Stands a Calder Man (Calder Saga 2)

When she had his shuddering body next to the stove, Lilli wrapped his hand around a cup of hot coffee, then left him to get the straw broom leaning in the comer. His pants were encased in a mixture of snow and ice.

“Stand still,” she ordered and began sweeping at him.

“Your floor is getting all wet,” he warned in a voice that cracked.

“Better to have all that snow on my floor than on you,” she replied briskly.

Something prompted her to look up from her task. The bluish tinge was gone from his mouth. The corners of it were turned upward to match the crinkling smile lines around his eyes. She felt an unexpected glow light up inside her and hesitantly returned his faint smile before brushing the last of the snow from him.

“We’d better take those boots off,” she suggested. “Your feet must feel like ice.” She dragged one of the chairs from the table so he could sit on it. “I guess you didn’t find Stefan.” Her questioning glance didn’t quite reach his face.

“I figure he went to Kreuger’s.” Webb lowered himself onto the chair seat, the suppleness slowly returning to his muscles. “He’s probably waiting out the storm there.” At least, he hoped the man was—for Lilli’s sake.

She appeared reassured by his suggestion. “He usually goes hunting with Mr. Kreuger. It’s likely that he did today, too, even though he didn’t mention it.” She faced him and reached out a hand. “Give me your foot.”

His boot was wet and cold, the leather stiff. It took some tugging before she succeeded in pulling it off. But she didn’t stop with removing his boots. She peeled off his wool socks as well. His numbed feet tingled painfully from the shocking exposure to warm air.

Lilli took one look at his frosty white feet and reached for the basin. A kettle of water was warming at the back of the stove. She emptied it into the basin and bent down to immerse his feet in the hot water. Webb was barely able to muffle an outcry at the shooting pain that traveled through his nerves from his nearly frostbitten feet.

“You really should take those wet pants off before you catch cold,” she remarked.

Granted, he could feel their dampness through his longjohns, but Webb didn’t think the situation called for such drastic measures. “I think I’ll keep my pants on,” he stated dryly. “If it’s all the same to you.” He arched an eyebrow at her, certain she hadn’t considered her suggestion all the way through.

The faint blush that rose in her cheeks seemed to confirm it as she avoided his gaze, but her mouth stayed in a determined line. “I am a married woman, Mr. Calder, so I have seen a man in his underwear before.”

“It’s back to ‘Mr. Calder,’ is it?” he murmured with a trace of irritation that she had managed to destroy the sense of intimacy that had been growing.

There was no response from her as she turned away, and no further argument about the wisdom of removing his pants. “I have supper hot.” She changed the subject entirely. “Would you like something to eat? It’s just bean soup—”

“That sounds fine,” Webb interrupted her before she could apologize for the plainness of the meal.

“You soak your feet in that hot water while I dish it up.” She laid his socks out to dry, steam drifting up from them.

He wouldn’t have been a man if he didn’t find it pleasing to be waited on by a woman, his every need anticipated. With unhurried movements, she set the table with flatware and a loaf of bread and a knife on a flat board. Two bowls of soup were dished out and placed on the table. Then she walked to the far end of the room where the bed sat and took something out of a trunk. When she came back, she handed him a towel and a pair of dry socks.

“You can wear these,” she said.

Webb held them a second, aware they belonged to her husband, then set them on his lap to wipe his feet dry. There was only one chair at the table, so he brought over the one on which he had been sitting. The melting snow from his clothes had left little puddles of water on the floor. His stockinged feet got wet when he crossed to the table, but Webb didn’t mention it.

“Smells good.” He sniffed appreciatively at the thick soup and accepted the slice of bread Lilli handed him. “Thanks.” The soup was too hot to eat right away, so he dipped a corner of the bread into the liquid and ate it. “It tastes as good as it smells.”

Her only response was a brief smiling glance; then Lilli was dipping her spoon into the soup and blowing on it to cool it. The silence lengthened. Webb was irritated by it.

“Are you always this quiet at the table?” he questioned, throwing a hard glance across the table to her.

“I’m sorry.” She lowered her spoon to the table, appearing ill at ease. “It’s a habit, I’m afraid. Stefan doesn’t believe you should talk at the table, not while you’re eating.”

“I see.” He bent his head, struggling with the grimness he felt. Then he shot another glance at her.

“Well, if you don’t mind, I prefer to talk while I eat. Or do you share your husband’s opinion?”

“No, it’s just always been the custom in our home.” The wind picked up its fury and rattled the tar-papered sides of the shack. Lilli tensed at the noise, feeling it push at her.

“Something wrong?” Webb asked.

“I can’t get used to the wind,” she admitted and dipped her spoon into the soup again. “It never seems to stop blowing out here.”

“It will get to you if you let it,” he remarked.