Christmas on Crimson Mountain Page 3

  “I’m fine,” she said, but bit down on her lower lip. “Have a seat and dinner will be—”

  He flipped on the faucet as he came to stand next to her. Before he could think about what he was doing, Connor grabbed her wrist and tugged her the few feet to stand in front of the sink. He couldn’t seem to stop touching this woman. He pushed up her sleeve and positioned her hand under the cold water from the faucet. “If the burn is bad enough, it will blister your fingertip.”

  “I wasn’t thinking, but I’m not hurt,” she said softly, not pulling away.

  She was soft against him, the warmth of her both captivating and an irritation against the shell he’d wrapped around himself. She smelled subtly of lavender, and Connor could imagine April standing in a field of it in the south of France, her red hair a beautiful contrast to the muted purple of the plants. Fanciful thoughts for a man who’d become rigid in his hold on reality.

  “It’s better to be safe.”

  He didn’t want to examine why he kept his grasp on her wrist and why she didn’t pull away. She wasn’t going to blister—the burn from the foil was a surface injury at most. That meant... He met her gaze, gentle and understanding, then jerked away as if he’d been the one scalded by the heat.

  “What do you know about me?” he asked through gritted teeth.

  She took a moment to answer, turned off the tap and dried her hand before looking up to him. “Only what I’ve read in old news reports.”

  Gripping his fingers on the edge of the granite counter, he forced himself to ask, “And what did they tell you?” He’d purposely not read any of the press after the crash.

  “Your wife and son were with you during the promotional tour for your last book release three years ago. There was a car accident on the way to an event—another driver crossed the median and hit you head on—they were both killed.”

  “We all should have died in that wreck,” he whispered.

  “You were thrown from the car. It saved your life.”

  She didn’t dispute his observation, which he appreciated. Part of why he’d initially cut so many people out of his life after the accident was that he couldn’t stand hearing any more theories about why he’d lived while Margo and Emmett had died. That it was fate, a greater plan, some universal knowing to which he wasn’t yet privy.

  Connor knew it was all nonsense. If there had been any sense in the tragedy, it would have been for him to perish while his beautiful wife and innocent son survived. Anything else was blasphemy as far as he was concerned.

  “Unfortunately, it did,” he agreed, wanting to shock her. He’d spent hours wishing and praying for his own death in the months after the accident. His whole reason for living had been stolen from him, and he hadn’t been strong enough to save either his wife or son. He’d wallowed in grief until it had consumed him. The pain had become a part of his makeup—like another limb or vital organ—and it pushed away everyone and everything that didn’t make it stronger.

  Eventually, the grief had threatened to destroy him, and Connor had shut it down, his will to live stronger than his wish to die. But in excising the pain, he’d had to cut out other parts of himself—his heart, the connections he had to anyone else in the world who he might fail with his weakness. Perhaps even his creativity. The ability to weave stories was so much a part of him that he’d taken the gift for granted. Except, now it was gone, and he had no idea how to get it back.

  The feel of April brushing past pulled him from his thoughts. She placed a plate of food on the table at the one place setting and bent to light the candle that sat in the center of the table.

  “That’s not necessary,” he told her, his voice gruff.

  “I light candles for all the guests.” She straightened. “Would you like wine with your meal?”

  “Water, but you don’t have to serve me.”

  “Actually, I do,” she said with a wry half smile. “It’s my job, and I’m good at it.”

  “Why aren’t you asking me questions about the accident?”

  She studied him for a moment, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  He shook his head.

  “That’s why,” she said simply, and walked back to the kitchen to fill a glass from the water dispenser in the refrigerator.

  The fact that she wasn’t pushing him made Connor want to tell her more. As soon as people started asking questions, whether it was his editor, the therapist his publisher had hired, or one of his sisters or his mother, Connor shut down.

  Yet the need to share details of the nightmare that had defined his recent life with April was almost overwhelming in its intensity. His chest constricted, an aching reminder of why he kept silent. To talk about Margo and Emmett was to invite pain and sorrow back into his life. Connor couldn’t do that and continue to function.

  “I’m going to check on the girls,” she told him after placing the water on the table. “I’ll be back in a few minutes—”

  “What if I want you to stay while I eat?”

  She paused, meeting his gaze with those big melty chocolate eyes. There was something in them he didn’t understand, not pity or wariness as he would have expected. It looked almost like desire, which he couldn’t fathom. He had nothing to offer a woman like April, someone so full of light and peace. The darkness inside him would blot her out, muting her radiance until she was nothing. That’s how the darkness worked, he’d realized, and there was little he could do to stop it.

  “Then I’ll stay,” she said.

  He let a sneer curl his upper lip. “Because it’s your job?”

  She didn’t blink or look away. “Because you asked me.”

  A lightning-quick bolt of emotion passed through him, forcing him to take a step back when all he wanted to do was move closer to her. The unfamiliarity of that urge was enough to have him piling the silverware and napkin on the plate, then picking it up along with the glass. “I’m going to eat in my room. I have work to do on an important scene for the book.”

