She'd said no.
Of course she'd said no.
Logan would have bet the entire half million that Melina didn't steal the gold.
But she'd reacted so guiltily when he mentioned the gold ingot case that the investigator
in him had instantly snapped to attention.
And when he found himself wanting to kiss her, he had to find out for sure.
Because if he was going to do something crazy like kiss her, he had to remove
any and all doubt that she might wind up as a suspect.
But all he'd done was insulted her. And now she was mad at him. And he'd probably
never get a chance to taste her lips, touch her freckles, or do any of the other
thousand things he'd started dreaming about while watching her make soup in that
rustic little kitchen.
He worked his way up the small rise behind the cabin, heading for the outhouse.
Before he left Ottawa, he would have sworn this kind of lifestyle was extinct.
He'd been quite sure if he just looked around the cabin carefully enough, the
bathroom would appear. They were well past the 1930s. Indoor toilets were hardly
a luxury item.
In fact, he was certain that the full range of plumbing technology had made
it this far north since there was a perfectly wonderful toilet, bathtub and shower
right there in his hotel room.
But, when he'd finally asked about the facilities, Melina had pointed to a
narrow, dark path outside the back door. Now, freezing once again, and navigating
by the moon and the stars, Logan assured himself that the promotion would be worth
it. He also assured himself that if there were polar bears lurking in wait, Melina
would have been eaten a long time ago.
He was a Mountie. Stone age facilities or not, he could handle this. He rounded
the outhouse and stopped. Maybe.
He looked to the right, to the left, then peered inside. There was no door.
He felt all around the opening, looking for an indication that it had once existed
but recently fallen off.
The jamb was perfectly smooth. The building was fairly new. Who the hell built
an outhouse without a door?
The answer came swiftly enough. An insane tooth fairy lookalike who could leap
tall horses in a single bound. That's who.
Logan didn't consider himself overly modest. Hell, he showered at the gym three
times a week. But there were certain times in a man's life when he wanted a barrier
between himself and the rest of the world. He couldn't imagine women were any
different.
The icy wind picked up, swirling into the small crack between his fur hat and
the turned up collar of his red uniform. Cold was his biggest problem at the moment.
It wasn't like there were any neighbours lurking out here in the freezing dark.
He stepped inside. The wind chill didn't abate. He stripped off his gloves,
wondering just how fast exposed appendages would freeze at forty below. Wouldn't
the family back home love this.
"Hi, mom..."
"Guess what I did yesterday..."
"No, I didn't know anybody still used those either..."
"Yes, exhilarating is probably the correct word..."
A long, low growl sounded behind him, and the fine hairs on Logan's neck stood
up on end. Since he was hardly in a position to whirl around the face down the
danger, he could only pray whatever it was didn't lunge for the back of his neck.
The animal growled again.
It was Shadow, he told himself. Just Shadow. He zipped his fly before starting
to turn. He wanted to be prepared in case Shadow decided to lunge straight on.
Melina had said the dog was harmless, he reminded himself. He was only half wolf.
Somehow, in a dark, three-sided outhouse, the thought was less than comforting.
Logan turned slowly. Shadow's pale eyes seemed to glow in the moonlight. His hackles
were raised, ears back, tail pointing straight up.
Logan could hear the phone call now.
"Mrs. Maxwell? We're sorry to inform you that your son was killed in the
Yukon..."
"Uh, no. It wasn't exactly in the line of duty..."
"It was in an outhouse..."
"An outhouse..."
"Yes, a terrible tragedy..."
"And to think, a twenty dollar door could have saved him..."
"Shadow?" Melina's voice drifted long and musically from the cabin.
"Come on, boy. Dinner's ready."
Shadow glanced toward the cabin then sneered back at Logan. His long, pink
tongue snaked out in a curl. Dinner was served. He looked like he was debating
between Logan and the kibbles.
Melina called again.
After a lengthy pause, during which neither Shadow nor Logan breathed, Shadow's
posture relaxed and he turned to slink away. He lifted his leg on the corner of
the outhouse before trotting back down the trail. Logan got the message.
"You need a door." Logan stripped off his gloves. After washing
his hands in her cold sink water, he stretched them out in front of the fireplace.
He was grateful once again for the warmth of the cabin.
"A door?" She slid a square pan onto an oven rack and straightened
to face him.
"On your outhouse. You need a door on your outhouse."
"Why?" She fixed him with a puzzled expression, long lashes blinking
slowly. "It faces away from the house."
"Oh. Well. That makes all the difference," he drawled.
"There's nobody out there," she said.
"Not right now."
"Why would you want to stare at the back of an outhouse door when you
can enjoy the view?"
"The view?"
"On a clear day you can see Joe Mountain."
