Snowbound Summer (The Logan Series Book 3) (5 page)

Chapter
Seven

Summer could see Nick’s outline, but nothing more. She
swayed, trying to make sense of what had occurred in the last few moments. She’d
been touched by his words—flattered with the idea that he thought she was
gorgeous, especially as she’d looked like the creature from the black lagoon
when he arrived.

A shadow of the boy he’d been was
in his eyes—the boy who hadn’t laughed like the others, but had run his hands
down her arms when he picked her up from the sand. Disturbed by his touch,
thrown off-kilter by the warmth in his eyes, she’d overreacted.

She hadn’t owned it, but she
couldn’t forget how she’d pushed him away and diverted attention from her
humiliation. For a mad moment, she’d been thrust back to that time. She’d
kissed him, not just because of his words, but because she remembered what a
bitch she’d been back then.

An apology, of sorts, but he’d
sure turned that on its head. The moment he touched her, electricity zinged
through her, silencing her voice and frying her synapses. And that kiss…her
bones melted at the memory of it.  The taste of him was still in her mouth. Her
fingers itched to touch him again. But he’d pulled away just before the lights
went out…

“We need a torch. Or candles.” He
was back to being Mr. Organized, while she stood, still stunned by the effect
of his kiss. “Summer. Focus.”

She shimmied her head. “There’s a
torch under the sink, and candles on the dresser.” With her hands out in front
of her she shuffled forward until she found the edge of the table. “I’ll get
the candles.”

She fumbled to the dresser,
located the tea-lights in candleholders that always lived there, and sent
silent thanks to her absent mother for being so organized that a box of matches
nestled next to them.

By the time she had them lit, a
flashlight’s beam was playing across the room.

“It might be a fuse.” Nick jerked
open the fridge. “No, the sockets are out as well. We have no power.”

Outages were common whenever
there was a storm, so she was inclined to agree. “Damn, they’re not likely to
fix it quickly with the snow…” Her mind raced. “The heating system won’t work,
or the pump for the water.”

She carried two candles to the
table.

“You should go up and fill the
bath,” Nick said. “I’ll build up the wood burning stove, and bring in some more
wood.”

“I saw water bottles in the storeroom
earlier.” There were bound to be more candles in there too. She picked up the
candle from the table and went to look. As she filled them at the sink, Nick
trekked out to the woodshed with the wheelbarrow.

The blast of air from the open
door was frigid so she closed it behind him. The house was warm now, but wouldn’t
remain so for long.

The dog whined. “Calm down,
Fella.” She dropped another couple of tea-lights into jam jars that she’d found
in the storeroom and lit them. “Everything will look better in the morning.”

*****

He’d done the best he could for tonight. They had water, and
the wood stove was fully fuelled.

Summer had headed up to bed a
couple of hours ago. She’d been quiet since the lights went out. Unusually
quiet. Probably regretting the foolish impulse that had made her kiss him. He
should have just let it be, but impulse control where Summer was concerned was
a problem. He remembered the look in her eyes, the dawning awareness. When he’d
kissed her, for a moment she hadn’t responded.

But then she’d kissed him back
with such passion all his misgivings had disappeared in an instant.

He was no monk. There were some
fine looking women in Brookbridge—many of whom he’d dated at some time or
another. But he’d never been aroused as quickly as he had with Summer. Maybe it
was because he’d spent so many years craving her.

He’d crawled onto the sofa fully
dressed under Declan’s duvet, and had spent the last while trying to get
comfortable. The damn thing was too short—his feet hung over the ends. And a
spring or two had broken in the middle, making it damn uncomfortable.

If he had to stay here for
another night it would be in Declan’s bed.

Fella would have to deal with
being alone. There was nothing wrong with being alone—Nick preferred his
solitude, didn’t really like sharing space with anyone. But the thought of
sharing a bed tonight with the woman upstairs was appealing.

If she wasn’t drunk.

Stop thinking about her.
He closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep.

A couple of hours later he shot
up in bed—heart pounding.

A long, mournful howl.

Fella.
Nick clambered off
the sofa and re-lit the candle. “It’s okay, Fella.”