  “You can leave your plate outside the bedroom door,” she said in that same gentle voice. What would it take to rattle a woman like April? “I’ll clean it when I get back.”

  “Fine,” he said, purposely not thanking her or acknowledging the effort she’d put into the meal that smelled better than anything he’d eaten in ages. His rudeness was another shield, and he’d need as many as he could create to resist the things April made him feel.

  Chapter Three

  April let herself into the main cabin before sunrise the next morning. The girls were still sleeping and, before leaving the caretaker’s cabin, she’d prepared a pan of cinnamon rolls to bake when she returned. She needed to make breakfast for her cantankerous guest but didn’t want to take the chance of seeing Connor again so soon. The previous night had jumbled her nerves in a way she barely recognized.

  Connor Pierce was arrogant, ill-mannered and a borderline bully. But the pain she’d seen in his eyes when he spoke of the accident that had claimed his wife and son touched her at a soul-deep level. Just as his actual touch made her skin heat with need. Her reaction was inappropriate at best and, more likely, damaging to a heart she’d learned the hard way to protect and guard.

  Thankfully, he hadn’t reappeared last night when she’d returned to clean the kitchen. His empty plate had been left on the counter, the cabin quiet as she’d put everything away. A light had still burned in the upstairs window when she’d walked across the dark night to her cabin but that had been the only indication Connor was still awake.

  April was grateful since she wasn’t sure she would have been able to resist questioning him more on the heartbreak of losing his family. There was no doubt the grief had been substantial, and she could use advice on how to guide Ranie and Shay through the sorrow of losing someone they loved, ev
en if the circumstances were totally different. April had thought she understood heartbreak after her divorce but later realized that the scars from Daniel leaving had more to do with rejection and humiliation than love.

  She started coffee, preheated the oven and then unpacked the lidded container she’d prepped at the other cabin. There was a nonstick muffin tin in the drawer next to the oven, and she began to dump egg-white-and-vegetable mix into the openings. Each move she made was quiet and purposeful so as not to make noise. Her goal was to get everything ready, then leave before Connor woke.

  “You’re up early.”

  April jumped at the sound of that gravelly voice behind her, the mixture sloshing over the side of the glass bowl. “Is your goal to give me a heart attack?” She set the bowl on the counter and grabbed a wad of paper towels to clean up the mess.

  “You spook easily,” he told her. “It’s the only time you raise your voice.”

  “You shouldn’t sneak up on people. It’s rude.” Tossing the paper towels into the trash can under the sink, April turned, planning to enlighten Connor Pierce on what she sounded like when shock turned to anger. The words caught in her throat at the sight of him standing on the far side of the island wearing only a pair of loose gym shorts, his chest broad and hard and glistening with sweat.

  Glistening. Oh, my.

  “There’s a workout room downstairs,” he said, wiping a small white towel across his face and down his front. April followed the movement, the muscles and smattering of hair across his chest making her mouth go dry. She’d thought herself immune to men and the heavy pull of attraction since her divorce. Many of her girlfriends in Crimson were involved with handsome men, but April had never noticed any of them other than with the affection reserved for brothers.

  What she felt for Connor was different and dangerous.

  Instead of berating him more for startling her, she asked, “Do you need anything?” and hated that she sounded breathless.

  “A shower.”

  Spoken in his deep voice, those two words sounded like an invitation. April felt her cheeks color. She grabbed the muffin tin and shoved it into the oven, hoping the heat that wafted out would provide a decent excuse for her blush. “I can have breakfast ready in about twenty minutes. Are you always up at this time?”

  “I don’t sleep much.”

  “Too inspired?”

  She’d been referring to his writing, but one side of his mouth kicked up like he’d taken the question another way. “Not yet,” he answered. “But there’s time for that.”

  She didn’t understand his mood this morning. He was relaxed and almost flirty, different from the tense, bitter man she’d encountered yesterday.

  “Working out helps me,” he offered, as if reading her mind. “Gives me an outlet that I find calming.”

  “I teach yoga,” she said with a nod. She opened the dishwasher and started putting away the clean dishes. “It does the same thing.”

  “Do you teach at Crimson Ranch?” He moved closer, took a seat at the island. Connor seemed unaware of the effect his upper body was having on her, and she tried to ignore her reaction. Even if he hadn’t been a guest, this man was not for her.

  She filled a glass with water and placed it on the counter in front of him. “During the summer months, I teach at the ranch. There’s also a community center in town that offers classes, and another studio between Crimson and Aspen.”

  “You’ve done yoga for a while?” he asked, taking a long drink. A droplet of water traced a path along his strong jaw, then over his throat and down the hard planes of his chest. He wiped it away, then met her gaze. It took April several seconds to realize he was waiting for an answer to his question.

