The Gamble

Chapter Two Human Again

I woke up to crazy brightness and after a couple of seconds remembered where I was.

The A-Frame.

And Max.

“Oh my God,” I muttered to the pillow as I opened my eyes and rolled to my back, memories flooding my foggy brain.

I couldn’t be certain I remembered every second but I remembered enough to be mortified. Mortified more than I’d ever been mortified in my whole, entire life.

I had to get out of there. Immediately.

I threw the covers back, tossed my legs over the side of the bed and stood. I had to give myself a moment to adjust so I did. I was lightheaded and my nose was a bit stuffed up but other than that I felt human again.

Human enough to escape.

I walked to the railing and looked downstairs, left then right. Max wasn’t in the kitchen or living room.

I looked out the windows and saw the snow and pine trees, white and green jagged mountaintops breaking the blue sky, breathtaking landscape, a fabulous view as far as the eye could see.

I also saw that the drive had been cleared of snow including a large, level area at the front of the house. The one track lane that led to the road was also cleared as was the road leading away. My rental car was sitting in front of the house shining in the sun, so bright, it was eye watering. It looked like it’d never been touched by snow.

There was no Cherokee.

“Max?” I called, my voice sounded untried, weak. I cleared my throat and called louder, “Max?”

Nothing.

Thank God. He was gone.

Then knowing I should get a move on, I just stood there, all I needed to do crashing in and pressing down on me. I didn’t know what to do first.

I’d always had the terrible habit of looking at any problem, no matter how big, as a whole problem. Charlie was always telling me to break it down, make the big problem into smaller problems, take it one step at a time.

I looked at the bed and my suitcase.

Shower. Shower first, get dressed, get some food in me, a quick snack, energy. Water, I needed to rehydrate. And coffee. I needed caffeine. Then write a note of thanks to Max, pack up my car and get out of there, drive down the mountain and spend two weeks in Denver.

I’d never really been to Denver just the airport and a grocery store but it seemed like a lovely place. And people lived in Denver, there had to be things to do. Cinemas. Shopping. Museums. I could find stuff to do in Denver. Maybe I could find me in Denver. Maybe I could figure out my life in Denver.

Denver it was.

I went to my bag and pulled out things I needed, went to the bathroom, dumped them there then back to the suitcase for clothes.

Then I caught sight of the bed and got side-tracked when I decided that I should probably change the sheets on the bed. No one wanted to sleep in a bed after a sick person had been there. Max might have been a jerk when I first met him but he’d been not a jerk when I’d been sick. He deserved clean sheets.

So I pulled off the big, fluffy, chocolate brown covered down duvet and yanked the sheets off the bed, throwing them into a pile at the foot. The internet advertisement of the A-Frame said it had a washer and drier. I’d put the sheets in the wash after my shower and tell Max in the note where to find his sheets so he wouldn’t think I made off with them. Not that he’d think I’d steal his sheets but who knew. People did all sorts of weird stuff at a rental.

I went to the bathroom and halted in front of the mirror when I caught a look at myself.

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

My face was pale, there were purple-blue shadows under my eyes but it was my hair that caught my attention. My hair was a disaster.

I hadn’t lucked out much in life but one thing I had lucked out with was my hair. I had a lot of it, it was thick and it looked good practically anytime day or night, even just waking up or when I hadn’t washed it a couple of days. I’d had a few unfortunate perms when I was younger but usually it looked great no matter what length or what cut or, being honest, what color. Currently it was highlighted a light blonde, the streaks of blonde liberal through my naturally somewhat mousy brown hair and I’d let it grow kind of long.

Now, it was dank, partially matted and frightening.

I pushed aside the frightening vision of me, brushed my teeth, washed my face and jumped into the shower. This was taking a lot out of me. I’d just battled a serious fever and I hadn’t had food in who knew how long. I should probably rest, definitely take a second out to eat a banana or something but I had no idea where Max was. I was hoping he was at work. That would give me plenty of time to do what I had to do and escape.

