Melt

“Oh, don’t worry,” Cargo Boy chipped in. “You’re off the scale.”

Hunter’s dimple resurfaced; the guy was killing himself with laughter.

“Oh yeah, you’ve got four yesses,” Tool Belt Two said with TV talent-show enthusiasm—and then howled with laughter.

Emma snorted. “You think that’s going to make it better?”

“Except, what’s with that thing on your head?” Hunter asked. “It looks like a nun’s wimple.”

“It’s hard getting paint out of your hair. The less I get in, the easier it is for me at the end of the day.” Emma was quite happy with the way her hair was tucked out of the way in her cute hat—wimple indeed. She turned her back on his teasing smile and the way his gaze raked down her body. They might have agreed to no smut talk, but that didn’t stop either her body or brain reacting like he was some kind of sensual ignition.

“So, you’re a full-time artist?” Tool Belt One introduced himself as Alex, and he followed Hunter out to look at her equipment and plans spread on the table.

“No.” She laughed. “As nice as that would be, painting doodles or murals doesn’t pay the bills. I’m a receptionist at one of the hotels out by the airport.”

“So how’d you land this gig?”

“I was incredibly lucky,” she answered with her pencil between her teeth as she started taping up her surface. Damn lucky. And damn determined to prove she deserved the ticket.

“No, you’re obviously talented.” Hunter looked up from her design plans. “Where did you train?”

Emma paused. “I didn’t. I’m self-taught.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” She’d spent more hours than she could remember sitting in the local library sketching. She’d read every art book in the collection. It had always been her escape. “So I need to prove myself more than anyone, I guess.”

Later, Hunter sat next to her in the mess at lunch. She figured they looked a right collection in their paint-splattered gear. She stretched the kink from her back as she reached for her mug of coffee.

“You’re stiff?” he asked.

“I’m okay.” She blushed at the concern in his expression.

“You should visit the sauna tonight.”

Not when he’d already warned her that he knew which were the lockable ones.

“Don’t worry.” He laughed at her expression. “I wasn’t going to invite myself along.”

Now there was a fantasy—and she was troubled enough with them already. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen a guy swing a hammer before, but seeing Hunter Wilson use his muscles and get sweaty? That was something else entirely.

It had to be the fumes getting to her. Or the freezing cold had her body reacting in a weird and opposite way.

The afternoon sped by in a haze of fine detail on her vast mural. But after her sauna and shower combo, Emma hurried to the phone in the main building’s lounge to dial for the zillionth time. She really needed to know Grandma Bea was okay.

“What’s wrong?” Hunter asked when Emma appeared.

“I can’t get through to my grandma Bea,” she answered quietly. “She’s not answering her phone.”

“Is that unusual?” His brows furrowed with concern when she nodded. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

“Come on, get your outdoor gear on,” he said to her after she’d tried yet again.

“Why?”

“Just trust me,” he encouraged.

Twenty minutes later, they climbed onto the four-wheeler he’d managed to commandeer. Emma strapped on to the pillion seat at the back and was glad Pam had insisted she need so many gloves.

“Sorry I couldn’t get a Hägglund, but this will do.” He fired the engine of the snow-bike. From the safety training, Emma knew he was licensed to drive all the vehicles here. She also knew where they were going. She’d watched him write it in the sign-out book where she’d had to sign out, too.

She breathed in the vicious cold and held on tightly to him for life—not that there was anything intimate, what with all the layers between them. Yeah, this was the harshest, most hostile environment on the planet. Left out in this air without proper protection, you’d be dead in a matter of hours. But there was a certain security knowing you were part of a team, all looking out for one another—making sure the gear was working and clean and fit for purpose, making sure everyone was accounted for. That security was new to her. She liked it—already she knew she’d miss it. Her heart dropped a shade lower than where it ought to be. Why couldn’t there be backup like that in the real world?

The American base was huge—so big there were roads instead of paths and what looked like a million buildings. But Hunter seemed to know exactly where he was going.

“Try calling again from here.”

