Snowbound with Her Mountain Cowboy, page 10
Angelina blushed and pulled her hand back. He let her fingers slip out of his grasp, but she was still only a couple of inches away from him. He felt her shift beneath the lap blanket over their knees.
“Yes,” she said.
“Why didn’t you tell me that before, when I asked about it?” he asked.
“I didn’t want to,” Angelina said simply. “I’m more than a signature scent.”
“It’s pretty,” he said. “You shouldn’t have stopped wearing it because of me.”
“My grandmother wore it, too,” she said. “It’s Chanel No. 5. In fact, she gave me this old perfume atomizer from when she was a young wife. She got married in 1950, and my grandfather was an alcoholic. She had seven children with him, and one night after he’d gotten into a violent rage, she kicked him out. She never took him back, either.”
“How did she survive?” Ben asked. “Back then it wouldn’t have been easy.”
“She remarried,” Angelina replied. “And her second husband was much nicer, but my grandfather caused trouble for her up until his death. Hence, her advice to marry a man who would make a good ex-husband. Her second husband, the only grandfather that I knew, was kind and sensitive. He was a real teddy bear.”
As a man, Ben wasn’t sure that was a great way to be remembered, but the second husband had been the one to stick.
“There’s something inside of every man that wants to be known for his strength, his ability to protect the ones he loves,” Ben said. “I want to have a little more steel inside of me. I’m not sure I want to be remembered as a teddy bear.”
“Don’t worry,” she said with a rueful smile. “You aren’t.”
A piece of wood on the fire popped and an explosion of sparks sailed upward into the chimney. A swirl of cold air swept down to meet them, and there was a tangle of swirling red dots above the flames.
“But you are a decent ex-husband.” Angelina eyed his bandage for a moment, winced slightly, then lifted her hand to his forehead. “How is your head?” she asked.
“It’s okay,” he replied. “Why?”
“There’s some blood showing through.”
He didn’t know why he did it, but he ran his fingers down her bare arm, leaving goose bumps trailing behind his touch, and then tugged her arm closer. His lips found her pulse, and for a moment, he stayed immobile, his kiss pressing against the soft patter.
She moved into his touch instead of drawing away. Her eyes shone with suspended tears.
“I just—” He hadn’t been able to help himself.
“You’re the only one who did that,” she whispered.
“Good...” he said. “I should have something in your memories that’s only mine.”
“You always were a little too confident,” she said, a smile teasing at her lips.
He reached for her wrist again and pressed another kiss against her pulse.
“If I’m not a teddy bear, then what am I?” he asked.
She considered him. “You’re the one that got away.”
His gaze dropped down to her lips, and for an agonizing moment, all he could think about was pulling her close against him. He rubbed his thumb over the delicate inside of her wrist, and he felt her pulse speed up under his touch. He started to lean toward her, but she pulled her hand away again and cleared her throat, breaking the moment.
“I should probably go, shouldn’t I?” he murmured.
“Yes,” she said, and she pressed her lips together. He put the album down with some reverence.
Angelina rose, too, and walked him to the door. Ben turned. They were in shadow, the light from the fire flickering a few paces away, and he looked down into those eyes that looked midnight blue in this lighting, and he felt a longing to kiss her so strong that it nearly rocked him.
“It’s coming back, Angie,” he murmured.
“I can tell,” she said.
“I’m not remembering anything bad yet, though,” he said with a small smile. “And that’s the problem.”
“You will,” she said.
“Well, right now, I’m just a man...and I’ve got shreds of memories swimming in my head, but for the most part, you’re new to me.”
She smiled. “That’s...ironic.”
“I don’t know how I messed everything up,” he said. “But I must have been some fool.”
“We can agree on that.” She met his gaze and then she laughed. It was a relief to see the humor in her eyes. He probably deserved worse than that.
“You should go,” she said.
“Good night, Angie.”
He opened the door into the dark hallway.
“Ben?”
He turned back.
“Don’t call me Angie.”
Ben shot her a grin. “It was a pleasure, Ms. Cunningham. I’ll see you...”
But she wasn’t Ms. Cunningham in his resurfacing memories. She was delicate, soft, tender, beautiful—she was Angie...
Ben headed down the hall, and it took a couple of beats before he heard her door shut behind him.
* * *
ANGELINA CLOSED THE door and leaned against it. Her wrist still tingled where his lips had touched her, and she let out a slow breath. It was just like meeting him on that cruise ship—the immediate chemistry between them, the depth of his longing for something real...
If only she’d known then just how complicated his real life had been. He’d been on that cruise as a way to clear his head. His father wanted him to start taking over part of the business, and they’d also been strongly suggesting it was high time he got married and started on a family. Cleo was up to her usual antics, and they weren’t looking to her to get serious with the business. It was all on Ben. He’d been frustrated and felt locked in, and he told her that he realized that the freedom he was longing for was right there in front him...her.
