Chapter 5

One end looped and fell over to its own right, and the other end curved around like a 'C'.

"Well," she said, studying the peel. "If you look at it this way," she tilted her head to the left, "it's a 'g'. But if you look at it this way, it's an 'M'." She laughed. "Maybe I'm going to marry twice."

Thomas suddenly scooped up the peel and drove it into the hearth, causing Waneeta to jump. The peel immediately hissed and shriveled. She stole a curious look at him. Why he was so gruff? It wasn't like as if it was a 'T' or anything.

Which brought her to the question, was he married?

Her heart sank. Probably. All the good ones were.

When he saw her frown, he relaxed and grinned and said, "You'd better get busy or we won't have any breakfast at all."

Waneeta soon had the apples stewing over the fire. As she stirred them, Thomas took out a huge wedge of white cheese from the pie safe.

Once all chunked up, the cheese was set on a platter. Then Thomas took the bubbling sauce from the hook above the fire and ladled it into two bowls.

He worked around her as if she were invisible. He didn't even realize the effect he was having on her. Did he even know how sexy he was? Automatically, Waneeta inhaled. Over the scent of apples, she could smell wood and soap. Nice, she thought, manly.

Suddenly, Thomas turned. They were a foot apart, but that space around her brushed his own, and Waneeta felt the contact like a warm blanket. Immediately, she backed off as Thomas set over the fire a pot of water with a large scoop of green tea leaves dropped in.

Green tea. Finally, something that was modern.

Thomas pulled the bench out for them. Again that unseen comfort zone brushed her as she sat down. It was the most difficult meal she'd ever sat through, but she wouldn't have missed it for the world. Insane, yes, but she refused to deny her feelings.

Trying to ease the tension, Waneeta commented, "I don't usually have green tea for breakfast. I'm guessing you don't drink coffee?"

"No." He paused. "How do you take your coffee?"

"Black, with just a pinch of sugar."

Thomas, brightening, stood up. From the recesses of the pie safe, he pulled out a small tin. He opened it and gave it to her.

"Brown sugar," he said. "I know green tea is an acquired taste, but this should help."

"Thanks." She took the tin, careful not to touch his fingers as they curled around the dark canister.

Thomas returned to his meal, sitting at the other end.

For a long time, the only noise was the fire, crackling cheerfully as if enjoying the tension. She had to say something. "You know, your furniture's amazing! Are they replicas?"

He looked at her blankly for a moment, and then said, "Replicas of what?"

Laughing, she answered, "Of the originals, of course!"

Thomas looked around, and shrugged. "I assume so. There were a lot of them around before these were made."

Again, they lapsed into silence. Pondering his words, Waneeta bit into her bread. What an odd thing to say. Deep within, a peal of warning bells rang out.

How odd that she hadn't heard that warning before. Perhaps she hadn't because her bumps and bruises had distracted her. Or what if she was more injured than she realized?

No, she couldn't be.

Only when the wind moaned around the cabin, did she continue, "I guess we won't be doing too much today. What did you have planned?"

Thomas stared across the table into thin air as he popped his last piece of cheese into his mouth. When that was gone, he turned to Waneeta.

"Today I would have written in my new journal and baked more bread. Not much I can do in this storm."

She tipped her head. He had a journal? Would he write about her? If she had a journal, what would she write? She was no good at committing words to paper. Being a tomboy all her life, she'd focused more on games and sports. "I'm supposed to go to a hockey game this evening with some friends," she murmured.

Thomas lifted his brows. "You like to watch ice hockey?"

Ice hockey? What other kind of hockey was there to watch this time of year? She'd played her share of street and ball hockey, but not in the winter. Waneeta nodded, swallowing the last of her tea. "Yes. Do you?"

"Not as much as I like to play it," he answered.

"Who's your favorite team?"

"Whichever one I'm playing for."

She laughed, hearing it echo through the small cabin. Hearing it drown out the renewed peals of those warning bells again. "That's funny. Well, I'm a Toronto fan."

