Angel's Rest

chapter SIX





Nic stubbornly refused to glance at her reflection as she crossed in front of the wall mirror on her way to the staircase leading to the basement. She refused to primp for him. Or flirt with him. He might be the hottest thing in a tool belt this side of the Continental Divide, but too bad, so sad for her. The man made it clear he wasn’t interested.

Oh, she’d caught him looking a time or two, but it never went further than that. His wounds seemed to need a medicine she simply didn’t have. Better that she keep Coach Romano as the object of her fantasies. It was safer that way. With her heart still tender from its mistreatment by Greg-the-Cheat Sullivan, she couldn’t afford any risky behavior.

She glanced down at Tiger, who’d followed her from Celeste’s suite, and said, “Maybe if I tell myself that often enough, I’ll get around to believing it.”

She opened the door to the basement, then, because it tended to flop around, propped it open with an old metal milk can half filled with rocks. At the top of the stairs, she flipped the light switch and made a mental note to ask Gabe about wiring the basement for more light. One bulb in that single socket didn’t get the job done, especially with snow and debris covering the basement windows, which was why she’d brought a flashlight with her. Unfortunately, thinking ahead didn’t do her much good when Tiger came galloping down the stairs and bumped the back of her legs. Teetering, she grabbed for the handrail to keep from falling and dropped the flashlight in the process. “Tiger!”

At the bottom of the staircase he turned to look back up at her, his crooked tail waving a mile a minute as if to say, Hurry up, Doc. Let’s explore!

“You are trouble, aren’t you?” she said, descending safely to where the dog stood. “Somebody needs to teach you some manners.”

She patted his head and scratched him behind the ears. He licked her hand, and she pushed him away when he tried to sniff her crotch. “Stop it, Romeo.”

She spied her flashlight and bent over to pick it up. Hearing a boot scrape on the staircase above her, she twisted her head to see Gabe standing motionless at the top of the stairs, watching her intently. Abruptly she snapped up straight. A flush warmed her cheeks, though she lifted her chin and brazened her way through the embarrassment by pretending it didn’t exist.

“Hey, Gabe. Thanks so much for helping.”

“No problem.”

Cavanaugh House’s basement was a warren of rooms packed to the ceiling with items that appeared to have no organization whatsoever. Gabe glanced around it and frowned. “Have you gone through all these boxes already?”

“No. We haven’t begun to tackle the basement yet. I hit pay dirt in a file upstairs. It’s an inventory dated 1936, and it’s going to be a great help.”

Gabe lifted an old snowshoe from the top of a box. “I’ll bet there’s a treasure trove of antiques down here.”

“That’s what makes this inventory job so much fun. It’s like Christmas every day.”

He set the snowshoe down abruptly. “So where’s this box?”

“This way.” She talked over her shoulder as she led him toward her target. “The inventory gave the description and location of a box containing the diaries, and when I came down to look for it, I was able to go right to it. I’m really excited, first because I’m hoping the diaries might solve the mystery of the Cellar Bride’s identity, and second because Sarah and Sage both had something else to do this afternoon, so I made this find without them. They’ll be so annoyed.”

“Competitive, are you?”

“Yep. Not as much as Sage, though. She’s ridiculous.”

Tiger brushed past Nic’s legs once again, and as he rooted between a steamer trunk and a stack of hatboxes, she pointed out the chifforobe that blocked access to a plain wooden crate marked Blaine. “That’s it. I haven’t unloaded the chifforobe yet. I didn’t expect you to come right down.”

“Let’s see how heavy it is. Maybe I can shift it out enough for you to slip back in there. You’re a little thing. It’ll probably be easiest to leave the box where it is and empty it rather than haul out the box.”

A little thing? Ordinarily she hated it when people called her that. Coming from Gabe, it sounded flattering.

She didn’t think he’d be able to budge the piece of furniture, however. It was solid mahogany, taller than he was, and filled to the brim. She had attempted to give it a push herself before going to him for help, and she’d failed to shift it at all. Positioned behind him, she watched him brace his legs and put a shoulder against the wardrobe. His jeans molded against his rear and the flannel shirt stretched across his broad shoulders as he put weight into the effort and strained. The furniture moved a good six inches. My oh my. Bet even Coach Romano couldn’t do that.

