One Night in the Ice Storm (4 page)

And
completely unreasonable.

Rachel
opened her mouth to reply, but then shut it. Her mother was a basically intelligent
adult too, but she’d always been a little bit helpless.

Rachel
didn’t at all like the idea of her mother getting trapped in this big old house
by herself with no power.

She
would definitely be talking to Brad herself.

But
she wasn’t going to encourage David to be any pushier and more obnoxious than
he already was, so she just collected as many flashlights and battery-powered
lanterns as she could carry and started back up the stairs.

She
wished her ankle didn’t hurt so much so she could have made a more dignified
retreat.

“You
should put ice on that ankle,” David called out after her.

It
took all of her self-control to restrain a loud, frustrated roar of response.

She
looked in the living room to see how much firewood was in the rack next to the
fireplace. Just one log.

She
knew for a fact that her mother had a load of firewood delivered every winter,
so there would be no problem with that at least.

She
went back to the mud room and pulled on a different coat—a big insulated one
that belonged to her mother. It wasn’t nearly as stylish as her red one but
much more practical. Then she put on a pair of gloves and opened the carport door.

The
large log rack for the firewood supply was across the carport, against the tool
shed.

She
walked across to it, opened the nylon cover, and grabbed three logs, which was
as much as she could carry. Then she headed back into the house.

She’d
almost reached the door when David appeared in front of her, glaring at her
with obvious annoyance.

“Why
didn’t you wait and let me do that?”

“Why
should I? I’m perfectly capable of carrying a few logs.”

He
tried to take them away from her, but she jerked away from him, wincing when
she twisted her ankle in the process.

“Damn
it, Rachel,” he muttered.

She
didn’t reply, carrying the logs back into the house.

He
grabbed an armful himself and was bringing them in as she went back for more.

He
didn’t object any further, which was good. The carport roof kept out the sleet,
but it was still too cold and windy to waste time arguing.

When
they’d brought in enough for the night, David shut the door hard.

He
dropped his coat back to the floor and looked like he was going to say
something.

She
spoke before he could. “I’m not a child or an invalid or a spoiled princess,
and I don’t appreciate being treated like one.”

“I’m
not treating you like any of those things. And, if you weren’t so ludicrously
determined to act invincible so that no one ever thinks you’re a spoiled
princess, you wouldn’t refuse even the most reasonable offers of help.”

She
stiffened with a flash of hot anger. “I accept help when I need it and from
people I trust. I don’t need help from
you
.”

“Well,
you’re stuck with my help, whether you like it or not.”

“What
is it about these words that you don’t understand?
I don’t need any help
.
You can stay here because you can’t possibly leave, but that doesn’t mean I
have to consent to your pushing your way into my business and bossing me
around. I’m not helpless. I live by myself all the time. And I don’t now—and I
never will—need some big, strong man to come rescue me.”

She
was so angry she shook with it. She’d managed to get her coat off, so she hung
it up on its hook. Then she picked up David’s coat and hung it up too.

He
stood watching her—she could feel him watching her—as she slid off her mom’s
snow boots and walked back into the kitchen.

As
quickly as it had risen, her anger drained away. She was suddenly exhausted and
defeated and ridiculously close to crying.

Her
ankle throbbed. Her head was starting to hurt. She was stranded in this big
drafty house. It was getting darker and colder by the minute. She was going to
have to figure out something for dinner, and then she was going to have to
sleep near the fireplace, since it would be the only warm place in the whole
house.

There
would be no way to get away from David.

Whom
she still wanted. No matter how deeply she knew she should never want him
again.

She
went to her bedroom, since it was the only privacy she could find.

She
sat down on the bed and pulled her left leg out to inspect her ankle.

It
was hurting now worse than ever.

She
heard a tap on the door. “What do you want?” she asked, more resigned than
angry.

“I’ve
come with a peace offering.”

There
was no peace he could offer that would mend the rift between them. They were
both stuck here for the night, however, and it was foolish for them to keep
fighting.

“The
door is opened.”

He
opened the door and came in, carrying a gel-filled icepack in a soft blue cover
that he must have found in the freezer.

“That’s
supposed to be a peace offering? It looks more like covert bossing.”

“This
isn’t the peace offering,” he replied, sitting on the edge of her bed and pulling
her ankle onto his lap.

She
should pull away, but she just didn’t have the energy.

He
started unwrapping the bandage she’d wrapped after her shower. “This is a
necessity.”

She
made an impatient face, but that was the extent of her response. When he’d
unwrapped the bandage, he gently folded the icepack around her throbbing ankle.
Then he handed her ibuprophen and a bottle of water he’d stuck in his shirt
pocket.

She
took the pills. Then leaned back and closed her eyes. “Thanks.”

“That
wasn’t the peace offering either.”

She
gave him a silent, questioning look.

“I’m
sorry,” he said, his eyes never leaving her face. “I’m sorry if I was too
pushy. When I get worried, I have a bad habit of taking over—but I didn’t mean
to bulldoze you.”

He
sounded sincere. But then he’d sounded sincere when he was nineteen and he’d
told her she was prettiest, sweetest girl he’d ever known.

She
took a breath that was only slightly shaky. “Thanks. I’m sorry if I was too
stubborn. I get that way when I’m bulldozed.”

