Rocky Retreat (2 page)

Lee’s feet were freezing, and his thighs ached from trudging through the deep snow. The scent of gunpowder clung to him like redneck perfume from when he’d been forced to use the shotgun to put down an injured cow earlier in the day. His fingers were a mess from his attempts at jury-rigging the motor of his skidoo in subzero temperatures.

He felt as if he’d just been handed a winning lottery ticket.

Heck, Santa could forget about bringing any presents next month, because he’d already gotten the one thing he wanted the most in the whole entire world.

Time with Rachel.

He placed the gun on the rack over the door then eased the backpack off his shoulders, dropping it to the floor before shedding his snow-covered jacket. Never in a million years could he have imagined this situation. “Looks like I have to crash your party. The storm’s getting worse, and my skidoo broke about half a mile from here.”

“Really?” Rachel slid back to the window and peered into the darkness before facing him, big brown eyes wide with worry. “Aren’t you supposed to stay with the sled if you break down?”

“Not when nobody’s going to come looking for you, and not when you can smell wood smoke on the air.” He tilted his head toward her. “Get out of your wet things. I’ll brush the snow off my stuff so I don’t soak the room.”

She hurried to follow his instructions, cheeks flashing to pink. Lee turned his back and deliberately ignored the shuffling noises that followed, but there was no way to turn off the instant response of his body. Not when images of her getting partially naked a few feet behind him popped into his brain.

It had been a hell of a year for both of them, although Rachel probably wouldn’t appreciate Lee linking them like that. And while he’d hated witnessing her world fall apart, she’d definitely had a far worse time of it than him.

From happily-in-love to thrown-under-the-bus, Rachel had dealt with way more than any woman should have to. Lee had been forced to watch from the sidelines, powerless to do anything to ease her pain. Their two situations were in no way comparable, but for him wanting to be with her and make it all better.

He now understood what his cousins meant when they’d sworn watching their partners deal with pain hurt far more than being thrashed themselves. Since the summer he’d seen the light fade from Rachel’s eyes, and he wanted to kill the bastard who’d torn away her joy.

But that was a discussion for some time when he wasn’t shivering, his clothes sticking to his skin like icy bandages.

He opened the top of his backpack and pulled out the sweatshirt and pants he carried with his emergency supplies. Steady silence echoed from her direction. Looked as if it was up to him to make this less awkward.

“I went out to check the herd,” he offered. Simple. Safe conversation. “A tree fell over in the high winds this morning and took down one of the fence lines. The dumb cattle decided exploring was a good idea even with a storm coming.”

“Did you find your…cows?”

Her voice wavered on the last word, coincidentally said the moment he stripped his shirt off over his head. Lee chose to ignore the implied connection that merely the sight of his naked torso was enough to affect her. Still facing away, he knocked the moisture from his hair with the shirt before dropping it onto a nearby chair. He pulled on his dry sweatshirt as he gave a partial answer. “Some. Got them into one of our shelters and locked them in—they’ll be safe from the storm until my brothers set them loose.”

He glanced over his shoulder. Rachel stood in front of the fire, her hands extended toward the flames dancing behind the glass. He wondered if he should warn her then realized he was too cold to play games. He dropped into the chair at the table, pulling off his boots with a groan of satisfaction. Snow escaped to lie in small piles around his thick wool socks.

“Do you want something hot to drink?” she asked.

“Hell, yeah.” He waited until she’d walked past him, grabbing the kettle from the counter to return to the wood stove. Once she was busy and facing away from him, he shoved off his pants and boxers, pointedly not looking her direction as he replaced them with the dry pair of sweatpants.

Even with how cold he was, if she’d been watching, she would’ve gotten an eyeful of exactly how being in the same room with her affected him.

Rachel Malone. Ever since she’d come to town and started work at the café, he’d had his eye on her. So had a lot of other guys, but Lee was positive he had more to offer her than the rest of them.

Only every time he asked her out, she’d turned him down. Politely teasing he didn’t want to date someone as old as her.