But Angelina had been more of an annoyance to his family than the breath of fresh air she was supposed to be for Ben. And the novelty of a “commoner” wife had worn off. Truthfully, it had worn thin for her, too. She got tired of being the constant representative of “regular people,” and tired of messing things up—not knowing the right fork, or the right honorific for whatever guest was at dinner. She was tired of the backhanded compliments and quips—the general reminders that she wasn’t good enough for the Kings’ oldest son.
And yet here Angelina was, stuck in a snowstorm with Ben, and the chemistry was still there... There was something incredibly intoxicating about a man who was drawn to her that powerfully. And he was still just as good looking, just as charming, just as sweet...
If only their divorce could have been because he was surly and mean, and not because he needed more than she could give. Being the woman who came up short all the time—that was a feeling she didn’t want to revisit. At least here in her resort, she was enough—she was the heart of this place in a way she’d never been able to achieve in her home with Ben.
Angelina went back to the couch and looked at the closed photo album. It was a lifetime ago, but she’d never fully turned off her feelings for Ben, either. It didn’t seem possible, but at least they’d both carried an understanding of exactly why their chemistry wasn’t enough. And now, she was the only one who knew that in the face of an attraction that never had tamped out.
She glanced at her watch—it was almost nine. She had a few duties to see to yet this evening. And hopefully by morning, she’d have a better handle on the feelings that Ben simmered up inside of her. Cold nights and firelight were never good for emotional balance.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THE NEXT MORNING, Angelina ran into Warren on his way to breakfast.
“Have you seen Ben?” Angelina asked.
“I’m just coming from his room,” Warren replied as he came to the bottom of the staircase. “He’s doing well. His head is healing—although, it really could use some proper stitches. He says a few memories are coming back.”
Yes...she’d seen that last night. Angelina nodded. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. Thanks for stepping up like this.”
“Oh, it’s no problem. Once a doctor, always a doctor. Even if I weren’t asked, I’d still be poking my nose in,” Warren said with a smile. “But I was going to ask you about something.”
Angelina paused to give him her attention. “Sure.”
“Do you know of any links between Blue Lake and Camp Hale?” Warren asked.
“Not directly,” she replied. “We’re about forty miles away from Camp Hale.”
“I had heard that they did a march out to Blue Lake a couple of times,” Warren said. “Have there been any WWII-era artifacts discovered in the woods? People used to be able to find bullet casings from soldiers’ target practice.”
Angelina shook her head. “Not that I know of, but I do have a marketing manager who would be just ecstatic if we had any proof of connection to Camp Hale. I’m sure she could use that in our next ad campaign.”
“I was hoping you’d have some little nugget of information,” Warren said.
“I’m afraid not.” She shrugged. “Sorry.”
“I’ll go see about some breakfast,” Warren said. “The food is smelling great.”
“Yes, please do. Enjoy.” Angelina returned his smile, and she turned toward the fireside room.
The wood box was nearly empty—a few sticks of firewood left, and some chunks of dry bark. The smaller box of kindling was completely empty. The furnace was still running, but a big roaring fire was going to come in handy later on.
Warren’s questions about WWII history were running through her mind as she went over to the bank of windows and looked out into the snow. She’d never seen any antique bullet casings out there, and it was possible that all that time and the weather had simply rusted them back into the soil. But if there were a connection to Camp Hale, that would be interesting. It would be nice to have this place connected to more history than just the King family. It would be a relief, actually, especially after the way Ben had kissed her wrist in her suite last night...
Her stomach gave a tumble at the memory. What was it about that man that could still turn her heart upside down?
The snow had gotten significantly deeper out there—a soft, marshmallow mantle covering everything. If she didn’t have to worry about this old building, she might enjoy the sensation of being snowed in for a while, but she had more things to worry about.
“Angie?”
She turned to see Ben in the doorway. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a slightly too-small long-sleeved undershirt that only accentuated his muscular physique. And his black hat—the one she’d grown to associate with him. He replaced it from time to time, but Ben King was always in a black cowboy hat.
A smile quirked up one side of Ben’s mouth. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Why?”
“You look...pensive,” he said.
“I’m thinking about firewood,” she replied. “We’re low, and I need to get more inside.”
Among other things, but she didn’t want to talk about those.
“You want help?” he asked.
“Actually, I do,” she replied. “Thank you. The thing is, we’re going to have to shovel a path to the woodshed and then bring a few loads back inside. I normally have a fair amount of wood stacked against the side of the building here, but I didn’t get to replenish it before the storm hit.”
“You had other things to think about,” he said.
“Mostly trying to get guests checked out,” she said, then shrugged. “Okay, well... There are a couple of coats that the employees use for outdoor work, and we can use those. This will probably ruin any good jacket.”
“Sounds good.”
He didn’t even blink at the mention of coats, and she eyed him for a moment, waiting for a reaction to that lambskin coat in her office. How long would it take for him to remember why he was here?
