Rekindled (25 page)

Shielded by spruce, pine, and cedar, they walked for hours through the blue-shadowed land, returning to the cabin only when their hands and feet were numb. More often than not then, they settled in at the kitchen window to watch chickadees at the feeder that Mitch had staked into the ground.

It was a time of quiet serenity. Anne did little reading and even less work. Rather, she spent hours in calm reverie before the fire, a triumph in and of itself. She was happy. She wasn’t brooding or mourning. She didn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else in the world.

During one of these relaxing moments, on the last evening of their stay, Mitch suddenly went to his bedroom and returned with a small box. It was wrapped in white and had a pale blue ribbon.

“What’s this?” she asked in surprise.

“Open it.”

She pulled at the bow with unsteady fingers. “When did you get this?”

She hadn’t expected a gift. His presence was enough.

“I was in Brazil right after Thanksgiving. It was made by one of the local artisans in a small village in the interior.”

The top of the box fell back to reveal a ring, a rectangular piece of enamelware framed in gold and mounted on a fine gold band. Anne gasped at the beauty of the intricately painted design, a semiabstract por trait of sand, sea, and sun, all woven together in blues, greens, yellows, and creams.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. “You never should have-“

“Put it on,” he said.

The ring fit perfectly on the third finger of her right hand, and gave her pale, slim fingers even greater delicacy.

“There,” he said with a satisfied sigh. “That’s a little color for you. Maybe next time a bright sweater to wear for me.”

Next time.

The words thrilled her as much as the ring. “I will. And … thank you, Mitch. The ring is beautiful. I’ll cherish it.” She put both hands up to frame his face, to trace the powerful line of his cheeks, his jaw, his chin. Then she leaned forward and gave him a soft and heartfelt kiss. “I wish I had something to give you,” she whispered when it was done.

In a trembling breath, he said, “You already have, Anne. And I thank you.”

Anne drove north again on a Friday afternoon in the second week of February. As the first flakes of snow began to fall, she sniffled and pulled another Kleenex from the glove box. For the better part of the week she’d had a cold. If she had known Mitch’s number, she might have called to cancel their meeting. But she didn’t know it, and she wanted to see him. She was counting on feeling better in the clean country air. What she hadn’t counted on was the snow.

As she crossed the border from New York into Vermont, the flakes grew larger and more feathery. They were sticking to anything and everything in sight. Traffic had slowed with the decreased visibility, but that was a double-edged sword. Yes, it was safer driving slower. But it meant the trip took longer, and the longer she was on the roads, the worse they became.

She was impatient to reach the cottage. Even aside from a hacking cough and the accumulation of snow on the windshield, she wanted to be in a place that had become, in some ways, more real a world than the other. The past six weeks in New York had been a way of passing time between trips. She was happier here, more relaxed and alive with Mitch than anywhere else.

Traffic slowed another notch. She glanced at her watch. Two hours behind, already! It was late afternoon. Darkness would be here before long. She didn’t relish driving through the storm in the dark.

She thought of stopping at an inn for the night, but feared that tomorrow wouldn’t be any better. Besides, she had no way to contact Mitch. He would be worried if she didn’t show up.

Her snow tires clung tentatively to the road as she turned off the highway at last. There were still miles to go, but at least the road was smaller. Unfortunately it was also deserted. She pushed the small car through a blinding rage of white. Vistas were obliterated. Only the low fencing at the side of the road kept her on course, though how long it would be before they were covered by drifts, she didn’t know.

Her hands were white-knuckled on the wheel. The snow was a thick wall behind her, so there was no turning back. She peered nervously through the windshield, praying for a plow. With each passing mile, she drove more slowly through accumulating depths.

When her pace was down to fifteen miles an hour, and she couldn’t see more than a single car’s length ahead, she felt a wave of panic. The sense of isolation was utter and intense. Fighting a sudden dizziness, she kept her foot on the gas.

Dusk had fallen by the time she reached the cottage cutoff. She was so relieved to see it, that she took the turn a hair too fast. The car skidded and fishtailed before coming to an abrupt halt several yards into the private way, lodged firmly in a snow bank at the side of the road.

