Snowfall at Willow Lake: Lakeshore Chronicles Book 4 (16 page)

Are you really this wonderful? she asked silently. Maybe she was blinded by the fact that she'd recently had some of the best sex of her life. She worked beside him at an unhurried pace, falling into the comfortable rhythm of the chores.

“You're good at this,” he remarked.

“I had my horse for a long time.” She felt shockingly close to tears, her emotions hovering just beneath the surface.

Noah whistled between his teeth as he finished up. They went outside again, where the shadows lay in sharp relief across the fields of snow. Sophie felt somewhat vulnerable, but grateful at the same time.

“How's your knee?” he asked.

“It's fine. It was minor, Noah, and you took good care of me.”

“We've got a full moon and no cloud cover tonight. Let's go for a ride.”

She balked. The idea of riding with him on a moonlit night just seemed so romantic. She didn't do romantic things. “It's the middle of winter.”

“We won't go far.” He was already taking down blankets, saddles, bridles. “Give me a hand with this, will you?”

“You're crazy, you know that?” Yet she found herself opening a stall, leading one of the mares out and clipping on the cross ties.

He flashed her a boyish grin, then brought out another horse. Sophie again fell into a rhythm her hands and heart remembered—blanket, saddle, cinch, leaving the correct breathing space between horse and leather. The tacking up, gently pressing downward to get the horse to drop her head. Slipping on the headstall, gently inserting the bit. She was amazed by the way simply being in this atmosphere took her back. Every day after school, she used to ride her bike through the hilly streets of her neighborhood, to the barn where Misty was kept. Sophie had loved every aspect of owning a horse, from feeding and caring for her to riding her in the arena or along the forest and bridle paths.

“You're good,” Noah observed. “I'm guessing that saying you used to ride is an understatement.”

“There was nothing more important to me in the world than my horse.” She found it easier to talk if she focused on the task at hand. The mare—Alice—appeared to be well trained, mouthing the bit a little but then accepting it.

Sophie found herself talking about growing up in Seattle, moving from neighborhood to neighborhood as her parents climbed the social ladder. Misty had been the one constant. Sophie had loved the horse with every inch of her heart. She dreamed about her, created stories in her head about the mare, smiled at the very thought of an afternoon ride.

With Noah in the lead, they rode out of the barn and into the most perfect winter night Sophie had ever seen. At the sight of the smooth hillocks, deeply carved by moonlight and shadow, she caught her breath and turned to Noah. “This is another first for me, riding at night, in all this snow.”

“Your knee still okay?” Noah asked.

“It's fine.”

He headed across a pristine pasture, his horse churning a trail through the deep snow. She pressed her heels into the horse's sides and followed. There was that momentary jolt of pure exhilaration, bringing on a flood of sensation so intense that tears sprang to her eyes again. The cold air on her face, the warmth and strength of the horse, the unparalleled scenery all combined to sweep her away. She and Noah didn't talk as they rode up a broad, treeless slope. The horses' breath created clouds of mist, softening the landscape until it took on a dreamlike quality. At the very top of the slope, they stopped to look down over the farm, the untouched road, the lights twinkling in the houses along the lakeshore. Sophie relaxed forward over the mare's neck, just letting herself feel rather than worry and plan. “Thank you,” she whispered, addressing both the horse and Noah. “This is beautiful.”

“I figured you'd like it.”

She wondered how far it was to town, having the wild idea of going to see Max and Daisy. On a horse. They would think she'd really lost it.

On the way back, Noah showed her the best sledding hill on the property, a grove of sugar maples Gayle tapped to make syrup, a small bridge over a completely frozen streambed. This was his world, the one he'd always known. It was a place she felt entirely safe, even in the aftermath of a record-breaking snowfall. She found that she liked being snowed in. Being forced by nature to slow down, to stay close to home, was not such a bad thing, particularly with Noah as company.

She shouldn't have waited so long to ride a horse again, but the lessons of the past had cut deep. As a girl, she'd given too much of herself to the bond with her horse—at least, that was her parents' view. They warned it was a distraction from more important matters, like school, sports, music and the kind of extracurriculars she could benefit from later on, when she was trying to get into college.

Over the years, she'd learned that there were different kinds of losses, and the worst were the ones she had brought about herself. Her fears, anxieties and ambition had eventually driven a wedge between her and her children.

Now she felt a sturdy sense of possibility. She was here for a purpose—to reclaim her family. This was her shot, her chance to rebuild her life. Meeting Noah was…an unexpected beginning. She had no idea if it would turn out to mean anything, but she felt curiously lighthearted as they groomed and put up the horses.

Then, as they walked to the house, she felt his hand at the small of her back. They went inside together, and she peeled off her boots and heavy jacket. The next thing she knew he had her backed up against the hall closet door and was kissing her into a state of willing submission. She didn't speak up, even when she had the chance. And in that instant, that brief heartbeat of hesitation, she was lost, and without her even saying anything, he knew it. He pulled her against him and imprinted her with another kiss that defeated every reservation she had. When they came up for air, she was obligated to whisper, “I didn't come here for this,” echoing his words to her.

“But I'm not letting you leave without it,” he said, and kissed her again.

The next day, Sophie awakened alone—no Noah, no warm puppy. She tensed, bracing herself for the leftover terror of nightmares. Then she opened her eyes with a soft gasp of disbelief. The nightmares weren't there. They didn't seem to be lingering like cobwebs she couldn't shake off. It might be an aberration, or maybe she'd turned a corner.

