Ruthless by Lisa Jackson
“. . . and that picnic, it’s my favorite,” she was saying. “It took place at the base of Mount Prosperity sometime in the eighteen-eighties, I think, much later than forty-nine, but it still has a certain flavor.” Her voice drifted off, and her face angled up to his. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said, have you?” she charged, lips pursing angrily.
“Does it matter?”
Her eyes flashed. “I suppose it doesn’t. I just thought since you’re the owner of this place, you might be interested. I guess I was wrong.”
“Go on,” he suggested. His thoughts had taken him far from the photographs on the table. He knew that he and Melanie were virtually alone in the lodge. Rich had left with the accountant and investors, the workers had the day off, the carpenters who had come in were now gone, and even his father, after gruffly announcing that someone was waiting for Rich in the north wing, had left the premises.
Vexed, she placed her hands on her hips and tilted her head to the ceiling. “I don’t know why I try,” she muttered as if conversing with the rafters in the vault high overhead.
Gavin motioned impatiently at the table. “Look, they’re all fine. You just tell me where to hang them and we’ll do it.”
“You and me?” she asked.
He felt one side of his lip curve up. “Face it, Melanie, we’re stuck with each other.”
She paled slightly. “But you’re still laid up—”
“My ankle’s fine.”
“And you don’t mind risking breaking it by falling off a ladder?” she said, sarcasm tainting her words.
“Won’t happen,” he replied, noticing how anger intensified the streaks of jade in her eyes. “Just give me a minute to change.”
She didn’t have time to protest. He dashed off, leaving her with the photographs. Don’t argue with him, she told herself. Take advantage of his good mood. But she glanced through the windows to see the snow begin to drift around the lodge. Most of the mountain was now obscured from her view. They’d have to work fast. The railing of the deck showed three inches of new snow, and the wind had begun to pick up. Maybe she should just forget this and come back when the storm had passed.
Not yet, she decided. She had too much to do to let a little snow bother her. She’d grown up around here and she knew how to drive in the snow. She’d be fine. She hazarded another glance outside and decided she didn’t have any time to lose.
By the time she’d hauled the photographs back to the main lobby, placing each matted print on the floor near the appropriate wall space, Gavin reappeared, tucking the tail of his blue cambric shirt into faded jeans. He strode quickly, without the use of a cane, to the huge fireplace on the far wall. Bending on one knee, he began stacking logs on the huge grate.
“Do we really need a fire?” she asked, glancing at her watch.
“Probably not.”
“It’ll go to waste.”
Ignoring her, he struck a match. The dry kindling ignited quickly, sizzling and popping as yellow flames discovered moss-laden oak. His injury didn’t seem to bother him, and when he straightened and surveyed his work, he nodded to himself.
“Now that we’re all cozy,” she mocked, hoping to sound put out, “let’s get started.”
“You’re the boss,” he quipped, gesturing to the stack of prints she had started positioning around the main lobby.
“Remember that,” she teased back.
“Always.” His eyelids dropped a little, and Melanie’s breath caught in her throat as he stared at her.
Clearing her throat, she pointed to a picture of a grizzled old miner and two burros. “You can start with this one,” she said. “It should go near the door. And then, I think, the picture of the locomotive on the trestle. Then the mine shaft . . .” She walked around the large, cavernous room, shuffling and reshuffling the prints. Gavin was with her every step of the way, and her nerves were stretched tight. She felt the weight of his gaze, smelled the musky scent of his aftershave and saw the set angle of his jaw. Dear God, help me get through this.
When she finally decided on the placement of each picture, he took off in search of a ladder. Melanie sank against the windows and felt the cold panes against her back. Just a few more hours. She glanced anxiously through the window and noticed the storm had turned worse. The higher branches of the pines surrounding the lodge danced wildly in the wind, and the snow was blowing in sheets.
When Gavin returned with the ladder, his face was grim. “I just listened to the weather report,” he informed her. “The storm isn’t going to let up for hours.”
Melanie’s heart sank. Nervously, she shoved her bangs from her eyes. “Then I should leave now.”
“No way.”
“What?” She looked up sharply.
“It’s nearly a whiteout, Mel. Winds are being measured over forty miles an hour. I’m not going to let you leave until it’s safe.”
“It’s safe now. Not that you have a whole lot of say in the matter.”
“Just wait. We’ve got a lot of work to do. Maybe by the time we’re done, the winds will have died down.”
“Is that what the weather service said?”
Tiny brackets surrounded his mouth, and he shook his head. “Afraid not. In fact, they predict it’ll last through the night.”
“Then I’ve got to leave now!”
“Hold on,” he said firmly, one hand clamping over her arm. “If there’s a lull, I’ll drive you out of here in one of the trucks with four-wheel drive.”
“I’ve got my car here. I’ll—”
“You’ll stay put!” he said, his eyes gleaming with determination. “Until it’s safe.”
“Oh, so now you’re the one giving orders.”
“While you’re up here in my lodge, you’re my responsibility,” he said quietly.