He braced himself again, pushed, and conquered another six inches. Stepping back, he asked, “How’s that? Can you slip back there now?”

“Let me see.”

It was a squeeze, but she managed it—snagging her dress in the process. If she’d known she’d be putting her good clothes at risk by scuffing around in the basement, she wouldn’t have planned to go straight to tonight’s book club Christmas party from here. “I need something to pry open the box.”

“Here.” He removed a chisel and a hammer from his tool belt. “Hand me the flashlight.”

Nic went to work, and in minutes she’d pried the lid off the crate. Gabe aimed the flashlight toward it, and delight washed through Nic as she saw six stacks of leather-bound volumes that probably numbered twelve or fifteen deep. “Jackpot! I’ll bet Elizabeth Blaine kept journals for most of her life. Imagine the wealth of information about Eternity Springs in these volumes.”

“Do you intend to read all these?”

“Eventually. I’ve read the one volume we found, and it is fascinating. For now, though, I imagine Sarah, Sage, and I will divvy them up to see what we can find out about the big mystery.”

She reached into the box and began handing them to Gabe five or six at a time. He stacked them on the floor between a dress form and a steamer trunk. Tiger padded over to investigate. The dog was sniffing the stacks with interest when above them the lone lightbulb flickered once. Tiger’s head jerked up. Gabe glanced toward the socket. “I know there are lightbulbs upstairs, but do we have any down here?”

“Not that I’ve seen, no. I’ve intended to talk to the electrician about the light situation down here. We really need more than one light fixture.”

“It’s on the list.” When the light flickered a second time, Gabe said, “Why don’t you hold the stack you have there, Nic, while I run upstairs and grab another—”

She heard a pop and the light went dark. The basement plunged into shadow, and Tiger let out a low-throated growl.

“Bulb,” Gabe finished on a sigh. “I’ll be right … whoa!”

Tiger yelped. Something crashed. Nic couldn’t see what happened, but based on the sounds, she made an educated guess. The dog must have tangled himself up with Gabe, one of them knocked over the dress form, and somehow the flashlight went flying. The available light shrank to what filtered through the open door at the top of the basement staircase and the little bit that made its way past the mostly blocked basement windows.

Tiger bumped into something else, and Nic heard the sound of shattering glass. The boxer howled and scrambled up the staircase. “That blasted animal,” Gabe muttered, following after him. “If he’s not careful, he’s going to … dammit!”

At the top of the stairs, the milk can teetered and fell. The basement door slammed shut.

Nic squeezed out from behind the wardrobe. It was too dark to see much of anything, but she could hear Gabe’s steps climbing the stairs. She waited for the squeak of the basement door. And waited. And waited.

Finally, Gabe said, “Nic? Tell me you have your cell phone on you.”

“Um, no. I don’t.”

“Are your girlfriends coming back tonight?”

Warily, she replied, “No, they’re not. Gabe? Are you telling me that we’re …?”

“Stuck.”

“The door?”

“Won’t open. I heard the latch fall. To complicate matters, the hinges are on the other side, so I can’t take it off.”

Nic considered the situation. They were alone in the house. No neighbors lived on this side of Angel Creek. It wouldn’t do them one bit of good to yell for help. They were on their own. She stared up at one of the basement windows. “How about opening a window?”

“We’d likely have to break the glass. You’re little, but it might be a tight squeeze.”

My butt would get stuck and I’d smother in the snow. “That’s probably not a good idea. Can we break the door down?”

“It’s a solid wood door. There’s not enough of a landing at the top of the staircase to put much muscle into it. The lack of light doesn’t help that prospect, either.”

Nic peered around for the flashlight. The stairs squeaked beneath Gabe’s feet as he descended them once again. She bumped her shins against the dress form and grumbled beneath her breath as she felt around in the dark so she could lift it out of the way. “This isn’t good, is it?”

“It’s inconvenient. We won’t freeze to death. I doubt we’ll be stuck down here until we starve. I don’t suppose you had any plans tonight that will cause someone to come looking for you when you don’t show up?”

Hope flickered. “I have a book club meeting. This month’s selection is my choice, and it’s our Christmas party. Everyone will wonder when I don’t show up.”