There might be a few years between them, but he didn’t give a damn. Maybe some guys took longer to grow up. Lee had pretty much always known what his goals were, and from everything he’d seen about Rachel, he thought they would be just about perfect together.

It was hard to prove when he never got a chance.

He grabbed his wet things and joined her by the fire. “Let me hang these up so they’re out of our way.”

She shifted to the side, but there wasn’t much room. He leaned forward to drape his pants over a hook behind the stove. The move brushed him against her, tormenting him even more than the scent of apple-blossom off her skin.

“Aren’t your feet freezing?” she asked, eyeing the wet footprints he’d left, moisture soaking through the wool.

“I’ve got extra socks. I didn’t want to put them on yet and get them wet.” He reached past her again, grabbing the broom leaning against the wall. “Sit down. I’ll clean around you. By the time the water boils, we’ll both be warmed up.”

It looked as if she would protest before crawling onto the chair. “There’s not a lot of wiggle room in the cabin, is there?”

He swept the loose snow toward the door, moving quickly before it melted into wet puddles. “Sam Carver lived here with his wife and son for a couple of years.”

“You’re kidding me. Three people, in this space?”

“They moved out before their kid was school-aged, but yeah. We take personal space for granted.”

Rachel had propped her feet up on the chair so he could sweep underfoot. As he worked, she reached to tidy a pile of papers and albums on the table that he hadn’t noticed until now.

So many questions he wanted to ask. What was she doing here? How long had she been back in Rocky Mountain House?

Was she back in Rocky for good?

He didn’t bother dumping the snow outside. Opening the door would let cold air in, and even though the wood supply inside was massive, there was no use in wasting the heat they had. He put away the broom and pulled the other chair next to hers, right in front of the fire.

Rachel cleared her throat. “I have food, if you want something to eat.”

“Thanks—maybe in a bit. You taking a holiday?” Lee asked as he pulled on a dry pair of woolen socks, a sigh of relief escaping. It had been damn cold wandering through the trees trying to find a passable route to the shelter.

“Sort of. Yeah.” She paused, then the words came out in a rush. “I didn’t think I would see anyone.”

Lee picked up a half-burnt picture off the ground from beside his feet, lifting it in the air. The edges had turned ash, but the center showed her smiling face. Little white flowers tucked into her hair, what was unmistakably a wedding gown riding low on her shoulders.

Suddenly her being alone in the middle of the wilderness made sense. He glanced at her, checking to see if she had noticed his discovery. Rachel returned his questioning look, her breathing so steady she had to be concentrating on it.

He’d interrupted something important to her. “I’m sorry.”

She swallowed hard. “Me too.”

Rachel pulled the photo from his fingers and tossed it on the kindling pile.

A strange sensation buzzed through him. Maybe he hadn’t planned on being there while she got out the pain in her system from her failed marriage, but there was nowhere he’d rather be. It was a chance to give to her. To support her.

It was a chance to prove they belonged together, even if it meant risking being shot down again.

He spoke softly, like he would with a skittish animal. Staying as safe as possible as he changed topics. “Some food sounds good, but more importantly, do you want me to grab the bottle of whiskey I have in my pack?”

Her expression turned amused. “Whiskey’s part of your standard-issue supplies when you’re out searching after cows?”

“Hell, yeah.”

The kettle on the stove went from bubbling to whistling. Rachel slipped on an oven mitt and moved to the table, hoisting a package of hot-chocolate mix in the air. “Here’s my first contribution to our evening. Go get yours.”

Brushing past her once again teased all his senses, but this time, instead of fighting his desires, he let hope steal over him.

He hadn’t gone out this morning looking for this opportunity, but no way would he allow it to slip from his fingers.

As the snow continued to fall, and the wind howled outside, screeching through the trees, Lee found the bottle of whiskey in his pack and brought it to the table. He stood behind her, pausing to soak in her nearness. In being there—in being right where he needed to be for however long they ended up trapped together.

As long as she didn’t deny him again, this could turn out to be one hell of an adventure.