The dog looked back at him,
tilted his head to the side, then pointed his nose at the ceiling and howled
again.

What the hell?
There was
no aggression in the dog’s body language, he sat in the basket rather than
standing, and his hackles weren’t rising. “Shush.” A sound came from upstairs,
a high-pitched, discordant sound.

He picked up the candle and
walked to the bottom of the stairs. The sound was louder—more distinct. Was
she… Was she
singing?

An answering howl came from the
kitchen.

Nick pushed up his sleeve and
checked his watch. Four-twenty. It was four-twenty in the goddamn morning and Summer
and the dog were having a karaoke session.
Jesus.
He tramped up the
stairs and pushed open the bedroom door.

She lay in bed with eyes closed.
Earbuds hung from her ears and she was singing at the top of her voice. He
couldn’t fault her music choice—heck, everyone loves the Foo Fighters—but she
was murdering
The Best Of You.

She was wearing fleecy pajamas
and a wooly hat, and had a blanket around her shoulders and the covers pulled
up as high as possible around her chest. Her head tilted side to side, keeping
pace with the music. Her hands rose from the coverlet, and her wrists rotated
as she mimed the drum solo.

“Summer.”

She kept singing, and the tinny
sound of music bled from the earbuds. There was no way she could hear him over
that.

He knew the song well—she was
only halfway through. He could walk over and tap her on the arm, which might
cause a heart attack, or worse still, a scream…or he could wait until she
finished and then speak in the silence at the song’s end.

He propped a shoulder on the doorjamb
and waited.

*****

She never should have gone to sleep that afternoon. In the
months after the double disasters of losing first the restaurant and then Michael,
she’d been plagued with insomnia, and resorted to sleeping pills.

It had taken the help of a doctor
to break the habit—she couldn’t add the shame of having become addicted to
sleeping pills to her trophy cabinet of failures. She’d built up a careful
routine—hot bath, warm cocoa, never napping in the day—to get her over it.

And then she’d blown it by
sleeping in the day, and not having any of her usual tricks to fall back on. So
she’d read for a while on her backlit Kindle, tried lying there, mentally
counting sheep, and given up when the vision of sheep had been replaced by
visions of Nick, wearing just a towel, leaping over hurdles.

Every leap, she imagined his
towel falling off.

It wasn’t working. So she’d
plugged her earphones into her phone, and dialed up her favorite playlist.
There was nothing soothing about it, but at least listening made her feel
better.

The music faded.

“Summer!”

Her eyelids shot open—a crazy
drum-solo crashing in her chest.

Nick walked toward her. She
pulled out the earbuds and flicked off the music.

“You were singing.” He dropped
down on the side of the bed. “Really loudly.”

“So loudly I woke you up?” She
loved singing, but had such a terrible voice she never did it when someone
could hear. Apart from now. “How long have you been standing there?”

“A couple of minutes. I did try
to get your attention, but…” He shrugged. “I reckoned I better wait.”

“So you heard everything.” Every
uninhibited yowl. And he’d seen her air-drumming too. She wrinkled her nose. “I’m
sorry I woke you.”

“You didn’t wake me. At least not
directly. You have a fan downstairs. Fella does an awesome howlalong.” He
rubbed his arms. “Christ, it’s cold in here.” He stood. Then he looked at the
little white box in her hands. “That’s not your phone, is it?”

“Of course it is.” Her music
collection lived on her smartphone, there seemed little point in doubling up
with a dedicated device.

“It’s off now, right?”

She looked down.

“We have no power. When the
battery runs out…”

She covered her mouth with her
hand. “Crap, I didn’t think of that.”

He yawned. “I’m going back down.”
He turned at the door. “Get some sleep.”

“Well, I would if I could.” She
couldn’t keep the edge of snark from her voice. “Sorry, I know I woke you and
Fella, but I have insomnia, I’ve been trying to go to sleep for hours.”

He rubbed the back of his head.
His hair was standing up all over the place; he was rumpled and sleepy, and
appealing as hell. Bed head looked sexy on him—at least she didn’t have to
share what it looked like on her. She pulled the wooly hat down a fraction over
her ears.