  “Almost fifteen years.” She concentrated on unloading the dishwasher as she spoke. “I had some injuries from dancing when I was younger, and yoga helped my body heal. I owned a studio in California for a while.” She’d loved the studio she’d built from the ground up, but it had become one more casualty of her illness and then the divorce.

  “But you teach for other people here?”

  April felt her eyes narrow. Connor was a little too insightful. The woman who owned the private studio outside of town had offered to sell the business to April on several occasions. Marty was in her seventies, ready to retire and move closer to her adult children and their families, but she felt a loyalty to the local clients she had in the area. April knew the older woman had received offers from at least two national chains, but Marty hoped her studio would remain locally owned.

  “It gives me more flexibility,” she answered.

  “Do you travel?”

  She focused her attention on the basket of knives and forks. “No.”

  “Have a big family?”

  She shook her head, not liking where this line of questioning was leading.

  “Why is flexibility important?”

  How was she supposed to explain? It was the answer she always gave, and no one had ever questioned her answer. Not until Connor.

  April loved Colorado and the town of Crimson, but as much as she was grateful for a new start and the friends that were part of it, there was something missing. A broken piece inside that prevented her from truly committing to this town the way Sara and so many of their friends had in the past couple of years.

  There was too much at stake for April, because if she devoted herself to making a life here the way she had in California and then lost it again, she wasn’t sure she’d survive. It was easier to play the part of caretaker and helpful friend. Those roles allowed her to be a part of the community without investing the deepest pieces of her heart and soul in anyone.

  Giving too much—feeling too much—left her vulnerable to pain, and she’d had enough pain to last a lifetime.

  “Why do you care?” she asked, slamming the empty silverware basket back into the dishwasher and closing the machine’s door. She hated how this man riled her but couldn’t stop her reaction to him any more than she could deny the attraction she felt. All she could do was ignore them both.

  He pushed the empty glass across the counter. “Just making conversation,” he said as he stood, his gaze steady on hers. There was a teasing light in his eye, and awareness danced across her skin in response. He didn’t seem upset by her rudeness or realize how out of character it was. But she knew and it scared her. “We’re the only two people here so—”

  “Actually, we’re not.” She placed her palms down on the cool granite and leaned toward him. “There are two sweet, sad girls in the other cabin who are afraid to make a sound in case they get me in trouble.”

  “They don’t belong here,” he said, the warmth in his voice disappearing instantly.

  “They don’t belong anywhere,” she countered. “That fact doesn’t make it easier to manage. I’d think you would understand—”

  “I’m here to work.” He pushed away from the island. “Not to play grief counselor.”

  “How’s the writing going? Is being alone in this cabin inspiring you?”

  She thought he’d walk away so was surprised at his quiet answer. “I’m always alone.”

  Just when she’d worked up a good temper, one that could hold her attraction at bay, he’d done it again. Let a bit of vulnerability slip through the impenetrable shields he had to curl around her senses.

  April understood alone. She knew the emptiness of loneliness but also the safety it provided. She didn’t want to have that in common with Connor, because it was a truth she hadn’t shared with anyone else in her life. If he recognized it in her...

  “You don’t have to be,” she said quietly, and the words were as much for her as him. She wanted to believe them even as the fear that lived inside her fought against it.

  “Yes, I do.” He ran a hand through his hair, the damp ends tousling.
“I’m going to take that shower.”

  “Breakfast will be ready when you’re finished. I’ll—”

  “Leave it,” he snapped. “I don’t need you to wait on me.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand. “Don’t worry. I won’t complain to anyone. It’s distracting to have you in and out. Leave the food and I’ll take care of myself. I’m used to it.”

  He didn’t wait for an answer before stalking from the kitchen.

  April blew out an unsteady breath. She was making a mess of this. Sara still had ties to Hollywood and continued to act when the right roles came along. Not as much since expanding the ranch, but the studio that held the movie rights to Connor’s books was important to Sara. It’s why her friend had agreed to arrange two weeks at the cabin for him. It was also why Sara had asked April to step in and help. April’s talent was caring for people. It was something she enjoyed and a gift she used both at the ranch and while teaching her yoga classes. She normally had an easy way with even the most demanding guests.

  But she was at her worst with Connor, and she hated it. As abrasive as he could be, he was also her client, and he’d survived a life-altering tragedy that should make her more sympathetic to him.

  She imagined that Connor hated sympathy—she had during her battle with breast cancer. The pitying looks and fake support from the women she’d thought were her friends had added an extra layer of pain to her life. Those so-called friends had said the right things but quickly distanced themselves when the treatments robbed her of strength, her looks and most of her dignity. Only Sara had remained at her side, driving her to and from appointments and helping her to move when Daniel had filed for divorce in the middle of her second round of chemo.

  The oven beeped, drawing her from her thoughts. She removed the egg muffins and placed them on a rack to cool. Pulling a plate from the cabinet, she set the table, poured a small glass of juice, then set a bowl of cut melon next to the plate. Connor may not need someone to look after him, but that was April’s job here. She was going to take care of that man whether he liked it or not.