I got out of the shower, lotioned my body, perfumed, pulled a comb through my hair glorying in the feeling of being clean. I decided that showers worked wonders. They were mini-miracles. Especially Max’s shower which was separate from the bath, tiled in beautiful taupe and brown veined marble and big enough for two.

I pulled on my underwear and the pair of jeans I bought that Niles shook his head at when I showed them to him. Niles didn’t understand the jeans or the other stuff I bought for my rustic, timeout adventure to Colorado, thinking my purchases would help me fit in with the natives. Niles wore suits to work and large whale corduroys and cashmere sweaters when he was relaxed and at home. I’d never seen him in jeans and definitely not faded, secondhand jeans.

I’d bought them specifically for my Colorado adventure in a secondhand clothing store on Park Street in Bristol that specialized in vintage American clothes. They were faded and there was a tear in the back pocket, the threads bleached white, and I thought they looked hip. They also fit like they were made for me and they made my somewhat generous behind look good. Therefore, I loved them.

I paired them with a wide, tan belt and my lilac, long-sleeved t-shirt that had fitted sleeves so long they came over my wrists and had a boat neck that was so wide sometimes it fell off my shoulder.

Then I gathered all my stuff and walked out of the bathroom and smelled bacon cooking and saw that the dirty sheets had been taken away.

I closed my eyes slowly.

I should probably not have taken time to strip the bed though that would have been rude.

And maybe I should have left out lotioning and, probably, standing under the strong, hot spray of the shower for a full five minutes, just letting the water wash over me and bring me back to life.

Well Max was home and I had no choice, I’d have to thank him in person. No, I’d have to face him, tall, amazing-looking, gravelly-voiced Max Whatever-His-Last-Name-Was who had seen me mostly naked and took care of me while I was sick then I’d have to thank him in person.

Get it over with, Charlie would say to me. Always good to do the shit stuff fast, get it out of the way.

Charlie, as ever (if he’d been there but, unfortunately, he was not), was right.

I sighed, threw Max’s t-shirt on the armchair and dumped my toiletries in my bag. Then in bare feet I walked to the spiral staircase and descended.

When I hit the living room I saw him standing at the stove, his back to me. He was wearing another thermal, no flannel this time. It was wine colored and it fit him perfectly. Maybe a bit too perfectly. You could even see some of his muscles defined through the shirt and there appeared to be a lot of them. He was again wearing faded jeans. The waves of his thick hair at the back were just as perfect as they were from the front. Maybe even more perfect. Maybe even his hair was the definition of perfection.

I was five feet from the bar when he turned, fork in hand.

His gray eyes hit me, they did a sweep from head to toe and back again, he smiled and I stopped moving.

“She lives,” he said in his strangely attractive, gravelly voice.

His eyes and his voice both felt physical, like a touch, a nice one. I felt blood rush to my cheeks as I lifted my hand to my hair and found it wet and slicked back, so I dropped my hand and my head and, looking at my feet, I mumbled, “Sorry.”

“For what?” he asked and I looked at him again.

“For –”

“You inject yourself with a flu bug?”

“No.”

“Shit happens,” he muttered and turned back to the stove.

Well, I had to admit, shit definitely happened. Though not much shit happened to me anymore. I did my best to avoid that for a good long while but it used to happen to me and I knew it still happened because I heard from my friends when shit happened to them.

“Anyway, I’ll just –”

“Sit down,” he ordered, dropping the fork on the counter and moving to the fridge.

“I’m sorry?”

He had the fridge open but he looked at me. “Sit down.”

“I thought I’d –”

“You need juice,” he declared and pulled out what appeared to be the cranberry juice I bought in Denver.

“Really, I should just –”

He closed the fridge and pinned me with his eyes. “Duchess, sit your ass down.”

Well. What did I say to that?

I didn’t know but I started, “Max –”

“Ass on a stool or I’ll put it on a stool.”

Was he serious?

