Love After Snowfall Read online

  He nodded, a chuckle escaping.

  Her frown extended. “I fail to see what’s funny about this, Mr. Knapp. Someone shot you, and apparently, it wasn’t me.”

  CHAPTER 2

  “It wasn’t you?” Ezekiel sat up in bed too fast, and the movement sent excruciating pain down his frame. He uttered a mixed oath and fell backwards on the mattress. “You’re … the one … who fired.”

  She turned her back on him and wandered to the stove. “I did not fire the bullet I pulled from your leg. First, it was the wrong caliber. Second, the angle of it would be impossible from where I was standing. Third, my bullet will still be in the moose.”

  “But I only heard one shot.” Then again, it had echoed. He’d assumed it was one shot.

  “The mountains multiply the sounds,” she said, confirming his thoughts.

  The sizzle of frying meat took over the small cabin along with the smell of onions, and his stomach growled.

  “It seems you have an enemy,” she continued.

  An enemy? But he’d seen so few people coming here, and none in the last couple weeks. There’d been the pilot that’d flown him in initially and, before that, the couple who ran the store in the nearest town. There was also George, a mixed-race Eskimo who passed by his cabin every now and then.

  He’d certainly meant no one any harm. Honestly, what was there about him to hate?

  “Why shoot me in the leg?” he asked. “If whoever did this wanted to kill me, he should’ve aimed for my head or my heart.”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “Perhaps they have poor aim, unlike myself.”

  Touché. He’d asked for that. “I owe you a debt for saving my life.”

  She neither smiled nor frowned. “You owe me nothing. I helped an injured man as I would have expected help for myself.” She lifted two metal plates from a shelf by the stove and set them on a small counter running three feet along the same wall, then spooned out the breakfast concoction, returning the frying pan to a back burner of the stove. She plucked a fork from a coffee mug.

  “Can you raise yourself?” she asked.

  He looked down at his leg. Not after his last attempt at sitting.

  “Here, then ...” She placed the plate at his side and turned the fork toward his fingers.

  He took a bite, chewing slowly, his eyes trained on her face. It was quite good, the moose. At least, he assumed it was the moose.

  “It’s to your satisfaction?” she asked.

  He wiped his chin with the back of his hand. “Both the food and the company.”

  She gave a short nod and went back for her own plate.

  “Tell me,” he asked her between bites. “Why is a lovely woman like you living here alone?”

  She’d seated herself at a small table against the far wall and didn’t respond right away, but continued with her meal. He took another bite.

  After a minute elapsed she set her fork down. “I wasn’t alone. You would like some water?”

  “Please,” he replied.

  She dipped him a cup from the barrel and brought it to him. Turning it upward toward his lips, she held the handle while he drank.

  “Who were you with?” he asked.

  Why did it matter? She was alone now. For saving his life, he owed her whatever privacy she wanted.

  She moved back to the table. “His name was Nathan. He was my husband.”

  Her husband? Startled, Ezekiel halted mid-bite. Her face showed great pain and sorrow. This really was none of his business. He silenced. He wouldn’t ask.

  Neither one spoke for quite some time. Having finished his meal, Ezekiel lay back on the cot. “Thank you for the food.”

  She rose and recaptured his plate. “I’m glad you liked it since we are stuck together.”

  She started to go, but he reached for her, pulling her short. “Clementine.”

  She turned her gaze to his, and their eyes settled on each other.

  “I’m thinking Nathan was a lucky man.”

  The first hint of a smile appeared on her face. It was only a glimpse, but it was there. She detached herself and wandered over to the wash basin. “He was, Mr. Knapp,” she replied. “He really was.”

  ***

  Snow began falling on Clementine’s way back to the cabin, effectively covering any trace of whoever may have shot Ezekiel Knapp. Though she’d stopped at the site of the shooting and looked anyway, there’d been nothing to see.

  The temperature was dipping fast. It’d be much colder tonight than it was last. Not that she was cold last night because she wasn’t.

