Fueling Her Fire (7 page)

“What?” she asked sharply, more than a hint of
self-consciousness obvious in her voice.

“Really? After that, you’re really just going to throw me
out?” His voice was plaintive.

“Yes,” her voice turned icy and she crossed her arms, “I am.
It was your idea and you said no strings. Besides, I don’t know if you
remember, but the last time I saw you I was incredibly angry at you and,
honestly, I still am.” She jutted her chin at him in preemptive defiance of any
notion he might have that their high-school situation was ancient history.

“Kip, c’mon,” he pleaded, “you don’t understand. Can we at
least talk about it?”

“No.” She walked to the door and pulled it open allowing
frigid air to pierce through the small rooms. “I really don’t see the point.”

He stood for a moment longer, looking at her and then opened
his mouth to say something. She didn’t let him. “Please, Dylan. Good night,”
she said firmly.

He closed his mouth, his lips slicing a thin white line
across the angular, rugged planes of his face. Yanking his coat on over
shoulders tight with frustration, he walked heavily toward the door. He stuffed
the fistful of money into his coat pocket and pulled his knit cap down over his
tousled hair. Suddenly, she had a powerful urge to run her fingers through it.
She loved the way it fell messily over his forehead. She wanted to brush it
back from his handsome face, kiss his cheek and then move her lips to his
mouth, which would be soft and then insistent…

“Please, Dylan.” She closed her eyes and indicated the door,
knowing her voice sounded desperate.

“It was good to see you, Kip,” he said gruffly. He brushed
past her and out the door without looking back. She slammed the door and leaned
against it, relieved that she’d narrowly missed doing something really stupid.
She took a deep breath, forcing away any guilt over the situation. Letting
Dylan give her an orgasm and then throwing him out felt rather justified, given
what he’d done to her in high school. Didn’t it? She was not going to let him
use her body again now for his own satisfaction.

But the problem remained that she wanted him. She wished so
badly things could have been different. He still made her heart leap and her
pulse pound, even after the pain he’d caused her, even after all these years.
But she needed to stay strong—she couldn’t go from one mistake of a
relationship right into another. No. This time she was going to do it
right.
She had an opportunity for a fresh start and she wasn’t going to waste that
chance on a man who didn’t deserve her.

But why did it have to be like that? How could he have done
that to her back then when it seemed like he liked her so much? She would have
done anything for him. Even now, they still had such a connection that she knew
they could have been great together.

“Stupid,” she muttered to herself as she felt tears threaten
again. “Stupid.” Pulling a throw off the couch and wrapping it around herself,
she returned to the wood stove and sat down in front of it as she had when
she’d first gotten there. She hugged her knees and tried to concentrate on
nothing but the warmth of the fire.

As she listened to the wood pop and crackle, she let the
sadness wash over her from all those years ago when Dylan had broken her heart.

When she finally felt like she was on more solid ground, she
wiped at her eyes, wondering if her mascara had been running when she’d been
crying in front of Dylan. She laughed at herself, thinking that her solitary
trip home had been far more eventful than she could have imagined
.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten yet. The
cabin was filled with the comforting smell of the simmering chili. She finished
cleaning up her wreck of a Christmas tree, happy to find nearly half of the
ornaments unbroken or fixable. She had thought they were all gone, so she
grateful for that small favor.

She grabbed her glass of wine, now nearly empty, and made
her way to the stove to ladle out her Christmas Eve dinner. Hanging on the wall
next to the kitchen was an old mirror and she stopped to clean herself up in
the tinny surface.

She took comfort in what she thought was an attractive woman
staring back at her. Her hair looked better than it had at eighteen because now
she better understood what worked for her and her eyes were still bright,
though a little red from crying. She was relieved to see that somehow most of
her makeup appeared pretty much intact. She managed a weak smile, thinking that
if a woman is going to run into an old lover, her only hope is that she looks
good when it happens. And Kip thought she looked pretty good in spite of the
crying, so she was at least pleased in that.

