Read Online Bedding Down, A Collection of Winter Erotica by Rachel Krame Bussel - Free Book Online
Authors: Rachel Krame Bussel
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dinner?”
“There aren’t any other options.”
She nodded and picked at the food on her plate. For the first
time since he had walked through the door, he remembered the
fear of the night before. “Are you hurting? Inside?”
Janine seemed to know exactly what he meant. “I think I have
a bruised rib. But I don’t think there’s any bleeding going on in there. I don’t really know how to tell, but my breathing is okay, and I don’t feel any pain that I can’t explain.” She shook her
head slowly. “Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it does.”
“I think I have a concussion.”
“I know you do,” he agreed. “You’re moving like you’re un-
derwater. Sometimes your words are slurred, but I know you
didn’t get into the moonshine. I checked,” he teased.
“Moonshine might be better than aspirin,” she said, grinning
back at him.
S ix W eeks on S unrise M ountain, C olorado 61
“You scared me last night, when you fell asleep. I couldn’t
wake you up. I remember reading somewhere that a person with
a concussion shouldn’t be allowed to go to sleep.”
She took a bite of potatoes. “I think I’m going to be okay.”
“You were incredibly lucky,” he said, shaking his head. “It
could have been so much worse.”
“You were there,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“Nobody knows where you are, do they?” he asked.
“My editor has an idea, but no one knew my actual where-
abouts, no. I wasn’t sure what to tell them. I wasn’t sure where you were, but I knew you were up here somewhere.”
“How did you find me?”
Janine pushed the potatoes around on her plate. “Your hold-
ings were listed in the indictments. I got the records through
the Freedom of Information Act, and there was only one hold-
ing that hadn’t been explored, mostly because it was listed as
private hunting land. There was no structure listed on the
property. But then I got to thinking . . . prime hunting land on a mountain in the middle of Colorado? That’s big-time hunting. That’s the kind of hunting that can take a man away for
weeks on end. A man could backpack his way in, but he would
have to be a very skilled outdoorsman to manage living in a
tent for weeks. A cabin, however . . . something off the grid,
so that it isn’t registered with any agency anywhere . . . hid-
den away in a valley on the top of that mountain. Who would
notice?”
“A computer geek living in the wilderness,” Fletcher mused
with a smile. “What a concept.”
“It’s the perfect cover.”
62
G wen M asters
“A computer geek who had a banker for a father—a father
who couldn’t bait a hook, much less fire a shotgun.”
“But your great-uncle was a fisherman by trade, and you spent
childhood summers with him in the Keys.”
Fletcher raised an eyebrow. “You lied to me. You said you
were a photographer.”
“You lied to me, too. You said you knew nothing of the
indictments.”
They stared at each other over the pork chops and potatoes.
Fletcher took a drink of water and studied the young woman
across the table from him, one who had turned out to be more
of an adversary than he had first thought. She was dangerous, no matter how beautiful she was.
It was going to be a very long winter.
Another cold front came in a week later, and this one brought
an ice storm with it. All the animals on the mountain stayed in their hollows and dens, keeping warm as best they could. The
silence was almost as maddening as the cold.
Fletcher kept a fire roaring in the stove, but the chill of the snow crept in regardless. He ventured outside only to get fresh snow for water—the usual supply had frozen in the barrels, and
no amount of stoking the fire would thaw it out. There was a
thermometer on the outside wall of the cabin, but Fletcher was
afraid to look at it.
Janine stayed wrapped in layers of clothing. The bruises were
fading now, but somehow they looked even worse—instead
“There aren’t any other options.”
She nodded and picked at the food on her plate. For the first
time since he had walked through the door, he remembered the
fear of the night before. “Are you hurting? Inside?”
Janine seemed to know exactly what he meant. “I think I have
a bruised rib. But I don’t think there’s any bleeding going on in there. I don’t really know how to tell, but my breathing is okay, and I don’t feel any pain that I can’t explain.” She shook her
head slowly. “Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, it does.”
“I think I have a concussion.”
“I know you do,” he agreed. “You’re moving like you’re un-
derwater. Sometimes your words are slurred, but I know you
didn’t get into the moonshine. I checked,” he teased.
“Moonshine might be better than aspirin,” she said, grinning
back at him.
S ix W eeks on S unrise M ountain, C olorado 61
“You scared me last night, when you fell asleep. I couldn’t
wake you up. I remember reading somewhere that a person with
a concussion shouldn’t be allowed to go to sleep.”
She took a bite of potatoes. “I think I’m going to be okay.”
“You were incredibly lucky,” he said, shaking his head. “It
could have been so much worse.”
“You were there,” she said, as if that explained everything.
“Nobody knows where you are, do they?” he asked.
“My editor has an idea, but no one knew my actual where-
abouts, no. I wasn’t sure what to tell them. I wasn’t sure where you were, but I knew you were up here somewhere.”
“How did you find me?”
Janine pushed the potatoes around on her plate. “Your hold-
ings were listed in the indictments. I got the records through
the Freedom of Information Act, and there was only one hold-
ing that hadn’t been explored, mostly because it was listed as
private hunting land. There was no structure listed on the
property. But then I got to thinking . . . prime hunting land on a mountain in the middle of Colorado? That’s big-time hunting. That’s the kind of hunting that can take a man away for
weeks on end. A man could backpack his way in, but he would
have to be a very skilled outdoorsman to manage living in a
tent for weeks. A cabin, however . . . something off the grid,
so that it isn’t registered with any agency anywhere . . . hid-
den away in a valley on the top of that mountain. Who would
notice?”
“A computer geek living in the wilderness,” Fletcher mused
with a smile. “What a concept.”
“It’s the perfect cover.”
62
G wen M asters
“A computer geek who had a banker for a father—a father
who couldn’t bait a hook, much less fire a shotgun.”
“But your great-uncle was a fisherman by trade, and you spent
childhood summers with him in the Keys.”
Fletcher raised an eyebrow. “You lied to me. You said you
were a photographer.”
“You lied to me, too. You said you knew nothing of the
indictments.”
They stared at each other over the pork chops and potatoes.
Fletcher took a drink of water and studied the young woman
across the table from him, one who had turned out to be more
of an adversary than he had first thought. She was dangerous, no matter how beautiful she was.
It was going to be a very long winter.
Another cold front came in a week later, and this one brought
an ice storm with it. All the animals on the mountain stayed in their hollows and dens, keeping warm as best they could. The
silence was almost as maddening as the cold.
Fletcher kept a fire roaring in the stove, but the chill of the snow crept in regardless. He ventured outside only to get fresh snow for water—the usual supply had frozen in the barrels, and
no amount of stoking the fire would thaw it out. There was a
thermometer on the outside wall of the cabin, but Fletcher was
afraid to look at it.
Janine stayed wrapped in layers of clothing. The bruises were
fading now, but somehow they looked even worse—instead
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