“A snake.”
“Is it venomous?”
“No. Harmless. Doesn’t matter, though. I don’t like snakes.” When that provoked a spark of laughter from her, he felt warm again, but also curious. He cocked an eyebrow at her as he struck a match. A whiff of sulfur and a yellow glow accompanied the strike.
“Goodness,” she said. “Light the kindling. You look positively satanic.”
The matchstick was burning down, but he gave the flame a little shake in Phoebe’s direction before he held it against a dry strip of bark in the stove. He blew gently on the fire, making sure it was well caught before he closed the door. “Why did you laugh?” he asked, choosing a log from the pile that he could add to the stove.
“Oh. The idea of you being afraid of snakes struck my funny bone. I don’t think it occurred to me that you might be afraid of anything.” She tilted her head to one side and gave him her full regard. “Maybe Fiona.” As soon as she said it, she realized that she had given him the opening to point out that, as he saw it, Fionawasa snake. The urge was there, she saw it in his face, but he resisted and swallowed what he would have liked to say. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Mm.” He opened the door to the stove and carefully added the log. “It will be warm enough soon for you to feel it. You can come closer.”
Without releasing the blanket or unfolding her legs, Phoebe inched closer to the fire. She leaned her face toward the grate and closed her eyes. That was how she missed the lightning strike that stretched jaggedly across the sky and was unprepared for the roll of thunder that shuddered the cabin. She felt as if she jumped high enough to clear the floor, but when the thunder passed, she was still sitting solidly on it.
Phoebe looked around uneasily and then focused on the cabin’s only window. “I suppose I know why it’s called Thunder Point.”
“Which one is your yellow-bellied racer?” he asked. “The thunder or the lightning?”
“It’s all a bag of snakes to me. I don’t think there’s ever been a time I didn’t cower in a storm. When I was young and small enough, I would crawl into a trunk in one of the dressing rooms and close the lid.”
“Dressing rooms. You’re talking about in the theater. Did you live there?”
“It felt as if I did.”
“What about your parents, Phoebe? Fiona mentions them, but not often. You never speak of them.”
“And I won’t now.”
Remington was more disappointed than surprised. He knew from Fiona that her parents both worked in the theater, although not as players, and while she never said it outright, he had the impression that Mr. Apple was a failed playwright and a successful drunk, and his wife did mending, laundry, and cleaning for the troupe. Mrs. Apple may have performed other duties outside of her marriage but on this count, Fiona was understandably vague.
Remington shoved another log into the fire. “I’m going to get the other blanket and join you, unless you want me to use it to cover the window so you can’t see the lightning.”
“No. Get warm. There’s nothing you can do about the thunder, and the lightning prepares me for it.” The words were barely out of her mouth when there was another close strike. The cabin creaked and rumbled. In the far corner, water began to drip from the ceiling. Recalling there was a pot under the bed, she quelled the ridiculous urge to place it beneath the leak.
Remington sat down, folding his legs in the same tailor fashion as Phoebe. His knee bumped hers. Neither moved away.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“How do you mean?”
“Any way you like.”
“I’m warmer, and I’m not sore from riding, so that’s something.”
“It is.”
She stared into the fire for a long time before she spoke. “I saw pieces of the rope when we came in the first time. I haven’t looked back since.”
“I wondered if you’d seen them.”
She used the thumb and forefinger of one hand to circle the wrist of the other. “I had the oddest sensation I could feel the rope here.” She released her wrist, examined it, and slipped her hand under the blanket when she couldn’t see anything. “It still tingles.”
Remington held out a hand. “Let me.”
She didn’t, not right away. “What are you going to do?”
In answer, he reached under the part in the blanket and took it. Using both hands, he rubbed her wrist between his palms. “Better?”