He exhaled. “Do you want to come
downstairs and have something hot to drink?” He didn’t exactly roll his eyes,
but she was pretty sure he was holding one back.

“Yes. I would.” She swung her
legs out of bed, shoved her fluffy socks into Ugg knockoffs, and wrapped the
blanket around herself. “That might help.”

And if not, at least she’d have
something attractive to look at.

It was warm downstairs. Fella
looked up as they entered, and wagged his tail. “Oh, look! He’s pleased to see
us!” She trotted over to give him a pat on the head.

“I’ll bring in some more logs.”
He grabbed some from the wheelbarrow outside the back door and trudged to the
stove.

She filled a saucepan with water,
and put it to heat. “You’re joining me?”

Nick grunted. “Okay, maybe. I
guess.” He rubbed his eyes. “Actually, no. I don’t think I can face tea right
now.” He lay down on the sofa and threw the blanket over himself. His long legs
stretched, extending past the ends. “You must have been uncomfortable.” A
twinge of guilt. She would fit on the sofa easily, and seeing as she had little
chance of sleep… “Would you like to go upstairs? You could slip into my bed and
I’ll stay down here.”

His eyes were dark in the shadowy
light from the candle. “No point. It’ll be dawn soon.” He yawned. “If we’re
still here tomorrow night, I’ll sleep in Declan’s bed.”

She padded over to fetch a cup
and a teabag, crossed to the fridge and fetched the milk. The water was
simmering on the top of the wood-burning stove, so she took it off and made the
tea. “Look…about before.” She added milk, then walked back to return the carton
to the fridge. “I remember more about that day at the beach than I admitted.”
She couldn’t look at him. “I was a real bitch that day.” She picked a spoon out
the drawer and flicked the teabag into the sink. “I’m sorry.”

Confession made, she took a deep
breath and turned.

Nick’s eyes were closed. His
chest moved up and down in a regular rhythm.

“Seriously?” She snuggled down in
the armchair opposite, tucked the blanket over herself, and watched him sleep.

Her own sleep was elusive, and by
the time the darkness lifted with the arrival of a watery dawn, she’d given up
hope of it and decided to face the day instead. She blew out the candle, and
threw a couple of logs into the stove. Then she wandered to the window and
looked out.

Snow. As far as the eye could
see. Nick’s land rover was covered in a thick frosting, and all signs of their
footsteps from the day before were buried.

She changed into rubber boots and
went outside to investigate further.

At least today the wind had died
down. The scene was a pretty picture postcard—but freezing. She wrapped the
blanket around herself and shivered. Branches of the oaks and beeches were
weighed down with heavy snow. Beneath her feet, the snow was crispy, leaving
distinct edges in her footsteps. There was no way they would get down to the
village through this. Which meant there was no chance of getting the
electricity supply restored during the day.

Her sigh puffed out white vapor
in the clear air.

What can I cook, with only a
wood-burning stove? She did a mental inventory of the ingredients she’d
brought. Something all in one pan, there wouldn’t be space on the top for more
than that. Maybe a soup. Or a stew. If there was any danger of the food
spoiling in the refrigerator, she could store it outside—it was as cold as the
inside of a fridge out here.

Retracing her steps, she opened
the door again. Nick was snoring softly on the sofa, contorted into an
unnatural position.

Fella looked up, and got to his
feet.

“Come on, Fella,” she said.

He’d been cooped up all night, he
must need to go outside, and he’d managed fine last night when Nick took him
out.

The dog walked stiff legged from
his basket, stretched and yawned. “So you were singing along with me last night,
were you?” She patted his head as he cleared the door.

Seb had been a part of her family
forever, but she hadn’t owned a pet since then. She’d spent every available
hour at the restaurant, and owning a dog or cat had seemed selfish, as she
would rarely be there.

Fella sniffed around the base of
a tree and lifted a leg. “Good boy.” In such a short time, she’d become
attached to him. Maybe it was because she’d saved him—if he’d been left in the
woodshed overnight, starved and listless, he would have died. Maybe it was
because she could do with a companion to ease the loneliness of the past few
months. Would he find a home easily? She hoped so. He was sniffing in the
bushes now. “Time to go back in.”