Swearing under her breath, Anne worked the gear shift, alternating between forward and reverse in an attempt to free the car from the drift. Her nerves were already taut. Now she cursed her luck as she fumbled with the door handle, tripped out of the car, and promptly sank in snow nearly as high as her boots. Even through rose-colored glasses, hopes for the car were low.

She peered up the hill in the direction of the house. In ideal weather, the walk was a mile’s mild uphill challenge. But in this blizzard? And then there was the possibility that Mitch was stuck somewhere, too. But he was the one with the key.

She sneezed and raised a parka-covered arm to her face. If the door was locked, she would just have to break in. There was no other choice. She couldn’t go back, and she couldn’t stay here.

Packing her pockets with KLEENEX, she closed up the car. She zipped the parka all the way, pulled its hood over her wool hat, pushed her hands into gloves, and set off. She trudged as fast as she could through the mounting snow, lifting one leg high, then the other. Her muscles began to ache. Tucking her head deeper into the hood of her parka, she plodded on.

Thirty minutes passed, then another fifteen. Exhausted, she looked around for something to rest against. But all was white, lonely, uninviting, and bleak. Looking back, she saw nothing but her own footsteps. Looking ahead, she saw nothing at all. She pushed on, absolutely, positively refusing to believe that she may have taken the wrong road.

Bone-weary and weak from coughing, she grew more frightened as the minutes passed. Signs of life were nonexistent. The cabin had to be somewhere. For another half hour, she pushed herself forward, pausing occasionally to blow her nose, huffing hoarsely at the exertion, ignoring the heat on her cheeks.

Snow continued to fall, creating a fairyland that, to Anne’s bleary gaze, was nightmarishly grotesque. She imagined being lost and freezing to death. The road had never been this long.

Her senses blurred black with the onset of night. Dizzy, she fell to her knees, then forced herself back up and struggled on. Tears of fear mixed with melting snow on her fevered cheeks. Her clothing chafed against her sweaty body. Still she moved on.

Finally, though, she was too weak. She collapsed on her knees and sank into a billowing drift. Head bowed, panting with exhaustion, she fought hysteria and swayed in the gusting wind.

“Mitch … Mitch… please help me…” she whimpered.

“Annie!”

Mirage or reality, she didn’t care. When a large form knelt before her, she fell against it, aware only of the support it offered, the warmth it held.

He lifted her from the snow. “Hold on, Annie. It’s not far to the house.”

“Mitch?” she cried against his jacket as she shielded her face from the driving snow.

“It’s me, honey. Quiet now. Save your strength.”

The light from the house filtered through the snowy darkness like a beacon. Once inside, he kicked the door shut with his boot and gently lowered her feet to the floor, only to catch her up again when her knees buckled. Without a word, he carried her to the downstairs bedroom. Depositing her on the edge of the bed, he began to quickly remove her wet clothing. He paused once to throw off his own jacket and pull back the bed’s quilt, then returned to undress her. Anne didn’t protest. Chilled to the bone, she trembled uncontrollably.

“Lift your arms, like a good girl,” he said softly and, one at a time, drew the sleeves of her heavy sweater off and pulled it over her head.

“I thought I was lost, Mitch. I walked for so long and I couldn’t find the house.”

“Shhh. You’re safe now.”

She clutched at his shoulders for support when he knelt to pull off her boots, then her socks. “Lie down, honey. Your jeans are drenched.” With infinite tenderness he eased her back and pulled them off, tugging impatiently only when the sodden denim resisted his hands.

“I feel so sick,” she said in a hoarse whisper, throwing an arm over her forehead.

In an instant he was bending over her. “I know, Annie. But you’ll be fine now. I just have to warm you up. Okay?” She didn’t answer, not even to protest when he drew off her cold, drenched panties. He tucked the lower half of her body under the weight of the quilt before turning to remove her turtleneck and bra. With the covers bunched around her shoulders, he crossed the room to his suitcase, pulled out a clean cotton shirt, and returned to the bed.

Sitting beside her, he pressed cool lips to her burning forehead. “You’ll be fine,” he repeated and quickly dressed her in the shirt, then covered her up again. Anne sneezed. “You shouldn’t have taken off my sweater.”

