Page 29 of Surrender

Her pretty lips part in surprise. “That was nice of you.”

I scratch my cheek, suddenly feeling like my skin is the wrong fit. “I’ll be outside clearing snow if you need anything. Help yourself to anything around the house. There are blankets in the hall closet if anyone is cold. Feel free to eat and watch TV. I’m sure I’ll be a couple of hours.”

“I’ll keep them contained,” she says.

“I’d rather you were comfortable and made a mess.”

Her nose wrinkles across the bridge. “I think Bennett has done enough of that.”

“Might want to double diaper that kid.”

She laughs, and I find myself grinning at seven in the morning like a damn fool.

I quickly wipe the smile away.

“Anyway, I’ll be just out there.” I hook a thumb dumbly over my shoulder. “Shout if you need anything.”

A sleepy smile tugs on her lips. “I probably won’t, but thanks for the offer.”

I turn on my heel and leave before any more dumb things find their way out of my mouth.

* * *

Even beneath thick chopper mittens, numbness pricks my fingers. The feeling in my toes disappeared about half an hour ago despite wearing wool socks. The ice hidden under the layers of thick powdered snow crackles beneath my boots. The roads remain unplowed. White stretches as far as I can see, not another living thing in sight, and based on the five-foot snow drift at the end of my driveway, I doubt anyone will be out for hours.

This blizzard is insane. I’ve cleared nearly my entire driveway over a couple of hours, yet a new layer already clings to the ice. The path from the front of the house to the back patio is also finished. I managed to start both vehicles and move them into the garage out of the elements. This way, when either one of us is ready to leave, we won’t have to clear the snow off them again. By the looks of things, we might even be stuck here for another night.

I wonder if Whitney will regret asking me to stay once I tell her.

It can’t be later than ten in the morning, and we’ve been in one another’s presence for all of five minutes, but the revelations I had in those five minutes will be hard to ignore once I go back inside.

One, she’s pretty. And my stupid eyes can’t seem to get the message to stop fucking staring at her.

Two, she’s on her own. And I’m not the type of man to sit around and not help. Hence the pancakes, the dinner, the shoveling, helping clean up her kids, and just about anything else she might or might not ask of me today.

Usually, my initiative isn’t a problem, but I have this feeling. Foreign and persistent. A little voice whispers in the back of my head that I’m enjoying this. That I like helping with Lucy and holding Bennett for her. I like granting her a reprieve when she doesn’t ask for one and doesn’t expect it.

And at the same time, I want to kick my own ass for teasing at something that can never be. I’ve never been about that life. The family man. Not a bone in my body has ever been interested.

Swirls of snowflakes whip my cheeks, reminding me it’s time to head inside before frostbite sets in. I pull my hat low on my forehead. I tow the snowblower back into the garage and lean the shovel against the wall until the next round falls, and I return to do this all over again.

Then I roll my shoulders and prepare to step inside to the unknown that waits there, doing my best to douse these sudden flames of interest.

9

Whitney

A howl of wind accompanies the sound of the door creaking open. My heart leaps straight to my throat, bracing for what news Jack might bring. I’ve put on fresh clothes and brushed my hair and teeth since he woke me a few hours ago. The taste of maple syrup still lingers faintly in my mouth.

“Whitney?” His gentle voice precedes him around the corner. His skin is stained pink from the cold. His brown hair a tousled mess atop his head from his knit hat.

“Hi,” I greet cautiously. Not being in control of my situation has a current of nerves sizzling beneath my skin. The anticipation of not knowing what he’s about to say and how I’m going to react to it produces a solid rock of uncertainty in my stomach. “How is it out there?”

He runs his long fingers through his damp hair. “Not good. Everything is coated in ice, and the drifts are about five feet high in some places.”

“Have the plows been around?”

“No. And I’m sorry to say that since we’re so far out, we’ll probably be one of the last ones.”

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