“I’m my own person. I don’t need you or anyone else telling me what to do!”
A muscle worked in his jaw. “Then use your head, Melanie. You know how dangerous a storm like this can be. Just wait it out. We can finish here.”
“And then what?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but at least you won’t be in a ditch somewhere, freezing to death.”
“No, I’ll just be suffocating in here while you keep ordering me around.”
He couldn’t help but smile. “Is that what I’m doing?”
“Damn right!”
He laughed then, and Melanie was taken aback at the richness of the sound. “So be it,” he muttered. “Now, come on, quit complaining and let’s get to work.”
She hated to give in to him, but the thought of driving out in a near blizzard wasn’t all that inviting. “All right,” she finally agreed, “but I’m leaving the minute the winds die down.”
He didn’t comment, just started up the ladder. She was afraid his ankle wouldn’t support him, but he didn’t once lose his balance, and slowly, as they hung picture after picture, the rust-tone prints began to add flavor to the lobby.
As she watched him adjust a picture of oxen pulling a covered wagon, she noticed how quiet the lodge had become. The only sounds were the scrape of the ladder, their soft conversation and the whistle of the wind outside. “Where is everyone?” she asked.
“Gone.” he replied, glancing down at her from the top of the ladder.
“Gone?”
“Yeah. It’s just you and me.”
He was still staring down at her as she shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
“Does that bother you?” he asked, one foot lower on the ladder than the other, his denim-clad legs at her eye level.
“Nope,” she lied. “As long as I’ve got one self-centered egotistical male bossing me around, I’m happy as a clam.”
“Good.” Gavin struggled to keep from smiling. He stepped up, and she tried not to watch the way his buttocks moved beneath the tight denim. “I figured the sooner this was done—”
“The sooner I’d be out of your hair.”
He
She didn’t bother responding. And she tried to drag her gaze away from him to keep from noticing the way his shirt pulled across his broad shoulders and the lean lines of his waist as he reached upward. His hips, too, under tight jeans, moved easily as he shifted his weight from one rung to the next.
Without warning, the lights in the lodge flickered. Gavin froze on the ladder. “What’s going on . . .” But before he could say anything else, the only illumination in the entire building came from the fireplace. “Son of a bitch!” He shoved his hands through his hair, then climbed down the final rungs of the ladder. “Stay here,” he ordered. “We’ve got an emergency generator, but I don’t think it’s operational yet.” He started down the hall, his footsteps echoing through the huge old building.
Melanie watched him disappear into the darkness, then walked anxiously to a window. Snow, driven by a gusty wind, fell from the black sky to blanket the mountain. It peppered against the window in icy flakes.
Now what? she wondered, shivering. Rubbing her arms, she walked back to the fireplace and checked her watch in the firelight. Gavin had been gone nearly fifteen minutes.
The old empty lodge seemed larger in the darkness. The windows rose to cathedral spires and reflected gold in the firelight, and the ceilings were so high overhead they were lost in the darkness.
She heard the clip of Gavin’s footsteps and saw the bob of a flashlight. “Well, so much for the generator,” he said, his lips thin in frustration.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing that some new parts won’t fix, but that’s not the bad news. We have a ham radio in the back, and I listened for a few minutes while I found these.” He held up several kerosene lamps and a couple of flashlights. “The storm is worse than they expected. High winds have knocked down power poles and some of the roads are impassable.”
With a mounting sense of dread, Melanie said, “Then I’d better leave now, before things get worse.”
“Too late,” he replied. “The road to the lodge is closed. I called the highway department. A falling tree took out several electricity poles and has the road blocked. This storm is more than the electric company can handle right now. The sheriff’s department and state police are asking everyone to stay inside. The weather service now seems to think that this storm won’t let up until sometime tomorrow at the earliest.”
Her stomach dropped. “You mean—”
“I mean it looks like you and I are stuck here for the night, maybe longer.”
“But I can’t be. I’ve got work and my dog’s locked in the house and . . .” Her voice drifted off as she saw the glint of determination in his eyes.
“You’re staying here, Melanie,” he said, his voice edged in steel. “You don’t have any choice.”
CHAPTER NINE
“I can’t spend the night here,” Melanie stated, stunned.
“That’s a crazy idea.”
“You have a better one?” Anger crept into his voice. So he didn’t like the arrangements any better than she did. Good.
“No, but—”
“I don’t have time to stand around and argue with you. Since we don’t have any power, I’ve got to make sure the pipes don’t freeze, that the building is secure and that you and I find a way to keep warm tonight.”
“But—”
“Listen, Melanie, we just have to accept this,” he said, his fingers gripping her shoulder.
“I can’t.”
He muttered an oath, “Can I count on you to help me, or are you going to spend the rest of the night complaining?”
She started to argue but clamped her mouth shut.
“That’s better.”
“I just want to go on record as being opposed to this.”
“Fine. Consider it duly recorded. Now let’s get on to business, okay?”
