Halfway Hidden (3 page)

He returned it, the corners of his lips pulling up. “No worries. We can talk about something else.” Murphy raised his eyes up to the ceiling as if he was searching for a topic. “How about football? Who do you think’s going to win the Super Bowl this year?”

A roll of laughter erupted from her throat. “You’ve picked the wrong subject there. I know nothing about football.”

His brows arched upward, his eyes widening to expose more white. “You don’t have a favorite team?”

“Not really. My dad was more of a hockey man. I was brought up on the rink.”

Murphy nodded. “Bruins?”

“Always the Black and Gold.” She smiled wistfully. She hadn’t thought of her father in a long time before tonight, but the memories of their shared love of hockey were warm ones. A pang of nostalgia ate at her stomach, reminding her of the good times before he died.

His smile grew a little bigger. He leaned forward. “I saw a few games in 2011. They were on fire that year.”

“I didn’t get to see them much then.” She swallowed hard. Back in 2011, she didn’t really get to see a whole lot of anything. She tried to bite down the thought before it was fully formed, not wanting Murphy to see her strange response. Turning her back on him, she began to wipe down the already clean bar, thinking she’d already answered enough of his questions for one evening.

*  *  *

When Rachel woke on Sunday morning, the storm that had been threatening all week was starting to creep in. It had already issued a warning, dusting the town with a layer of white—a little taste of what was to come. She stood at her small bedroom window looking down at the parking lot below. The first inches of snow lay softly like a cotton-wool blanket, leveling out the asphalt and the grass until it was hard to see where one ended and another began. A glance at the clouds—grey and pregnant with snow—was enough to tell her the storm hadn’t even begun to unleash itself yet.

After shrugging on her clothes, she walked into the tiny kitchen, flicking on the coffee machine. She took a banana from the wooden bowl on the counter, switching the radio on and turning the dial until she found a local station.

Mornings were her best and worst part of the day. She liked the solitary nature of her time up here; the fact she was alone meant she didn’t have to keep her guard up or keep a check of herself in front of other people. It also meant she had time to think, and she didn’t like that much at all. Even less so at the moment, when all her feelings had been stirred up by the arrival of a stranger asking too many questions. Her skin itched at the thought of him, at the memory of his soft voice and hard body. The way he looked at her brought her skin out in bumps—she both liked and hated it. He was hard to read, yet somehow it made her want to know more—she couldn’t tell where his interest in her came from.

Finishing up her coffee, she walked down to the bar, flipping off the alarm and switching on some lights. The stools were still upturned on the tables where she’d cleaned up the night before. The floor was swept and the wood mopped.

Even safely inside the bar, she could sense the oppressive atmosphere of the calm before the storm. When it finally got here, it was going to be a doozy.

There were a few hours to go before opening. She decided to clear the parking lot while there was still a chance. A scraping with the shovel followed by a layer of salt would hopefully be enough to keep it operational. The last storm they’d had lasted two days, and the parking lot had iced over so much it reminded her of TD Garden. She was determined to keep it useable this time.

An hour later, she was regretting her determination. Her hunched back was aching from the repetitive movement of lifting snow with a wooden shovel. Her cheeks stung from the cold, the air so damp and frozen it felt like her breath turned to ice on her tongue. Yet, despite the frigidity of the atmosphere around her, the intense exercise was making her sweat inside her thick jacket, her skin slippery beneath her thermal vest. What was worse, she’d cleared less than half of the lot. Just looking at the rest was enough to make her want to go back inside and curl up on the sofa in her living room, despite the fact there was less than an hour until opening time.

The low thrum of an engine cut through the cold air, catching her attention as it increased in volume. She stopped shoveling and looked out of the lot and down the road, noticing a dark SUV heading her way.

Leaning on the shovel, she followed the car’s progress, watching it slowly navigate the frosty roads. The four-wheel drive gave it enough traction to turn corners without too much of a problem. Driving into the lot, the car pulled into a spot near Rachel, darkened windows obscuring the driver within.

