I took a sip of cranberry juice, surveyed the microwave but didn’t answer. Talking to him was taking a lot of concentration and energy, neither of which I had at that moment. It was weird, he was acting like I’d been there a year, like we were chums, like he didn’t practically throw me out of his house two days ago, like he liked me.
You didn’t tease someone you didn’t like. At least that was what my mother told me years ago when I’d come home, complaining that all the boys teased me. She said boys teased girls they liked and, one thing I learned in life, my mother was rarely, if ever, wrong.
Max decided to let it go too and dumped his eggs on the plate, turned off the burner, moved the skillet to a different one and came to stand in front of me. He held his plate aloft and started eating.
“You need to rest today,” he told me while eating.
“Yes,” I agreed and I would rest that day but I’d do that once I found a hotel in Denver.
He munched bacon before he bizarrely informed me, “In the wall outside the bathroom upstairs is the TV. You just slide open the doors. Same below it to get to the DVD player. Got some DVDs down there. Remotes are in the nightstand.”
I stared at him as he forked up some egg. “Sorry?”
“You want to use the computer, the password is Shauna444.”
“Um…” I mumbled then repeated, “Sorry?”
The microwave beeped, he set down his plate and turned to the microwave, saying, “That’s with a ‘U’.”
I wasn’t following. “A ‘U’?”
He opened the microwave, got my bowl, walked back to me, opened a drawer, dropped a spoon in the bowl and put it in front of me.
“Shauna. With a ‘U’. S-h-a-u-n-a. Then 444. All together.”
“But –”
“Computer’s in the roll top,” he went on, picking up his plate and a rasher of bacon then his eyes went beyond me to the window before he took a bite.
“Max, I think –”
“You bought enough food to feed an army. You should be good for lunch.”
Oh my God. Did he think I was staying there?
“Max –”
He looked back at me. “You should go bland; make sure you’re over it. Wouldn’t be good to have anything rich in your stomach if you have a relapse.”
“Maybe we should –”
I heard a car door slam, I stopped talking and twisted on my stool to look around. Outside, parked beside the Cherokee, was one of those sporty mini-SUVs and making it sportier, it was red. Bouncing up the steps was a young woman with a mass of thick, gleaming, wavy, dark brown hair. She was wearing a baby pink, poofy vest with a sky blue thermal under it with what looked like tiny, pink polka dots on it. She had on faded jeans and they were tight. She also had on fluffy boots with big pom poms at the front that swung around as she bounced up the steps. She was pretty. Very pretty.
No, she was adorable. The epitome of a snow bunny.
And she was very, very young. Way younger than me. Way younger than what I suspected Max was.
I was thirty-six, he had to be my age, maybe older, maybe younger, but not by much either way.
She looked twelve. Though since she could drive, maybe she was sixteen.
She stopped on the porch and gave an over-exaggerated, over-cheerful wave in our direction, bouncing up on her toes. Even overdone, the wave looked adorable too, like it came natural to her, which it probably did since she was likely a cheerleader.
Good Lord.
“Becca,” Max muttered, I looked at him and he folded a piece of toast in half and said. “I’m gonna be gone awhile.” Then he took a bite out of the toast and turned toward the sink.
“I –”
“Hey!” A bright, cheerful, young, female voice called from the doorway.
I turned to look and Becca was inside, closing the door then she bounced toward the bar, her boot pom poms swinging wildly.
“Hey Becca,” Max greeted.
“Hey Max,” Becca called then she looked at me and said, still bright, still cheerful, still young, “Hey there.”
“Hello.”
“You must be Nina,” she announced and I couldn’t be sure but I think I gawped.
How did she know who I was?
Her eyes went around me. “She’s pretty,” she told who I suspected was Max since he was the only other person there then she looked back at me and her eyes fell to my chest before she declared, still bright and cheerful and also somewhat loud, “I dig that top! Where’d you get it? I gotta have one.”
“I –”
“You can shop, Bec, but it’d be a miracle you find that top,” Max told her and she looked at him when he finished, “and be able to afford it.”
I looked at Max and said, kind of snappish mainly because of the way he’d said what he’d said, “It wasn’t that expensive.”
“Since she’s gotta get on a plane and fly to England to buy it, that makes it expensive,” Max returned.
He had me there.
“England,” Becca breathed but she did it brightly and cheerfully.
“Um… yes,” I said to her.
“I forgot, Max told Mindy you were English.”
Mindy? Who was Mindy? And why was Max telling her about me?
“I’m not English,” I told Becca.
“I love your accent.” She kept breathing.
“I don’t really have an accent.”
“It’s so cool!” she cried, her eyes going to Max. “Isn’t it cool?”
“It’s cool,” Max agreed but he didn’t sound like he thought it was cool, he sounded like he was trying not to laugh.
I was going to look at him to see if he was trying not to laugh and maybe ask what was so funny when Becca kept my attention.
“Oh my God. I’d so love to live in a different country,” Becca declared. “You are so lucky.”
Me? Lucky? England was beautiful but…
“Though, I’d wanna live somewhere where it doesn’t rain,” Becca decided.
