Snowbound (9 page)

Maybe she was overreacting. Even though she
was young, and probably fertile, that didn’t mean she was
absolutely going to get pregnant from the sex they’d had the past
three days. It was stupid to freak out about it right now, when she
couldn’t do anything to change the outcome anyway. Emergency
contraception was about as reachable as the moon in the current
environment, and they were already past her most fertile window.
There was no reason to stop their intimacies now. What was that
saying? It’d be like closing the stall after the horse ran away?
Something like that.

She just wouldn’t say anything for now, until
she knew there was a reason to have to. Abruptly, she remembered
her half-sister, Megan, had struggled with infertility. She was a
decade older than Beth, but she’d still been just twenty-five when
she’d started trying with her husband. It had taken almost two
years and three IVF cycles for them to conceive their twins. It
boded well for her odds of not getting pregnant the first time if
her half-sister had trouble conceiving. Didn’t it? She clung to
that hope as she put away the phone.

Struggling to compose herself, she took a
deep breath, unable to suppress the wave of guilt. She hadn’t
deliberately misled Reed, but it still felt dishonest, especially
since she wasn’t sharing her concerns. As much as she wanted to
pretend it was solely to spare him worrying for two weeks before
they could discover if they were going to be parents, she knew she
was afraid to confess. He didn’t seem like he would be happy with
the idea, and he was probably going to assume the worst of her. Was
it wrong to cost herself another few days in his arms? Should she
waste the opportunity to get better acquainted with him by ruining
the remainder of their time together?

Sickened by herself, she looked away, no
longer able to meet her own eyes. It was wrong not to tell him, not
to warn him, but she couldn’t make herself do the right thing here.
Was this how her father had started becoming such a selfish person,
consumed with his own needs to the exclusion of being able to
consider others’? Had it been one small step down a slippery slope?
Was she going to turn out like Blair?

Reed’s voice interrupted her mental
castigations. “Get your ass movin’, girl. You’re burnin’
daylight.”

She rolled her eyes as she went into the
kitchen, briefly glad he didn’t know her well enough to tell she
was upset. “Funny.” The pale light wouldn’t appreciably change for
a while.

He smacked her bottom as she went past him
before handing her an apple. “Here.”

She almost drooled. “Fresh fruit? Way up
here, in the middle of winter?”

He laughed. “The root cellar keeps them real
nice.”

She took a bite, finding it still crisp and
tart. “Yum.”

After her impromptu breakfast of apple and
Reed’s kisses, they left the cabin. She trudged around behind him,
finding the snowshoes he’d given her awkward. Of course, he moved
as though he’d been born wearing them. She was huffing and puffing
by the time they stopped at the shed housing the generators. Beth
leaned against a table as he checked everything, topped off the
fuel in one, and wrote something on a pad on the table.

“Looks good.” He rubbed his gloved hands
together, as if to generate warmth, while he led her from the
shed.

“Are we done?” She shivered in the cold.

“Nope. Gotta check the snowmobiles.”

With a sigh, she followed him to another
small shed. “Why don’t you keep all these together?”

He opened the door and stepped inside the
small room, which allowed no space for her. “Couple reasons. If the
weather causes one of the buildings to cave in or somethin’, I got
a spare genny in each of the others. If something happens to make
the generators blow, or they catch fire, I don’t lose my only
transportation in the process, keepin’ the snowmobiles
separate.”

She nodded. “That’s smart. I’m not sure I’d
have thought of that.”

He grinned. “You gotta think about everything
livin’ out here. ‘Course, I read books and talked to locals before
buying this place and gettin’ started.”

“How did you end up here?” she asked as he
nodded his satisfaction with the snowmobiles and closed the shed
door.

He looked haunted for a moment, and she was
sure he wouldn’t answer, so it was a surprise when he said, “After
Kandahar, I was lost. The Army said I wasn’t fit to serve no more.”
He tapped his head, looking disgusted. “Nutjob, though they call it
PTSD.”

She frowned. “That’s not a nutjob. It’s
real.”

He shrugged, as though he wanted to dismiss
the subject. “Yeah, it’s real, but I didn’t need no damn shrink
probin’ my life. I kicked around a bit before I found myself
working on a fishin’ boat one summer in Alaska.”

