Vivian Arend - Rocky Mountain Desire

Matt returned her gaze steadily. “I’m not worried about the roads, but if we went to my folks’ place, there’s a fireplace…”

“I’m sure the power will be back on soon. You hungry?”

He had to realize she was deliberately changing the topic. She was damn stubborn when she needed to be. She was not leaving her place and that was final.

Matt nodded. “A sandwich would be good.”

Then he moved to stand and she fled the room as casually as she could. Because there was no way, even with talk of being friends and all that nonsense, that she could watch his beautiful body any longer without giving in to the desire to drag her fingers over him. To follow her fingers with her tongue.

Yeah, friends. What had seemed like a simply marvelous idea at the time simply sucked.

She’d brought him his own clothes. A pair of sweats. A T-shirt. Thick sweatshirt. The only thing that didn’t belong to him were the socks, and those looked hand-knit.

Matt dragged the towel over his skin harder than needed to dry himself. It was useless though. Scrubbing away the pain of the past was impossible.

Another sign of his fucked-up relationship—he tugged on the sweats. A pair that he’d left at Helen’s one day. The T-shirt? One she’d said was her favourite. He could picture her pulling it on her naked body after they’d made love. Could imagine he still smelt her scent on the fabric, and a knife drove through him hard enough to kill the lingering sexual frustration that had built over the past hour.

Matt sat on the edge of the tub and wrestled with the demons in his soul. Helen hadn’t only left him, she’d cheated on him first. Called him and his choices stupid and shitty. Blaming her words on the alcohol she’d consumed over New Year’s Eve could only excuse so much. Drunk as a skunk, what she’d really been thinking and feeling had exploded out. Even her apology later that week before she left town for good had been no kind of an apology. More of a rationalization on her part, as if he had to agree that the big city had more to offer.

The fact Helen had the guts to beg him to join her—to abandon his family and simply up and leave—the memory of that scene cut off any sympathy he might have had for her.

He pulled on the T-shirt. It was just a chunk of material. The sweatshirt would keep him warm. They had nothing to do with any past memories.

If he kept pretending, maybe that would make it true.

He didn’t bother to look in the mirror, because he knew his expression was dark and angry. Matt blew out the candles one after another, trying to blow away his frustrations at the same time. Because out in the living area was a different woman than the one who had hurt him so badly. Hope wasn’t responsible for her sister’s offenses.

The knit socks cradled his feet on the hardwood floor, like furry caterpillars cocooned around him. He found Hope in the kitchen, the diffuse flashlights making her eyes darker as she handed over a plate and nodded toward the living room. “I’m having a bite then heading to bed. If you want to stay, you’re welcome to.”

Matt accepted the food and followed her into the living room. She plopped on the floor in front of him, dragged a quilt around her shoulders and basically all but vanished from sight. The only things still visible were her hands as she took up her sandwich and brought it under the hanging edge of the quilt draped over her head.

He sat on the couch and tossed the jean quilt behind him over his lap. It was cold in the room, but not cold enough he needed to hide. “You do have enough quilts to outfit all of Rocky.”

Her smile peeked out from under the covering. “I will never freeze. The apartment pipes may burst, but a woman who can sew will never go cold.”

The sandwiches slid down easily. Hope had turned on her iPod, plugging it into a speaker system. Music filled the quiet around them.

“Batteries?”

The pile of fabric nodded. “Lasts a few hours at least. I like being able to take my own music with me wherever I go. I’ve got another speaker set up in the shop, although the play list is more applicable to the average customer’s tastes. This…” she nodded at the player, “…this is my shit.”

It was louder and raunchier than what Matt usually listened to. “That’s not country.”

A laugh burst out. “Damn right it’s not.”

“That’s almost sacrilegious, isn’t it?” Matt finished the final bite of his sandwich and followed it down with the pickle she’d popped on the plate.

“I enjoy country in moderation. Get to listen to it in all the grocery stores and everywhere else in town. So when I’m on my own, I balance it with other flavours.”

She leaned over to hit the forward button, and the quilts fell away, the combination of the long line of her neck and her bright smile warming him inside more than it should.

The music changed, and this time it was his turn to laugh. “Is that an accordion?”

“Yeah, I’ve got eclectic tastes. Keeps things interesting.”

She yawned then rubbed her hands together briskly. “Sorry for abandoning you after you saved my butt and all, but I’m exhausted. You planning on staying or heading home?”

Matt checked his watch. Shit. “I have to get up in four hours. If you don’t mind me staying…”

Hope rose, still clutching the bundle around her.

“There’s—” Her eyes went wide and she stared in consternation. “Oh, fuck it. It seems I’m going to keep kicking you in the balls, Matt Coleman, even though that’s not my intention. You can sleep out here on the couch that’s way too small for you, or you can have my bed. Or you can have the spare bedroom, but that was…”

Fuck it was right. “Helen’s room.”

Hope nodded slowly.

It wasn’t the end of the world. “It’s just a bed. I’d head home now, but it makes no sense to start the truck, scrape the windows clear, fight my way through the fresh snow to my trailer and then have to do it all over in three hours’ time.”

Hope nodded, more briskly this time. “This way. There’s a wind-up old alarm that used to belong to my grandpa if you want it.”

