Page 10 of High Intensity

Guess that’s a valid point.

She kicks off her boots and leaves them by the back door, then sheds her coat, hanging it over the back of a kitchen chair.

“It’s already warming up in here,” she observes, as she starts bustling around the kitchen, grabbing mugs and a box of tea from a cupboard.

I unzip my parka and slide a hip on one of the kitchen stools. Then I quietly watch Jillian pull the pan off the burner, pour hot water in the mugs, and slide one of them toward me.

“Want sugar or milk?”

I throw her a look she seems to think is funny, because she bursts out laughing.

“So noted,” she mocks me, before changing the subject. “Well, thanks to you, I’ll be able to warm up the white chicken chili I made last night, I would’ve hated to throw that out. There’s enough for both of us, but sadly, I don’t think I can do a decent cheese and garlic toast as I had planned without an oven, so I’m going to have to offer you a rain check on that.”

Although I’ve never heard of white chicken chili—and am admittedly a bit apprehensive at the sound of it—I guess I’m invited to dinner. I’m not going to object.

“Do you have tinfoil?” I ask her.

She looks confused, but opens a drawer and pulls out a roll. “I do.”

“I left the edges of the fireplace free. As long as your garlic toast is wrapped in tinfoil, we should be able to toast it in there.”

One side of her mouth pulls up as she grins at me.

“Well, aren’t you clever?”

Two hours later I’m at the sink, taking care of the dishes I offered to wash, since Jillian was responsible for what turned out to be an awesome meal. The woman sure knows how to cook.

She’s letting the dogs out back, and I can see her hanging over the deck railing, keeping an eye on them. It looks like maybe the winds are dying down a little. Even though the snow is still heavy, visibility appears to be a bit better.

If this trend continues, the plows may be able to go out tonight, and I can get Sully or Dan to come haul my truck from the ditch. I would’ve jumped at that a couple of hours ago, but I’m not in any particular hurry to get out of here now.

Surprisingly, conversation over dinner was easy once it got going, and that was thanks to Jillian. She started telling me about each of her animals and how she discovered she had a knack for dog training. Then she asked me how I got into tracking, and I found myself telling her about my disillusionment with the FBI and my switch to the High Mountain Trackers team.

We ended up swapping favorite rescue stories, and I was amazed to find how easy it was to talk to her. It seems the more I get to know her, the bigger a threat to my uncomplicated bachelorhood she’s becoming.

Yeah, coming here was a mistake, but one I seem to be enjoying the hell out of.

Four

Wolff

All it takes is a large wet tongue on my face to snap me out of my momentary disorientation.

Peanut’s large head hovers over me when I blink my eyes open, and it all floods back to me. I’m stranded at Jillian’s place and ended up crashing on her couch.

The first thing I notice is how bright it is, clearly morning, and it looks like the storm has cleared. But when I flip back the blanket Jillian gave me last night, the intense cold hits me. One glance at the fireplace shows me the two logs I recall tossing on sometime during the night, in an attempt to keep the small fire going, have completely burned up.

My bladder is about to burst, but it’ll have to wait until I get that fire going again. I swing my legs down and plant my feet on the floor.

Fuck, that’s cold.

My ass has barely left the couch when Peanut curls up in the warm spot I just vacated. She’s cold too. Last night all six dogs disappeared into the bedroom with Jillian, and I remembersuppressing a fleeting moment of jealousy that they would get to snuggle up with her.

Luckily the wood is nice and dry, so it takes hardly any effort to get the fire going again. Then I take care of business in the bathroom. Despite trying to be as quiet as I can, the activity seems to rouse a few more dogs that slip through the partially opened door to Jillian’s bedroom.

It’s her dog Murphy, the Lab mix, who makes a beeline for the back door. Yeah, they likely need to pee as well.

“Hold on, buddy,” I mumble, quickly grabbing my boots and my parka.

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