“Max, I need to –”

“Eat.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You need to eat. You haven’t had anything in two days.”

I forgot about him being somewhat rude and definitely domineering and felt my head move forward with a jerk at the same time I felt my eyes grow wide.

“What?” I whispered.

“You been out of it for two days.”

I looked out the window as if the landscape could tell me this was false (or true). Then my eyes went back to Max.

“Two days?”

“Yep.”

“It’s Tuesday?”

“Yep.”

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“Sit down, Nina.”

Too shocked by the knowledge that I’d lost two whole days of my timeout adventure, without another word I moved forward and sat down on a stool. Max poured me a glass of cranberry juice and set it on the counter in front of me then he moved away.

“Coffee,” I muttered, “please.”

“Gotcha.”

“Two days,” I whispered to my cranberry juice before I took a sip.

“You remember any of it?” he asked and my eyes moved quickly to him.

His back was to me and he was pouring a cup of coffee.

Now, what did I do?

Did I tell him yes, I remembered him taking care of me? Giving me medicine, keeping me hydrated, wiping my brow, getting into bed with me and holding me until the tremors went away, changing my t-shirt, stroking my back? Did I tell him I remembered him being so sweet?

Since I wasn’t intending on thinking of any of that (ever), I decided to lie.

“Remember any of it?” I parroted.

He turned and walked the coffee to me. “Yeah, you were pretty out of it. Do you remember any of it?”

I nodded as he set the coffee cup in front of me and affirmed, “I was really out of it so actually, no. I don’t remember anything.”

He watched me for several seconds then he dipped his head to the coffee cup and asked, “Do you take cream?”

“Cream?”

He grinned. “Yeah, Duchess, cream. You got that in England?”

“We don’t call it cream.”

“What do you call it then?”

“What it is. Milk.”

“All right, you take milk?”

“Yes.”

“Sugar?”

“One.”

“One what?”

“One sugar.”

He was still grinning but he shook his head and went to the fridge. He pulled out a gallon jug of milk and set it on the counter by me. Then he pulled out a huge, unopened bag of sugar and, if I wasn’t wrong, I bought that bag in Denver too. Then he set that next to the milk. Then he opened a drawer and got me a spoon. Then he turned to his bacon.

I opened the bag of sugar while I said, “I don’t think I could do bacon.”

“Bacon’s for me. You’re getting oatmeal.”

“Oh.”

He cracked two eggs into the side of the skillet with the bacon and the bacon grease and I stared. Then he walked to a cupboard and pulled out a box of instant oatmeal.

I spooned sugar in my coffee and then I stared at the gallon jug of milk. Then I looked at my mug. Then the milk. Then back.

How was I going to get a splash of the milk in that huge gallon jug in my mug without making a mess?

Then I heard, “Honey, you gonna will it to pour itself in your cup with your eyes?”

I looked at him and asked, “Do you have a little pitcher?”

He threw his head back and burst out laughing, that was deep and gravelly too.

I stared again. What was funny?

“What’s funny?” I asked when he got control of his hilarity.

“Don’t throw many tea parties, Duchess,” he told me still smiling like I was highly amusing.

I wasn’t sure I liked him calling me “Duchess”. Okay so, the way he was saying it now was kind of sweet in a weirdly familiar and even somewhat intimate way. The way he said it two days ago, I wasn’t so sure. It was almost like he was making fun of me except now it felt like he thought I was in on the joke.

“Maybe you could stop calling me ‘Duchess’,” I suggested.

“Maybe I couldn’t,” he returned, came toward me, picked up the gallon jug, splashed a huge dollop of milk in my mug, making coffee and milk plop up and out on the counter then he turned back and poured, without measuring, a bunch of milk into the instant oatmeal.

“My name is Nina,” I told him.

“I know that.”

“Maybe you can call me Nina.”

“I’ll call you that too.”

“Rather than Duchess.”

