True Love's Fire: A Red Hot Valentine Story (Hell Yeah!) (3 page)

But now he had a vacation to enjoy and a New Year to celebrate.

Alone.

*  *  *

“Elvis!” Lia stood on the porch and called her hound dog. “A storm’s coming. You’d better get yourself on home.” She stood and stared at the rocky top of Ladygrey. This was her home. Her mountain. Mountains were forever. They lasted. So many things in life didn’t. Even life itself came with an expiration date. Most friendships didn’t last. Love didn’t last. Marriages didn’t last. None of the Houston women had ever married, and the fact that both she and her mother had been born out of wedlock, was one of the legacy gossip subjects of the county. One wouldn’t think being illegitimate could possibly be an issue in the year 2014, but in small town Arkansas it was yesterday once more. 

In some ways, Lia was lucky. She was self-sufficient. She didn’t have to make a living off of the people of Adah. She could have as little or as much to do with anyone as she desired. With what she made composing music, Lia could have left the mountain and lived most anywhere she chose. But why should she let people’s prejudice run her off from her home? This was one of the most beautiful places on Earth—the majestic mountain, the lush valley, the mysterious river—her home was a place of rich history and great inspiration. Any time the words for a song wouldn’t come, she could walk out and sit in this bounty and her muse would reward Lia with what she needed to write the ballads which were making Cabe Allen a household name.

At the present, they were putting the finishing touches on a Valentine Special for television he was recording right here in the mountains. They were trying to finish the shots and the special effects before winter set it. But Lia thought they were running out of time. Maybe they’d get some clear weather in the middle of January. She had one more song to go, he’d left it up to her, and Lia was torn. She had two almost done which she would forward to him in a few days. But she wasn’t quite satisfied.

Cabe and his wife visited with Lia fairly frequently. Thank goodness they hadn’t been as put-off by her as Dylan had thought. Dylan had been wrong. Now, Dylan was history. She had a new agent, a woman. Funny, the performers had stuck with her even after she’d fired Dylan. But the damage had been done, in another way. Even though she’d regained her self-confidence in social situations, she’d never tried to get close to another man. When the only lover a girl has given her body to, admits he’s ashamed to be seen with her, calls her plain and homespun, she doesn’t break the door down to crawl into bed with the next fellow. As far as she was concerned, sex wasn’t worth the trouble. 

The deep baying voice of Elvis sounded clearly on the breeze. She called again. “Elvis!” What he was chasing, she didn’t know. Probably an elk, but there were black bears and a cougar or two in the area. She’d heard a cougar scream a few nights ago. “I’m going to give your food to the skunks!”

Bounding out of the woods, he came running, ears flying in the breeze. “There you are! Come on, I made stew.” She announced the news as if he’d be pleased. She headed up on the porch and opened the door. “Get in there. I’m going to bring in more wood.” She hoped the roads were still passable in the morning. She’d promised Miss Mary she’d go over and ready Windswept for the weird individual who’d chosen to vacation in the mountains about the time a blizzard was due. Oh, well, maybe they loved snow. Putting the thought from her mind, she began to sing.

Lift your eyes to the hills and behold the sight

She walks the ridge in the pale moonlight

Searching for her love

Who died long ago

Fighting in a war where his brothers were the foe

On many a moon-lit night they say…

She held the note and then laughed at herself. “I have no idea how that should go, Elvis. Maybe it will come to me eventually.” Humming to herself, she went to the stove to warm their supper. Her house was warm and inviting, a haven where she felt safe. Staring out her kitchen window, she gazed toward the ridge she’d just sang about. The ghost of Callie McBride was supposed to haunt these hills. Once she’d spied a figure making its way across the horizon, a woman with long brown hair, just as the legend said. Lia watched until the woman disappeared. Was it a ghost? She didn’t know. It could have been. Sometimes she felt like a ghost. Her music touched so many lives, and she touched so few.

It felt odd for people to know her songs, her poems, but have no idea of the living, breathing person who penned them.

“Soup’s on!” She ladled up a big helping for the blue tick hound. “After we eat, I’ll throw your ball and we can parch some peanuts on the fire.”

The old dog snorted as if in agreement. Lia filled her own bowl and settled down in front of the TV. She turned on the weather and watched the radar as the encroaching Arctic front marched south like the Union forces who killed Callie’s lover. “I’m glad we’re inside tonight, Elvis.”

The big dog flopped down next to her.

“Anyone who is out in this weather tonight needs their head examined.”

*  *  *

“God Almighty,” Scott muttered as he slowed down. The weather had taken a drastic turn for the worse north of Little Rock. Perhaps he should’ve stopped at the Peabody after all. As he adjusted his windshield wipers, he realized it was snowing. Great. Glancing down at the console, he eyed it—the mysterious snow button. He hadn’t taken the time to read the manual to find out what it did, but surely it had some purpose. Now seemed like a good time to test it out and see what happened. So, he did.