Hoping it was the latter, she got up and, almost without thinking, grabbed a plaid flannel shirt and slipped it on. She instantly felt better. The fabric, worn soft, held a hint of Noah's scent. Hugging the shirt around her, she went to the bathroom to put herself together. This was getting out of hand. She couldn't keep falling into bed with Noah Shepherd simply because they were snowed in. Simply because it was what every cell in her body wanted to do. It was impulsive, self-indulgent behavior, and she needed to exercise a little control. Yet she'd made some sort of decision, hadn't she? Perversely, that was the one element she loved surrendering to Noah—control. With him, she was able to live in the moment, to immerse herself in sensation the way she never had before. It was a kind of insanity, yet he acted as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe for him, it was.

She scrubbed her face and vigorously brushed her hair, then went downstairs with a new sense of resolution. The snowfall had ended. Surely the road would be reopened today. Ordinary life needed to resume, and in ordinary life, she had to focus on her kids and how she was going to be their mother from now on.

She glanced at the small writing desk by the window. There was a stack of blank paper and a selection of pens, and she found herself remembering Dr. Maarten's advice to her. She was supposed to write things down in order to release them. The idea was simple. Take something festering inside, and let it out.

I don't have anything festering inside, she'd told the doctor. She had actually said so with a straight face. And to his credit, he hadn't burst out laughing. Now she really had found relief—in sex with a stranger. An insane act that was restoring her sanity. “Just write down something each day, large or small. Write down a conversation you wish you'd had with your captors. Write down something you wish you'd said with someone close to you, but never did.”

Now that was an assignment. In a hundred years, there would never be enough time to cover that. She wished she'd been more forthright with her parents, back when she was young and too preoccupied with not disappointing them. She wished she'd had a thousand honest conversations with Greg, and maybe the derailment of their marriage could have been averted. She wished she'd managed to make her children understand why she had let a sense of mission keep her away from them. And her captors? Good God. She couldn't even begin to write down what she wished she had told them.

She decided to take a stab at some of these conversations. She took a piece of paper and started, “Dear Dad.” And then nothing. Not because she had nothing to say but because she had too much. She faced the same dilemma with “Dear Greg.” And then “Dear Daisy and Max…” She wondered what her children would think if they knew how she'd waited out the snowfall. She hoped they would never find out. Instead of writing a note, she made a list of momlike things she hoped to do. Go to Max's hockey games. Help Daisy make a baby book for Charlie. Sign a progress report. Learn to bake cookies.

It was a start. She folded the list and slipped it in her pocket. Following her nose to a pot of coffee in the kitchen, she found evidence of an early breakfast—a cereal bowl in the sink. Ugh, Cocoa Puffs. Judging by the tracks in the snow, she concluded that Noah had gone out with the dogs. She fixed herself a cup of coffee and hoped he would be back soon, so she could explain that this…whatever
this
was…probably wasn't a very good idea. Or was it?

A pity,
she thought. Because as bad ideas went, this one felt completely wonderful. She sighed and hugged herself, took her coffee to the front room and added a few more items to her list. Through the window, she spotted a small group of parents and children at a roadside bus stop. The road appeared to have been plowed and sanded.
Yes,
she thought.
I finally get to see Max and Daisy.

So life was going on. One mother was standing behind a little girl, braiding her hair, while others stood back and chatted while the kids chased each other around the bus shelter. A moment later a black-and-yellow school bus lumbered around a bend in the road and ground to a halt with a gnashing of air brakes. A surge of children in snowsuits and backpacks piled toward the open door of the bus. Watching the hugs being dispensed, Sophie felt a deep and elemental clutch of emotion. It was a simple, mundane moment, a mother seeing her child off to school, yet to Sophie the experience seemed rare and special.

Noah came into the room and hugged her from behind, nuzzling her neck until she practically melted. He smelled of the outdoors, fresh snow and wood. “That's the same bus I used to ride as a kid,” he said.

She tried to imagine living in one place all her life. “Did your mother stand at the bus stop with you every day?”

“Nope. She was too busy working. But my grandmother was always there.”

“I see—well.” As she watched, the bus swung wide around a curve, its broad yellow flank looming ominously close to the guardrail. She tensed, her mind veering sickeningly to a moment in the van. She reeled her thoughts back in, then relaxed against him as the bus chugged away in a cloud of exhaust smoke.

She caught herself wondering if Noah liked kids, but asking him was way too personal, despite last night's intimacy. It was also date talk:
Do you like kids?
was obvious code for
Are you a decent prospect for settling down?

It was not the sort of thing you asked a guy, even one who rescued you from ditches, brought you firewood, fixed you macaroni and cheese. Who gave you addictive, orgasmic sex, again and again.

“You're too quiet,” he commented. “What are you thinking?”

Like she'd tell him that. Still, she felt like talking. “Seeing that—” she gestured outside, where the mothers were heading back to their houses “—makes me feel guilty. I never did that for my kids, never waited at the bus stop with them.”

“Most serial killers would say the same thing.”

“I'm serious, Noah. I've got a lot to answer for. This divorce—I've handled it poorly. Kids are supposed to go with their mother after a divorce, right?”

“There's no ‘supposed to.' Every family's different. I'm sure you did what was best under the circumstances.”

“That's interesting, because I'm not sure at all.”

“How's the knee today?” he asked. “I hope you didn't overdo it last night.”

It took her a moment to realize he was referring to the riding, not the sex.
All right,
she thought. He didn't want to talk about her kids. Of course he didn't. And she didn't blame him one bit.

“It's fine. I've got an appointment to see a doctor in town.” She'd found Dr. Cheryl Petrowski in the phone book and, solely on the strength of her name, had made the call. Ordinarily Sophie would obsessively research a doctor before committing herself to her care. But being so new here, she had to take a leap of faith.