She turned off the burner and stirred the chili. Savory
aroma and steam poured off it, making her mouth water. She was glad she’d made
it—comfort food was exactly what she needed right now. She poured herself a new
glass of wine and opened the cupboard to get a bowl when there was a knock at
the cabin door.

What the hell?

She was sure it was Dylan but she couldn’t believe he’d
returned.
Can’t this guy take no for an answer?
A peek out the window
confirmed her suspicion—the now-empty Dalton Run Reclamation truck was outside
the cabin again.

Kip opened the door a crack and just looked at him, letting
her face ask the question. He held his hat in his hands and shifted uncomfortably.

“Why are you back here?” Her voice was edgy.

“Uh, I’m sorry to bother you again but I can’t get home.”

“What?” She couldn’t hide the incredulity in her voice.

“There’s a tree down, halfway down Clay Ridge Road. The snow
must have been too much for it. It happens a couple times a season. It’s
blocking the whole road. This road is so narrow anyway I almost couldn’t even
get my truck turned back around.”

She stared at him with her mouth open. He continued quickly,
“I tried! But it’s impossible, the tree is completely blocking the road. I
called it in but the crews won’t come out, not tonight.” He rubbed the back of
his neck self-consciously and looked back toward the road, “I could probably
take care of it myself but I don’t have my tools with me.”

She shook her head to clear it, trying to understand the
implications of what he was saying. He’d said the road workers couldn’t fix it
tonight… Her eyes went wide. “So you…you want to come in? You want to…
stay
here
? Tonight?” Her voice came out sounding squeaky.

“I don’t see what else I can do. Look, I’m sorry,” he
continued quickly, “I don’t have any other options.”

“No,” she said, too loudly, “no, you can’t stay here. Stay
in your truck.” She jutted her chin toward it.

“Kip,” he said, furrowing his brow, leveling his gaze at
her, “I can’t stay in my truck all night. It’s too cold. And besides, the only
reason I came out here was to help you. Now you won’t let me stay on your
couch?”

“What about your friend?” He wasn’t going to guilt her into
letting him spend the night. “Can’t he come and meet you at the tree? You can
leave your truck there and get it tomorrow.”

He looked exasperated. “You want me to drag my friend away
from his family at this hour on Christmas Eve? He wouldn’t even make it—he
doesn’t have snow tires. You’d ask me to do that rather than just let me stay
here?” He gestured toward her couch and raised his eyebrows in disbelief.
“You’ve got the room and you’re here by yourself.”

She just glared at him, not answering.

He dropped his arms, deflated, and stuck his hands in his
pockets. Tilting his head toward her, he gave her a soft smile—clearly trying a
new tactic. “It’s Christmas Eve, Kip. Be nice.”

All this talk about being nice at Christmas
. It was
really getting on her nerves. But he was right, of course. She could not
believe
the situation she was in.

She sighed and held the door open. “Fine,” she said flatly,
“but Santa owes me something
big
tonight.” She realized her possible
innuendo and was glad to have her back to Dylan as she shut the door, her
cheeks blushing.
Maybe I should lay off the wine…
When she turned around
she realized Dylan had a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Her eyes widened.

“You have an overnight bag? Why did you bring an overnight
bag with you to deliver my wood? You figured a woman out here alone might
appreciate your company for the night? Is that how you work—one night here and
there when you can get it?” She crossed her arms and frowned at him, sure that
was the case.

Looking at his bag, he dumped it off his shoulder onto the
floor, busying himself with getting unbundled from his winter gear. “You have
some exciting ideas of what goes on out here in the mountains,” he said.
Chuckling deeply, he shook his head and sat on the stairs next to the door to
take off his boots. The stairs that led up to Kip’s bed.

I’m not going to think about that.

He continued in his infuriatingly good-natured tone. “I
never thought of that.” He smiled up at her and she stalked back to the
kitchen. When his boots were off and his gear was hung on the hooks next to the
stairs, he followed her.

“Kip, hey,” he said, maneuvering himself to catch her eye,
“a’course not. My job can be unpredictable. I get caught out on the road
sometimes. It’s happened enough that now I keep an overnight bag in my truck,
just in case.”