  Despite the chill in the air, her face warmed. Ezekiel Knapp had proved a comfortable sleeping companion. Also, a gentleman. He’d teased her about their arrangement, but shown respect and compassion about the loss of Nathan, not prying into the story, and she appreciated that.

  The ground rolled away beneath the snowmobile runners, each snow-laden mile like the last.

  Truth was, she was tired of being alone. Nathan’s loss had thrown it upon her, forcing her to survive by doing the chores he’d always done. Learning to cope had proved helpful in her grief. It was the evenings that stretched out the longest, hours of quiet with nothing to do but read the same books she’d read a thousand times or remember their time together—laughter, love-making, the sharing of hopes and dreams.

  As a result, she’d closed in upon herself and lost the ability to feel. It was easier that way. Probably it had made her short-tempered. She’d certainly snapped at Mr. Knapp well enough. Nathan used to say he liked her fiery spirit, that it made things more exciting. Yet she remembered plenty of times, he’d been upset, times they’d clashed and argued. And made up after.

  She blew out a frosty breath. It did no good to recall those memories. She must concentrate on the very real dangers of the present and the man who’d taken up residence with her. He wasn’t Nathan, and it’d do her best to remember that.

  Sight of the cabin came welcome on the horizon. A thin trail of smoke escaped the chimney, dissipating in the snowy air. Parking the sled outside the front door, she unlocked the latch and pushed it open.

  Ezekiel gazed at her down the barrel of the gun she’d left him. He smiled and lowered it to his lap. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d abandoned me.”

  “It was a long way,” she replied. “I have to hang the meat still. But if you’re hungry …”

  “Bored,” he said. “Food can wait.”

  She nodded and reached a hand down to pet the dog. “I’ll return.”

  Completing her task took the better part of an hour. She brought a portion of meat indoors and laid it in the pan. But no sooner had she begun to cook it, than her house guest interrupted.

  “Unfortunately, I have to get up,” he said.

  She brought her gaze to his face.

  “Nature.”

  “I’ve brought you the pail.”

  He hesitated. “Dignity’s a tough thing for a man. If I can stay off the leg, I think I can manage it.”

  She set the frying pan aside. “The outhouse is too far. But if you wish, I’ll set the pail outside the door and fashion you a crutch.”

  He nodded.

  Leaving the cabin, she walked toward a section of trees a couple hundred yards away. She eyed the brush for a suitable limb that might support Ezekiel’s weight. He wasn’t a big man. Nathan had been taller, but Ezekiel was perhaps in better shape. She rubbed one hand across her cheek, the remembrance of his body suddenly fresh in her thinking.

  She should not struggle with this. Nathan was gone, so she broke no rules noticing Mr. Knapp. But then Nathan wasn’t gone very long, and that made her interest guilt-ridden. She shouldn’t want to move on and certainly not with a perfect stranger.

  Her unruly thoughts having distracted her from her task, she looked up to see she’d walked further than intended. Revolving on one heel, she angled herself toward a fallen limb that seemed the right structure. But the grunt and chuff of some creature’s breath hal
ted her in place.

  Bear. She eyed the distance and spotted the brown shape and a pair of beady eyes. Her pulse took up a pace that captured her breaths. She was unarmed, and despite the late season and his bent toward hibernation, he’d be faster. She risked a glance toward the cabin. There wasn’t any option but to make a lot of noise and hope the bear would flee.

  Raising her arms over her head, she stretched to her tallest and clapped, making a yipping noise at the same time. The bear swung himself left, his head lowered. She repeated the gestures and stepped back.

  “Go, bear,” she said.

  Her feet fumbling over the icy ground, she back-peddled further.

  The bear emerged and rose on powerful hind legs. She shifted her gaze, avoiding any eye contact that would anger him, then speaking calmly, stepped away one foot at a time. At the edge of the trees, she paused.

  The bear lowered himself onto his front paws, seeming to contemplate his next action. A noise from behind sent him skittering into the forest.