He’d put the milk back in the fridge and walked back to me, grabbing the bag of sugar, his eyes came to me before he turned toward the oatmeal. “You want a little pitcher for your milk, you’re definitely a Duchess.”

I decided to let it go. In about half an hour he wasn’t going to be calling me anything because I was going to be in a rental car and on my way to Denver.

“Whatever,” I muttered and took a sip of coffee.

Then I watched as he spooned sugar in the oatmeal. One spoon. Two. Three. Four.

“Is that for me?” I asked on a rush when he dipped in for spoon five.

His torso twisted and his eyes came to me. “Yeah.”

He was making me oatmeal and I didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so I muttered, “Um, I think four sugars will do it.”

Two would do it, actually one would have done it, but I’d settle for four.

“Your wish…” he muttered right back but he sounded amused.

I decided to let that go too.

He put the oatmeal in the microwave started it up and then headed back to the skillet. He flipped his eggs expertly then using the fork, pulled the bacon out and, without draining the grease off, he put it on a plate I hadn’t yet noticed. The plate already had two slices of toast slathered in butter and grape jelly.

Before I could stop myself, I announced in a wistful voice, “I miss grape jelly.”

His head twisted toward me and he had an expression on his face that looked like he thought I was funny at the same time he was slightly confused. “You miss grape jelly?”

I took a sip of cranberry juice, surveyed the microwave but didn’t answer. Talking to him was taking a lot of concentration and energy, neither of which I had at that moment. It was weird, he was acting like I’d been there a year, like we were chums, like he didn’t practically throw me out of his house two days ago, like he liked me.

You didn’t tease someone you didn’t like. At least that was what my mother told me years ago when I’d come home, complaining that all the boys teased me. She said boys teased girls they liked and, one thing I learned in life, my mother was rarely, if ever, wrong.

Max decided to let it go too and dumped his eggs on the plate, turned off the burner, moved the skillet to a different one and came to stand in front of me. He held his plate aloft and started eating.

“You need to rest today,” he told me while eating.

“Yes,” I agreed and I would rest that day but I’d do that once I found a hotel in Denver.

He munched bacon before he bizarrely informed me, “In the wall outside the bathroom upstairs is the TV. You just slide open the doors. Same below it to get to the DVD player. Got some DVDs down there. Remotes are in the nightstand.”

I stared at him as he forked up some egg. “Sorry?”

“You want to use the computer, the password is Shauna444.”

“Um…” I mumbled then repeated, “Sorry?”

The microwave beeped, he set down his plate and turned to the microwave, saying, “That’s with a ‘U’.”

I wasn’t following. “A ‘U’?”

He opened the microwave, got my bowl, walked back to me, opened a drawer, dropped a spoon in the bowl and put it in front of me.

“Shauna. With a ‘U’. S-h-a-u-n-a. Then 444. All together.”

“But –”

“Computer’s in the roll top,” he went on, picking up his plate and a rasher of bacon then his eyes went beyond me to the window before he took a bite.

“Max, I think –”

“You bought enough food to feed an army. You should be good for lunch.”

Oh my God. Did he think I was staying there?

“Max –”

He looked back at me. “You should go bland; make sure you’re over it. Wouldn’t be good to have anything rich in your stomach if you have a relapse.”

“Maybe we should –”

I heard a car door slam, I stopped talking and twisted on my stool to look around. Outside, parked beside the Cherokee, was one of those sporty mini-SUVs and making it sportier, it was red. Bouncing up the steps was a young woman with a mass of thick, gleaming, wavy, dark brown hair. She was wearing a baby pink, poofy vest with a sky blue thermal under it with what looked like tiny, pink polka dots on it. She had on faded jeans and they were tight. She also had on fluffy boots with big pom poms at the front that swung around as she bounced up the steps. She was pretty. Very pretty.

No, she was adorable. The epitome of a snow bunny.

And she was very, very young. Way younger than me. Way younger than what I suspected Max was.

I was thirty-six, he had to be my age, maybe older, maybe younger, but not by much either way.