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “Let’s go. Unless you wanted something to eat—”
“No, I’m fine,” he said. “I mean, I have an in with the boss, so maybe she’ll let me forage in the kitchen after we’re done with the wood.”
Angelina chuckled as she led the way to the employee lounge. Four winter coats with the Mountain Springs Resort icon emblazoned on the breast pocket hung on pegs on the wall, and Angelina passed him one of the bigger ones.
“That should fit,” she said.
She found them thick work gloves and waterproofed winter boots, too. Her employees were always well-defended from the weather. Maybe it would do her good to get outside and breathe in some fresh air. They’d all been cooped up for too long.
Armed with snow shovels, she and Ben stepped through the side door. Brisk wind whipped in with a cloud of snowflakes, and Angelina put her head down and pushed outside into the onslaught, Ben close behind. Together they started to work.
“The path leads up toward that brown shed—you can just see it,” Angelina said, pointing in that direction.
“Yeah, I see it,” Ben said, and he bent to the task at hand.
Ben was stronger than her and he was able to clear more snow than she could with every shovelful; the job was getting done much faster than if she was working at it alone. The steadily falling snow left a velvet cover behind them over the pathway that they cleared, absorbing sound around them and muffling the scrape of their shovels.
“Angie, I—” Ben started. Angelina shot him a wary look, and he caught himself. “Angelina. Look, I know overstepped last night.”
Angelina straightened. “We were always like that, Ben.”
“You mean...drawn to each other?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Yeah, I’m afraid so. But...it doesn’t work. We learned that the hard way. No relationship is about two people alone. They have to fit in somewhere, and you and I didn’t work when we were a part of your family or your world.”
“I’m remembering more,” he said.
“Like what?” she asked.
“Just fragments. I don’t know where they fit in. I remember making you dinner one night. It was steak.”
“Are you sure it was for me?” she asked, attempting to sound lighthearted. Surely he’d made his famous steak dinners for more women than her... She was the only woman in his world right now, and it was too easy to get tugged into this.
“You were wearing a floral summer dress,” he said. “And your hair was down. You were leaning over the counter with a glass of champagne, and your eyes...”
Angelina held her breath. Ben cleared his throat, then smiled awkwardly. Yes, he was remembering. She turned back to the shoveling. It was safer than meeting his gaze.
“There was some kind of baseball game, and I was playing outfield,” he went on. “That’s a memory from childhood. Nothing more to it—just me in the outfield, chewing gum and waiting for a hit.”
“That’s a nice memory,” she said, and she heaved another shovelful of snow to the side. “You also did rock climbing.”
“Yeah?” He sounded mildly surprised.
“No memories of that?”
Ben shook his head. “Nothing.”
“Well...something for you to look forward to, then,” she said, and she shot him a teasing smile.
They were getting close to the woodshed now, and for a couple of minutes Ben put his energy into clearing the snow. When they got to the overhang, they were both breathing a little quicker, and Ben’s cheeks were reddened from the cold.
“There’s...um...one more thing I remembered last night,” Ben said. He straightened, but he didn’t quite meet her gaze.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“You said I’d eventually remember the tough parts of our relationship,” he said.
Angelina’s heart sank. So it had finally come...
“I don’t know what it was about,” he said, his voice gruff, “but I remember shouting, and you yelling something back, and—” he paused, winced “—and then you cried. Tears just welled up, and you looked like you were holding it back for a second, and you just sank into a chair and...cried.”
A finger of wind lifted a tendril of hair away from her face.
“Yeah...” Angelina said softly. “We did that a lot toward the end.”
“What were we fighting about?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It would start with some silly thing or other and snowball into something bigger,” she said. “One of us would make a cutting, hurtful remark and the other would walk away.”
“But we loved each other,” he said quietly. “I know that.”
“We did,” she said with a nod. “But the pressure was too high. It was hopeless. We both knew it.”
“Look.” Ben’s voice was low, rough, and he stepped closer, blocking the last of the wind from touching her. “I’m sorry. I really feel like I owe you an apology for ever raising my voice to you, or saying anything that could make you...” His voice caught. “I’m really sorry.”
“Oh, Ben...” She felt her own restraint begin to tremble.
“I didn’t want to remember something like that,” he murmured. “But I knew it was coming... You told me, didn’t you? I just...”
“It’s okay,” she whispered.
She was going to say something more, explain that that was why they hadn’t worked out, or tell him that she’d forgiven him a long time ago, but the words just wouldn’t form. His eyes were filled with misery, and their breath hung in the air between them. Fighting had always been as painful as tearing flesh. She hated those memories, too.
“I don’t remember kissing you, though,” he said. “I remember breaking your heart, but never kissing you—”
Before she could think of anything to say, Ben leaned in, his mouth just a whisper from hers, and when she didn’t move away, he closed the distance.
