High Stakes (High Mountain Trackers Book 2), page 10
“I know.”
She lists a little until she’s leaning against me and my arm automatically rounds her, tucking her close. Her head rolls against my shoulder and I rest my chin against her hair.
We sit like that for a while in silence.
At some point she asks in a quiet voice, “Why did you come?”
I lift my head and look down at her, but she keeps her eyes fixed on the opposite wall.
“Checking in on you. You left before we had a chance to talk.”
She tucks a hank of hair behind her ear. “I wanted to get here early.”
It’s not hard to hear the lie. I have a gut feeling she doesn’t do it often so instead of calling her out on it, I let it go.
“Did you sleep at all?”
Now her head turns my way. “A little.”
“We should talk…about last night.” I feel her stiffen beside me but soldier on. “I probably shouldn’t have kissed you.”
Nella
I knew he would bring that up.
Last night was messed up. The kiss was definitely unexpected—handsome men don’t go around kissing me with any regularity—and this one swept me right off my feet. For a moment he made me forget everything, I didn’t even recognize myself. Then his hand was under my shirt and on my breast when I heard a horse neigh outside and reality suddenly hit me like a ton of bricks. I was at the ranch, losing myself to a tall, handsome cowboy while my sister was in a coma at the hospital.
The guilt had been so fast and thick, I could almost taste it. Still can.
I couldn’t face him this morning. Couldn’t imagine being introduced to the other people at the ranch, smiling and being polite, while I was feeling like the manure pile I’d spotted next to the barn when I was sitting on the porch watching the sun come up. So I bolted and came straight here.
But his words still sting. Reality must’ve hit him too, and he probably wants to make sure I don’t have any expectations.
I don’t know much about men. At least not men like Fletch. Maybe it was my lack of experience, or exhaustion, or the highly emotional events of the day that had me misinterpret the look I saw in his eyes as interest. Last night, I thought he’d instigated the kiss but this morning I realized I practically threw myself at him.
And yet, here I am again, snuggling into his side.
I probably shouldn’t have kissed you.
With his words echoing in my mind, I abruptly stand up and move to a seat across from him, just to create a little distance. I’m like a moth to the flame when it comes to this man.
“I’m sorry.” It feels like I’m always apologizing to him.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he snaps, his surly disposition back on display.
The man’s moods are hard to keep track of. He makes me feel unbalanced.
“Last night. This morning. Everything.”
His heavy eyebrows—barely visible under the brim of the hat he’s wearing—draw together to form a stern line over his deep-set eyes.
“That’s bullshit. In case you missed it, it was me kissing you last night.” He flips off his hat with one hand before agitatedly running the other through his thick hair. “I took advantage of you. Fuck, I practically mauled you when you could barely stand on your own feet. That’s not me.”
I stare at him in disbelief. Advantage of me?
“I liked it,” I blurt out, and I can’t stop myself from adding, “a lot.”
My confession is instantly followed by a flush of embarrassment as Fletch’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise.
“You did.”
It’s more of a statement than a question, but I nod anyway.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he mutters.
He leaves shortly after, citing some work he needs to do, but he first makes me promise to come back to the ranch after I see Pippa. He surprises me by dropping a kiss on the top of my head before he takes off.
This time when I sit down next to my sister’s bed and the nurse closes the curtain to give us some privacy, I take her hand, lean close, and in a soft voice tell her all about this puzzling man I’ve met.
Two visits a day is all I get, so when the nurse alerts me my time is up, I kiss Pippa’s forehead—the only place free from tubes and bandages—and promise her I’ll be back tomorrow.
But when I walk out of the hospital a few minutes later, the rest of the afternoon and evening seem to stretch out in front of me. I’m not good at sitting around with nothing to do, but I’ve done plenty of it yesterday and today. All it does is make me focus on the negative. I need my hands to be busy.
Instead of turning the van left to go back to High Meadow, I turn right. My plan is to pick up some supplies for the cabin—other than coffee and creamer the fridge had been empty—and maybe bake a few pies as a thank you for letting me stay there. I’ll also need some groceries so I can cook my own meals. I already owe these people so much; I don’t want to infringe on their hospitality any further.
At Rosauers—the same grocery store I visited when I first got here—I fill my cart with enough food to last me the week. As an afterthought I pick up a few bottles of wine. Purely for medicinal purposes, in case I have trouble sleeping again. A glass of wine will knock me out, I’m a bit of a lightweight.
I can hardly believe it was only a week ago I arrived here. So much has happened, it feels like much longer.
As I pull out of the parking lot, I spot the sign for the Sandman Motel and remember the bench from my van which is still stored in Martha’s garage. I might as well go pick it up, I think my boondocking days are over. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to check for vacancies while I’m there.
I have no idea what is going to happen with Pippa or how long I’ll be here, and I can’t stay at the ranch forever. That reminds me, I should call work and let my boss know what’s going on. Derek won’t be happy to know I’ll likely need longer than the two weeks he reluctantly granted me.