Somehow she wasn’t surprised when the door pulled open and Murphy climbed out. A tiny thrill shot through her body, like somebody had hit a raw nerve. It reminded her of doctors’ offices and reflex tests, of small hammers tapping tiny knees.

“Hey.” His smile was easy as he walked toward her. He’d come in to the bar every night that week. She was getting used to his face. Liking it, even.

“I’ve been trying to make a phone call.” He waggled the cell he was holding in his right hand. “I’ve driven for ten miles trying to get some reception.” From the expression on his face, the lack of signal had been the cause of some frustration.

“It gets like that around here, especially when a storm is coming.” Rachel gestured at the clouds. “You’ll be driving for a while longer if you want to make any calls.”

Murphy shrugged. “I guess it isn’t important. I’ll try again later.” He started to walk toward her, striding across the portion of the lot she’d already cleared. She glanced down at his clothes: strong, leather boots, dark jeans, and a thick woolen jacket. He’d come prepared for a West Virginian winter in the mountains. Pointing at the shovel she was still holding, he inclined his head with a question. “Do you want some help with that?”

Surprise caught in her breath. “With the shoveling?”

Murphy nodded. “You look like you’ve worn yourself out. Not that the pink cheeks don’t suit you.”

His compliment made them burn pinker. “I couldn’t ask you to clear the snow.” Her voice wavered, reflecting her indecision.

“I’d be glad to lend a hand.” He took the shovel from her before she could protest. Squaring his shoulders, he dug the blade beneath the three-inch layer of snow, scooping it up and adding it to the mound she’d already started. Rachel watched him as he worked, his movements methodical and organized, clearing one spot fully before he moved on to the next. Though his arms and shoulders were covered by a coat, she could see the way his thigh muscles tensed against the denim as he braced himself, his strength both attractive and menacing in its power.

“Can I get you a drink or something?” She felt a little bit useless watching him do all the work.

Murphy shook his head. “Maybe you can buy me one later, if I come in tonight.”

She wasn’t sure why the thought of him coming back later made her chest feel full and tight. Maybe she really was getting used to seeing him every night. He’d taken up a regular seat at the bar, one she was starting to think of as his. She was getting accustomed to the way he talked too, and the long a’s and the clipped consonants didn’t seem so ominous anymore. Instead of reminding her of the past, they were a welcome break among the southern drawl of the Hillbrook population. It was nice not to be the only outsider around these parts.

She was starting to look forward to seeing him, and that hadn’t happened in a long time. There was a little coil of anticipation in her stomach every evening when she opened up the door, letting the regulars pile in along with the cold West Virginian air. For the past few nights he’d been turning up at around ten, late enough for the crowd to have thinned and for her time to be less in demand. He’d talked with her about hockey and baseball, and laughed when she told him she’d never been to a ball game before. They’d discussed the relative merits of Starbucks and Tim Horton’s, and shot the breeze over the way R&B seemed to be taking over the billboard charts.

He didn’t ask her any personal questions again, and for that she was grateful. She thought perhaps he’d realized she was uncomfortable answering his inquiries and was sensitive enough not to ask again. Maybe it shouldn’t have been a surprise that his suggestion she buy him a beer later made her skin tingle and her pulse run fast…

…Even if life had taught her those were dangerous responses.

*  *  *

When he came in later that night, the snow had really started to fall and was settling on the ground in an explosion of white. He walked through the door, brushing off the pale dusting that lay in his hair, his movement fanning snow over the dark wood of the floor.

This time, she pulled a Bud from the freezer before he even asked. Passing it to him unopened, she watched as he pulled out his keys and wrenched the cap off. She was adjusting to his quirks, too. Even starting to like them.

“It’s on the house.” Her smile was genuine.

“Thank you kindly.” He tipped the bottle at her in salute, lips pulled up into a grin. Raising the brown bottle to his lips, he took a mouthful, throat bobbing as he swallowed it down.

“Thanks for your help earlier.”

