A surge of possessiveness rocked me, tightening my muscles, making me tense and angry and, fuck me, just a little hornier.
Wrong. Completely wrong.
How would she respond to the unwanted advances of a man like me?
She wouldn’t have to kick me in the nuts. Because I wouldn’t touch her again. Okay, I’d rub her back if she asked me, but I wouldn’t give in like I’d done with that last squeeze.
Something shifted in the other room—her or one of the dogs, who’d laid down on the floor beside the bed—and, rather than wait around to see how badly I’d fucked up with that move, I rushed to put my boots on, opened the door, and whistled for the dogs.
The cold hit me right off the bat—a welcome smack to the face. Good. Maybe the girls and I would camp out here tonight.
It’d probably be safer.
But, Jesus, couldn’t I just get a grip? She was injured, for God’s sake. Not begging me to fuck her.
“Girls!” Clearly, they didn’t want to leave her either. After a few seconds—probably a long, drawn-out stretch, Brownie slunk into the room, yawning, but no Bear. “Bear!” When, finally, the little hairball joined me at the door, I could’ve sworn she threw me an irritated look. Like,Why’d you pull me away from the warm lady in the bed?“Come on. Out.” With all the attitude of one of my sisters, they followed me outside.
I opened my mouth to tell Christa where we were going and closed it. We weren’t a couple. This wasn’t some domestic, “Honey, just headed out for a bit” moment.
Instead, I shut the door and stomped through the two feet of snow toward my workshop, in search of something to do with my hands.
Checking my equipment would have to do, since the weather barred pretty much everything else. I grabbed my rope bag and yanked out a long coil of rope, along with the mechanical prusiks I used to facilitate movement up and down trees.
Bear started whining for dinner an hour or so later. I’d checked all my rigging, gone over lanyards, carabiners, harnesses, and ropes. It was almost dark out and I’d need to turn the stove off anyway, so I had to get back to the cabin. The problem wasn’t that I didn’t want to, it was that I wanted it too much.
So, maybe my sisters had been right. Maybe I did need to get out more often, talk to people, see old friends, meet women.
What about the woman in my house?
Off-limits, idiot.That was Cindy’s voice talking in my head—my youngest sibling.You want a woman on even footing. Not one who’s dependent on you for everything.
She was right, damn it.
I trudged back to the house, the girls dogging my footsteps, barely taking the time to pee before rushing through the hard-driving snow toward the cabin. Dinner wasn’t something they took lightly.
On the porch, I wiped the girls down, knocked the snow off my boots, and peered at the windows. Was there light on in there? Shit, I hadn’t thought to leave her with a flashlight or candles or anything.
I opened the door and the dogs shot inside like furry, wet cannons.
“Oh, hey!” Christa giggled “Hey Bear! Hey Brownie!”
I forced myself to concentrate on my boots for a good ten seconds longer. When I finally dared to look at her, I could see her face flush, even in the dark of the candle-lit cabin. My neck prickled with heat of its own.
“You all right?”
She nodded. “Like a new person.”
I nodded and sank to the bench, where I pulled on my slippers.
Play it cool.I stood, noting that she’d taken the chickens out and covered them with foil.
“So—”
“Do you think—”
We both stopped and let out awkward little laughs.
“Go ahead.”
