” Joe headed for the bathroom.

“Sure.” After pouring the coffee, he set the mugs on the table.
Now what?
The snow bucket needed to be filled for the stove reservoir. He went to the door, stepped into his boots, not bothering to lace them, and grabbed the big galvanized bucket. The door swung open on a pristine wonderland, cold, calm, and bright like a decorative Christmas plate. The snow sparkled in the sun, a million crystalline diamonds.

Errol breathed the cold air as he stepped outside, leaving the door open. In a way he didn’t want to disturb the perfect blanket. There was a drift on one end of the porch, and he scooped up a bucketful of snow.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Joe said from the doorway.

Errol straightened. “It is. I see the appeal.”

Looking at him now, Errol wondered how he’d missed the Blake Huffington connection. Was there any way to broach orientation without saying, “Hey, I noticed you have the
Advocate
in your duffel bag. Are you single?”

But wait a minute. Wasn’t Blake Huffington seeing some lower-echelon starlet? Chloe…Cassie? No…some kind of flower. Cosmo, that was it. Was she a beard? Did she know? Or was Joe bi?

It didn’t much matter anyway, because there was no way someone like Joe would be interested in someone like him.

“C’mon, thespian. I’ll make breakfast.” Joe swept an arm toward indoors.

Bucket in hand, Errol headed inside, set it by the fireplace to melt, and moved to the kitchen. “Think we’ll get out today?”

“Doubtful. Some major drifting, and there’s bound to be downed trees with those winds.” Joe knelt at the fireplace, coaxing the embers to ignite new logs. “Are you sick of me already?”

“No, just worried about my car.”
Just worried I’m getting a little attached to you, and I can’t have you
. The whole concept of caring about someone he’d just met sort of annoyed Errol. He shouldn’t feel more than gratitude.

He turned, and Joe was right there. Errol jumped, and Joe steadied him, gripping Errol’s arms, and the fresh evergreen smell of Joe surrounded Errol. He loved that scent. Joe licked his lips, and a shiver of awareness went through Errol. Eyes dark, expression open, close enough to…
Oh, God. Is he going to kiss me?

Errol took a step back. “Coffee’s getting cold.” He smiled brightly as he slid past Joe and took a seat at the table. “How’s that fire coming?”

Grimacing, Joe squatted next to the cooler. “Fire’s fine. Bacon and eggs okay?”

“Whatever you want.”
But what do
I
want?

* * * *

After breakfast, Joe left Errol to stay warm inside and deal with the cleanup. Joe had to get some air. He practically burst from the cabin. The cold felt good, and his breath steamed as he waded through the snow. He needed some good physical exertion to sublimate his hormones, and clearing the chopping block would work.

He’d come within a whisker of kissing Errol this morning. Hell, if the guy hadn’t moved away, Joe would have followed through, and then where would they be? In bed? On the couch? Or had he just planned to bend Errol over the table and take him?

You are a piece of work, Blake.

Manhandling was the last thing Errol needed. Judging by the marks on his back, Errol had been hurt, perhaps by the unknown Carson. Plus Errol might not be open to any sort of casual romance, and the last thing Joe needed was a relationship.

Add in the fact that Errol still had that starry-eyed dream of being discovered. Joe couldn’t be with someone who was a willing target for paparazzi.

He could sense Errol struggling not to ask for Joe’s assistance breaking into modeling or acting. Hell, the guy didn’t know any better. No matter how much Errol wanted it, Joe couldn’t feed him to the same sharks who had dogged his own existence for the past two years. Ironic that Joe had never set his sights on a modeling career; pathetic that he had let it overtake his passion for firefighting and rescue.

Hollywood was only interested in what could make money for its monstrous appetite. As soon as a star’s box office currency devalued, they were relegated to smaller roles and infomercials. The paparazzi were every bit as big a problem as rumored: intrusive, obnoxious, and willing to sacrifice anyone for the sake of a revealing photo and a sale.

If Errol left for LA, there was no chance of a relationship. That was for damn sure. When Joe had bought the one-way ticket to Colorado, he knew he’d never go back to—

Something moved in the trees. He froze and stared, straining to see past the branches, but nothing materialized, and it remained quiet. Probably a deer. Bears were hibernating this time of year, and Joe hadn’t seen tracks of any kind this morning, animal or human.

The paparazzi don’t know about this place.

Shaking his head, he picked up the shovel and uncovered the chopping block. Now to work off an attraction’s worth of energy.

* * * *

Careful not to bang the door, Errol eased onto the porch.

The only sound was the wind soughing in the pines, carrying their spicy scent through the clearing. It had been a long and tense morning, Errol dying to ask Joe about the
Advocate
and Joe keeping himself busy with everything from chopping wood to checking the oil in the generator. A quick lunch, a break for hot chocolate with peppermint schnapps, and then back to the woodpile. They’d have enough split firewood to hold them until spring.

This time of year the light fled early, but at four o’clock there was still enough for Errol to watch Joe bend and stack the firewood. That tight butt made a perfect target. A payback target. Joe had made such a big deal about Errol staying inside because of a little frostbite. It wasn’t like he’d lost an arm or something—he could help with the firewood.