Nothing, except it started snowing harder. He gave the snow button the evil eye.

“Great. Maybe, I should’ve checked the weather report.” Or requested a set of snow tires. The last time he’d looked up Buffalo River on the web, the forecast had been cold, but clear. He bent nearer the windshield to look at the sky—black dark, no stars. But the white flakes in front of his headlights were ominous to say the least. The higher he drove into the Ozarks, the more the snow piled up on the side of the road. By the time he reached the turn-off to the cabin, he was creeping along, struggling to keep him and the sports car out of the ditch. Even his GPS had stopped working. Either he was in an area unsupported by the OnStar service or the weather was worse than he thought. Pulling over on the right-of-way, he checked the directions from the website. Noting the address, he started out again. This wasn’t at all what he was expecting. Scott couldn’t see another light, another house—nothing. He’d wanted seclusion, but this was more than he’d bargained for.

Several times his tires slipped on the ice and he wished it was daylight so he could see exactly what he was up against. Maybe, seeing might make it worse. To his left was a wall of rock and when he would make the sharp curves, as far as he could tell there was nothing but a drop off on the other side. He hoped like hell, he could make it to Windswept.

The road kept climbing, the grade steep. Finally his lights picked up a small wooden sign announcing his arrival. Turning the wheel, he pulled in, noticing a sheet of ice covered the driveway which looked to be five inches thick. Damn, that was all he needed. After he’d parked, he exited the Lexus carefully, taking only his duffle from the trunk.

The night was quiet. Scott could actually hear the ice crackle and the slight wind through the trees made crisp sounds, moving the frozen branches around. Hell, he hoped the heat was turned on. His stomach growled. Why hadn’t he stopped to get something to eat? Hopefully Sandy had arranged to have the refrigerator stocked; she’d said that was an option. He’d let her pick out the place they would stay and he’d chosen the activities. Even though she had jeered at their accommodations, she’d selected it because a former President had spent the night here. That fact didn’t impress Scott, but if the photos on the website were any indication, the cabin was nothing to sneeze at and the area was extraordinarily beautiful. There were waterfalls within walking distance and elk herds which grazed in the front yard.

“Whoop!” His foot slipped on the wooden steps and his legs flew right out from under him. Blam! Scott fell hard, jarring his whole body. “Shit,” he grumbled as he pulled himself up, almost slipping again. The porch light was dim, but he could see a heavy dusting of ice coating the porch. Making his way slowly toward the door, he lifted the mat and found the key. Scott let out a heavy breath, grateful it was there.

Opening the door, he entered and was met with the same frigid air inside as there was outside. What the hell? Flipping on a light, he surveyed the interior of the log cabin. Two story, spacious loft—huge fireplace, leather furniture, big kitchen. It would’ve been impressive if it weren’t so damn uncomfortable.

Throwing down his bag, he looked around for the thermostat. There it was. With a wiggle of the switch he verified it wasn’t working. Hell. This didn’t bode well. Fearing the worse, he made his way to the kitchen, noting the roughhewn logs, the carvings of bears, the silver fronted pie chest—all was quaint, rustic and appealing. And cold as fuck. Opening the refrigerator door, he sighed. Empty. “Obviously, this was a mistake.” 

Heading to the window, he surveyed the landscape. From the light of the porch, he could see snow was falling more heavily now. There was no way he was getting that GSF Sports back down the mountain to hunt a pizza. Running a hand through his hair, he said a couple of choice words. Glancing around, he saw a booklet on the coffee table with the cabin name on the front. Maybe there would be an answer inside. With a huff, he sat down and leafed through, finding a blurb which caught his eye: FOR EMERGENCY AFTER HOURS ASSISTANCE CALL L. Houston. Scott took his phone, noting the weak signal. Walking to a window, he called the number.

“Hello?”

“This is Scott Walker in Windswept. I just arrived and I have no heat, no food and there’s no way I’m going to get this damn Lexus backed out of the driveway. Could you send a man over with some groceries, someone who could check on the central heat?” A small laugh on the other end of the phone made Scott want to growl. “Tell him I’ll pay for his trouble.”

“No problem, I’ll get Elvis to pick out some things. He’ll be right over.”

“Good. Thanks.” Elvis? “Good lord.” Who would name their child Elvis? After Gladys Presley chose that name for her only son, it should have been retired. 

“No problem, we’re glad to help.” She rang off. The woman’s voice was slightly husky, sorta sexy, and for a moment he wondered what she looked like, then decided that wasn’t important. As long as she sent Elvis to save the day, he was happy.