“It does that,” I told her, “quite a bit.”
“If I lived there, how long would it take me to get an accent?” she asked.
“Um… I’m not sure,” I answered.
“I’d have to practice,” she declared.
I thought of a bright, cheerful, bouncy American cheerleader going to England and practicing an accent. Then I tried not to wince.
“I’m gonna get my boots,” Max said and I saw he was rounding the counter.
“Max,” I called but he didn’t stop.
“Be back in a sec,” he said, not even turning.
“So are all the clothes in England as cool as that top?” Becca asked me.
“Um… not exactly,” I replied then asked, “Can you hang on a second?” I had one finger pointed up then I jumped off the stool and hurried after Max who’d disappeared up the spiral staircase.
When I made it to the bedroom he was sitting on the bed tugging on a boot.
“Max –”
He cut me off. “Extra sheets in the closet.”
“Okay, but –”
He tugged on the second boot. “I don’t know how long this’ll take, make yourself at home.”
“I’m leaving,” I said quickly, his head arched back and he looked at me.
“What?”
“I’m going to Denver.”
“No you aren’t,” he replied and his answer, which was firm, unyielding and also surprising, made me blink.
“I’m not?”
“Nope,” he said as he stood and he seemed very tall and very big. He was, of course, very tall and very big in the kitchen too but the kitchen was a brightly lit open space. The loft wasn’t a brightly lit open space. It was more like a brightly lit, intimate cocoon. His very tall, very big body seemed to fill the loft, leaving very little room for me.
“But… I am.”
He walked to me and I resisted the urge to retreat mainly because the spiral staircase was behind me and I’d already spe
nt two days sick in his house, I didn’t want to break my neck there.
He stopped a foot away from me and said, “You aren’t.”
I shook my head and asked, “Why?”
“You need to rest.”
“I’ll rest in Denver.”
“Drivin’ to Denver isn’t resting.”
“Okay, then I’ll get a hotel in town and spend the night there, drive to Denver tomorrow.”
“You aren’t doin’ that either.”
“Why not?”
“Because you aren’t.”
I was beginning to get angry. I didn’t often get angry mainly because I’d made my life so that not much happened to me to get angry about. But I was definitely beginning to get angry right then.
“Why?” I asked.
“Nina, I gotta get this done, I don’t have time for this.”
He didn’t have time for this? Time for what?
“Time for what?”
“Time to spar with you.”
Now I wasn’t angry, I was confused. “We’re… sparring?”
“You’re off, you were better the other night.”
“Better at what?”
He didn’t answer me, instead he repeated, “I gotta go.”
“Max –” I started but he began to walk around me so, instinctively, my hand shot out and my fingers curled around his bicep.
He stopped but my body had frozen and my eyes had dropped to his arm.
My fingers were there, holding what felt an awful lot like steel. Niles didn’t have steely biceps. Niles had soft, fleshy biceps. One would think steely biceps didn’t feel nice but they didn’t only feel nice, they felt nice.
“Nina,” Max called and I jumped and yanked my hand away.
“I want to thank you, for being so nice about me being… sick and, um… everything, but really, I have to go.”
“Why?”
“Why?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Well, because.”
“Because why?”
Was he crazy?
I didn’t get it. Why did he want me to stay? Two days ago he didn’t want me to stay. Why were we even having this conversation?
“You’re home,” I reminded him.
“Yeah?”
“And, well, we can’t share the house.”
“Why not?”
I didn’t have an answer for that because it was such a bizarre question, I figured there was no answer.
Then I did, so I said, “I don’t know you.”
To that, he grinned and it was a grin that made me highly uncomfortable but in a weirdly good way.
“Duchess, I’ve seen you mostly naked.”
At his words I still felt uncomfortable though no longer in a good way, weird or not. I also felt my eyes get big, I felt my cheeks get hot and I felt my heart start pounding.
Then I felt my blood pressure rise.
“Yes, this is true. You’ve seen that against my will,” I reminded him.
“It wasn’t against your will.”
I leaned forward and snapped, “I was unconscious!”
“There she is,” he muttered but he looked bizarrely pleased.
“Who?” I snapped again.
He ignored my question and informed me humiliatingly, “Last time I saw that body of yours, baby, you lifted your arms for me yourself.”
I did do that, I remembered.
“I did not,” I lied.
“You did.”
“I was in the throes of a fever!” I said, my voice getting loud.
“You still did it.”
I threw a hand out. “Okay, fine, you’ve seen me naked. That doesn’t mean we know each other.”
“Slept with you too.” My mouth dropped open and he asked, “Do you remember that?”
“No,” I whispered but I did.
“You wouldn’t let me go.”
Oh my God. I remembered that too.
“I will repeat, I was in the throes of a fever.”
“Don’t care what you were in the throes of, you take care of a sick person, you sleep with someone, you get to know them.”
“No you don’t.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“You don’t!”
He rocked back on his heels and told me, “You got a borin’ life so you got a wild hair up your ass, you’re out here on some adventure, timeout, because you got a fiancé at home who doesn’t give a shit about you.”