“Oh,” was all she said, a little embarrassed at her quick
judgment. He leaned against the counter of the L-shaped kitchen next to the
stove where she was stirring chili. She couldn’t help it—she snuck a peek at
his butt pressed against the edge of the counter, making sure not to get caught
this time. Man, he looked nice in those jeans.

“That smells delicious. I missed dinner to come out here,
remember?” he hinted. She had much more chili in the pot than she could eat.
Sighing, she figured she was stuck with him for the night. She might as well
get over her displeasure about the situation. She was
not
going to let
him ruin her Christmas. She’d just go to bed early and he’d be gone in the
morning.

She took out a second bowl. “Of course you can have some. I
was just getting ready to eat. Sorry I don’t have any beer or soda, only
water.”

“I’ll take some of that wine, if that’s okay,” he said
nodding toward her bottle of zinfandel. “I prefer cab but the zin will work
better with the spiciness of the chili.”

She looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Okay,” she said
slowly.
Interesting.
She looked at him with some curiosity.
So the
firewood guy knows his wine. Everyone has a hobby
.
“So, are you
still working at the lumber mill?”

She ladled chili into the two bowls, trying not to think
obsessively about how not even an hour ago Dylan’s hand had been in her panties,
stroking her to climax. She poured him a glass of wine, hoping her hand was
steadier than it felt, and handed it to him. Their fingers brushed when he took
it and she pulled back a little too quickly and looked away, embarrassed. She
paused and took a gulp of her wine. “So the lumber mill?” she reminded him,
thinking her voice sounded a bit maniacal.

“No, I quit the mill years ago. I have my own company now.”
He sipped his wine. “It’s good, thanks.” He tipped his glass toward her and
smiled.

“Oh yes, ‘Dalton Run Reclamation Company’. What is that?”
She put their chili on a tray and nodded toward the living room. He grabbed the
spoons from the counter without her asking him and picked up her wine too. She
set the tray on the ottoman and sat on the couch. He pulled one of the
overstuffed chairs closer to the food.

“It’s a wood reclamation company. I just do firewood on the
side. The more I learned about wood, the more I realized the beauty of all the
old barns we have in this area. Folks were coming in from out of state and
buying up old wood salvaged from barns and houses. I know all the folks around
here, so now I get them to sell it to me instead and I fix it up to be used
again.” He looked around at the cabin. “You’ve got a lot of great wood in
here—it’d be worth a fortune.”

She laughed as she glanced around at the worn boards on the
floor and most of the walls—even the vaulted ceiling had the old boards. “This
stuff?” she said in disbelief.

“Oh yeah, this is chestnut. Most of the wood on the walls is
hand-hewn, from the looks of it. You’ve got a treasure trove here.”

She furrowed her brow at him. “Who would want these old
boards?”

“Yuppies like you!” he said with a teasing smile. “There’s a
huge market out there. Rich folks love to get their hands on aged wood with an
authentic, worn appearance. Not only is it beautiful, but buying my old wood
makes them feel like they’re being ‘green’.” He laughed—a warm, resonant
sound—and her stomach flip-flopped as the strength of the attraction she still
had for him swept through her. “
I
like it because it helps preserve our
Appalachian heritage.”

She studied him, not sure if he was joking and then decided
he wasn’t.
Interesting. The jock’s gotten deep over the years.
She
smiled at him. “So that’s the buzz word then, ‘reclamation’?”

“Yeah.” He grinned at her.

“So how does your job keep you out overnight?” she asked in
between bites. It was really good chili.

“Oftentimes I get a call right before someone’s going to
demolish a place and I’ll only have a small window of time to get in there and
salvage everything I can. Old barns, old houses, stuff like that. Sometimes I
have to work overnight, or at least so late that I’m too tired to drive home.”
He took a sip of wine and eyed the scarlet liquid appreciatively. “Then I
process it—clean it up, get the nails out of it and sand it, depending on the
finish. Then I sell it to custom homebuilders and furniture-makers.” He glanced
up at her, his eyes dancing. “I bet some of those fancy condos in Chicago have
hardwood floors made from the wood of old barns right here in Dalton Run!”