“That’s good.”

“They’ll call me.”

“What will happen when you don’t answer?”

“Well …” Nic sighed. “They’ll probably think I’m out on an emergency. I don’t answer the phone when I’m working.”

“Okay, what about tomorrow? Is someone expecting you somewhere?”

“I have clinic hours. I have an eight o’clock appointment to take the stitches out of Steve Cartwright’s hand. The idiot boy cut it on a skinning knife. I always leave a note on the door if I’m called out into the field, and Steve’s mom knows that. She’ll worry when she doesn’t find one. Someone will see my truck parked here in the drive, and they’ll definitely look for me here.” She followed the thought process further and murmured, “Your Jeep is here, too, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

Great. Just great. Nic wanted to bury her head in her hands and groan. The drive was clearly visible from the front windows at the Bristlecone, and Glenda Hawkins was one of the worst gossips in town. She would put two and two together and come up with a romantic assignation.

Gabe must have followed the direction of her thoughts. “That gonna be a problem for you?”

“Maybe the book club might come looking for me. They know I wouldn’t miss this month’s meeting. I had to fight for this pick.”

“What was it?”

“My pick?”

“Yeah.”

She hesitated, then named a classic historical romance novel from the 1970s and prepared to defend herself from derision. But once again Gabe Callahan surprised her. With a hint of wistfulness in his voice, he said, “My mom used to devour romance novels. She’d read two or three a week. I remember one weekend when my folks took us to Six Flags and to see a Rangers baseball game. My dad wouldn’t go near a roller coaster, but my mom was a roller coaster fiend. She made me and my brothers ride with her. That was cool. What wasn’t cool was standing in line with her while she had her head buried in a romance novel. If that wasn’t bad enough, she even read at the baseball game.”

“I think I’d like your mom,” Nic said.

“She died the following year.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, Gabe.”

“Yeah, well, that was a long time ago.” He paused and turned the tables on her. “Tell me about your family. Someone mentioned your uncle was the town dentist?”

She wished the light was better so that she could read his expression. Was this an attempt to steer the conversation away from himself or was he truly interested? She suspected the former.

“Yes,” she replied, following his lead. “I was born in Missouri, but my mom and I moved here when I was nine to be close to her sister and her husband.”

“What about your dad?”

“I never really had a dad. My biological father was married, but not to my mom. He was part of our lives off and on until I was eight. That’s when he traded my mom in on a younger mistress.”

“That must have been hard.”

“Yeah. When they broke up, she had nothing. No financial support, no emotional support. Nothing. He turned his back on us. I haven’t seen him or spoken to him since.”

“What a jerk.”

“Yep.” Her mouth twisted in a wry smile. “Uncle David threatened to go after him with a baseball bat, but Aunt Janice talked him out of it. She was thrilled to have my mom living near her and away from my father. My aunt and uncle were great to me. They didn’t have children of their own, and they showered me with love and attention. I had a great life here. It’s been a joy to come home again.”

“Good for you.” Gabe glanced toward the door. “We probably should look for that flashlight. We may be here awhile.”

He was right. Nic could hardly see anything, and it wasn’t even full dark outside yet. She dropped down onto her hands and knees and began to feel her way around. “It can’t be too far away.”

The cold from the basement floor seeped into her bones and caused her to consider how uncomfortable the coming night might be. Cold. Dark. No food.

No bathroom.

Immediately she felt the urge to pee. “This isn’t good, Gabe.”

A circle of light appeared. He’d found the flashlight. “It’s not that bad. We have shelter. We won’t freeze to death. I have a nine o’clock appointment here tomorrow morning, so somebody will be around to let us out then at the latest. In the meantime, we might as well see what we can scavenge from these boxes and trunks around us. I’ll bet we can find plenty to keep us comfortable enough for one night.”

“There’s no bathroom down here, Callahan.”

“Bet you a hundred bucks there’s a chamber pot, though. Let’s see what we can find, shall we?”

Over the next twenty minutes, they set up camp in the basement. He brought her a stack of quilts and three bearskins that she stretched out on the floor. He found a candelabrum complete with stubby candles and a case containing three clean, dry matches. He tossed her souvenir pillows from Paris and Rome, and whistled with appreciation when he stumbled across a wine rack. “Excellent. My knife has a corkscrew.”