Ignoring the hackles rising on the back of her neck, she silently counted to ten. He did have a point, she grudgingly admitted to herself. There wasn’t much she could do but make the best of the situation. Even if it killed her. “Okay,” she finally agreed. “Let’s start by being practical. Are the phone lines still working?”
“They were fifteen minutes ago.”
“Good.” She pushed her hair from her face and ignored the fact that he was staring at her. “I need to call someone to check on Sassafras and I’d better let Bart and Lila know where I am.”
“You sure that’s a good idea?” he asked, his face a hard mask.
She bristled. “Would you rather they send out a search party? No one knows I’m up here, and believe me, I’d like to keep it that way, but I can’t.”
Gavin crossed to the bar, yanked the phone from underneath and slammed it onto the polished mahogany. “Suit yourself.”
Ignoring his temper, Melanie picked up the receiver and dialed. “Come on, come on,” she whispered as the phone rang and Gavin, blast him, stared at her in the mirror’s reflection. Finally Aunt Lila picked up on the sixth ring.
“Mellie!” the older woman exclaimed, her voice crackly with the bad connection. “I was worried to death! Bart went over to check on you and brought Sassafras over here, but we didn’t know where you were.”
Melanie squirmed. She caught Gavin’s tawny gaze in the mirror and turned her back on his image. “I brought the photographs for the lodge up to the resort,” she said, trying to concentrate on anything other than the man glowering at her in the glass. Quickly, she explained how she’d lost track of time and the storm had turned so wild. “I just should have paid more attention and left before it got so bad outside.”
“Well, thank goodness you’re safe. Now, you just stay put until the roads are clear.”
“That could be several days,” Melanie said.
“I know, but at least you’re safe.”
Safe? Melanie doubted it. She cast a sidelong glance at Gavin. His features were pulled into a thoughtful scowl, his lips thin.
She hung up and let out a long breath. “Okay, get a grip on yourself,” she muttered.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
He was standing at the end of the bar, lighting the wicks of several kerosene lanterns. He glanced up at her and nearly burned his fingers. “That’s the first sign that you’re losing it.”
“I always talk to myself.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I remember.” He looked up at her again, his eyes warm in the firelight, the angles of his face highlighted by the flame of the lantern. Melanie’s heart turned over, and she looked away quickly, before her gaze betrayed her.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll go check on the pipes and you can see if there’s anything for us to eat in the kitchen.”
“Is that what I’m reduced to—cook?”
Gavin smiled. “Gee, and I figured that was a promotion.” “You little—”
“I’ve heard it all before,” he said, striding down the hall.
“Cook, eh?” Indignantly, she grabbed a lantern and headed past the bar to the restaurant and the kitchen beyond.
Stainless steel gleamed in the light of the lantern. The refrigerators, freezers and pantry weren’t completely stocked for the season, but there were enough staples to get through several meals. They might not dine on gourmet cuisine, but they wouldn’t starve. And if she didn’t decide to poison Gavin, he might be in for a rude awakening!
She found a thermos and saved the rest of the coffee, then pulled a bottle of wine from the wine cellar. This is dangerous, she thought, eyeing the bottle of claret. Wine had been known to go to her head, and tonight, she knew instinctively, she should keep her wits about her. But what the hell? She intended to show Gavin up, and if a little claret could help, why not?
She couldn’t resist the temptation and placed the wine and thermos on a serving cart along with a huge copper-bottomed pot and some utensils.
Water presented an
Melanie threw on her jacket and gloves and braved the elements long enough to scoop up snow in several huge soup kettles. She gritted her teeth against the wind that ripped through her clothes and pressed icy snowflakes against her cheeks. Even through her gloves, her fingers felt frozen as she lugged the filled kettles into the kitchen and placed them on the cart.
She pushed the cart to the lobby and placed the kettles in the huge fireplace, then headed back to the kitchen, where she grabbed spices, bouillon mix, tomato juice and all the vegetables she could find. Thinking ahead, she added bowls, utensils and a loaf of bread. She’d never considered herself a great cook—in fact, Neil had thought she was “hopeless,” but she figured, as she shoved the cart back to the lobby, it really didn’t matter. Haute cuisine wasn’t the issue. Survival was—and, of course, showing Gavin up.
Once she was back in the lobby, she poured the juice into a huge pot, added bouillon and canned vegetables, then peeled and cut potatoes. She tossed the thick chunks into the simmering mixture and kept warm by staying close to the fire.
When Gavin returned half-frozen an hour later, he was greeted by the scent of hot soup heating on the grate. Candles and lanterns flickered on nearby tables.
He brushed the snow from the shoulders of his sheepskin jacket and warmed his hands by the fire. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the simmering pots. “What’s this?”
“Oh, just a little something I whipped up,” she tossed back.
“Sure.”
He lifted a lid, and scented steam rose to greet the suspicious expression on his face. “You outdid yourself.”
“I just aim to please, sir,” she replied, smiling falsely.
“Okay, Melanie—what’s up?”