After she’d hung up, Scott went to get comfortable. Checking out the four bedrooms, he chose the one on the bottom floor next to the big bathroom with the garden tub. Quickly, he changed into jeans, a button up shirt and a leather jacket. There was supposed to be a hot tub on the back porch, but right now he’d freeze his balls off just trying to get there and back. Scott hung up the rest of his clothing in the closet, then opened his laptop and discovered insult was added to injury—no Wi-Fi as promised. “Shit.” Things were going downhill fast. He looked at the big bed, and remembered he would be sleeping alone. He grumbled under his breath. It wasn’t so much the loss of Sandy he was mourning, but he did love sex. “Hell, could this be any more of a disaster?”

Walking around the log house, he checked out every nook and cranny. There was a TV, but the sign said there was no reception. It only played DVD’s. Par for the course. Opening the pie safe, there were puzzles. Good God. He was in a geriatric home. The kitchen was equipped with dishes and a few pots and pans. There was a sink and a stove, but no dishwasher and more importantly—no food. 

Checking out the fireplace, he noticed there was wood, but no matches. And he didn’t smoke, so there was no lighter in his pocket. Seeing some logs and kindling, he spied two rather long, slim sticks. Ah! Perhaps he could start a fire. He was a former Boy Scout. Hunkering down, he stacked some wood, then began rubbing the two sticks together. Furiously.

Nothing.

“Dang.” His feet were freezing and his balls had shrunk up to his tonsils. He cocked his head and listened, but there was no noise. The only audible sound he could hear was the rustling of frozen branches moving in the wind. Snow and ice have their own symphonic tones—snapping, rushing, crackling. Scott shivered. It all sounded damn cold to him.

Lights shone through the window. Hell, yes! Food had arrived. Putting down the sticks, he walked to the door and opened it. All he could see were two grocery bags being held by someone swathed from head to toe in a parka with a hood, snow pants and hiking boots. Elvis was short. “Mr. Walker?” sounded the voice from behind the bag. “May I come in?”

A female voice.

“Oh yeah, sure, sorry.” He opened the screen and stepped back and a dog came bounding in, shaking his coat. Snow flew all over the place. Next came in the woman, also dripping snow. “I was expecting a man.” He took one of the bags from her arms.

“Sorry to disappoint you. There’s no man, just us. Thanks for holding the door. I’m Lia Houston.” She followed him to the kitchen cabinet and placed her sack next to his. “Dang, it is cold in here.”

“You think?” Scott couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice if he tried.

“No use being snippy, Mr. Walker. I’ll do what I can to help you.” Walking to the thermostat, she flipped the switch, standing on tip-toe.

“Sorry. What’s the verdict?”

“It won’t come on.”

“That much I knew.” He returned to the fireplace and bent down, taking the sticks and rubbing them together once more.

“What are you doing?” She seemed curious.

“Starting a fire.”

Lia drew closer, watching him work. He was really a very handsome man. Not too smart it seemed, but very sexy. His longish hair was ruffled, and he had a five o’clock shadow. She let her eyes take in his muscled-up body and she smirked when she saw his tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth as he tackled the task of fire by friction. “Why don’t we do it this way?”

She stepped closer to him, bringing a fresh womanly scent with her. Click. A whoosh of heat and light. “What?”

“Gas fireplace,” she answered drolly and walked off. “I’m not flirting or anything, but I need to go in your bedroom.”

Scott was startled. “What?”

“Is that the only word you know?” She teased. “Don’t worry. Your body is safe with me. I just need to look out the window and see if there’s ice on the fan blades. The unit sits right by the house on that side.” She didn’t wait for his permission.

While she was gone, he began to sort through the sacks, grumbling all the while. “I know lots of words. Cranky woman.” The more stuff he pulled out, the more perturbed he became. “I can’t eat any of this stuff.”

“Why not?” She returned. “Move over.” She pushed him a bit.

“What are you doing?” He let himself be pushed.

“I need a boiler to heat water to melt the ice.” Lia spoke slowly, as if he would have trouble understanding. “And what’s wrong with the food?” She filled the pot to the brim, setting it on the stove and turning on the heat.

“I eat paleo. Meats and vegetables. This is junk food. It’s bad for me.”

Lia looked at him and giggled. His mouth was actually pooched out. “Sorry, it’s all I had. I split my food with you, you ought to be grateful.”

“Grateful? Isn’t this part of your job?”

“Actually, I do this out of the goodness of my heart to help Miss Mary.”    

“Humph.” Damn. Scott would have felt mildly embarrassed, but he was just too irritated. Clearing his throat, he attempted to make conversation. “Well, thank you, then. But I still can’t eat most of this. I guess I’ll just starve.”

Lia watched him. She couldn’t help but grin. Thankfully, her face was still covered by the scarf. She could smirk all she wanted to and he couldn’t see. “Cheer up. Just as soon as I get those fan blades moving, I’ll be out of your hair.” He didn’t answer.
Smart man
, she thought.