Warm liquid slid down her throat, her fingers no longer tingling from the cold. Instead, they were stiff and aching, with a lingering pins-and-needles sensation like waking a limb that had fallen asleep.

Rachel tightened her grip around her cup and held it out for another generous serving of the whiskey.

Empty plates lay on the table, and more than chocolate and whiskey filled her belly. Good thing, because the buzz had hit hard enough without pouring liquor on an empty gut.

Lee Coleman.

Having him stumble to her cabin in the dark was way better than Dr. Hook Hand, or the Murderer of Mirror Lake. Only having him there—complicated things.

He made her sweat.

She was glad the cabin had been cold when he removed his shirt earlier. For someone so young, he shouldn’t be that muscular, but something in the air in these parts grew the Coleman family men to an extraordinary size. He had biceps she doubted her fingers would wrap around. Back muscles so defined she’d itched to trace them.

And now he sat beside her, close enough she could examine his hands and thick forearms in minute detail. Powerful fingers, strong muscles in his arms with a dusting of hair over them. Every time he moved, she spotted something else to admire. His dark hair was on the longish side, curls teasing against his neck. It was late enough in the day a hint of shadow coloured his jaw—okay, maybe he wasn’t as much of a baby as she always tried to pretend. Twenty-four wasn’t young, except when she compared it to her thirty-three years. Still, something about the set of his expression made her wonder what he was thinking about so seriously.

She was careful to turn her gaze away before he caught her staring, but there was nothing wrong with what Lee Coleman looked like, body or face. Not a single. Damn. Thing.

“Did you want anything else?” He pulled her from her sensual thoughts as he gestured toward his backpack. “I’ve got beef jerky if you’re still hungry.”

Rachel shook her head. “I’m full, and besides, shouldn’t we ration the food, just in case?”

“We won’t starve,” he assured her.

The storm wasn’t letting up at all. “I didn’t bring enough for both of us for days and days,” she warned.

With the whiskey in her system, though, panic was far away. It was more like a casual comment, and Lee lifted a brow, grinning as he spoke. “If we’re stuck here for long, we’ll make stone soup.”

Rachel draped her arms around her legs, her gaze drifting over him again. It was impossible to look away for too long. “And here I thought for sure you’d suggest we hold some kind of survivor challenge. Winner gets to eat the other to outlast the storm.”

For moment something flashed in his eyes, something dark and hungry. Then it was gone, leaving nothing but control in his every move. Maybe it had been her imagination, especially when he turned away and stretched his arms overhead. The fabric of his shirt protesting against his muscles.

They’d made it this far without the conversation getting awkward, but now the silence stretched on and on, broken only by crackling in the fireplace.

Rachel debated what to tell him, because there was no way they’d be able to spend the next how many hours together without mentioning why she was here.

She’d just planned her first comments when he reached to the side counter and grabbed a deck of cards. “Want to play?”

And…that would work instead of having to spill her guts over her rotten life. “Poker?”

“Go Fish?”

A laugh escaped. “You’re the terror of the local gaming halls, are you?”

“Don’t knock it. A good go-fish strategy has saved my butt more than once while playing with the clan kids.”

That made sense, in a strange, twisted way. Rachel knew Lee came from a family of four kids, with an even bigger extended family. It was a standing joke in the Rocky Mountain House community that every time a person turned around they bumped into a Coleman—and it seemed their numbers were on the rise. “Does this mean the next generation has grown up enough to begin their card-sharp training?”

“Some of them are deadly. Plus, there are more on the way.” He twisted his chair to face her better, the corner of the table between them. “That’s part of the reason I got caught in the snow tonight. My cousin Gabe and his wife are expecting their first kid, and she went into labour this morning. My brothers and I rode out to check stock for them as well.”

“Did you hear any news about the baby?” Rachel hoped for the best. She didn’t know Allison that well, but she knew of her.

“Not before I took off, and between that and the storm, no one’s going to be looking for me. Once the weather got nasty, everyone would have gone to cover. The family knows I’ll find somewhere to shelter.” He shuffled the cards without looking. “What about you? Anyone going to be worried?”