Read Sweet Memories Online

Authors: Nicola Starks

Sweet Memories (3 page)

BOOK: Sweet Memories
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mother died, she’d dreaded spending holidays by herself. That’s why she’d wanted to keep the office open. If she worked straight through this cursed time of the year, she barely noticed. Tears tickled the back of her throat, and she balled her fists.

 

I will not cry. No matter what.

 
 

But she made no promises about pouting. “I’m cold and wet and need a hot shower.”

 

Mitch raised his left brow at her tone, but she didn’t care. Let him think she was a spoiled princess. At least he was in his own home.

 

Then he smiled, and a tiny flame of warmth flickered inside her. “You’re in luck. We may not have heat or light, but we do have hot water.”

 

“How?”

 

“The water heater’s gas. Just don’t take too long. The pump’s running on the back-up battery, and I don’t know how long it will last. I’d hate to have to resort to melting snow for water if the power doesn’t come back on in a couple of days.”

 

“A couple of days!” That wasn’t possible, was it?

 
 

He shrugged. “You never know. Follow me. I’ll show you the bathroom.” Candy didn’t balk when he grasped her small, cold hand in his big, warm one

 

and led her down the dark hall to a compact, white, spotlessly clean bathroom with an old-fashioned claw foot tub. A large, round rain showerhead projected from the wall above it.

 
 

Mitch turned the taps to adjust the temperature, then pulled the valve for the shower. Water cascaded down, and clouds of steam boiled up to fill the frigid room. He opened a cupboard and handed her a thick, white towel. “Here. Remember, don’t take too long.”

 

“But I don’t have anything to wear.” Her sweater and slip of a skirt were damp from the snow.

 

“I’ll leave something next to the tub for you.” “I won’t be able to see.”

 

“I’ll leave you the flashlight.” He set it on the toilet seat, aimed at the ceiling. “Now you won’t be able to see.”

 

He heaved a sigh. “I’ll be fine. I know every board and nail of this place.” The door clicked sharply behind him.

 

It crossed her mind that stripping down to nothing in the house of a man she’d known less than an hour might not be the brightest move. But common sense didn’t stand a chance against the siren call of hot water. Thirty seconds later, she stood stark naked under the spray as the glorious heat brought her chilled flesh back to life.

 
 

With a sigh of regret, she turned off the water much sooner than she would have liked and poked her head around the curtain. In a neat pile on the bath mat lay a pair of gray sweat pants and a red plaid flannel shirt. She grabbed the towel and rubbed her skin briskly to generate as much heat as possible before slipping into the clothes Mitch had provided.

 

They were obviously his. Candy tightened the drawstring of the pants and rolled the legs until her toes peeked out. She felt warmer already. Then she pulled on the soft, worn shirt and turned the cuffs several times to free her hands. A pair of thick wool socks completed the ensemble. She wiped a dry end of the towel across the steamy mirror, peered at her image, and stifled a snort. Definitely the Anti-Fashionista. It was a good thing no one she knew could see her now.

 
 

When she opened the bathroom door, a faint glow drew her down the hall toward the living room. She turned off the flashlight and followed the light. When she stepped into the living room, her breath caught in her throat. A dozen lit candles flickered on the coffee table, end tables, even the windowsills. Mitch knelt in front of a crackling fire in the stone fireplace, tucking more kindling around the logs. He turned his head toward her then rose in one fluid movement.

 
 
 
 
 

Chapter Five – A Hard Liquor Kind of Situation

 
 
 

Mitch told himself to stop staring, but despite the heat of the growing fire in the hearth, the command froze before it could take effect. Funny, he’d thought the oversized flannel and sweatpants would lessen her effect on him.

 
 

No luck there. Her wet hair was combed back from her face, which only managed to make her hazel eyes look deeper, larger. Between the flames of the hearth and candles, her beauty took on a luminous quality. It feathered along the high arch of her cheekbones and softened the bottom curve of her full mouth.

 

The tightening in his chest eased into a welcome ache. It had been some time since he’d felt like this, and he didn’t know how to curb it.

 

That wide -eyed gaze locked onto his, and his pulse picked up pace, the air going thick in his lungs. After several beats of continued silence, she blinked and looked away.

 

“Thank you for the clothes.”