“Forget modesty. You were soaked to the skin and freezing.”

“That sweater…”-a fit of coughing interrupted her, but she managed to catch her breath-“I wore it for you. Did you notice?”

His lips twitched. “I did notice, Annie. It was pink.” He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead. “Thank you.” With the back of his hand, he felt her forehead, then her cheeks. “I’m going to heat up some soup for you.”

She shook her head. “No. I can’t eat. Just stay here with me for a few minutes.”

He drew her, quilts and all, into his arms and rubbed her all over to warm her up.

“I was so frightened,” she whispered. “It was cold and wet. And dark.”

“You should have known I’d come looking for you.”

“I wasn’t sure you were here. There were no tire tracks-” She broke off, coughing again.

He waited until she quieted. “I arrived before the storm began. Snow can be pretty dramatic up here. It should be beautiful come morning.”

The thought of wandering through the snow with Mitch was a lovely one. She smiled then sneezed.

“I’ll get that soup now.”

“No. Really, I’m not hungry.”

“You need something warm inside.”

“I don’t think I can keep it down.”

“You will.” He set her down. “Just rest. I’ll be back.”

She rolled to her side and tucked up her knees. The warmth of the bed burned, still she felt chilled. Turning over, she huddled in a ball and dozed. She woke up when Mitch returned with a bowl of steaming broth. He helped her sit, and he fed her himself When she couldn’t take in another drop, he let her sleep.

She awoke an hour later feeling even worse. Mitch was bathing her face and neck with a damp cloth. “That’s quite some cold,” he muttered.

“It just hung on. I thought it’d be better by now.”

“Why did you leave New York in the first place? You should have stayed in bed.”

He was annoyed with her. She thought that was unfair. “It wasn’t snowing at home,” she argued. “I had no idea I’d run into this mess, or that it would get so bad so fast.”

“Forget the weather. You should have been in bed anyway, with a cold like this.”

“Good God, Mitch, I can’t put my life on hold every time I get a cold.”

“Yeah, well if you don’t take better care of yourself, you may put your life on permanent hold. Colds can turn into pneumonia, and people die from pneumonia.”

She teared up. “I just wanted to be here with you.” She turned onto her side, away from his glower, and pulled the covers up around her ears.

She was startled when Mitch lifted her, covers and all, and held her tightly. From time to time he dipped his head, touching his lips to her hair, her brow, or her eyes. His voice was softer when he finally spoke. “Don’t think I didn’t want to see you as much. I did. But we could have come next week.”

“Someone else may be here next week.”

“No one will be here.”

“How do you know?” she cried with a touch of indignance.

Looking suddenly resigned, he shifted her in his arms and ran a hand back through his hair. “Because this is my house. Miles Cooper works for me. He rents it out when I’m not planning to be here.”

The puzzle piece fell into place. Hoarsely, she said, “Oh, my. It figures, I guess. Helps explain the original mix-up. And why you prefer this bed. It’s yours.”

“There won’t be any more mix-ups, Annie. I’ve taken the house off Miles’s rental list. From now on we’ll be the only ones who use it.”

Before Anne could grasp the full implication of that, a new shudder shook her. She burrowed against him, seeking warmth for her extremities.

Gently, he laid her down and disappeared. He returned moments later and lifted her head. “Aspirin,” he explained before she could ask. “Open your mouth.”

She was a docile patient, too weak to protest his pampering, too pleased by it to want to protest. He kept her pumped with broth and aspirin for most of the night, dozing beside her under the quilt. One part of his body always touched her. She couldn’t so much as turn over when he was up on an elbow, concerned. In other circumstances, the sleeping arrangement would have been heady. But Anne’s senses were blunted by fever.

The next day was a mass of hours blurred together. Her fever stayed high despite the medicine. Increasingly, her whole body suffered when she coughed.

“What is the matter with me?” she cried in frustration, when she awoke late in the afternoon feeling no better.

Mitch took her hot hand in his. “I’m not sure. As soon as the road is plowed, I’m taking you to the doctor.”

“Has it stopped snowing?”

“Finally.”

“How much is on the ground?”

“A little over a foot. It makes the plowing slower, though the folks up here are well-equipped.”