She looked twelve. Though since she could drive, maybe she was sixteen.

She stopped on the porch and gave an over-exaggerated, over-cheerful wave in our direction, bouncing up on her toes. Even overdone, the wave looked adorable too, like it came natural to her, which it probably did since she was likely a cheerleader.

Good Lord.

“Becca,” Max muttered, I looked at him and he folded a piece of toast in half and said. “I’m gonna be gone awhile.” Then he took a bite out of the toast and turned toward the sink.

“I –”

“Hey!” A bright, cheerful, young, female voice called from the doorway.

I turned to look and Becca was inside, closing the door then she bounced toward the bar, her boot pom poms swinging wildly.

“Hey Becca,” Max greeted.

“Hey Max,” Becca called then she looked at me and said, still bright, still cheerful, still young, “Hey there.”

“Hello.”

“You must be Nina,” she announced and I couldn’t be sure but I think I gawped.

How did she know who I was?

Her eyes went around me. “She’s pretty,” she told who I suspected was Max since he was the only other person there then she looked back at me and her eyes fell to my chest before she declared, still bright and cheerful and also somewhat loud, “I dig that top! Where’d you get it? I gotta have one.”

“I –”

“You can shop, Bec, but it’d be a miracle you find that top,” Max told her and she looked at him when he finished, “and be able to afford it.”

I looked at Max and said, kind of snappish mainly because of the way he’d said what he’d said, “It wasn’t that expensive.”

“Since she’s gotta get on a plane and fly to England to buy it, that makes it expensive,” Max returned.

He had me there.

“England,” Becca breathed but she did it brightly and cheerfully.

“Um… yes,” I said to her.

“I forgot, Max told Mindy you were English.”

Mindy? Who was Mindy? And why was Max telling her about me?

“I’m not English,” I told Becca.

“I love your accent.” She kept breathing.

“I don’t really have an accent.”

“It’s so cool!” she cried, her eyes going to Max. “Isn’t it cool?”

“It’s cool,” Max agreed but he didn’t sound like he thought it was cool, he sounded like he was trying not to laugh.

I was going to look at him to see if he was trying not to laugh and maybe ask what was so funny when Becca kept my attention.

“Oh my God. I’d so love to live in a different country,” Becca declared. “You are so lucky.”

Me? Lucky? England was beautiful but…

“Though, I’d wanna live somewhere where it doesn’t rain,” Becca decided.

“It does that,” I told her, “quite a bit.”

“If I lived there, how long would it take me to get an accent?” she asked.

“Um… I’m not sure,” I answered.

“I’d have to practice,” she declared.

I thought of a bright, cheerful, bouncy American cheerleader going to England and practicing an accent. Then I tried not to wince.

“I’m gonna get my boots,” Max said and I saw he was rounding the counter.

“Max,” I called but he didn’t stop.

“Be back in a sec,” he said, not even turning.

“So are all the clothes in England as cool as that top?” Becca asked me.

“Um… not exactly,” I replied then asked, “Can you hang on a second?” I had one finger pointed up then I jumped off the stool and hurried after Max who’d disappeared up the spiral staircase.

When I made it to the bedroom he was sitting on the bed tugging on a boot.

“Max –”

He cut me off. “Extra sheets in the closet.”

“Okay, but –”

He tugged on the second boot. “I don’t know how long this’ll take, make yourself at home.”

“I’m leaving,” I said quickly, his head arched back and he looked at me.

“What?”

“I’m going to Denver.”

“No you aren’t,” he replied and his answer, which was firm, unyielding and also surprising, made me blink.

“I’m not?”

“Nope,” he said as he stood and he seemed very tall and very big. He was, of course, very tall and very big in the kitchen too but the kitchen was a brightly lit open space. The loft wasn’t a brightly lit open space. It was more like a brightly lit, intimate cocoon. His very tall, very big body seemed to fill the loft, leaving very little room for me.

“But… I am.”