Errol ducked below the top of the porch railing, scooped up some snow, and packed it into a ball. He hadn’t started a snowball fight for years, but no time like the present to take it up again. Sneaking a peek, he waited until Joe stood upright and let his icy missile fly. The snowball hit its mark, and Joe whirled. Errol ducked.

“All right, buddy.” Joe’s voice echoed off the surrounding rocks. “You don’t wanna mess with me.”

Oh, if you only knew
. Errol kept his back pressed to the porch and stifled a chuckle. With both hands he grabbed some snow and started packing.

A snowball exploded on the porch railing above his head, followed by another in short order.
Damn. Time to move
. Errol stood and threw, nailed a surprised Joe in the chest, and jumped the porch railing, heading for the shed in the backyard. Snowballs thumped into the snow on either side of him as he rounded the corner of the house and then made it behind the shed. His heart thudded as he leaned against the rough wood. It was exhilarating, being out in the cold.

Joe must be stockpiling, gearing up for an attack
. Two could play at that. Errol dived into production. He got to six, and something smacked into the front of the shed. Joe had to know his position; it wasn’t dark yet, and he’d left footprints. He counted to three and took a look. No Joe. Pulling back, he shook his head. Was Joe mad? He didn’t seem the type to get mad about a couple of snowballs, but—

Joe rounded the shed and dived at him. “Gotcha!”

Errol shot to his feet and took off running for the house. Behind him, Joe’s boots crunched through the snow. Then arms locked around Errol’s knees, and he was falling into the snow, getting a snow facial as the air rushed out of his lungs. The snow squeaked and crackled beneath them. Joe grabbed a handful of coat, and Errol rolled over, throwing him off. Or that was the plan anyway.

Joe got his legs on either side, straddling Errol, a huge grin on his face. “Gotcha.”

Not quite, big guy
. Errol groaned. “My chest. Oh, God.”

Instantly Joe was serious. “Sorry. Did I hurt you?” He hopped off.

Errol got to his feet and edged away. “I can’t believe you fell for that.”

Joe launched forward and tackled him, landing his considerable mass on top of Errol. The air whooshed out of him, and he shoved at Joe’s shoulders.

They rolled around on the choppy drifts, snow scraping their faces, laughing, hot breath steaming, legs tangling. All of a sudden they were nose to nose with Joe on top. Errol stilled. That warm weight covering him registered as pleasant, and his heartbeat shifted into a different kind of excited. The white clouds of their breaths mingled between them in the silence.

Panting, Joe stared down and ran the tip of his tongue along his bottom lip.
Oh, Lord
. Errol ached to feel those lips against his. Was he imagining that same longing in Joe’s eyes? It would be a mistake to read something into this that wasn’t there. A shiver ran through Errol, unrelated to the cold.

Joe’s hold loosened and changed from confining to hugging as he shifted his weight to his forearms. Warm breath fanned across Errol’s lips, and blood pounded in his ears.
God, I want this. I want
him
to want this. To want me
. He changed his grip on Joe’s shoulders, just hanging on instead of shoving.

Gazes locked, Joe leaned in an inch at a time, so close that the space between them narrowed to a fingerbreadth.

Errol stopped breathing.

Joe stopped breathing.

For a moment, anticipation hovered on the precipice.

Do I want this?

God, yes.

Errol slid a hand from Joe’s shoulder to his neck, encouraging. Joe gave a small moan and leaned in, closing the distance between them and pressing his mouth to Errol’s. Joe’s lips were soft and warm and opened in tandem with his own. Sweet and hot, and enough to send his anxious heart thundering.

Sighing, Errol risked sweeping his tongue along Joe’s lower lip and got a taste of hot chocolate and peppermint schnapps. This man was luscious. Errol tilted his head to deepen the kiss, exploring. Joe’s breath washed over Errol’s cheek in an erotic stream, and a gloved hand wrapped behind his neck.

The tenderness blew Errol away.

It was a good thing they weren’t standing, because there was no way he could have remained upright. The kiss stole his strength yet energized him, narrowed the world to the two of them. There was no cold, no snow, no cares. Anything was possible.

Somehow Errol’s gloved fingers had settled in Joe’s hair, and Errol shifted, moving his legs apart. Joe was just as turned on as he was. Their cocks pressed together through the layers of clothing, and they gasped, breaking the kiss.

Keeping eye contact, Joe rested his forehead against Errol’s, and they panted into each other’s mouths. This was the kind of kiss that preceded memorable nights spent in a soft bed, tangled up and sweating, the kind that made men want to come in their shorts…in their Escalade briefs. Errol whispered, “Wow.”

“Wow, indeed.” Joe closed the distance, and Errol opened for a deep kiss, letting Joe lead. The kiss heated up, gentled, and Joe lifted his head. Errol got a whiff of forest-fresh cologne and kissed Joe’s jaw, winning a shiver from him. Much more, and Errol would embarrass himself.

“Let’s go inside,” Joe whispered.

Biting his lip, Errol nodded.

* * * *

By the time they waded through the snow and got to the porch, Joe’s ardor had cooled a bit. Was this a good idea? They hardly knew each other. It was private here, but would Errol keep Joe’s secret? With a couple of shy glances and smiles, they stomped and brushed off as much snow as possible before stepping inside. Joe hung his coat on one of the hooks by the door, and Errol followed suit. Leaning against the wall, Joe took off his boots while Errol got his own unlaced and off.