Snowbound
is, going back the second time would be harder.”
Alarm flared on her face. “You won’t be deployed
again?”
“I’ve been discharged,” he said unemotionally. “I’d
be a liability now with this leg.”
“Oh.” Her voice was just above a whisper. “I’m glad.”
His throat felt thick. He couldn’t say anything.
“I can tell you don’t like talking about it. But…thank
you for explaining. The look on your face today…”
She shivered, seemingly unaware that she hugged
herself.
“I’m sorry I scared you.” The apology felt and sounded
inadequate to him, but he didn’t know what he could add.
Generous woman that she was, Fiona offered him a
smile that looked untainted by anything he’d said or
done. “Not to worry. Now, come on, admit it. Surely
you can use some help feeding the crowd.”
She wanted to stay here in the kitchen, with him?
Stunned, John said, “You’re a glutton for punishment.”
Now the smile became merry. “No, if I were a glutton
for punishment, I’d be in the great room with eight
teenagers. Instead I’m hiding out in the kitchen with
you. At least, I’d like to hide out in the kitchen with you.
If you’ll give me an excuse.”
He didn’t know when he’d felt luckier than he did
right now, realizing that Fiona MacPherson was giving
him a second chance.
“You might collect wet clothes and start a load of
laundry. Then you can help me with lunch.”
“Oh, good.” She sounded buoyant, as though he had
relieved her mind in some way. “I can at least pretend
I’m being useful.” She headed for the swinging door,
pushed it open and gave him a last bright smile over her
shoulder. “I shall return,” she promised.
For the first time, he wondered if, once the road was
plowed and the van back on it, Fiona would think about
coming back. Just her. If he asked.
Oh, yeah, his inner voice scoffed. Just what she’d
want: to be alone in the lodge with the guy who’d thought
terrorists were shooting from the woods today.
But she’d seemed to buy his explanation. And a
couple of times these last two days, when he’d looked
at her and the air seemed to leave the room, he’d have
sworn she couldn’t breathe, either.
He looked at the pile of frozen chicken breasts he’d
brought out and wondered what he was supposed to
do with it.
Refrigerator. Oh, yeah. That was it.
As for Fiona, she wouldn’t be escaping Thunder
Mountain Lodge tonight, and maybe, if he was lucky,
not tomorrow. So he had time to…well, hint. See if she
was interested, unlikely though that possibility seemed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
FIONA NOTICED that John sat at the opposite end of the
table from the boys at dinner and ate quickly, his head
down. Trying to pretend to herself that she wasn’t conscious of him every single second, she was left to referee the far-ranging discussion and squabbles.
Dieter admitted to liking—appropriately enough—
a musical group called Snow Patrol.
“You like alternative?” Troy sneered. “What, do you
listen to Modest Mouse, too?”
Dieter was unperturbed. “Yeah, and they’re brilliant.”
This called for taking a poll of musical tastes, always
a delicate matter as it exposed rifts in their world views.
Eminem and Hilary Duff might both top the charts but
did not otherwise pull up their chairs to the same table.
Only Willow’s youth saved her from being savaged by
her admission that Hilary Duff and Aly and AJ were her
favorite artists.
“Oh, and Ashlee Simpson,” she added.
Troy opened his mouth.
Fiona interjected, “To each his own. I like Ben Folds.”
“Yay, teach!” Dieter cheered. “He’s awesome.”
Troy turned his incredulous stare from the more
vulnerable Willow to someone who could stand his
own ground.
“What, are you like some twenty-three-year-old
computer geek?”
“No, then I’d like techno, and I don’t.”
Fiona let them bicker, so long as they left Willow out
of it.
She stole a surreptitious look down at the table. What