My head jerked and I stared. I didn’t remember telling him that. Any of it. Most especially about Niles.
“He gives a shit about me,” I whispered.
“Then why hasn’t your cell rang in two days?” he asked.
“I –”
“And why you been awake and functioning for at least half an hour and you haven’t phoned him?” he went on.
Drat!
Max leaned into me and I watched with not a small amount of fascination as his face grew soft. His face was always amazing, soft it was something else entirely and that something else was even better.
“You’re half a world away, Duchess, you been sick as a dog and your man doesn’t contact you? Even not knowin’ you’re sick, a man gives a shit, he phones.”
He, unfortunately, had me there.
Therefore, I just stood there staring at him not knowing what to say.
Max wasn’t so uncertain.
His hand came out and grabbed mine, lifting it between us, his fingers in my palm, his thumb toying with my diamond engagement ring.
“I was your man, you were halfway around the world from me, honey, I’d fuckin’ phone you,” he said quietly.
“Niles is reserved,” I whispered.
“Niles is an ass,” he returned and my brows drew together.
“You don’t know him.”
“I know men and I know he’s not reserved, he’s an ass.”
I pulled my head together, my hand from his and snapped, “Yes? And how do you know that?”
“Because I’ve seen you naked, I’ve seen you sweet, I’ve seen you unsure and I’ve seen you riled and, seein’ all that, I know, you were half a world away from me, I’d fuckin’ phone.”
“Perhaps that’s not the kind of relationship Niles and I have,” I suggested snottily but his words hit me somewhere deep, somewhere I didn’t know I had.
“You on a timeout?”
“What?”
“If you told me you needed a timeout, first, I wouldn’t fuckin’ let you have one, second, I wouldn’t give you reason to fuckin’ want one, last, you took off anyway, I’d fuckin’ phone.”
My head tilted to the side and I felt my body start warming up not, this time, with fever.
“You wouldn’t let me have one?”
“Fuck no.”
“Ergo, you would not be my man.”
“Ergo?”
“It’s Latin, it means ‘therefore’.”
“Whatever,” he muttered, “I gotta go.”
“Hang on,” I snapped. “You may think you know me but I was delirious. I didn’t get to know you.”
“You will.”
“I won’t.”
“So you think you’re leavin’?” He switched the subject.
“I am leaving,” I declared, happy to be on this subject.
He stuck his hand in his front jeans pocket, pulled out the keys to the rental, dangled them in front of me for a brief flash then his hand closed around them and he shoved them back into his pocket.
“Be hard gettin’ down the mountain on foot, carryin’ that huge-ass suitcase of yours, which weighs a goddamned ton, your overnight bag, your purse and a shitload of groceries,” he informed me.
“Give me those keys,” I snapped.
“I’d tell you to go for them, honey, but don’t have time to play.”
At his words, my mouth dropped open again, he grinned, chucked me gently under the chin with the side of his fist (yes, I will repeat, he chucked me under the chin) and then he walked away.
<
br /> I stood staring at the space he used to be in then, when I heard the front door open, I ran to the railing.
“Max!” I shouted.
“Later, Duchess,” he called, a hand up, two fingers flicking out, he didn’t even look back.
Becca looked back though, and up. She gave me a wince-I’m-sorry-face and a finger wave and I knew she heard everything. I’d totally forgotten she was there.
Then I watched Max throw his now black leather jacketed arm around her shoulders and I wondered who Becca was and what she was to Max who was just upstairs, semi-fighting with me and also, if I wasn’t wrong, and I didn’t think I was, flirting with me in a rough, macho, mountain man kind of way
They talked for a few seconds at the side of her car then they separated. Becca got in her sporty, red, mini-SUV. Max got in his black Cherokee. They both drove away.
I looked down at the bottom floor and saw my cranberry juice, my coffee and my untouched oatmeal all sitting on the bar.
Then I looked out the window at the wilderness.
The internet advertisement for the A-Frame said it was fifteen miles away from the nearest town, secluded, quiet, the perfect holiday destination for a calm, relaxing, peaceful getaway.
The Nightmare Holiday Destination if you had to walk fifteen miles to town carrying a suitcase, an overnight bag, a purse and a shitload of groceries.
Tackle a problem prepared, Charlie advised in my head and I nodded like he was there with me.
Then I walked downstairs, heated up my oatmeal, warmed up my coffee and sat at the stool, preparing to tackle my problem.
Chapter Three
Buffalo Burgers
After I ate, I did my dishes, Max’s dishes, wiped down the counters, found the extra sheets in the closet and made the bed. Then I found the utility room around the corner from the recess in the living room. The dirty sheets were on the floor. As the advertisement said, washer and drier but also a bunch of man stuff that needed to be organized.
I let that stuff be. I put the sheets in the washer.
I packed my bags and decided that Max could have the groceries. He and Becca and the unknown Mindy could have a party. I didn’t care. I was out of there.
Then I poured myself another cup of coffee and found the phonebook. It was thin; I’d never seen a phonebook so thin.
I realized why it was thin when I looked up taxi companies. There was only one. But one was enough.