She grabbed for the quilts on the couch. All the way down the hall, Matt wondered what evil karma he’d earned to deserve getting the hell beat out of him this way. When she hustled him into the room and piled the bed high with quilts, there was nothing left but to deal with his torment.

Hope stood in the doorway, hands clutched together. “You got what you need?”

Matt nodded. “I’ll leave as quietly as I can in the morning. Okay if I just pull the door locked after me?”

“Perfect, because honestly, I’m not getting up with you. Help yourself to whatever you want out of the fridge.” Those blue eyes of hers caught him again, her expression serious. “Again, thank you. This evening could have ended way differently if you hadn’t come along.”

Then she was gone, the wink of her flashlight disappearing behind her door.

He turned to face his fate.

It was just a bloody bed. He crawled in with his clothes still on, tugging the quilts right up to his chin. Lying in the dark, slowing his breathing, trying to calm the wild activity in his brain.

It was no use. It might be self-torture, but he had to do it. He sat up and shined the light around the place, looking for signs of Helen, looking for anything that would poke him and make him bleed.

Nothing. It was just a bedroom.

The ghosts wavered and faded to mist. There was enough heat generated from his body and the food in his belly to allow him to relax. He turned off the light and covered his ears. Yeah, the only thing haunting him right now had nothing to do with the knowledge that his ex-lover had slept in this room.

It was the bright-eyed woman on the other side of the wall, her enthusiastic laugh and her kindhearted actions that dogged his thoughts as he fell asleep.

The welcoming tinkle from the bells attached to the shop’s front door brought Hope from her inventory to greet a massive armload of familiar-looking supplies moving toward her.

“How…?”

The boxes lowered to reveal another familiar sight. Clay Thompson, old classmate and sometime dance partner, flashed her a smile. “Got a few things for you. Must have fallen out of Santa’s sled or something.”

“That’s the stuff from my car.” She came forward to pull the topmost of the pile off and lay it on a table. “Oh man, thank you for grabbing it for me. When I called this morning your dad said the tow truck was already gone.”

“Yeah, Matt Coleman phoned first thing. We had to rescue a couple others before your car, but she’s at the shop now.”

Hope wished she could stop the heat that rushed to her cheeks. She wondered if Clay would ask what Matt was doing phoning for her. He’d been gone when she got up, but obviously had taken time from his chores to put in the rescue call.

Clay lowered the rest to the floor. “We’ll look the car over and let you know what needs to be done to make her roadworthy.”

“You do miracles?”

“Ha. Yeah, she’s in rough shape, but until they’re completely dead, there’s always hope.”

His joke fizzled as she thought about how much harder having no vehicle was going to make life.

He motioned to the pile. “I think we found everything before we messed up the snow hauling your car from the ditch. Len’s got another load coming in a minute.”

“Len has the load right here.”

Hope turned as a second massive male stepped through her doorframe. The past twenty-four hours had brought far more testosterone into her shop than she’d had around for ages.

“Thanks for bringing it all over, guys. You didn’t need to do that.”

Clay grinned. “What? Not take the chance to skip out of work? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Your dad will know something is up if you’re more than five minutes behind schedule.” Hope helped settle the supplies in one spot, embarrassed by how much she’d actually had crammed into her vehicle.

“This is a business meeting.” Len retreated to the front counter, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his work coverall. “Why didn’t you ask our garage to be a part of your spring fundraiser?”

Hope stared in confusion, distracted as Clay worked his way to her side, watching his six-foot-three frame pass between the rows of quilting supplies a little like seeing a bull manoeuvre through a china shop. “Fundraiser? Oh, the quilt raffle? I just got started on setting up the challenge. It doesn’t officially begin until after the New Year. How did you hear about it?”

“Mason from the fire hall was bragging the other night that he and the volunteer firefighters are going to win.”

Hope laughed. “Good for him. I’m looking forward to seeing what quilt design they finish.”

Len jerked upright. “They have to sew a quilt?”

“Still want me to ask you to join in?” She laughed out loud at the chagrin on his face. “Come on now, it’s for a good cause. Only rule is the quilt you put up for auction has to be made by all the members of the sponsoring group, not their girlfriends or mothers.”

Clay swore. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious. Proceeds go to the Big Brothers and Big Sisters Club. The shop teacher at the school is training the Big Sisters’ participants so they can offer car tune-ups during the fair.”

“We can’t sew.”

Hope took her time looking them up and down. “Then I guess the firefighters will get bragging rights for the year. Because if they make the only quilt to be raffled off at the spring fair…”

Len and Clay were making the most hilarious faces at each other. Her smile was real as she turned to examine the pile of supplies and start sorting them. A few things were completely fine—she put them to the side for reshelving as soon as the guys went back to the garage.

Her happiness faded as she picked up a plastic bag filled with wet yarn and grimaced. Here started the troubles. Maybe she could recover it enough to put the yarn up for a discount. Or use it herself for a sample item.

Clay dragged her back from her labours with a tug on her sleeve. “You plan on giving lessons? If we sign up for the challenge?”

“Sewing lessons? Of course, that’s part of the fun. And I’ve arranged for loaner sewing machines from the high school for anyone who needs one. I can come to your place or you can come here.” She eyeballed the tiny workspace at the back and pictured the five oversized guys from the car shop all fitting in there. “Maybe I’ll make it a rule I come out to the challenger’s place. That will help keep the designs a secret as well.”