He walked to me and I resisted the urge to retreat mainly because the spiral staircase was behind me and I’d already spent two days sick in his house, I didn’t want to break my neck there.

He stopped a foot away from me and said, “You aren’t.”

I shook my head and asked, “Why?”

“You need to rest.”

“I’ll rest in Denver.”

“Drivin’ to Denver isn’t resting.”

“Okay, then I’ll get a hotel in town and spend the night there, drive to Denver tomorrow.”

“You aren’t doin’ that either.”

“Why not?”

“Because you aren’t.”

I was beginning to get angry. I didn’t often get angry mainly because I’d made my life so that not much happened to me to get angry about. But I was definitely beginning to get angry right then.

“Why?” I asked.

“Nina, I gotta get this done, I don’t have time for this.”

He didn’t have time for this? Time for what?

“Time for what?”

“Time to spar with you.”

Now I wasn’t angry, I was confused. “We’re… sparring?”

“You’re off, you were better the other night.”

“Better at what?”

He didn’t answer me, instead he repeated, “I gotta go.”

“Max –” I started but he began to walk around me so, instinctively, my hand shot out and my fingers curled around his bicep.

He stopped but my body had frozen and my eyes had dropped to his arm.

My fingers were there, holding what felt an awful lot like steel. Niles didn’t have steely biceps. Niles had soft, fleshy biceps. One would think steely biceps didn’t feel nice but they didn’t only feel nice, they felt nice.

“Nina,” Max called and I jumped and yanked my hand away.

“I want to thank you, for being so nice about me being… sick and, um… everything, but really, I have to go.”

“Why?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Well, because.”

“Because why?”

Was he crazy?

I didn’t get it. Why did he want me to stay? Two days ago he didn’t want me to stay. Why were we even having this conversation?

“You’re home,” I reminded him.

“Yeah?”

“And, well, we can’t share the house.”

“Why not?”

I didn’t have an answer for that because it was such a bizarre question, I figured there was no answer.

Then I did, so I said, “I don’t know you.”

To that, he grinned and it was a grin that made me highly uncomfortable but in a weirdly good way.

“Duchess, I’ve seen you mostly naked.”

At his words I still felt uncomfortable though no longer in a good way, weird or not. I also felt my eyes get big, I felt my cheeks get hot and I felt my heart start pounding.

Then I felt my blood pressure rise.

“Yes, this is true. You’ve seen that against my will,” I reminded him.

“It wasn’t against your will.”

I leaned forward and snapped, “I was unconscious!”

“There she is,” he muttered but he looked bizarrely pleased.

“Who?” I snapped again.

He ignored my question and informed me humiliatingly, “Last time I saw that body of yours, baby, you lifted your arms for me yourself.”

I did do that, I remembered.

“I did not,” I lied.

“You did.”

“I was in the throes of a fever!” I said, my voice getting loud.

“You still did it.”

I threw a hand out. “Okay, fine, you’ve seen me naked. That doesn’t mean we know each other.”

“Slept with you too.” My mouth dropped open and he asked, “Do you remember that?”

“No,” I whispered but I did.

“You wouldn’t let me go.”

Oh my God. I remembered that too.

“I will repeat, I was in the throes of a fever.”

“Don’t care what you were in the throes of, you take care of a sick person, you sleep with someone, you get to know them.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“You don’t!”

He rocked back on his heels and told me, “You got a borin’ life so you got a wild hair up your ass, you’re out here on some adventure, timeout, because you got a fiancé at home who doesn’t give a shit about you.”

My head jerked and I stared. I didn’t remember telling him that. Any of it. Most especially about Niles.

“He gives a shit about me,” I whispered.

“Then why hasn’t your cell rang in two days?” he asked.

“I –”

“And why you been awake and functioning for at least half an hour and you haven’t phoned him?” he went on.

Drat!

Max leaned into me and I watched with not a small amount of fascination as his face grew soft. His face was always amazing, soft it was something else entirely and that something else was even better.