"Toronto! Do you travel down to watch them play?"

Shaking her head she answered, "No, not for years. I hardly even catch them on TV anymore. Too busy."

Thomas frowned. "Teevee? Like teepee?"

Waneeta stood to clear the table. "No, TV. No point talking about that here, is there? You don't even have hydro here."

"Hydro?" he queried.

She stopped halfway between him and dry sink. "You're not from Ontario, eh?"

Eyebrows raised, he shook his head. "No, I'm from upper New York State, though my father was born in Kingston. How did you know?"

"People everywhere else call it either 'power' or 'electricity'. Though, my grandmother was from New Brunswick and she called it 'the lights', but we knew she meant the power. In Ontario, though, we've always called it the hydro."

Thomas frowned. "I'll have to write those words down in my journal, to remember them."

Waneeta shook her head. This was getting, well, too weird.

Yet, Thomas was, well, intriguing. So totally unlike the jerks she'd met over the years. So what if he was a bit eccentric? There was no law against that. Frankly, it was refreshing.

They spent the next hour cleaning and tidying the cabin wordlessly until Waneeta noticed dawn seeping through the tiny window. Afterward, peering out the frosted pane, she commented, "I don't think I've been up this early in ages. I mean I'm up before the sun in the winter, of course, but not on a day off." She could see the wind still driving fat snowflakes at the cabin. The forecasters had predicted much less than this storm was giving.

Extinguishing the lamp, Thomas glanced sideways at his companion. She was bent over, peering out the window and revealing a rounded bottom he shouldn't be staring at.

She straightened, smoothing her hair. "I must look a sight. I didn't want to break your comb, so I didn't touch my hair. But I could use a change of clothes."

"You look fine, Miss. But, if you don't mind me asking, why didn't you have a dress with you? Most ladies travel with a change of clothes, don't they?" Seeing her grimace, he instantly grimaced. "I mean, the ones I know do. I think."

Waneeta laughed and like before, its music danced around his soul. "A dress!" she balked, pulling outward on a pinch of her long johns. "And wear it over my snowsuit?" she said between laughs. "You don't have any sisters, do you?"

Thomas' smile faded. "I have two. And they-"

Before he could finish, she blurted out, "Are you married?"

He paused, studying her. Was she holding her breath? He finally answered, "No." A moment later, he added, "Are you?" She didn't wear a wedding ring, but he had to hear it from her mouth. Suddenly, he realized that he, too, was holding his breath.

"No, I'm not."

There is a God, he thought.

They'd both held their breaths. He knew why he held his, but was hers the same reason? Was she as intrigued by him as he was by her?

What could they possibly do about it?

For both their sakes, he decided he needed to keep the mood light, not wanting to answer his own question. No, he needed to consider her reputation, and his father's dream.

The dream that was now souring in his stomach. Still, he forced out his most charming smile. "Not married yet? I find it hard to believe the men in Pembroke are so blind."

Was this man for real? Waneeta laughed self-consciously, ignoring the warning bells again. "Well, I've been busy working, saving my money to buy a house."

"Working!" he interjected. "Doing what?"

"I'm the manager of a sports store."

"A manager! Of a sports store? But you're a woman!"

Waneeta laughed incredulously. She couldn't let this one pass. "Glad you noticed! I've worked hard to get where I am. Don't you think I know anything about sports?"

Hurriedly, he answered, "It's not that, Miss. It's just you shouldn't have to work. I mean, you're the type of lady that should lead a pampered life."

"Good grief, I haven't yet!"

"I'd put you on a pedestal. Under glass," he said softly.

Waneeta heard the alarm bells ring again, louder. Much louder. "Here?" she teased, weakly. "For what? The local chipmunk population?"

Without answering, Thomas reached forward and lifted one of her lazy curls from her neck, his knuckles brushing her skin, causing every nerve to tingle. Waneeta's blood pounded in her veins and butterflies fluttered deep in her belly. It was all she could do to stop herself from laying her cheek on his hand.

