Home > Michigan for the Winter(5)

Michigan for the Winter(5)
Author: Rebecca Sharp

Glancing at the thermometer wired next to the front door, I caught the silver bar holding steady at a balmy four degrees Fahrenheit. Typical.

Shoving my arms into the sleeves, I quickly bundled myself up and took a look at the result in the small mirror hanging next to the door. Neither my dad nor my uncles ever used the thing, but my mother had bought it and my dad could never bring himself to get rid of certain things.

Usually, I didn’t look twice before leaving the house since the majority of the living things to see me during the winter had four legs and fell into the category of ‘prey.’

But, after the way Ryan looked at me at Hurd’s, I was suddenly… curious… what he saw.

My coat was massive compared to my actual frame. Thick with feathers and several years out of style, it definitely wasn’t made for me but it sure as hell kept me warm; a Michigan winter was a force to be reckoned with—that was why I’d been named for it. My orange hat was jarring against my pale skin and equally pale hair, the unruly mass shackled in two French braids along the sides of my head and trailing down over my shoulders before disappearing beneath the jacket.

The quick click of nails over the wooden floor were echoed by the insistent whimper, my needy and naughty pup demanding my attention.

With a long sigh, I turned and flipped on the radio sitting on the small end table near the recliner by the door, knowing Chewie might be content enough to climb onto my dad’s favorite chair, listen, and not cause trouble for the few minutes I was gone.

“Looks like they are calling for a fresh seven to nine inches at the end of the week…”

“Great,” I said to myself, making a mental note to mention something to my tenant. Tipping my head and narrowing my gaze, I warned Chewie, “I’ll be right back. Don’t you even think about going for my spare slippers or you’ll be sleeping in the snow.” A complete lie.

 


I rapped on the door and waited, my gaze straying with a kind of nervousness I’d never really felt before. I examined the doorframe, the slats of the front of the cabin, I even let my eyes drift to the SUV parked off to my left.

He hadn’t gone anywhere yet, so why wasn’t he answering?

I pulled off my glove and knocked again, making sure my knuckles made good contact with the solid wood.

Shifting my gaze to the front window, I rolled my lower lip between the edges of my teeth. The cabin didn’t have window coverings. Why would it? There was no one else around for miles. Except me.

But I knew enough to know that peeking through open windows wasn’t appropriate to do to someone—especially a guest. I hadn’t been raised a complete savage. Just a partial one.

It was fine. I would wait.

It was only another couple seconds before my wandering mind crossed the border into worry.

What if he had fallen?

What if he hadn’t been able to light a fire and was freezing to death?

What if I’d severely injured him and he hadn’t been able to call for help? Was that even possible?

Panic ousted propriety and before I knew it, I was at the edge of the window to the right of the door, gripping the frame with one hand and using the other to cup next to my face so I could peer inside.

Table. Kitchen. Fireplace. Couch. Man in towel—

MAN IN TOWEL!

My jaw dropped.

Ryan walked out of the bathroom, the towel not even tied around his waist, his hand simply holding it over his—my jaw dropped, my eyes growing rounder than a Michigan full moon. I only had a single second to appreciate the irony—a single second of watching the most gorgeous, almost-completely-naked man I’d ever seen turn to reveal his very sculpted, very bare ass before my neck tipped forward in my stalking stupor, and my forehead whacked loudly on the glass of the window.

Angry eyes whipped in my direction and even though I jumped back from the pane, there was no way he hadn’t seen me there—seen me watching.

Oh, double damn.

My cheeks were on fire as I hopped back in front of the door just as he yanked it open with a steely glare and curl of his lip.

“Hi,” I squeaked with an awkward slight wave, unable to stop myself from glancing over his naked torso, his muscles pulled taut into carved knolls on his abdomen and the flats of his nipples pebbled in response to the frozen air. “It’s a bit nipply—I mean, nippy out today.”

Way to go, Winna. You’re just flying down the one-way street to awkward creeper.

“Why were you looking through my window?” His fingers tightened on the doorframe.

“Well, funny story.” I laughed weakly. “I knocked first, I swear. Twice, actually. But you didn’t answer. So, then I worried you might be frozen. Or severely injured. So, I just wanted to—”

“Spy on me?”

“Check! I just wanted to check and make sure I didn’t see anything ass—I mean amiss.”

I didn’t know about him, but I was roasting. Shoving my gloves in my pockets, I partially unzipped my jacket to just below my lips, my breath escaping in a heated plume against the hollow, cold air.

“Well, here I am. Alive,” he ground out. “You don’t need to check on me again.”

I winced. It was a fair request. I’d been bungling this entire relationship—renter-rentee relationship—from the start.

“Wait.” I flattened my palm against the door before he could shut it in my face again. “I have something for you.”

His expression didn’t move.

“I promise it’s not canned,” I said with a weak laugh. Nope, still too soon. “I just wanted to apologize for getting off on the wrong foot, so I came to offer you some freshly jerked meat.”

I beamed, smiling with relief that I’d managed a single task that was injurious or inappropriate.

Until his eyes widened and his head tipped to the side. “Excuse me?” He blinked.

Oh no.

“Unless you don’t like your meat jerked.” My brow furrowed. Who didn’t like jerked meat? “Do you not like your meat jerked?”

He blinked, staring at me oddly.

“Do you… not… like your meat… jerked?” The question sounded off as I asked it, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. “I promise you’ll love it.”

There it was again. Shock. Disbelief.

“I’ll love,” he repeated, sliding his gaze slid down, not over me, but over himself to the front of his towel, before lifting back to mine. “Having my meat jerked?”

I started. What the—

“Oh, no.” Horror came over me, realizing exactly why my question sounded off. “No. No. No.”

Frantically, I shoved my hand inside my coat, snatched out the sealed package from the inside pocket, and extended it to him. “Jerky. I brought fresh jerky. Venison jerky.”

I couldn’t say jerky enough to erase the seed I’d planted, seemingly offering to jerk him off.

I shook the package at him, demanding he take it—and hiding the nervous tremble of my limbs.

First, I nailed his nuts. Then, I’d been caught watching him through the window. And now, as a peace offering, I’d inadvertently offered to give him a hand job.

Ryan reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose and then he laughed. Not full-blown. But just enough to flex his shoulders and tighten his stomach—just enough to make my mouth water a little. I glanced around, almost hoping there was a witness to the noise—the first sound of friendly fire between us.

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