A pickup truck I recognize as Wyatt’s, Martha’s son, is parked in front of the garage when I pull up to the motel office. Maybe he has time to give me a hand. I get out, open the van’s side door, and snag a bottle of wine from one of the grocery bags to give to Martha as a thank-you.
She’s behind the counter when I walk in and her face lights up with a smile.
“The whole town’s been abuzz about you finding your sister. How is she? What happened?”
Living in a small town myself, I’m not surprised the news has done the rounds. Even though I expected it, I still have to clear my throat at the mention of Pippa.
“She’s in pretty rough shape. They’re keeping her in a coma for now, so it’s not clear what exactly happened yet.”
Her smile is instantly replaced with a look of concern.
“Oh dear, I’m so sorry. I hope she pulls through.”
I swallow hard before I respond.
“So do I.” Then, eager to change the subject, I ask, “I notice the sign says no vacancies, when do you think you might have something available?”
“We’re pretty booked up well into October, but let me have a look.”
I mentally cross my fingers for something as she turns to her computer screen.
“For how long?” she wants to know.
“I’m really not sure. I hope once my sister improves, we’ll have a clearer idea.”
“I see. Well, the first available room I have is for October twelfth, and only for three nights before it’s booked again.” She glances at me with a sympathetic smile. “I told you, it’s crazy here this time of year.”
Rats. If we’re still here in October, I might as well move because I’m pretty sure I won’t have a job to return to.
“No worries,” I tell her with a smile I have to plaster on. “If I leave you my number, could you let me know if there are any cancellations?”
“Of course.”
She slides a notepad and pen across her desk and I quickly jot down the information.
“I appreciate it.” Then I hand her the wine. “I appreciate everything you’ve done. I was also popping in to get my bench from your garage.”
“That’s mighty kind of you, but it was no trouble at all.” She rolls back her chair. “Let me get Wyatt. He’ll give you a hand with that.”
I end up being sidelined when Wyatt insists he handle the bench by himself.
“You found her then?” he questions.
“We did.”
“Was she lost or something?”
“Injured. She managed to keep herself alive though.”
“Guess she’s pretty lucky,” he points out as he closes the van’s back doors.
He’s not wrong, I just hope her luck hasn’t run out.
Thirteen
Nella
“That’s going to be a problem.”
I keep a tight hold on my anger at Derek’s sour tone.
Not a word of concern over Pippa’s well-being. My boss is such an asshole.
“I’m sorry about that, but certainly you understand I can’t leave my sister. I’ll make sure to keep you informed,” I tell him in a clipped tone.
I’m not one to take risks—which is probably why I’ve worked in the same place since getting my degree—but I’ve already proven I’ll do anything for Pippa and I’m not about to stop now. If I lose my job, so be it. I have some money in savings and enough invested in mutual funds for my retirement. It wouldn’t be too hard to access those—albeit at a loss—if I had to.
“Fall term just started so I’m afraid that won’t be enough,” Derek announces. “We’re already stretched thin with you taking off last minute for two weeks. I’m going to have to insist you be back here Monday September nineteenth at eight in the morning on the dot, as previously agreed to, or don’t bother coming back at all.”
And there it is, I can’t say part of me wasn’t expecting it.
The law in British Columbia allows for an employer to fire me for no specified reason as long as they give sufficient notice or pay an adequate amount of severance, which depends on years of service. Of course if I don’t show up, he could try and claim work abandonment, but either way, I’ll be out of a job.
I’m waiting for the panic to hit, but to my surprise I feel oddly calm at the prospect. Somewhere in the past week, it would appear, my perspective on life has changed. Before, most of my identity had been connected to the work I did, but these past days have been an eye-opener. I’m discovering an entirely new person inside. One who doesn’t need work to identify herself.
Pippa would be proud.
The realization has me respond with a new sense of freedom, “Do what you must.”
I end the call just as the oven pings, alerting me the flapper pie is done. I opted for butter tarts and flapper pie for a Canadian touch. Both are pretty easy and they don’t take too long to make. The butter tarts have been cooling while I browned the meringue on the custard-filled pie.
Five minutes later I’m on my way to the main house, a little self-conscious about just knocking on the door. The thing is, I can’t, in good conscience, let another day go by without properly introducing myself. I just hope Ama is still there to break the ice.
An older gentleman opens the door, a smile deepening the prominent lines in his face.
“Finally,” he exclaims. “Come in.”
“Oh, I’m just dropping these off. Is Ama here?”
The man relieves me of the pie and with his free hand waves me in.
“She’s in the kitchen.”
He starts walking down the hallway to the rear of the house and I have no choice but to follow. The kitchen is massive compared to what I’m used to. It opens up to a dining room and what I assume to be a living room beyond. Large windows all along the back of the house provide gorgeous views of the landscape.
Somewhat intimidated, I throw Ama—who is standing by a massive island—a small smile.
“I’m sorry to barge in,” I start. “I wanted to—”
“Your timing is perfect. Dinner is in twenty minutes,” she interrupts before glancing at the flapper pie the older man slides on the counter in front of her. “What’s this?”