“Lucky us. Don’t forget we need a chamber pot.”

Two minutes later, he presented her a pot with a flourish.

Nic tucked it away in a corner of the basement. By the time the grandfather clock upstairs chimed six o’clock, they’d created an amazingly comfortable nest.

He’d switched off the flashlight to save the batteries, and the discovery of a box of unused candles made conserving those unnecessary. With candlelight casting a warm, golden glow that staved off the deepening shadows of night, she produced two stems of crystal, which he filled with Bordeaux, and they each settled down with one of Elizabeth Blaine’s journals to pass the time.

The atmosphere was comfortable, the air between them easy, and Nic lost track of time as she sank into the history of Eternity Springs and its citizens.

Elizabeth Blaine had immigrated from Ireland to Chicago in the mid-1880s and taken a position as nanny to a banker’s family. When the family moved to Denver with the hope of improving the banker’s wife’s respiratory ailment, Elizabeth moved with them. She lost her position four years later when the wife died and the banker remarried.

Elizabeth then followed the silver boom to Eternity Springs. She cleaned houses and hotel rooms and … Nic pored over the words written on the pages and her heart broke.

“Why the tears?” Gabe asked, jerking her back to the present.

Nic blinked and wiped her eyes, then offered him a tremulous smile. “Okay, I’m an idiot. I can’t believe I cried over something that happened more than a hundred years ago.”

“Tell me.”

“She had a dog. Elizabeth did. His name was King. She brought him with her from Ireland, and he was all she had left of her family. She told a story of how once when the child she cared for was still an infant, his mother had him with her as she worked in her flower garden and a vicious neighborhood dog sneaked up on the baby and the mother didn’t notice. King was inside the house and went berserk. He crashed through a window screen to get outside and chased the other dog away. Anyway, she writes in her journal about how King got old and sick and she had to ask a friend to put him down. That’s what made me cry.”

“You are such a soft touch.”

She shrugged and attempted to change the subject. “Any interesting stories in the volume you’ve been reading? Any clues about the bride or the silver bars?”

“No. Afraid not. This diary covers the months when Elizabeth was falling in love with Harry Cavanaugh.”

“Oh yeah?” Nic sat up straight. She shut her diary and set it aside. “Cool! Tell me about it.”

He passed her the book saying, “I’ll let you read it yourself. Makes me feel like a voyeur to read it.”

“Why? Tell me it’s not X-rated.”

“No. It’s … mushy.”

“Romantic.” Nic opened the book and flipped through the pages. One passage caught her eye, and she read it aloud. “ ‘Harry knocked on my door this afternoon, handed me a bouquet of two dozen roses, and asked me to accompany him on a picnic up at Heartache Falls. He’d engaged the services of a violinist who followed behind our buggy, serenading us with love songs. His manservant prepared our picnic spot prior to our arrival. Fine Irish linens graced a table set for two with fine china. He served us roast duckling and chilled champagne from a silver bucket. My dear Harry quoted poetry to me over our meal, then asked me to dance with him in the meadow. It was the loveliest afternoon of my life.’ Ahh …,” Nic sighed. “That’s so sweet.”

“So says the romance novel reader.”

“You have something against romance, Callahan?”

“Not at all. I have something against schmaltz.”

“Schmaltz! That wasn’t schmaltz.”

“Darlin’, that picnic was the epitome of schmaltz.”

“All right then, Casanova. What should Harry have done to romance his lady?”

Gabe stretched his legs out and crossed them at the ankles. He linked his hands behind his head and considered the question. “The bouquet was way overdone. A single rose would be okay, or even better, whatever flower she considered her favorite. Hiring a violinist to ride behind the courting buggy ruined the whole thing.”

“Now, why would you say that? It’s terribly romantic.”

“You like threesomes, do you?”

“What? No!”

Gabe chuckled and continued, “A mountain meadow picnic was good, but a linen-draped table? Fine china? Roast duckling? No. Way too formal. Too stuffy. All you need for a romantic mountain meadow picnic is a quilt to spread on the grass and a picnic basket with finger foods. The champagne was a good idea, but it’d have been better if he’d put it to chill in the creek.”