The
corner of his mouth twitched in that irresistible way he had. “That I know.”

She
should be mad at him. For so many things. But he looked like he was really
trying to be nice—at least so they could get through the night—and she didn’t
have the energy for more fighting right now anyway.

She
realized her mouth was wobbling slightly, almost answering his smile.

He
moved her foot back onto the bed carefully and stood up. “I’m going to make a
fire in the fireplace. You should keep the icepack on your ankle for at least
ten minutes.”

She
arched her eyebrows.

“Only
if you want to, of course, but I’m sure you’re smart enough to know you need to
do it.”

She
huffed—half in amusement and half in indignation. She wasn’t sure which feeling
had the upper hand.

She
stayed on her bed with the icepack on her ankle, however. It was actually
starting to feel a little better.

She
began to get chilly, since the radiator in her room was no longer putting out
heat, so she pulled a crocheted afghan over her. It was growing darker in the room,
which made her feel drowsy.

Before
she realized what was happening, she’d actually dozed off.

She
didn’t sleep long or very deeply because she woke when she felt something shift
on her foot.

David
had come back in, taken the icepack off her ankle, and was wrapping it up again.

She
blinked up at him groggily, slightly disoriented.

She
was even more disoriented by the strangely soft look in his eyes. “It’s getting
cold in here,” he murmured. “Do you want to come to the living room? I’ve got
the fire going good.”

She
nodded, since she was definitely getting cold, and managed to push herself up
to a sitting position.

He
reached down to help her to her feet.

“You
shouldn’t put weight on your ankle. I’d carry you, but I have a feeling that
generous offer would be rejected.”

“It
would definitely be rejected.” She did lean on him a little, and she couldn’t
help but like how lean, solid, and warm his body was, even through his clothes.

“Your
loss.”

His
voice sounded strange—with more texture than it normally had—so she looked up
to search his face.

She
froze when she saw the expression in his eyes. Her lips parted, and she
couldn’t look away.

It
looked like warmth, laughter, fondness, tenderness, all mingled in his eyes as
he gazed down at her.

She
wanted it. Needed it. It was what she’d always wanted. She stretched up toward
him without any conscious thought.

He
bent his head down. Then he was kissing her.

And
she was kissing him back.

His
arm around her waist tightened, pressing her more snugly against his chest. She
wrapped her arms around his neck as his lips moved against hers—first gently,
carefully, as if he were learning her responses.

Pleasure
and excitement roared in her ears as her body softened against his. When she
felt his tongue tease between her lips, she opened for him eagerly.

His
tongue caressed the underside of each lip and then tangled with hers. It felt
so good she moaned softly and moved one hand up to grab his head and hold it in
place.

His
lips briefly parted from hers, but only to readjust his head. “Rachel,” she
heard him breathe. “Rachel.”

She
whimpered a response when he deepened the kiss once more. Her whole body pulsed
in response, and arousal tightened achingly between her legs.

Then
she readjusted her weight and felt a sudden jolt of pain from her ankle.

She
broke the kiss abruptly with a muffled sound.

“Okay?”
he asked, his embrace immediately becoming supportive rather than passionate.

“Yeah.
Just my ankle.” Her cheeks were already flushed, but they flushed even more as
she realized what she’d been doing.

Kissing
David Harris. As if he was any other attractive man.

As
if he weren’t the man who’d so callously broken her heart.

He
must think she was the easiest mark in the world, falling for him not once but
twice.

The
realization hurt more than she’d thought it could, but she wasn’t about to let
him know.

She
might be an idiot, but she wasn’t weak.

When
she looked up again, he seemed to be leaning down into another kiss, that same
hot tenderness smoldering in his eyes.

She
put a hand on his chest to push him away slowly. “I hope the apology was the
peace offering and not the kiss,” she said, pleased her voice was light and
breezy, like kissing him was a fun diversion but nothing important. “Because
the kiss is definitely not going to work.”

For just a moment, David
looked like he’d been sucker-punched.

The
expression was so inexplicable and so brief that Rachel assumed she must have
imagined it. She still felt awkward and kind of sick, though, as she left her
bedroom and limped to the kitchen.

She
couldn’t believe she’d been stupid enough to kiss David, after everything that
had happened. She must be some sort of secret masochist, just asking for more
pain.

She
did her best to shake off the feeling. There was no escape—at least for
tonight—and she had to somehow make it through the next twelve hours.

The
fire David had built in the double-sided fireplace was blazing nicely, warming
both the kitchen and the living room. She stood in front of it for a minute,
warming up and listening to the cozy crackling sound.

“I
guess we should find something for dinner,” David said, coming into the kitchen
to join her. He looked perfectly normal—calm, matter-of-fact, in control.

Rachel
wished desperately that she was as controlled as he always was.

“Yeah,”
she agreed. “I can’t believe it’s already so late. The stove should work since
it’s gas. We can just light the eye manually. I’m sure there’s canned soup in
the pantry.”

They
both went to investigate the large, well-stocked pantry, and Rachel handed
David a couple of cans of expensive beef and vegetable soup. “Can you get this
going? I’ll make us some sandwiches too.”

She
followed him back into the kitchen with a loaf of crusty bread, and, while he
worked on lighting the eye, she opened the refrigerator.