 
 

He frowned, clearing his throat to jumpstart the stalled words. They came out rougher than he intended. “It’s not much, but you’re welcome.”

 

She licked her lips. His traitorous stare followed the quick flick of her tongue. “This is a nice room. I imagine there’s a lot of light during the day,” she said. Turning, he looked at the wide windows aligned with the western horizon. If not
 
for
 
the
 
whiteout
 
blanketing
 
the
 
landscape
 
as
 
far
 
as
 
the
 
eye
 
could
 
see,
 
they would
 
be
 
enjoying
 
a
 
nice
 
sunset
 
right
 
about
 
now.
 
“This
 
room
 
is
 
the
 
reason
 
I purchased the house. It was a bit of an impulse, to be honest.” But he wasn’t going into
 
that
 
now.
 
Wiping
 
palms
 
that
 
were
 
surprisingly
 
damp
 
on
 
the
 
thighs
 
of
 
his jeans, he stepped back. “Here, sit by the fire.” He shooed Major from the foot of

 
 

the armchair closest to the hearth. “Are you hungry?”

 

“I could use a drink,” she said, sinking onto the leather cushion. She was a tall woman, but the chair enveloped her, somehow making her look small and delicate.

 
 

“A drink.” Yeah, he could use one of those, too. Maybe whiskey was what he needed to douse the warm, cozy fire she’d lit in him. As cold as the house was, he had no right to feel such riotous warmth. “I’ll see what I have.”

 
 

The kitchen, separated from the living room by a high granite countertop, ran toward necessity. He used the flashlight to find his way more easily around the rustic wood cabinetry. There wasn’t much he could whip up for her besides the whiskey and a bottle of cabernet he kept around for whenever he was in the mood to cook anything nicer than microwave dinners. “Is wine okay?” he called back into the living room.

 

“I’ll take some of that whiskey,” her voice said close behind him.

 
 

Glancing over his shoulder, he watched her run a hand over the smooth wood face of one of the cabinets. “You sure?” he asked, holding up the bottle. “It isn’t the smooth kind.”

 
 

She rolled her eyes, and the jaded, city attitude that cloaked her face skewered him. “Just pour me a glass. This is without doubt a hard liquor kind of situation.”

 
 

Taking a tumbler down from the cupboard over his head, he poured her a glass and set it down on the island between them. “There you are, princess. Have fun.”

 
 

She lifted the tumbler but frowned at him as she cupped it in both her hands. “You don’t think I can handle my liquor?”

 

“Did I say that?” he asked, amused. He poured a second glass and swirled the liquid. Rarely did he allow himself to indulge in whiskey anymore. Not alone, anyway. It had helped him cope with the most haunting events of his life. And from coping had grown a dependency he solved by pulling up roots and changing his lifestyle completely. In a way, whiskey had saved his life. He never took a drink without remembering—

 

She took a sip.

 
 

He waited for the flinch when the burn kicked in, but she did no such thing. Damn it, she was exceeding every one of his expectations.

 

“You didn’t say it, but the whole chauvinistic act leads me to believe you’re thinking it.”

 

It took him a moment to grasp the thread of the conversation. He snorted out a laugh. “Chauvinistic?”

 

“Yeah.” She set the glass down so she could prop her hands on the counter behind her and pull herself up on top of it. Crossing her legs comfortably, she lifted the glass again and gestured with it toward him. “You know what I’m talking about. The sweep-the-damsel-off-her-feet thing you did back there on the road.”

 
 

“Down here we call that chivalry, darlin’.” He smiled despite himself. “Chivalry is dead. Didn’t you get the memo?”

 

“Apparently not.” Truthfully, surrounded by the rustic wood of the kitchen and with the glow of candle and firelight from the other room, if he hadn’t known

 

any better, he would think this was a scene straight out of another era. An era in which chivalry was very much alive and kicking. He tossed back the whiskey in his tumbler and set the empty glass aside. The liquid joined the curious fire inside him and did nothing to squelch it as he'd hoped.

 

“So what do you do when you’re not driving a tow truck, Mitch?” she asked. He leaned back against the cabinet behind him and crossed his arms. “You

 

don’t have to do that.” “Do what?”