“That’s a good idea,” Nic agreed. “What about the poetry and the dancing?”

“Depends on the woman, of course. If she’s into that, then yeah. Nothing’s wrong with poetry or dancing.”

“What do you do for music if you’ve left the violinist back in town?”

“If a guy can carry a tune at all, he can sing softly, or hum. You can dance to birdsong or music in your mind, as far as that goes.”

She let that sit a minute, then said, “That’s not bad, Callahan. Not bad at all.”

He grinned, then reached for the wine and topped off their glasses. She sipped the rich, smooth Bordeaux and studied him. Tonight Gabe seemed approachable, not nearly as uptight as he ordinarily did. Maybe with some judicious questions she could learn a little more about him.

Since the best way to learn information was often to share information, she said, “My ex had a romantic streak in him. At least, that’s what I thought at the time. He’d bring me flowers and small gifts out of the blue—just because he was thinking about me, he’d say. Looking back, I suspect that rather than romantic gestures, they were gestures of a guilty conscience.”

“You’re better off without him.”

“Yes, I know that.” She blew out a breath, then asked in a bright tone, “What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done?”

At first she thought he’d blow her off, the way he’d done all the other times she asked him anything personal. Instead, with a smile playing faintly on his lips, he said, “I took my wife to the mall.”

She waited, and when he failed to elaborate, prodded, “C’mon, Callahan. You have to explain that.”

“Hey, I would have thought the hot-air balloon ride on the surprise trip to Napa would have ranked number one, but Jen always said that that trip to the mall was the most romantic act ever. See, I hate to shop. And I absolutely despise malls. My wife, on the other hand, loved shopping and enjoyed malls. On that particular occasion, she was three days past her due date with our son, and her doctor told her she could go another week. She was just pitiful. So I offered to take her to the mall. We ate burgers at the food court, browsed the bookstore, bought a couple of baby toys. Then I dragged her into Victoria’s Secret and picked out something for her to wear before the baby came and something for afterward.”

“Your wife was right. That does top a hot-air balloon ride.” When he smiled and remained relaxed, she decided to take the risk. “What happened to her, Gabe?”

A full minute dragged by, then two. He sucked air past his teeth, then exhaled a heavy breath. He closed his eyes and dropped his head back to rest on the steamer trunk behind him. “It was a car accident. She died at the scene. Our son, Matt …” He stopped, cleared his throat. “The doctors warned me from the first that he probably wouldn’t make it, but he fought hard. So hard.”

Reacting instinctively, Nic reached out and clasped his hand, halfway expecting him to jerk away from her touch. Instead he clasped her hand in return. “I lost him last July. He was almost six years old.”

“I’m so sorry, Gabe.”

Now he did pull away. “I’d rather not talk about it anymore.”

“Okay. No problem. I’m through being nosy. I promise. Let me just ask you one more thing.” As he shot her a narrow-eyed frown, she said, “If you had the chance to come back as a dog, what breed would you want to be?”

He laughed, just as she’d hoped. Nic sipped her wine and hid her satisfied smile.


Gabe lay in the darkness and recalled another time when he’d attempted to sleep on a cold, hard floor on a bitter winter night. Then he’d had no quilts, no wine, no lovely woman sleeping an arm’s length away. It had been another world, another life. Literally.

John G. Callahan had been a State Department associate when he took a bullet on a public street in Sarajevo. Eastern European nutjobs who had a sub-rosa war going on with the CIA and other Western intelligence operations then spirited him away. A palsied doctor removed the bullet in an unhygienic hovel, and then when a ransom demand fell through, his captors sold him off to sadistic Croatian mafiosos who dumped him into an ancient mountain fortress that made the Count of Monte Cristo’s Château d’If look like a downtown Marriott.

On a basement floor in Eternity Springs, Colorado, Gabe’s lips twisted in a wry grin. That bare, bitter cold made tonight’s chill seem like a barefoot walk on a sandy beach in summertime.

What a strange evening this had been. Not only had he thought about his other lives—in Texas with his mom and family, then in Virginia with Jennifer and Matt—he’d talked about them. He’d been able to do it without choking up or breaking down. He rarely said Jen’s name. He almost never spoke of Matt. Tonight it had actually felt good to say their names.