“Flapper pie, it’s a traditional Canadian pie. And these are butter tarts. As a thank-you for your hospitality.” I set the plate of tarts on the island before turning to the man and holding out my hand. “I should introduce myself; I’m Antonella Freling, pleased to meet you.”
“I know,” he says with a sparkle in his eyes as he grabs my hand. “Thomas Harvey, and I assure you the pleasure is all mine.”
“That’s Jonas’s father. Never mind him,” Ama says, bumping Thomas with her hip. “He doesn’t get out much.”
The old man grins in response, not appearing at all offended by her words. Ama turns back to the vegetables she was slicing.
“Well, I’ll get out of your hair.”
I take a step toward the door when Ama announces, “Nonsense. You’ll stay for dinner. We’ll have your baking for dessert.”
Before I have a chance to turn around, the front door flies open and the large dog I met up on the mountain comes charging toward me. Someone yells, “Max!” but it’s too late. He jumps up and knocks me right on my ass.
“Get off, you big galoot,” a deep voice sounds above me as a large, wet tongue laps at my face.
The next moment he’s gone, pulled back by Fletch’s boss, Jonas.
“Looks like he’s taken a shine to you,” he comments as he holds out his hand for me to grab on to.
With no apparent effort at all, he pulls me to my feet.
“You all right?”
A little embarrassed, I wipe the seat of my pants. “I’m fine, thank you.”
Other than humiliated.
I’m not used to dogs—never had a pet in my life—and to be honest, the large animal scares me a little, but he does seem friendly enough.
“Let me get you a drink. What would you like?” Jonas offers.
“I should prob—” I start declining when Thomas pipes up.
“Come sit by me,” he says, patting the stool beside his. “I want to know how your sister is doing.”
Five minutes later, I’m sitting at the kitchen island, a large glass of white wine in front of me, listening to Jonas recount how the team found a missing hiker this afternoon, when the front door opens and Sully walks in. Bo and James are right behind him, but I’m fixed on Fletch who’s the last one through the door. His face shows no reaction to my being here as he comes straight for me, and I’m starting to wonder if I overstepped in some way.
“She’s staying for dinner,” Thomas shares as Fletch stops in front of me.
“Actually I was just dropping off some pie and tarts. I didn’t mean to—”
“Pie?”
I turn my head to catch Bo trying to grab one of my butter tarts, but Ama is faster, snatching the plate out of his reach.
“Hands off. That’s for dessert,” she admonishes.
“You baked?”
Fletch’s voice is low but I have no trouble hearing it over the lively discussion that ensues in the kitchen. When I turn back to him his eyes are warm, little crinkles fanning out from their corners.
“Just as a thank-you for letting me stay here,” I clarify.
His lips stretch in a slow smile which—if possible—makes him even more devastatingly handsome.
Oh, dear…I’m in trouble.
“You bake,” he echoes, except this time it’s not so much a question as it is a statement.
“I know he doesn’t look the part, but Fletch has a serious sweet tooth,” Ama volunteers, grinning at me as her husband tucks her under his arm.
She’s right; I wouldn’t have associated a penchant for sweets with the generally broody man. But when he smiles like this? A warm sensation spreads through my body and I find myself smiling back.
“I do.”
Fletch
I’m not sure if it’s the glass of wine she nursed all through dinner, the fact her sister is looked after, or both, but I’m liking this more relaxed Nella.
Everyone hung around for dinner—even James and Ama stayed, something they rarely do—and for once I wasn’t in a hurry to get back to my place. So it’s already pretty dark out by the time I walk Nella back to her cabin.
She’s still beaming with the compliments she received on the dessert she provided.
“Gotta say, you sure know your way around the oven,” I comment, eager to keep that smile on her face a little longer. “I can cook, but never mastered baking. Probably a good thing, or I’d have a gut by now.”
Sure enough, her smile brightens and the color on her cheeks deepens at the compliment. Not sure how I initially missed how pretty she is.
“It’s relaxing,” she shares. “More of a hobby, but I give most of it away, or I’d be the one with the gut. Lord knows I don’t need the extra padding, there’s enough of it already.”
And as far as I can see, every ounce of it perfectly distributed. It’s what makes her a pleasure to hold, soft and warm, molding easily to the rougher angles of my body. But I don’t tell her that. Not yet.
What I do say is, “Ever thought of making it a business?”
I can tell from the pause before she responds, it’s at least crossed her mind before.
“I’ve fantasized, but it’s hardly practical. I don’t have any formal training though, and bakeries are a dime a dozen.”
We’ve arrived at her door when I ease her around to face me.
“Not in Libby. At least not with desserts like yours.”
I’m not sure where my head is at when I blurt that out and neither does she, judging by the look of confusion on her face.
“But I don’t even live here.”
I shrug. “So move.”
Before my mouth runs away with me even further, I find a better use for it. I slide a hand along the side of her face and into her hair, tilting her chin up with the light press of my thumb. Then I take those amazing lips of hers and slip my tongue between, finding hers ready to tangle.