 
 

“Make small talk,” he told her. “If you want, I can show you the guest room, and you can shack up there for the night. Neither Major nor I will bother you.”

 

Her shoulders stiffened. “I thought making conversation would be more pleasant than listening to the wind howl. My mistake.”

 

He frowned, cursing himself as she hopped down from the counter and took her drink into the living room. He didn’t know what about her amused him one moment and put his back up the next. The part of her that could sip whiskey like water intrigued him to no end, but the city part reminded him all too much of the types he used to date—the kind of woman who had been drawn to his name and the money behind it. Not the real man inside, the one he’d given up everything to save.

 
 

He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and sighed, forcing his shoulders to level off as the breath and tension filtered out of him. Then he poured himself another glass, afraid she might be right about one thing—this was on its way to becoming a situation only hard liquor could solve.

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Chapter Six – Oh No!

 
 
 

Mitch turned the heavy glass in his fingers before he slammed it down on the counter. Adding alcohol to an already explosive situation was the wrong move. He’d bustle that tempting bundle into the spare room. If she wanted to stay up, he’d see about getting the generator started.

 

The small battery-operated weather radio on the counter crackled to life. “… long range forecast predicts this storm will hover over western Georgia for the next forty-eight to seventy-two hours with accumulations up to three feet…”

 
 

“Oh. My. God.” Candy stalked into the kitchen, grabbed his glass and drank it in one gulp. Her watering eyes searched his. “What are we going to do?”

 

“I’m going to get the generator started, and you’re going to bed, princess.” Mitch put the whiskey bottle in the cabinet and closed the door.

 

Candy squared her shoulders so abruptly he thought he heard tendons snap with outrage.

 

“Stop calling me princess, like some kind of reverse snob. My name is Candy.”

 

Mitch wondered if helping this woman was punishment for old sins. He inhaled her sweetness and wanted to run his tongue over the soft skin exposed by the drooping collar of his oversized shirt.

 
 

Instead he slapped the flashlight into her hand and pointed her toward the spare bedroom. “Go!”

 

****

 
 

Candy watched Mitch disappear quicker than a tax refund. She wasn’t tired enough to sleep, so she wandered back into the living room and slowly piled more wood on the fire. Major sprawled like a lifeless bearskin rug in front of the hearth. He didn’t move when she stepped over him. The howling wind scraped on her nerves like sandpaper. Despite Mitch’s outrageous remarks, his strength and positive attitude kept her fears at bay.

 
 

She turned slowly, studying the masculine furnishings in the flashlight beam. The overstuffed leather sofa and chairs suited him. To her surprise a large fir tree stood in the corner, partially decorated. She no longer bothered to decorate her apartment for the holidays, and the idea of celebrating made her stomach clench. Maybe he’d had company for Christmas. Everything else in the room shouted bachelor. Even the heavy photo frames perched on the mantel looked like he’d picked them out. Without stepping up onto the hearth, she couldn’t make out the details, but they looked like outdoor scenes.

 
 

A loud thump followed by a muffled curse from the basement made her smile as she stifled a yawn. Finding her bed sounded more and more enticing. She wandered down the hall, looking for the guest room. After briefly glancing into Mitch’s room, she snapped the door shut. The king-sized bed covered with a fluffy goose-down coverlet looked too inviting. Her breath hitched at the idea of Mitch waiting underneath.

 

Candy shook her head. She had to stop thinking of him as an attractive, sexy male. As she opened another door, several lights flickered and came on. A computer screen turned blue as electronic equipment hummed to life. A fax machine spat out a page. They must run on a backup battery. The office was better equipped than her office in Manhattan.

 
 

She resisted the urge to check it out, slowly backing away. For a small-town tow truck driver, Mitch had an enormous amount of high-tech equipment. She rubbed her forehead. He seemed, somehow, more than he presented.

 
 

The next door opened into what was obviously a guest room. The double bed stacked with pillows called her name.

 

Mitch noisily climbed the basement stairs.

 

“Candy,” he shouted. “I started the generator. The furnace will kick on in a minute and warm the bedrooms.”

 

“That’s great. I was just thinking about going to bed.” Only not alone. She rubbed her arms as she walked back toward the front room.

 
BOOK: Sweet Memories
6.76Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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