He’d led her to a telecoms and computer suite.

“Really?”

“Yeah, and if you can’t get through directly, why not get a friend to call her?”

Because she didn’t have many friends to call on. But maybe she could get one of her workmates at the hotel to check? Why hadn’t she thought of that sooner? She’d been in panic mode. She grinned at him. “Thanks.”

“I’m signing on a computer for a moment.” He nodded to the screens in the other room.

“Okay.”

But she couldn’t get through to her colleague, either. She guessed everyone was out at Christmas functions. She walked back into the computer room, sat at the terminal next to his, and studied the icons on the screen.

“You can Skype here?” There were data limits at the other base, which meant calls over the net weren’t possible.

“Sure.” Hunter leaned closer to his screen. “If there’s enough bandwidth, which at the moment there seems to be.”

A quick glance showed Emma he was reading some long, technical-looking document. She focused on her computer again and logged in to all her accounts—she’d e-mail another colleague and get her to check on Grandma Bea. She was halfway through the note when her computer started beeping. Someone was calling her Skype account. She didn’t recognize the ID—but she soon recognized the face on the screen.

“How come you’re on Skype?” Emma nearly fell off her chair. “You have a computer?!”

“Young Ashe from down the road got it set up for me.” Grandma Bea might as well be in the same room; her voice came through so clearly.

“Ashe?” She remembered him—about seventeen, dressed completely in black, hiding behind too-long bangs of hair, and with a sullen attitude to match.

“Shouldn’t he be at school?” Emma’s alert button went off.

“It’s the holidays.”

Even so. “He’s not downloading lots of stuff, is he?” Nothing like porn or malware or whatever.

“Only the programs to get this going. He’s done a wonderful job.”

“Make sure he doesn’t download anything he shouldn’t.” Although how Grandma Bea would know that, Emma wasn’t sure.

“You wouldn’t do anything dangerous would you, Ashe?”

Embarrassment crept over Emma as she saw the black-clad, spiderlike figure step out from the corner of the room. Great. The punk must have overheard her every bad-implication word.

“You should

see how fast he works the keyboard. It’s a marvel. And he’s very patient in explaining it all to me.” Bea grinned.

“Hi, Ashe.” Emma tried to look both friendly and watchful. He better not think he could scam an old lady.

“He’d be the perfect young man for you to go steady with. I’ll introduce you properly when you get back.”

Emma choked back the yelp of indignation.

Ashe’s face remained completely impassive. It must annoy the hell out of his teachers at school.

“That’s okay. Thanks, Bea.” Emma was too young to be a cradle snatcher. Ashe wasn’t even legal!

There was a sound of muffled amusement beside her.

“Oh, you’ve found a steady already?” Grandma Bea leaned so close to the screen you could see the pit marks in the fifty-year-old pearl necklace she always wore.

Emma winced, glanced beside her, and winced some more. “What are you doing sitting there listening in?” She didn’t even try for a stage whisper.

“I’m sorry… Thought you’d finished.” Hunter wheeled his swivel chair right next to hers.

As if she’d finished? She’d only been online two minutes.

Bea was now leaning so close to the screen you could see the hand-carved bits of her dentures. “Who are you?”

“Don’t answer that,” Emma mumbled.

“Hunter.” He smiled like he was a preppy heartthrob out to impress the elders. “Pleased to meet you.”

Grandma Bea looked pleased, too, as she sat back and gave him as much of an up-and-down look as she could. “Are you taking care of my Emma down there?”

“I’m trying my best, ma’am.”

Emma banged the side of her knee against his. Hard.

“Are you a scientist or something?”

“No, I’m a volunteer.”

“Oh.” Bea looked disappointed. “Not in the army?”

“I work with the army sometimes, but I’m a private contractor,” he explained. “I’m used to working in dangerous territories.”

And in less than ten seconds Emma knew more about him than she’d managed to find out in the last four days.

“You want me to keep an eye on Emma for you?” he positively drawled. He was in very dangerous territory now.