“I’m always a sucker for a damsel in distress.” He was still smiling, and it did nothing to make the ache in her stomach disappear. There was something about this man, something that drew her in and made her want to know more. It was like he was breaking down the walls she’d so carefully built up, not with a sledgehammer but with a gentle hand, pulling the bricks down one by one and carefully laying them to one side. He was so gentle, she barely noticed there was a gaping hole in her defenses.

“I’m not sure I’ve been called a damsel before.” The corners of her lips twitched. “Should I be offended?”

He took another sip of beer and leaned his chin on a hand, his elbow propped up on the bar. He looked at her for a long moment, the intensity of his stare drawing her in, then slowly shook his head. “No, you shouldn’t be offended at all.” His voice was like honey on a hot day, so sweet and low she could almost taste it. She opened her mouth to respond, but the words didn’t come. Just an almost-breath, which escaped her lips with a sigh.

The snow was starting to fall harder, and the regulars were thinning fast. A cold wind blew in from the door as people left, white flakes flurrying and dancing in the halo of the outside lamp. Rachel started to worry whether Murphy was going to get home safely. Addison was a ten-mile drive across winding roads that filled fast with snow. The thought of him trying to navigate them in the dark with a stomach full of beer made her chest hitch.

His eyes had followed her all evening, his features defined by a curious expression. Every now and then their glances would meet—green on brown—and his face would register the same level of interest as before. It was like a battle was being waged in the murky depths of his eyes, and for a moment she wondered if he was married. Her avoidance of all personal questions meant she had no idea if he was in a relationship.

She glanced at Murphy’s left hand again. There was no ring, no light skin or depression where one used to be. Not that those indicators were foolproof—there were lots of men who never wore wedding rings, after all—but life had taught her to read people. Everything about this guy was screaming single, a dark, interested stranger with secrets he didn’t want to share. 

That didn’t worry her—not one little bit. She had secrets too, and she was damned certain she wasn’t going to share them with him. She preferred to think about the way her thighs warmed whenever he caught her gaze, her body aching for his touch. For the first time in forever, she wanted to be with somebody. His constant stare told her maybe he felt the same.

When the clock hanging over the bar area hit midnight, Richie started to corral his boys outside, having a vested interest in making sure they all turned up for work the next morning. Murphy stayed seated, his scrutiny making Rachel feel light-headed and nervous. She worked around him, putting chairs on the tables and grabbing the broom from the closet.

“I think the lady is all ready to close up.” Richie walked over to the bar, brushing his hands down the front of his checked shirt. “It’s starting to snow, so if you gotta drive anywhere, I suggest you go now.”

Murphy kept his eyes dead on Rachel. His intense gaze made her heart stammer. He didn’t need to change his expression for her to know he was asking a question.

She was the first to articulate what they both seemed to be thinking. “It’s a long drive to Addison. I’ve got a couch if you want to stay.”

Murphy stared for a long minute, the silence punctuated by the rush of blood through her head. He licked his lips, opening them slowly to answer her. “Sure, that would be good.”

He wanted to stay. She didn’t know what she was offering, but the thought of being alone with him—if only for one night—was enough to make her feel giddy and hot.

A slow, easy grin formed on Murphy’s rugged face, the corners of his lips crinkling as the muscles grew tight. He stared right at her, a promise behind his eyes. Anticipation licked at her belly like a hungry cat.

“I guess I’ll see you around. Be careful, okay?” Richie pulled on his cap and gave her a pointed stare. She nodded back, her expression sincere. Careful should have been her middle name.

Okay, so she was taking a gamble, but the odds were good. Murphy had been around for a week, enough for her to weigh him up and work him out. She wasn’t expecting a relationship; it was the last thing on her mind, and she knew his business wouldn’t keep him here long. She liked the way he seemed a little sweet on her, and she felt a little sweet on him too, enough to put aside her fears and see where things went. Watching the door close behind Richie, knowing the last of the customers had left, she wondered if she was doing the right thing.

Ignoring the insistent knock of her heart as it pounded against her torso, she took a long breath, pulling the air deep into her lungs.