Thomas analyzed the color of her hair. "This is a unique colour. You're a brunette, yet this morning, it's suddenly much lighter."

After a moment of strained silence, he spoke. "For oft, when on my couch I lie in vacant or in pensive mood. They flash upon that inward eye, which is the bliss of solitude. And then my heart with pleasure fills, and dances with the daffodils."

That did it for Waneeta. She didn't know of any man who quoted poetry. The very romantic core within her surged outward and silenced those stupid warning bells that had clanged all too often when Thomas spoke.

Fingering the wavy tendril, he said, "Wordsworth. My father taught Literature, and my mother loved flowers."

"Did they dance in the daffodils?"

Thomas let the curl fall. He watched it come to rest on her shoulder. "Not that I know of."

Suddenly, he hauled her into his arms, and Waneeta let out a gasp. "Come, dance with me!" he ordered and whirled her about, moving to a rhythm in his mind.

Waneeta laughed. Caught up in his spontaneous dance, she tried to follow. But only he heard the music, and she trod on his feet for proof. "Oh, I'm sorry!" she cried out as he quite deftly played the injured party, clutching his bruised toes and pulling a terrible face. She grabbed his arms. "I'm afraid I can't hear the music!"

Thomas immediately dropped his foot and yanked her close. Waneeta lost her breath somewhere between grabbing his hard biceps and his hauling her into his chest. Was it her imagination, or could she really see hunger in his eyes? Maybe it was a reflection of the need that coursed through her. She ran a nervous tongue over her lips, parting them after. Thomas tightened his grip on her, and she felt his hard frame press against her.

His chest crushed her breasts, but she couldn't find the voice to object. She wasn't planning on looking for it, either. Thomas had finally interpreted her body language correctly. She caught a smoldering look a moment before he lowered his head.

At first, his kiss was barely there, as he held his lips just high enough to skim hers, but the anticipation burned her. Then, he shifted slightly, in a way that was barely perceptible. Their lips met. Firmly, connecting with a purpose that was designed to ignite, to explore, to push all boundaries.

Waneeta answered his passion with equal fervor. They teased the other's mouth with their tongues. Each explored the warm sweetness of the other. Thomas ran the tip of his tongue across her teeth. She answered the boldness with a nip, forgetting all but that moment in time. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tunneling her fingers through his hair. She could feel his arms tighten and pull her closer than any man had done before. He crushed an arm against her bruised side. It was the sweetest agony she'd ever known and yet she knew he could give her sweetness to match. She knew how, too, and she wanted it, and she dug her fingers into his arms to pull him closer.

Thomas dared to push himself on this lady and risk her shoving him away.

She did not. She gripped and held him as if her very life depended on it. Indeed, both their lives depended on it, for the breath they shared was losing the potency needed to sustain them.

When he finally drew away, Thomas knew there could only be her, Waneeta Meadows, in his life, now. He would have to give her up today, tomorrow at the latest, but it wouldn't be forever. She'd return to Pembroke after he'd taken her to the Eganville train station, but he would search for her when spring came and he would find her.

Then they'd return here, to finish what he'd started.

Except, what about his father's dream?

Slowly, he backed away.

Flustered by his powerful kiss, Waneeta tripped lightly backwards.

Thomas reached for her. Unnerved by her reaction to his kiss, he offered a shaky apology, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have stopped so suddenly."

"It takes two to tango." She grimaced inwardly at the stupid remark.

"Tango?"

Waneeta frowned. It wasn't the first time he had queried her choice of words. Even as the bells started their clanging again, she remembered he'd quoted Wordsworth to her. And now, his fingers caressed her arms, and those stupid bells were just set to confuse her. They were crazy, a foolish reaction to her jaded view of men made louder because of the accident.

Thomas was not just a man. He was all she had ever wanted in a man. So those damn bells could go to hell for all she cared.