Read Online Completely Smitten by Kristine Grayson - Free Book Online Page B

“I always thought that if a person was smart enough, he could piss anyone off.”
    He raised his head and gave her a measuring look. “Why? Is that a hobby of yours too?”
    She shook her head. “I’m one of those Milquetoast people who works hard at keeping everyone calm.”
    “I don’t think a Milquetoast person would have been hiking alone, let alone have enough presence of mind to roll over and catch herself with a knife blade.”
    He had seen that. They hadn’t talked much about her fall. She was still unclear about what exactly had happened.
    “Not that the knife blade worked,” she said.
    “It worked long enough for me to be able to help,” he said and bit his lip.
    She leaned back on the pillows. Something about this entire topic made him nervous and she wasn’t sure what it was. “Was that when you saw me?”
    He nodded. “I heard something odd, then saw you digging that knife in. I’m not even sure I would have known you were there if you hadn’t done that.”
    She ran her thumb along the glass’s warm side. If he hadn’t known she was there, she would have died on that ledge. Even if she had regained consciousness, she had no idea how she would have climbed back up. She didn’t have mountain climbing tools, and then there was the small matter of the broken ankle.
    “I owe you everything,” she said softly.
    “No,” he said, “you don’t.”
    He sounded almost panicked by her words, as if he didn’t want anyone to be in his debt. Still, she had to ask. “What can I do to repay you?”
    He stood, went to the window, and pulled it open. The cool evening air poured in, making her realize just how stuffy the house had been. Then he came back to his chair and sat on the arm.
    She got that strange sense of duality again, as if he were going to tell the absolute truth and lie to her at the same time.
    “I’m not used to visitors,” he said. “The last person who slept in that guest room was Hemingway.”
    At first she thought he was joking, but he seemed too serious for that.
    “Really?” she asked. “Which one? Mariel?”
    He smiled. The look on his face was fond. “No. Ernest.”
    “You’re kidding, right? You weren’t even born when he died.”
    Darius started, as if he were coming out of a dream. For a moment, his expression was sheer surprise; then he picked up his wineglass. He didn’t drink, though.
    “I didn’t say it was recent,” he said. “He was here in the Twenties. He used this as a hunting shack.”
    “So you bought it from his family?”
    Darius shook his head. “This has been in my family for more than a hundred years.”
    She had no idea the place was that old. There’d clearly been a lot of renovation. “Wow. How did your people find this place?”
    “Accident,” he said. “It was a mining shack. I—um, I think this was squatter country. I don’t think anyone paid for the land.”
    “Well, someone paid for the house.”
    “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I did a lot of the renovations.”
    “But no electricity, huh?” She couldn’t comprehend living in a house with no electricity. Camping without it was one thing—she didn’t expect to flick a switch and have lights. But living here without the benefit of power seemed strange to her.
    He slid into the chair. He was now sitting with his back against one arm and his legs draped over the other. It looked like a teenager’s posture—or an athlete’s.
    “No lines come up this far. There weren’t phones either, until some idiot invented cellular technology. Now you can’t get away from anything.”
    “Sure you can,” she said. “You just have to choose not to bring a phone with you. Besides, they told me cell phones don’t work up here.”
    “They don’t,” he said. “You need a satellite phone. And no, I don’t have one. I’m a bit of a Luddite.”
    “So I’ve noticed,” she said. “I haven’t seen a stove like that outside of a museum.”
    “I have two generators, but I prefer not to