“You’re half a world away, Duchess, you been sick as a dog and your man doesn’t contact you? Even not knowin’ you’re sick, a man gives a shit, he phones.”

He, unfortunately, had me there.

Therefore, I just stood there staring at him not knowing what to say.

Max wasn’t so uncertain.

His hand came out and grabbed mine, lifting it between us, his fingers in my palm, his thumb toying with my diamond engagement ring.

“I was your man, you were halfway around the world from me, honey, I’d fuckin’ phone you,” he said quietly.

“Niles is reserved,” I whispered.

“Niles is an ass,” he returned and my brows drew together.

“You don’t know him.”

“I know men and I know he’s not reserved, he’s an ass.”

I pulled my head together, my hand from his and snapped, “Yes? And how do you know that?”

“Because I’ve seen you naked, I’ve seen you sweet, I’ve seen you unsure and I’ve seen you riled and, seein’ all that, I know, you were half a world away from me, I’d fuckin’ phone.”

“Perhaps that’s not the kind of relationship Niles and I have,” I suggested snottily but his words hit me somewhere deep, somewhere I didn’t know I had.

“You on a timeout?”

“What?”

“If you told me you needed a timeout, first, I wouldn’t fuckin’ let you have one, second, I wouldn’t give you reason to fuckin’ want one, last, you took off anyway, I’d fuckin’ phone.”

My head tilted to the side and I felt my body start warming up not, this time, with fever.

“You wouldn’t let me have one?”

“Fuck no.”

“Ergo, you would not be my man.”

“Ergo?”

“It’s Latin, it means ‘therefore’.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, “I gotta go.”

“Hang on,” I snapped. “You may think you know me but I was delirious. I didn’t get to know you.”

“You will.”

“I won’t.”

“So you think you’re leavin’?” He switched the subject.

“I am leaving,” I declared, happy to be on this subject.

He stuck his hand in his front jeans pocket, pulled out the keys to the rental, dangled them in front of me for a brief flash then his hand closed around them and he shoved them back into his pocket.

“Be hard gettin’ down the mountain on foot, carryin’ that huge-ass suitcase of yours, which weighs a goddamned ton, your overnight bag, your purse and a shitload of groceries,” he informed me.

“Give me those keys,” I snapped.

“I’d tell you to go for them, honey, but don’t have time to play.”

At his words, my mouth dropped open again, he grinned, chucked me gently under the chin with the side of his fist (yes, I will repeat, he chucked me under the chin) and then he walked away.

I stood staring at the space he used to be in then, when I heard the front door open, I ran to the railing.

“Max!” I shouted.

“Later, Duchess,” he called, a hand up, two fingers flicking out, he didn’t even look back.

Becca looked back though, and up. She gave me a wince-I’m-sorry-face and a finger wave and I knew she heard everything. I’d totally forgotten she was there.

Then I watched Max throw his now black leather jacketed arm around her shoulders and I wondered who Becca was and what she was to Max who was just upstairs, semi-fighting with me and also, if I wasn’t wrong, and I didn’t think I was, flirting with me in a rough, macho, mountain man kind of way

They talked for a few seconds at the side of her car then they separated. Becca got in her sporty, red, mini-SUV. Max got in his black Cherokee. They both drove away.

I looked down at the bottom floor and saw my cranberry juice, my coffee and my untouched oatmeal all sitting on the bar.

Then I looked out the window at the wilderness.

The internet advertisement for the A-Frame said it was fifteen miles away from the nearest town, secluded, quiet, the perfect holiday destination for a calm, relaxing, peaceful getaway.

The Nightmare Holiday Destination if you had to walk fifteen miles to town carrying a suitcase, an overnight bag, a purse and a shitload of groceries.

Tackle a problem prepared, Charlie advised in my head and I nodded like he was there with me.

Then I walked downstairs, heated up my oatmeal, warmed up my coffee and sat at the stool, preparing to tackle my problem.