Witness On The Run. Susan CliffЧитать онлайн книгу.
way toward the front office, which was open but unmanned. The smell of fresh-brewed coffee awaited him. He helped himself to two cups. He didn’t know if Tala liked cream and sugar, so he grabbed packets of both.
“There’s oatmeal,” Ann said, emerging from another room.
He glanced at the cooking pot next to the carafe. His stomach growled with interest, but his hands were already full. “I’ll come back for it.”
“I can deliver two bowls to your cabin.”
A flush crept up his neck at the thought of Ann coming to his door and catching a glimpse of Tala in his bed. He felt like a teenager who didn’t want his mom to find out his girlfriend had slept over. “No need.”
Ann smiled at his quick response. “Thanks for splitting logs.”
“I enjoy the work.”
She nodded, and he escaped the cozy space in a hurry. He had no reason to be embarrassed. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He’d slept next to Tala without crossing the line. Even if their night hadn’t been innocent, so what? Surely Ann had seen worse in her days as innkeeper. Drunken hookups, seedy affairs, hard partying. She wouldn’t blink an eye at Cam’s pretty young guest. Unless she assumed he was married, which might be the case. He was still wearing his wedding ring.
He winced at the oversight. He’d put it on again a few weeks ago, after a disastrous Thanksgiving at his parents’ house. His mother had invited one of Jenny’s friends—one of her single friends—in a clear attempt at matchmaking. He’d left as soon as possible, claiming he had an important delivery.
Women had flirted with him before, and he’d felt nothing. No whisper of temptation. No need to armor himself with proof of his lack of availability. This time was different. He hadn’t been interested in Jenny’s friend. He’d thought of the waitress at Walt’s Diner, someone he hardly knew, and he’d been struck by a wave of intense longing, mixed with sorrow. It hit him like an avalanche, knocking him off-balance. He’d found his ring and slipped it on. He’d needed a protective shield, because his attraction to the waitress had triggered new pain. His grief had felt staggering, insurmountable.
That was the problem with moving on. It hurt more than standing still.
He took the coffee to the cabin and set the cups down on the mantel by the fire. He poked the ashes and added some wood. Tala stirred at the sound. She sat up in bed with an abruptness that suggested she’d forgotten where she was. Her gaze connected with his, and recognition dawned. She returned to a reclining position, her trepidation fading.
She trusted him not to try anything sexual. Which made sense, he supposed, because he’d kept his hands to himself all night. But if she could’ve read his thoughts in the wee hours of the morning—or right now, for that matter—she wouldn’t look so relaxed. Because he wanted to climb into bed with her. He wanted to kiss away the hurt her husband had caused and show her how a real man treated a woman.
Heat crept up his neck at the thought. Of course he wasn’t going to make a move on her. He wasn’t ready for that kind of intimacy. He was still wearing his wedding ring. The only way to stay numb was to keep his distance.
“I brought you a coffee,” he said. “Do you want oatmeal?”
She nodded, rising to her feet. She looked rumpled and sexy in his flannel shirt. Her eyes were sleepy, her legs a mile long. When she tugged on the fabric to make sure she was covered, he averted his gaze. He knew she was bare beneath it. He’d seen her pale blue panties hanging in the bathroom. He’d touched them this morning—to see if they were dry. To feel the silky material and imagine it against her skin.
After she went into the bathroom, he released a slow breath. He needed to get a grip before he embarrassed himself. He cleared his throat and left the cabin, sucking in the cold air. There were two servings of oatmeal in disposable cups with lids at the front desk. He carried them back to the room, plastic spoons in hand. Tala was sitting by the fire, sipping coffee. They shared a simple hot breakfast in silence.
He wasn’t eager to get on the road again, despite his discomfort in her presence. He wanted to make sure she was safe before he left town. He hadn’t expected to be so concerned about her welfare, but they were in an unusual situation. They’d spent the past twenty-four hours together. They’d shared personal stories. They’d even held hands.
Cam might be numb, but he wasn’t dead. His protective instincts were working overtime. So was his libido, if he was being honest.
“Do you have another load to deliver?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’m supposed to pick it up this morning.”
“What direction are you headed?”
“North, on the Dalton.”
It wasn’t a trip she could take with him. The Dalton Highway was the deadliest stretch of road in Alaska. There were almost no facilities, and constant obstacles. Whiteouts, avalanches, ice patches, snowdrifts.
“You could stay here,” he said, on impulse.
“In Fairbanks?”
“In this cabin.”
Her lips parted with surprise. She hadn’t expected him to make this offer. That made two of them.
“I know the owner of this place, like I said. She might hire you.”
“To split logs?”
“Or for lighter work.”
“I can handle heavy work.”
He believed her.
“The owner is a woman?”
“Yes.”
“How well do you know her?”
Cam rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Her husband was a trucker. He died on the Dalton. Since then, I’ve been coming around to do chores for her.”
“Do you really trade services?”
“She gives me a discount. Also, I like it.”
“You like helping women?”
“I like splitting logs.”
She studied his face with skepticism. “Is there anything else you enjoy doing for her?”
He smiled at her question. “Like what?”
“You know what.”
“She’s pushing seventy. My generosity doesn’t extend quite that far.”
Tala set her coffee mug aside. “These cabins aren’t cheap. Even if she hired me, I couldn’t afford to stay here.”
“I can afford it.”
She shook her head in refusal. She wouldn’t allow herself to depend on him, or anyone else, and it pissed him off. She had no belongings, no money, no job, no resources. She didn’t even have a change of clothes. But she’d rather strike out on her own than kick back in this cozy cabin on his dime.
What was wrong with her? What was wrong with him, for that matter?
He should never have given her a ride in the first place. His contract prohibited picking up hitchhikers. She was clearly in trouble with the law. He should be cutting her loose, not trying to keep her around. He didn’t understand what he was doing. He’d made a series of bad decisions upon meeting her. Emotional decisions that threatened his current, stark existence. He’d brought her inside his rig to get warm, and warmed himself in the process.
If he wasn’t careful, the protective layer of ice he’d been hibernating under would thaw. Then the real pain would come.
“At least let me buy you a change of clothes,” he said. She had nothing to wear. He wasn’t leaving her on a street corner without any pants. “I have to go to Walmart and get some supplies anyway.”
She