One Night in the Ice Storm (2 page)

She’d
actually come out here in the ice to help the asshole.

Instead
of giving him the rude retort that sprang to her lips, she said coolly, “Since
you obviously don’t need my help, you can get back to the house on your own or
freeze to death with your truck, whichever you’d prefer.”

Then
she slammed the passenger door, a motion that jarred her hands painfully, and
started walking—slipping—back to the house.

To
her horror, she was almost in tears. Because it was such a small town and he
was still her brother’s best friend, she still ran into David frequently—whenever
she came to visit her family, which averaged about once a month. She was
usually able to act as though he didn’t exist or else respond to him with
disinterested civility.

This
direct confrontation, however—on top of the effort and discomfort of the trek
through the sleet—brought all of her old hurt and anger to the surface.

Her
brother was right. She should be over this by now. David shouldn’t still mean
so much to her. She shouldn’t react like this for no reason.

She
hated him even more for making her feel so young, so helpless.

Her
grandfather had been the most influential man in the county before he died last
year. He’d owned three lucrative car dealerships and had his hands in every
aspect of local politics. Their family had founded this town generations ago.
All her life, people had assumed she was a spoiled princess, no matter how hard
she’d tried to prove herself otherwise.

She
hated feeling that way—like no one thought she was capable of holding her own
in the world.

Her
walk down the drive was unstable and clumsy, since her little ankle boots had
absolutely no traction on the ice.

She
didn’t look back to see if David followed her, although she desperately wanted
to do so.

She’d
gotten more than halfway to the house when one of her feet slipped on the sheet
of ice covering the pavement, and she completely lost her balance.

She
fell down in an ungainly sprawl, the ice burning the skin of her freezing palms
as she caught herself. One of her ankles twisted beneath her.

The
only thing she could process—as irrational as she knew it to be—was that this
whole horrible mess was David’s fault.

Without
warning, strong hands started hauling her up.

Startled
and disoriented, she fought them instinctively.

“Damn
it, Rachel,” David gritted out, leaning over again and getting a better grip on
her waist so he could help her to her feet. “Why are you so ungodly stubborn?”

He
was a lot stronger than she was, so she didn’t have a choice about standing up.
Naturally, she wouldn’t have wanted to stay on the icy ground, but her teeth
were chattering with cold and fury both as she straightened up. She was about
to tell him very clearly that he was the stubborn one of the two of them when
her weight landed on her left foot.

It
hurt so much her knees buckled, and she had to grab David’s arms to keep from
falling again.

“What
is it?” he demanded, sounding more bossy than concerned. “Your ankle?”

“I’m
fine. I just twisted it.” She let go of him and forced herself to take a step.
It hurt. A lot. She ignored it, though.

When
boys in her class at school had laughed at her insistence that girls could
climb trees as well as boys, her pride had compelled her to prove herself by
climbing the same tall tree all of the boys were, even though she’d been
shaking with fear when she’d reached the highest branches.

When
David had dumped her that summer eight years ago, her pride had compelled her to
keep anyone from knowing how much he’d crushed her.

She
certainly had enough pride to make it back to the house on a twisted ankle now.

“You’re
being absolutely ridiculous,” David said, falling in step with her and catching
her with one arm when she slipped again. “You can be invincible once we get
back to the house, but you’re going to have to put up with my help until then.”

She
gasped in outrage and then regretted it, since the intake of frigid air hurt
her throat. “I wouldn’t be out here at all if you hadn’t been stupid enough to
run your truck into a ditch, so don’t talk to me about being ridiculous.”

He
ignored her, too preoccupied with grabbing each of her wrists in turn and putting
his big leather gloves on her hands.

“I
told you—”

“I
know what you told me, but I’m not going to be blamed for your getting
frostbite.”

She
didn’t have a chance to let him know how utterly absurd the idea was of her
getting frostbite in the time it took to walk from the truck to the house because
he was starting to move again.

Since
his arm was around her waist, bracing her weight, she had no choice but to walk
with him.

“Why
are you wearing such ridiculous shoes?” he muttered, glaring down at her
high-heeled leather boots. “No wonder you sprained an ankle.”

“I
wasn’t planning to hike in the ice, remember?” She had to fight the urge to
pull away from him. She hated the feel of his strong, lean body against hers,
the feel of his arm around her waist, even through several layers of thick
fabric. It would be petty and counter-productive to pull away, however, since
it would only prolong the torturous trek to the house. “I got on the road right
from work, and I hadn’t had time to change when you ended up in the ditch.”

He
made a grumble of sound, but it didn’t take the form of any words. She ignored
it.

They
finally limped their way to the side door of the house, and Rachel was so cold
and wet and angry that she just sat down on the bench in the mudroom, trying to
remember the last time she’d been so miserable.

The
warm air of the house surrounded her like an embrace, but her skin was chapped,
her ankle throbbed, her teeth chattered, and her hands were still numb, despite
David’s gloves.

David
shook himself off like a dog and then got rid of his coat by the simple
expedient of dropping it on the tile floor.

He
wore hiking books, worn jeans, and a gray flannel shirt layered over a thermal
t-shirt. He looked rugged, masculine, and so attractive that Rachel could
hardly stand to look at him.

That
fact made her even madder.

He
frowned down at her. “Don’t just sit around in wet clothes. Get a move on.”