"All I could see was black. And your guard dog skulked up behind me."
Her eyebrows slanted together. "Behind you?"
"Yeah."
"What do you mean behind you?"
"Behind. As in, not in front."
"But, why were you..." She cocked her head to one side, considering
him.
"Because..." He made a rolling motion with one hand, waiting to see
comprehension dawn in her eyes. "It's the way men..."
This was ridiculous. Nobody was that naive. If she didn't understand him, he
wasn't about to give her the anatomical details.
She bit down on her lower lip and her fairy princess eyes danced. "Uh,
Logan..."
"What?"
She shook her head. "Never mind."
"Tell me," he demanded. He hated it here. He hated feeling so inept.
He hated feeling like the butt of somebody's joke. What the hell could possibly
be wrong with a man standing up to urinate?
"Men don't..." She pursed her lips together, her expression settling
halfway between embarrassed and amused.
"What?" His voice was strangled.
"Uh..." She raised her hand to her face and bit down on a thumbnail.
"Stand up in outhouses."
"What? They sit down so they can defend themselves from marauding animals?"
How the hell did she know that? Why didn't she just get a door?
She shook her head, clearing her throat.
"What are you trying to say?" Who could have imagined there was such
a thing as an outhouse faux pas?
"They stand up in the bush. We have acres and acres out there."
"I can't believe we're having this conversation."
A blush instantly formed on her cheeks. She looked quickly down at the stove
top. "Neither can I," she mumbled. Then she reached for a green striped
dish cloth and began scrubbing at the chipped enamel. "I'm sorry. I didn't
mean to mock you. You're a guest in my home, and I'm being unforgivably rude."
Her apology was obviously sincere. She looked so painfully self-conscious,
scrubbing away at a non-existent stain, that compassion replaced his annoyance.
"It's okay." He had to fight an urge to cross the kitchen floor.
Her wispy blonde hair curled enticingly over the back of her neck. He wanted to
cross the floor, lift the loose strands, kiss her on the nape, wrap his arms around
her narrow waist and pull her tightly against his body. What was it about her?
What was the draw?
They'd only met a few hours ago. Admittedly, it was a pretty intense few hours.
But it was as if they'd jumped from strangers to antagonists to potential lovers
in less time than it took to write a traffic ticket.
He'd never reacted to a woman like this before. It was completely unnerving.
He moved slowly toward her, hoping the strange tingle in his limbs had something
to do with magnetic North. "I feel like we've skipped a step in this relationship."
"What step?" She kept on scrubbing.
"Actually, a couple of steps." He stopped beside her and held out
his hand. "Hi. I'm Logan Maxwell."
Her scrubbing slowed, and he thought he detected a smile. She tipped her head
to look at him. "Melina Thurston."
She straightened and placed her small hand in his. It was damp from the dishcloth.
And it was warm. And it snuggled up against his palm as if it belonged there.
He forced himself to focus. "I'm here in Whitehorse on a case for the
RCMP."
"I train horses." She didn't seem to be in any hurry to remove her
hand, and he was content to keep the connection.
"Really? I've never ridden a horse."
"It's easy." Her eyes sparkled. He loved it when they did that. "I
could give you lessons while you're in town."
He subtly stroked his thumb along the back of her hand. "I'm afraid there's
not much call for horseback riding back home. But I'll keep it in mind."
She still didn't pull away. "What part of Ottawa are you from?"
"I'm right downtown. I have a high-rise condo." He eased closer.
"Nice view?" She was up against the stove with nowhere to go. But
he'd back off just as soon as she gave a sign. So far she wasn't giving any signs
of unease.
"My hot tub overlooks the Ottawa River."
She smiled, revealing straight, white teeth. "My outhouse overlooks the
barn."
"I'm impressed."
"Outhouses impress you?"
"I'm impressed that you're so hardy and resilient." He slowly let
their hands drop, but didn't let her go. His knuckles came to rest against her
thigh. The slight brush of her jeans was sexy, exciting, arousing.
"I'm not hardy and resilient. I'm impoverished and stubborn."
"How so?"
"My parents and my two older sisters are down in Vancouver waiting for
me to fail."
"How long have they been waiting?" He wished he dared to move closer.
"Two years."
"You the baby of the family?"
She nodded.
"Me, too. You aren't going to fail, are you?"
"I'm going to make this ranch work if it kills me." She tipped her
chin forward. He recognized her steely determination. He'd lived with it all his
life.
The faint rumbled of an engine sounded outside.
Melina turned toward the noise, slipping her hand from his. "Snowmobile,"
she announced.
The cavalry had arrived.
He was free.
Logan should have felt elated, but instead he was disappointed.
|
