I bend over and push the top off it. Baby bottles are packed around hot water packs. I unwrap one and show it to Angelica. “I got the bottles from a hospital in Ely. They’re meant for babies with cleft palates, but they work just as well for kits too young to suckle.”
She edges closer, her arms wrapped around her chest. She wrinkles her nose and grimaces.
I chuckle. “I should have warned you that the formula is kind of smelly.”
“Yuck! What’s in that?”
“A bunch of disgusting stuff, from raw egg yolks to vitamins. Trying to fool them has been an uphill climb. But don’t worry about it. Are you ready to see them? I promise they’ll touch your heart.”
Her eyes fly to mine. “And if they don’t, I might not have one. Is that what you’re saying?”
Slowly, lazily, I study her face. “You’re not all that sure what you think of all this, are you? If you even trust me or believe what I’m saying about what I do for a living? You don’t think you’re going to be tempted into caring. You think you might be one of the haters in Sweetheart Hills by default. And a lot of people don’t. A predator is a predator. And these guys were born wild and they don’t have any desire to be tamed. But if you give them a chance, you just might fall in love.”
She gives a little shiver, then shifts her attention from my gaze, looking all over for the sign of a den or something where the kits might be. “Where are they?”
“Right here.” Stuffing two bottles under my sweater, I bend under the shadowed branches of a spruce and then go flat belly in the snow.
She crouches down too.
“You can’t see them from that far away,” I say, welcoming her warmth. “You have to come closer.”
Snow showers her head when she elbow crawls to my side. The nest isn’t exactly a cave, more like a long, low ledge of rock that tunneled in several yards, the opening concealed entirely by the spruce and stark winter black brush. Once inside, the darkness is as sudden as night. My pupils have to dilate to see anything after the blinding glare of the snow. But I can see the tiny eyes, and then another pair and another. The fur balls are nestled in a heap, with tiny shiny noses and tiny floppy ears, and gorgeous pelts of light grey.
The tiniest one lets out a lonely, angry bark, echoing an adult fox, except that his volume is more like a rodent being chased by a cat. He thinks he’s real tough for a two-pound bit of fluff. I plug his mouth with the strange-tipped bottle, and he instantly quiets down. I sneeze again, worrying I might catch a cold on this crazy venture with this alluring woman – but I want to show her what I do.
Who I am.
And I’m not really sure why.
But I want to share a part of myself with her. The part that matters most.
“Aw,” she says in a voice barely above a whisper. “They are the cutest things ever. You were right, Knight.”
Chapter Four
Angelica
“Dammit!”
As soon as I kill the car lights, I drop the keys on the floor mat. Bending over, I grope around until I find them, then collect my mittens, purse, and Instant Pot. Holding all of them, I have no way to open the door, so I rejuggle. Eventually, I escape the vehicle, holding the heavy pot with both hands and give the vehicle’s door a swift kick with my foot to close it.
This is a lot of trouble to go through just to bring a man some homemade beef stroganoff. But I owe him. Big. And I plan to deliver so I can get rid of the guilt that still plagues me. He saved me from the bears. The three bears. Just call me Goldilocks and shut the damn book. And probably saved me from myself, if truth be told. Not to mention Jess at the coffee shop, that douche nozzle. And so I came up with this as a way to express my gratitude. The way to a man’s heart and all that.
The offer to bring him supper was impulsive and yet he pounced on it. No waving my offer to the side. No protesting. Nothing. Almost like he wanted to see me. Like he wanted me in his house bearing food and regret. His fast agreement worries me a bit. Men have a habit of reading into a woman’s offers of kindness.
But I’m not trying to get to his heart.
Or even his pants.
Am I?
Nah, I’m just feeling beholden and guilty and that’s all. Nothing more.
My arms ache from the weight of the Instant Pot as I glance around. He’s home because I can see his four-wheel drive parked behind a trailer. Yellow light shines from the windows, making lonely patches of color in the snow. Even this early in the evening in Minnesota it’s already pitch black in winter. He decided to set his temporary home in the middle of nowhere, isolated in a nest of black trees and sooty shadows. An icy, eerie wind shivers through the treetops, making me hiss in an uneasy breath.
If I were back home in southern Iowa, it would be warmer. Not angry cold like it is up here almost at the Canadian border. But I’m not staying out here. No way. I’m just going to hand him the Instant Pot and he can bring it back to me once he’s done enjoying his carb extravaganza courtesy of me. He can throw away the extra or put it in the freezer, I couldn’t care less.
I couldn’t care less about him. I’ve sworn off men. I have.
Dammit, Angelica. You can’t do that. That would be rude with a capital R.
Despite my head screaming at me to flee, my mom raised me better than that. Twice the man saved my butt from being in a really bad situation. I could have been hurt either time, or worse. Manners require an appropriate and heartfelt thank you. The only danger I’m risking now is frostbitten cheeks from standing outside worrying about what he’s going to think of me being here at night.
Alone.
With him.
I take a breath, march to his doorstep and use my elbow to knock. The knock only creates a muffled sound, but the door promptly flies open. Warmth floods out, kissing my cheeks and halting the words that dance on my tongue. I only have one quick glimpse of my giant savior, whose shoulders are not meant to fit in the metal doorway of a rental trailer.
“Damn, Angelica, I was getting worried about you. Thought you got lost out there on the utility road and I was going to have to go out in the cold to fish you out of another snowbank.”
Despite my wariness being here alone with him, I catch a flash of an easy smile – very non-threatening – and I exhale a little bit of my fear. I smile back. “Nope. You gave me great directions. No issues getting here. And the road was surprisingly easy to navigate due to the snowpack.”
He reaches down the steps to take the heavy pot from my hands. “This smells great. Come on in.”
I shake my head. “Nah, I should get going.”
I swear disappointment flashes in his eyes before he masks it. “You have to work at the coffee shop?”
Glancing around, I shake my head. “Not tonight. I only work four nights a week. But I only meant to bring you supper. I don’t want to intrude on your privacy.”
“You’re going to make me eat alone? When you’re already here? And I haven’t had anyone to talk to today but wild animals? That’s harsh.”
His mournful tone makes me roll my eyes. But he’s right about lack of interesting adult conversation. I don’t get much of that anymore myself. Gingerly, I step inside. “Okay, I can stay for a bit.”
He doesn’t seem to hear me, or doesn’t care, and he hasn’t let go of the pot. He inhales and moans. “I haven’t had a homemade meal in ages. Is it okay if I admit my undying love for you and pasta?”