She
glared up at him. He’d always been a little bossy—she remembered that very well
from when they’d both been kids—but this behavior was just outrageous.

“I
don’t think I asked for your advice.” She was pleased her tone sounded cool and
lofty rather than petulant.

“Brad
would never forgive me if I let you take pneumonia. Not to mention your mom.
Can you imagine how she’d lecture me?”

“I’m
not going to take pneumonia. Don’t be melodramatic.” She did shoulder off her
coat, though, and leaned down to unzip her pretty, impractical boots.

“How’s
your ankle?” he asked, watching as she pressed into it, trying to check its
condition.

“Fine.
Just twisted it.” It felt more like a sprain, but she wasn’t going to make a
fuss. Especially in front of David.

“Come
on,” he said, stretching a hand toward her. “You need to warm up.”

She
didn’t object, since her teeth were still chattering. She let him put an arm
around her again so she could lean against him as they walked.

It
was worse this time, now that they weren’t wearing thick coats. She could feel
his warmth, smell his familiar scent, and feel the solid substance of his body
beneath his clothes.

He
led her to the radiator in the kitchen, conveniently located near the kitchen
table. She sat on a chair in front of the pleasantly wafting heat, finally
having the courage to take off the gloves.

Her
hands hurt like hell.

She’d
been wearing David’s gloves, though, which meant he hadn’t been wearing any. So
she wasn’t about to complain that her hands were raw and numb.

She
held her hands closer to the radiator and tried not to wince as the heat hit
them.

He
sat down on a chair next to her and, without speaking, took one of her hands in
both of his, gently rubbing it to restore the circulation.

He
worked with his hands every day—he had all his life—so they were rough, strong,
and calloused. But he was gentle as he massaged her frozen fingers, and he
didn’t say a word.

He
wasn’t even looking at her, his eyes focused down on their hands.

For
some reason—for no good reason—she felt her eyes burn with tears and her throat
tighten.

She’d
always thought he was gentle beneath his tough exterior. That was how he’d
seemed growing up. He would beat up bullies at school and take care of stray
dogs. He’d helped her with her car, with her science projects, and with boys
that wouldn’t leave her alone, long before he thought about her as anything but
his friend’s little sister.

He’d
been so careful—almost tender—when they’d made love under that tree. He’d been
eager but realized she was nervous, so he’d gone very slowly to make sure she
enjoyed it too.

Even
in the last few years, she couldn’t help but see how he silently helped people
who needed it—plowing snow from driveways for a few elderly women at church who
would never be able to afford to pay, keeping Brad out of trouble when he’d
gone through a bitter divorce two years ago and might have drunk himself into a
stupor.

Rachel
just couldn’t understand. How David could seem to have such a kind heart. How
he could massage her hands so gently even now.

And
yet still have stomped her heart into the mud eight years ago.

She
had to close her eyes, since for a moment she was sure she would cry.

It
was probably just the aftermath of the cold and effort, but her heart ached as
much as her body.

David
had moved on to her other hand, and her fingers weren’t quite so painful. She’d
stopped shivering.

And
now she was sitting in front of a radiator thinking soft thoughts about the man
she was supposed to hate.

She
pulled her hand away from his and made herself stand up. “I need to change
clothes.”

She
wore a gray, pinstripe pants suit—stylish, flattering, and more expensive than
she could really afford. The bottom half of her pants were now soaking wet.

He
stood up too, and she could feel his dark eyes searching her face.

She
hoped he wouldn’t see how emotional she’d gotten, since she thought she’d managed
to control her expression, but he reached out and softly thumbed away a stray
tear she hadn’t realized had streamed from her eye.

“Rachel,”
he said, his voice strangely thick. His brow lowered like he was trying to
figure something out.

He
was probably wondering if she was really as pitiful as she appeared, still
mooning over a man who’d dumped her almost a decade ago.

She
couldn’t bear for him to think that. She’d humiliated herself enough for one
day.

“Make
yourself at home,” she said, putting on the pose of indifference that had
protected her for all these years. “It looks like you’ll be stuck here for a
while.”

She
limped over to her suitcase, which she’d left in the hallway when she’d arrived
to find an empty house, but David beat her to it. He carried her luggage to her
bedroom—the same room she’d slept in all her life—and she mumbled thanks before
she shut the door in his face.

She
could get through this. The weather would hopefully clear up before evening.

She
was an adult. She was a successful professional. She’d gone out with plenty of
men since she’d been in love with David back then.

Being
stuck with him for a day wasn’t the end of the world.

He
just didn’t mean that much to her anymore.

“I’m sorry we can’t get
home,” her mother said, her voice clearly anxious on the other end of the phone
call. “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll
be fine, Mom.” As she talked, Rachel pulled on thick purple socks, carefully
maneuvering one of them over the bandage she’d wrapped her ankle in. “It’s no
big deal. Of course, you and Brad can’t come out here tonight if the weather is
still so bad.”

“At
least David is there. I’d be so nervous if you were all by yourself in that big
house in the storm.”

Rachel
rolled her eyes but managed not to say anything rude.

“He’s
such a dear boy. Did I tell you he spent a whole Saturday helping poor Mr.
Foster rebuild his porch after that terrible thunderstorm this summer?”

“Yes.
You told me.”

“He’s
always been so helpful and generous. I just don’t know why your grandfather
didn’t like him.”