orientation, I was impressed by the way you and Rose seem to function as a unit. Finishing each other’s sentences, you always looking at her when you think no one else notices, the way you are alert whenever she comes into a room even if your back is turned—guess my woman’s intuition went haywire. Chalk it up to pre-wedding jitters, okay?”
Billy had to smile. Not only had she given him answers to questions impossible for him to ask, she’d also given him a gracious out. He was going to like working with this one, could well understand why Chase Westin had fallen head over heels so completely.
“No problem,” he assured her. They passed through security and pulled into the underground garage at the STR building. He put a hand on her arm, and she turned to face him. “KC, I’m really sorry about the wedding.”
Her laughter surprised him. “Tell that to Chase, it was his idea to formalize things. I didn’t need any kind of ceremony to confirm what I already knew.” She rolled her eyes. “Men, they’re so sentimental.”
Billy shook his head as he got out of the car, and they walked over to the staircase. She was right, she and Chase had no need of a piece of paper as proof of their union. Anyone who saw the two of them together would know they were bound for life.
He felt a dull ache in his gut as he wished that it could be that simple for him and Rose. But Rose was already married. To the Job.
CHAPTER 10
“Here we are,” Ryan announced about forty-three days and nights later in Lucky’s estimation. Or maybe it was only forty-three minutes—at least that was what his watch said. “Home sweet home.”
He looked at the rough-hewn log cabin she indicated. Maybe ten feet by ten, he’d been in closets that were larger.
“There’s a chemical toilet ‘round back.” She indicated with a nod of her head. “I’ll get a fire started.”
Lucky went to use the porta john, embarrassed by how difficult such an ordinary process became when one hand was immobilized. To hell with it.
He eased his arm from its makeshift sling. He could use it as long as he mainly moved from the elbow down. But the extra hand helped move things along as far as undressing and dressing again.
By the time he floundered through the snowdrifts back to the cabin, Ryan had a nice sized fire blazing in the small prefab metal fireplace. He looked around the cabin—it was generous to call it that. It had a plank floor, a low ceiling and a shelf that jutted out about three feet off the floor along the two walls not taken up by the door and fireplace.
“What’s that for?” He nodded at the shelf as he began to shed his layers of clothing.
“Sleeping.”
Lucky was afraid of that. People did this for fun? He leaned against the rough-hewn wall and kicked off his boots. He hoped the snow didn’t mess them up—he loved those boots. Had had them for years, ever since a misbegotten trip with some grad school friends to Vegas. Roper style they were called. All he knew was that they were comfortable and you could easily get into them even when you were dead drunk.
“We’re the first in the system to have these European style shelters instead of the three-sided open ones like those along the Appalachian Trail.” She gestured enthusiastically. “Cozy, huh? All the comforts of home.”
“Look, Smokey,” he said. “My home comforts include a microwave, cold beer, cable TV, and a king-sized bed.”
He tugged with frustration at the rain pants stuck halfway down his legs, finally gave up and sat down on one of the benches—beds, he corrected himself—and tried to kick them off, hopelessly snarling his foot instead.
“Let me,” Ryan said, kneeling at his feet.
“I can do it.” All the frustration and pain of the day emerged with his words. Ryan raised her hands in surrender as he floundered for a few more moments. “Ah, to hell with it.”
“Just hold still for a moment, will
Billy had to smile. Not only had she given him answers to questions impossible for him to ask, she’d also given him a gracious out. He was going to like working with this one, could well understand why Chase Westin had fallen head over heels so completely.
“No problem,” he assured her. They passed through security and pulled into the underground garage at the STR building. He put a hand on her arm, and she turned to face him. “KC, I’m really sorry about the wedding.”
Her laughter surprised him. “Tell that to Chase, it was his idea to formalize things. I didn’t need any kind of ceremony to confirm what I already knew.” She rolled her eyes. “Men, they’re so sentimental.”
Billy shook his head as he got out of the car, and they walked over to the staircase. She was right, she and Chase had no need of a piece of paper as proof of their union. Anyone who saw the two of them together would know they were bound for life.
He felt a dull ache in his gut as he wished that it could be that simple for him and Rose. But Rose was already married. To the Job.
CHAPTER 10
“Here we are,” Ryan announced about forty-three days and nights later in Lucky’s estimation. Or maybe it was only forty-three minutes—at least that was what his watch said. “Home sweet home.”
He looked at the rough-hewn log cabin she indicated. Maybe ten feet by ten, he’d been in closets that were larger.
“There’s a chemical toilet ‘round back.” She indicated with a nod of her head. “I’ll get a fire started.”
Lucky went to use the porta john, embarrassed by how difficult such an ordinary process became when one hand was immobilized. To hell with it.
He eased his arm from its makeshift sling. He could use it as long as he mainly moved from the elbow down. But the extra hand helped move things along as far as undressing and dressing again.
By the time he floundered through the snowdrifts back to the cabin, Ryan had a nice sized fire blazing in the small prefab metal fireplace. He looked around the cabin—it was generous to call it that. It had a plank floor, a low ceiling and a shelf that jutted out about three feet off the floor along the two walls not taken up by the door and fireplace.
“What’s that for?” He nodded at the shelf as he began to shed his layers of clothing.
“Sleeping.”
Lucky was afraid of that. People did this for fun? He leaned against the rough-hewn wall and kicked off his boots. He hoped the snow didn’t mess them up—he loved those boots. Had had them for years, ever since a misbegotten trip with some grad school friends to Vegas. Roper style they were called. All he knew was that they were comfortable and you could easily get into them even when you were dead drunk.
“We’re the first in the system to have these European style shelters instead of the three-sided open ones like those along the Appalachian Trail.” She gestured enthusiastically. “Cozy, huh? All the comforts of home.”
“Look, Smokey,” he said. “My home comforts include a microwave, cold beer, cable TV, and a king-sized bed.”
He tugged with frustration at the rain pants stuck halfway down his legs, finally gave up and sat down on one of the benches—beds, he corrected himself—and tried to kick them off, hopelessly snarling his foot instead.
“Let me,” Ryan said, kneeling at his feet.
“I can do it.” All the frustration and pain of the day emerged with his words. Ryan raised her hands in surrender as he floundered for a few more moments. “Ah, to hell with it.”
“Just hold still for a moment, will
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