What had happened to his lunchtime determination to remain on guard against the appeal of Eternity Springs?

It didn’t last past his hard-on. Apparently, having that particular part of his body demonstrate signs of life once again had put the whole notion of facing dragons back on the table.

Not that he was anywhere near ready to actually use the damned thing. Just because he was alive didn’t mean he got to live again.

Guilt remained a burden able to drag him down into the black abyss. Grief, on the other hand, didn’t weigh him down quite as much as it had just a few weeks ago. It still had the power to strike swiftly and savagely, but those instances occurred less often now and with weaker intensity than in the past. He figured this must be the natural grief-recovery process. Although the superstitious part of him wondered if Eternity Springs and its warmhearted citizens weren’t getting to him.

“Brrr,” Nic complained, her voice drifting across the darkness. “It’s so cold. Do you have a spare bearskin over there?”

An image of naked limbs on a bear skin rug flashed through his mind. He cleared his throat. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I dozed for a bit. My boots were killing me, so I took them off. Now my feet are cold, and that makes me uncomfortable and cranky.”

Gabe hesitated a moment before saying, “Well, we can’t have cranky. Scoot them over here. I’ll rub your feet for you.”

“God bless you, Gabe Callahan.”

She whipped her legs out from beneath her covers and set them in his lap. She wore thin trouser socks, and when he took her right foot between his hands, he sucked in a breath. “You have ice cubes for feet.”

“I told you so.”

He tugged off her sock and began rubbing her bare, freezing foot. While he tried to keep his touch clinical and his thoughts impersonal, he couldn’t help noticing her foot’s slender width, the graceful arch of her instep, the softness of her skin.

It was the most personal touch he’d shared with a woman in months, and damn his soul, he enjoyed it.

While he massaged her right foot, her left foot crept up and rested on his thigh, inches from his torso. Inches from his erection.

He should put her ice cubes right on his crotch, but he settled for the next best thing. He tugged his shirttail from his jeans and yanked her sock off her left foot. “Look, don’t take this personally. Consider it payback for doctoring my scratches that day.”

He took both her feet and tucked them against his belly, sucking in an audible breath. It truly was like putting ice on his stomach. “Whoa. Have you no circulation in your feet whatsoever?”

“Oh, you feel good, Callahan,” she purred. “How can you be so warm? Are you hiding a heater or something?”

A heater? Was that a come-on? Or was she just clueless? He wished he could see her expression to help him judge. Wryly he replied, “Or something.”

Gabe had big hands, and they’d always been strong. They massaged her petite feet with firm, vigorous motions while keeping them nestled against his skin. “You should be wearing heavier socks.”

“You’re right. I dressed for book club rather than the weather. Sheriff Turner’s sister is visiting from Boston for Christmas, and she’s going to be there. Last time we met I’d just helped a horse give birth and I was a mess. Vanity is my downfall tonight.”

Gabe smoothed his thumbs along her instep and tried to recall if vanity was considered one of the seven deadly sins or not. He knew that lust was.

“I want you to know that I’m usually better prepared than this,” Nic continued. “Shoot, I carry chemical hand warmers in my purse this time of year.”

“Too bad you didn’t bring your purse with you to the basement.”

“Tell me about it. I also have an emergency candy bar tucked inside.” She let out a sigh, then added, “I’d let you have the whole thing. I’m starting to feel my toes again.”

Conversation lagged following that exchange, and eventually Gabe decided she’d dropped off to sleep. He relaxed, dropping his guard. His hands continued their ministrations, never straying beyond her ankles, but his thoughts began to wander.

What if this were summertime instead of the middle of winter? Would she wear sandals on these feet? Would she wear shorts? Form-fitting tanks? Or maybe a short, flirty sundress? He loved sundresses on beautiful women.

Just when his touch shifted from therapeutic to intimate, he couldn’t say. He explored her. He learned that her ankles were slim, her toes long and slender. He discovered she was ticklish on her instep. He deduced she wore polish on her toenails, and he contemplated what color. Fire engine red, he’d bet. Like her lipstick.