  Clementine glanced toward the cabin and the figure leaning on the door post. “Mr. Knapp.” She scampered to his side and wrapped herself around his waist. “I told you to wait.”

  “Sorry, Clem, but nature’s not waiting.” His voice was throaty and hoarse. “You took too long.”

  “I encountered a bear, which fortunately decided you were too much of a threat.”

  Ezekiel gave a short laugh. “Imagine that, ‘cause my leg feels a bit like it’s falling off. If you could get me that pail …”

  She released him and reentered the cabin. “Of course.”

  ***

  “You don’t have to sleep down there,” Ezekiel said.

  Clementine turned her gaze upward. “I’ll be fine.” She nestled harder into the pallet she’d made on the floor, but a steady ache arose in her spine. She gritted her teeth in an attempt to ignore it.

  “You’re not fine. What’s hurting?”

  She exhaled and rolled flat. “My back.”

  He leaned out over the edge of the bed, and his face appeared over her head. “I’m not Nathan.”

  She chewed on her lip, unspeaking. She’d told herself that already. Hadn’t she?

  “And I have no designs on you,” he added.

  “I cannot,” she replied softly.

  “It’s only us sharing warmth and comfort, Clem. You’re in pain, and I’m in your bed. It’s that simple.”

  She stared into his eyes, her determination wavering.

  “Come up here, and let me massage your back.”

  With a sigh, she pulled herself from the floor. But she hesitated, staring down at the bed space he’d made for her. This was wrong. She shouldn’t. But the floor was far worse.

  She sat at last, and he brought one hand to her spine. “Whereabouts is it?”

  “Lower,” she said.

  His palms took up a gentle knead of her flesh. “Tell me how you injured it.”

  “My sister and I were playing on the stairs. I was seven.”

  “A sister? Older or younger?”

  “Younger. Annalise.” She shut her eyes and soaked in the rhythmic working of his fingers.

  He shifted them downward, rolling his knuckles back and forth. “This’d be easier without the shirt,” he said. “Just the tail of it.”

  She nodded, and he rolled the hem of her shirt upward. The heel of his hand pressed warm on her skin.

  “So you were playing on the stairs and then what?”

  “She wouldn’t let me past her, so I tried to force my way but fell. It was a pretty good fall. The house being high off the ground because of the mountains I impacted hard.”

  “Where was this?” He stopped his massage, and taking hold of her shoulder, tapped her flat onto the bed.

  She gazed up at him. “North Carolina.”

  He lowered the blanket over her. “You grew up there?”

  “Yes.”

  He tilted his head. “Did she have red hair?”

  “No. Blonde. My mother’s is red. And to answer your next question, my parents are still alive and still live there.”

  “Alaska is a long way from home. You came here with Nathan?”

  She nodded. “He built all this, the cabin, the furniture.”

  Ezekiel tugged her against him, and she made no protest, but laid her head in the nook created at the base of his throat.

  “He was talented,” Ezekiel said. “I can see you loved him very much.”

  She said nothing to that. She had loved him very much. He’d come into her life, sweeping her off her feet, and she’d followed him to the end of the earth, literally. Anywhere she could go to be near him, to have one more moment with him, she’d been willing to do. But her devotion had killed him. Her eyes burned, and she shut them to prevent crying. However, a tear leaked out anyhow.

  The swipe of Ezekiel’s thumb flicked them back open. “It’s okay to cry over someone you loved, Clem. I know he should be here and not me, but I’m grateful for what he’s left behind.”

  She studied this stranger leaning over her. He was a long way from being Nathan. In some ways, he had what Nathan had not—patience, tenderness. Nathan was mostly harsh. Not with her, he’d loved her and treated her kindly, but everything he did had been focused more on what he wanted to accomplish.

  “Where are you from, Mr. Knapp? Since I have told you mine.”

  He lay back on his pillow. “Juneau.”

  Her gaze widened. “Alaska? But you have so little experience.”