She struggled to keep up with him as he set
off toward the direction of the runway. He moved quickly, and she
didn’t know if it was his natural pace, or just his instinctive
urge to flee the conversation. “How did you like that?”

Reed snorted. “It’s hard, disgustin’ work.
Don’t leave much time for a man to get all introspective and dwell
on how he’s the only survivor of his squad.” He shrugged again.
“They ought to make it therapy for all PTSD cases. Did me a world
o’ good. Bit like an emotional enema.” He laughed, though it held a
sharp edge. “Once I got rid of the baggage from the Army, I was
ready for something else. Alaska calls to me, so I stayed.” They
stopped near the runway, and cursed. “I’m definitely going to have
to plow this shit before the group arrives. Not that I’d expect
them to dig their way out at Endline for another couple days at
least.”

Her heart lifted at the thought of having two
more days alone with him, but it didn’t make her lose track of
their conversation. “How’d you end up going from fisherman to guide
and owning all this?”

“Hard work. Lived on beans and salmon I
caught myself, scraped together a down payment, used my VA benefits
to finance the place, and sunk everything I have into it.”

From his expression, she didn’t think he
meant just financially. This place owned Reed’s soul. Probably his
heart too, which made it doubtful that he had much room left for
anyone inside it. Could he ever love her—any woman—as much as he
loved this land?

Their conversation ended suddenly as they
came upon a gruesome sight. Beth rushed forward, ignoring his
warning to be careful as she knelt beside a white fox. It was
obvious the poor thing was dead, having been caught in a trap that
it must have dragged with it. Out of desperation, it must have
tried to chew off its paw and had bled out. Tears came to her eyes.
“How is this fair or sportsmanlike, Reed? Traps are cowardly.”

He nodded. “There’s some people that live
around this area that don’t give a damn about property lines or
cruelty.”

She sniffed. “The trap isn’t yours?”

His blue eyes darkened. “Hell no, it ain’t
mine. I wouldn’t leave any animal to suffer for days with these
damn things. It ain’t no kind of way to hunt. You don’t know what
you’re gonna catch, or how long it’ll be here. Most of ‘em die from
starvation or dehydration.” He shook his head, his gaze softening
with pity as it fell on the ravaged fox’s leg. “Or blood loss.”

Tentatively, she touched his leg. “I’m sorry.
I shouldn’t have just assumed—”

He nodded, looking pacified for a moment,
until he knelt closer to the fox. “Dammit.”

“What?”

“She died with milk.” At her blink of
incomprehension, he said, “She’s got babies somewhere. Probably
dead by now, but we gotta look.”

At that moment, seeing the rough-edged,
pragmatic hunter gearing up to find orphaned baby foxes, her heart
melted, and the truth struck her like a bludgeon. She’d fallen
completely head-over-heels in love with the man. Beth didn’t know
whether to be happy or terrified. He was tender and caring, but he
was also stubborn and closed off. It seemed impossible she could
ever penetrate his walls and get him to feel anything even close to
love for her.

She tried to push aside her thoughts and pay
attention to the instructions he gave her. They didn’t split up,
though she thought he might have suggested it if she’d been more
experienced in the outdoors, and she did her best not to slow him
down.

His persistence paid off as he found a small
den in a rotted log within forty minutes. Beth didn’t protest when
he insisted on checking it out, not wanting to find a den of dead
babies. Finding their poor mother had been traumatic enough. He
lived a hard life, in conditions she’d never imagined before coming
here. How could she ever fit into it? Would he even want her to?
There had been no mention of anything long-term between them. Until
her epiphany a little while ago, she’d had herself convinced this
was nothing more than her first affair, that she would regretfully
part from Reed in a couple of weeks and look back with fond
memories—assuming she wasn’t left with a permanent memento of their
relationship.

Being highly educated didn’t exempt one from
being stupid sometimes, she conceded. Reed, with his most likely no
more than high school education, had probably already figured out
the complications that could ensue from having an affair with a
virgin. He’d no doubt been concerned about her getting all clingy
and emotional, which must have been part of why he’d held back. She
didn’t think they would be lovers now if events hadn’t brought them
together, barely dressed, in the same bed, in the middle of the
night. By the light of day, he’d have talked himself out of doing
something as dumb as risking making a virgin fall for him.