Time ticked by. Her feet warmed beneath his touch. A gradual awareness that her muscles had grown taut distracted him from his musings.

Nic Sullivan wasn’t asleep. She was awake and aware and … tense.

Gabe’s hands froze. He held his breath. He sensed rather than saw her come up on her elbows.

Her voice held a husky note as it emerged from the darkness. “Gabe?”

He hesitated a long moment, aware that he stood at the edge of a dangerous precipice. Yearning tempted him, pulled him forward. It had been so long. The warm human touch felt so good. It would be so easy. And yet …

He spoke past a lump in his throat. “I miss my wife.”

The moment passed as she exhaled a shaky breath. “It’s hard to be alone.”

Then Nic sat all the way up and tugged her feet away from him. He felt the loss of contact keenly. As she pulled on her socks, Gabe dropped his head back, shut his eyes, and gritted his teeth.

A good five minutes passed before she spoke again, her voice soft and gentle and warm with compassion. “Thanks for taking care of me, Gabe.”

Thankful for the shadows that hid the single tear trailing down his cheek, he replied, “My pleasure.”


The book club saved the day.

Nic realized help had arrived when she heard the boxer’s excited arf arf on the other side of the basement door. She quickly rose and ran up the stairs in her stocking feet. Pounding on the door, she called, “Hello? Hello? Is someone out there?”

A minute later, light spilled into the dark basement as the door swung open. “Here she is!” Sarah called out. To Nic she said, “I knew you wouldn’t miss the chance to talk about Ruark Beauchamp. He has to be the hottest man ever—Oh. Hi, Gabe.”

“You are a welcome sight, Sarah,” he said as he started up the staircase.

Nic stepped into the entry hallway, explaining how they’d ended up stuck in the basement as Sage joined them.

“When you didn’t show up, Glenda Hawkins said she’d noticed your truck was still here when she locked up the Bristlecone,” Sage said. “I thought you’d forgotten the meeting.”

“I knew better,” Sarah said. “Although we almost didn’t come look for you.”

Nic frowned and started to ask why not, but Sarah’s significant glance toward Gabe answered the question. Undoubtedly Glenda had mentioned seeing his Jeep, too.

Gabe slipped past the women, saying, “I appreciate the rescue. It was cold down there. I’m going to head out. G’night.” He looked at Nic but didn’t quite meet her eyes. “You’d better get something on your feet before you’re walking on ice cubes again.”

“I will.” She smiled, but he didn’t see it since he was already heading for the front door. When it shut behind him, Nic said, “Well, that was awkward.”

“A locked-in-the-basement-together story,” Sarah said, her eyes gleaming. “Spill the details. Was it romantic? Did he tuck you against him and keep you warm? Or maybe … did you play Shanna and Ruark in the prison? You can be witchy like Shanna, Nic. I think Gabe has what it takes to be Ruark, but I really need to see him without his shirt first.”

“Oh, stop it.” Nic wanted to leave right then, but she had to return to the basement first. “My boots are downstairs. You stay here so I don’t end up trapped again.”

Gabe had smothered the candles, but he’d left the flashlight shining. Nic hurried down the stairs, grabbed her boots, then turned around—and ran into Sarah. “Of course you followed me.”

“Bearskins? Wine? Candlelight? Nicole Sullivan! Tell me this was as fun as it looks.”

Nic pulled on her boots. “You want the truth or fantasy?”

“Hmm …” Sarah tapped a finger against her lips as she followed Nic upstairs. “I have fantasy waiting at book group in the guise of Ruark Beauchamp, so I guess I want the truth.”

Stepping out into the hallway, Nic looked at both her friends and sighed. “The truth is that the man is still in love with his dead wife.”

“That’s so sad,” Sage said, handing Nic her coat.

“Well, shoot,” Sarah added. “In that case, there’s only one thing left to do. Let’s go to book group and drink rum punch.”

“Rum punch?” Nic asked.

“Hey, it might be the middle of winter here, but that novel you picked took me to a lush Caribbean paradise. With a shirtless stud. What else would we drink?”

Nic laughed and followed her friends out into the cold winter night. Later that night she went to sleep and dreamed about Caribbean beaches.

And a shirtless hero with scars on his skin … and on his soul.