Read Online Dead of Winter by P. J. Parrish - Free Book Online Page B

watching him as he slipped out of his loafers and went to throw a log on the embers. He poked at the fire until it reignited. When he turned, she was still standing in the shadows by the door.
    “Let me warm up a minute and then I’ll drive you home,” he said.
    She nodded.
    He wondered how old she was. She looked to be maybe twenty or so. He suppressed a sigh, thinking suddenly of Abby Lillihouse. The last thing he needed was another messy liaison with a starry-eyed young woman like he had experienced in Mississippi. The small surge of anticipation he had felt outside when he first saw the girl was fading fast now. Jesus, protect me from crazy girls.
    He glanced back at her. She was shivering. “Here, come over by the fire,” he said.
    Warily, like a cat in a strange place, she came across the room. As she did, the fire illuminated her face. It was strangely exotic and olive-complected. Her strong brow and jawline were a contrast to her high delicate cheekbones. Her mouth was large, too large for her small face. Her nose was small but with a slight flare to the nostrils. And her eyes...they were almond-shaped and there were a few lines at the corners and a vigilance inside. Louis stared at her. This was no twenty-year-old. She was at least as old as he was.
    She came close to the fire and held out her hands. They were small with short fingers and close-cropped nails, like a boy’s hands.
    “Feels good,” she said.
    “I’m Louis,” he said, extending a hand. “Louis Kincaid.”
    She slipped her hand into his. Her hand was soft, warmed from the fire, but the grip was firm. He could feel callouses.
    “Zoe,” she said. “Zoe Devereaux.”
    She pulled her hand away and ran it over her hair, down to the end of the ponytail. She looked back into the fire.
    “I’ve seen you jog by before,” Louis said.
    “I run almost every night,” she said.
    “In the snow?”
    She nodded. “I’ve been doing it for years. This is the first time I fell.”
    “Well, I’m glad it happened outside my place.”
    She looked up at him then offered a cautious smile. “You’re new here,” she said. “This place has been deserted for years.”
    “Yes, just moved here.”
    “From where?”
    Louis hesitated. Mississippi? Detroit? Ann Arbor? “South of here,” he said finally. “How about you?” Somehow, he couldn’t see this woman being from Loon Lake.
    “Chicago,” she said. “I rent a cabin up on the north end.”
    Louis smiled. An East Egger.
    “What’s so funny?” she asked.
    “Nothing.”
    He came around and sat down on the sofa. He shrugged off the afghan, suddenly aware how he looked in his old gray sweatpants, flannel shirt, tube socks and day-old beard. He wished he had taken a shower. Even in her running clothes and tangled hair, Zoe looked elegant somehow. He felt a stirring halfway between his gut and his groin. Jesus, how long had it been? That woman he met at the bar three months ago. Some nice sex, some good talk, but nothing more. The ache, he realized, was more than sexual. It was plain old loneliness.
    Louis glanced at her left hand. No ring. “So you’re here with your family?” he asked.
    “No. I’m alone.”
    Thank you, God...
    “No family at all?” he asked.
    “I don’t have any family. I come here to get away.”
    “Loon Lake is a strange place for a woman to spend a vacation alone.”
    “I’m an artist. I do landscapes, snow scenes mainly. I come here every winter to paint,” she said. She seemed to be watching him for his reaction.
    “No kidding? I’ve never met an artist. I’ve never met anyone really creative before. Except maybe the old woman who knitted this thing.” He held up the afghan.
    Zoe smiled and sat down on the far end of the sofa.
    “Can I get you a drink?” He gestured toward the small refrigerator. “Haven’t got much. Beer? Some bad brandy?”
    She shook her head.
    He jumped to his feet. “Cocoa,” he said.
    She hesitated then nodded. “All right.