  He laughed. “What makes you say that?”

  “You were in the woods, ten miles from any shelter. It’s not safe in the winter. You could have frozen.”

  “Teepees,” he said.

  “Teepees?”

  He nodded. “Yes, I have several built along the way. They’re quite warm. An Eskimo named George showed me how.”

  “So your family lives here?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “My mom moved to Minnesota with my brother and sister. I stayed behind. Alaska was dad’s heritage, not hers.”

  “It’s hard being solitary,” she said.

  He seemed to contemplate that and raised himself onto his elbow again. “I know I’m not Nathan, but …”

  “But what? We are strangers.”

  “Not anymore and not ever again, I hope.”

  The warmth of the bed and their mingled bodies calmed the tension battering her mind, and her questioning thoughts eased.

  “You want me to be him,” he said.

  Yes, she did, and that was unfair. Ezekiel was his own man, with his own feelings and opinions. It was unfair to compare them like this.

  “I can accept that,” he continued. “He’s what you’re used to, and now, I’m a substitute.” He brought his face closer. “Tell me, what would he say right now?”

  “Right now?” she asked.

  Ezekiel nodded. “What would Nathan call you at this moment?”

  Clementine considered his question, reaching into her memories for the sound of Nathan’s voice. It came weak, faltering, washed thin by time. “He wouldn’t have spoken at all,” she said, after a minute had passed. “He would have kissed me.”

  Ezekiel leaned closer. “Then close your eyes and see his face.”

  She drew her brow tight.

  “Just do it, Clem.”

  She obeyed. The sounds grew louder—the pop and crack of the fire in the grate, the swish of snow through the window glass, Timmy’s even breathing at their feet. Ezekiel’s mouth on hers sent a tingle racing up her cheeks. Her own eager response, the parting of her lips, the begging for release, followed by the supple feel of his tongue made her tears fall afresh.

  Nathan hadn’t kissed her like that, but Ezekiel would have no way of knowing it. His overtures had been bold, like he was, daring. Not sensitive and giving like this.

  Ezekiel pulled back and unspeaking, tucked her head to his chest. One of her hands raised, almost involuntary, scooping beneath his shirt to a pl
ace in the center. “I’m not Nathan,” he said quietly.

  No, he wasn’t, and she understood that now. He was different and deserved to be seen on his own terms. “Who are you then?” she asked.

  “Ezekiel Knapp. Right now, the luckiest man on the planet.”

  ***

  Her head bent over his wound, Clementine swabbed Ezekiel’s skin then rewrapped the bandage. “I don’t like the look of it.”

  His hand on the back of her head turned her face upward. “Meaning what?”

  “I have nothing here to prevent infection. The nearest town is some twenty miles or more.”

  His fingers shifted to her cheek. “Do you have a radio?”

  “No. The battery died long ago.”

  His face said he wasn’t happy she’d been living here without any means of support. Yes, it was foolish, but traveling into town had become more and more of a hardship after living so long alone.

  He lowered his arm. “I have one.”

  She pulled the bed covers around his body and made to rise, but the weight of his hand on her sleeve tugged her down. She capitulated and lay back beside him.

  “My cabin’s only ten miles, and with your snowmobile, we could make it in a day.”

  “A long day for you.”

  He’d risen twice, once yesterday and once that morning. Both times he’d collapsed afterward, his skin washed of color and his breathing erratic. “I can do it.”

  She rolled onto her side, her back facing him. “Then what? They take you away.”

  He rose up on his elbow. “Why, Clem, I’m starting to think you like me.”

  She pulled away with a huff.

  Scooping her hair off her neck, he pressed his lips at the base. The warmth of the gesture swept through her, a tingle going down to her toes.

  “I like you fine enough,” she replied.

  He tipped her face back around with his fingers. “How long have you been out here by yourself?”

  She moistened her lips, and his gaze followed the motion of it.

  “A little over a year.”

  “A year?” His brow creased.

  She nodded.