Her thoughts scattered when he scooted
backward and stood up, cradling something in his hands. “Is it a
baby?”

He nodded. “The only one, as far as I can
tell. Looks maybe four weeks, so she might have cycled out of
season and had a small litter.” Reed cuddled the fox closer to him.
“Foxes can come into heat any time, but most kits are born in
spring.”

“What will you do with it?”

He stuffed the fox down his shirt, and it
whimpered weakly. “First thing to do is see if we can keep it
alive. After that, I’ll contact a wildlife rescue and
rehabilitation center my friend runs, once the weather settles
down.”

They hurried back to the cabin, her hips and
back protesting the last few steps in the wretched snowshoes. It
was a relief to take them off, along with the rest of her outdoor
gear. Reed slipped off his coat and immediately moved into the
great room, where he’d left a fire banked. Beth took the baby
awkwardly when he handed it over.

“Put it in your shirt. Your skin’ll help warm
it up.”

Beth did as he suggested as Reed brought the
fire to life, instantly providing welcome warmth. “What are you
going to feed him?” Somehow, she wouldn’t have been surprised to
find he kept a stock of wildlife formula, since he seemed to have
everything else one might need out here.

He disappointed her with his pragmatic
answer. “I’m thinkin’ sweetened condensed milk for the first few
feedings, to give the critter some energy. After that, he’ll have
to settle for evaporated milk or powdered, plus meat.” He stared at
the kit. “I think he might be able to handle a morsel of meat once
he gets some calories in ‘im. A bit young maybe, but he won’t make
it if we don’t try.”

Beth wanted to hand the baby over to Reed
right then. Not because she didn’t care about it, but because she
was afraid she’d grow too attached. Still, she let the little
furball nuzzle against her chest as he busied himself in the
kitchen, preparing the meager meal for the new arrival.

That first feeding, watching the little one
struggle to eat, she was sure he wouldn’t last the night. The
second feeding, two hours later, was just as hard, but he seemed to
have adapted to the eyedropper by the third feeding. She took a
feeding the next time, allowing Reed to rest, before he sent her
back for a nap.

When she woke later the next morning, it was
to the welcome sight of more snow falling. Very welcome, because it
meant more time with just the two of them. Well, three of them,
counting the kit.

Beth slipped on a robe over her pajamas for
the warmth before leaving the guestroom to check on the orphan. She
had briefly considered the idea of sleeping in Reed’s bed last
night, but he hadn’t offered. Since he wasn’t going to be beside
her, she’d forced herself to take the guestroom, not wanting him to
think she was clingy or needy.

The little fox looked a lot better this
morning, dozing on a towel on Reed’s lap as he watched a DVD. She
sat beside him, reaching out to stroke the baby, who twitched at
the touch. “How’s he doing this morning?”

“Pretty well. Ate probably two ounces. And
he’s a she.”

“Oh, that changes things.” She rubbed his
head softly. “Do you often rescue animals?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Done it once or
twice.” His expression clouded for a second. “Don’t usually work
out well, but she seems tough.”

“Like her mother.” She shivered, imagining
how strong the fox must have been to try to resort to amputation to
remove the trap. “Poor baby.” The words were meant for the deceased
mother and its offspring.

Patting his leg, she said, “Let me take over
for a while, and you can sleep again.”

He shook his head. “Nah, I’m fine.”

She grinned. “You’re a big softie.”

He flushed. “Am not.”

“Are too,” she teased. “You’re going to be a
good dad.”

All sign of amusement left his face. “No, I
ain’t.”

She wet her lips, trying to tread carefully.
“It’s just a guess, but I’m assuming your father was…not a good
dad. That doesn’t mean you’d be like him.”

Reed narrowed his eyes, sneering. “I ain’t
havin’ no kids, Beth. I ain’t worried about bein’ like my asshole
of a father. I just don’t want no sniveling little bastards
wreckin’ my life.”