Page 4 of Snow Bound

He was a grown man, but to Grace Snow, he was never too old to take to the woodshed—figuratively speaking.

He didn’t want the mop or the lecture, so he shifted his boots to the left of the door and with the cold seeping through his stocking feet, glanced at his companion. “You know the rules, pal. Shake it off.”

He got a silly grin in response, then had to turn his face away as his friend gave a mighty shake, sending snow flying. He waited until he could no longer hear the rattle of metal, then risked opening one eye. “Hey, you look like a dog again. Good job, buddy.”

Henry, the mostly mastiff mix Grant had adopted from the Cook County Humane Society three years before, responded by lifting one massive paw to scratch at the front door.

“Yeah, let’s go to bed.” Grant hefted his duffle bag in one hand and with his keys in the other, let himself into the house.

He stepped inside, waited for Henry to follow him in, then closed and secured the door. Moving quietly out of habit, he started to head upstairs, then changed his mind.

He looked down at the patiently waiting dog. “You hungry, buddy?” he murmured and Henry’s ears perked in interest. “Yeah, let’s get a snack before bed.”

He set the duffle down and strode down the hall, silent in his stocking feet. Henry trailed along behind, pausing to sniff at the legs of the dining room chairs as they passed while Grant continued to the kitchen. Moonlight from the big window over the sink filled the room, bouncing off the white tiles and gleaming appliances, so he didn’t bother to turn on the light.

He crossed the threshold, his focus on the large refrigerator and the sandwich he was already building in his mind. Then he saw the woman standing at the sink.

His tired brain kicked in half a heartbeat after his feet stuttered to a stop, trying to absorb the details. Taller than average, five foot eight or nine, she wore an oversized white t-shirt and not much else. Hair hung halfway down her back, a dark, thick curtain against that background of white. It was hard to tell color in the moonlight, but he thought she might be a redhead.

He had a weakness for redheads.

The t-shirt was long enough to cover her butt, but it was thin and clingy, molding to the generous hips and lush ass underneath, and her long legs were bare.

He had a weakness for those, too.

Welcome home to me, he thought somewhat giddily, then shook his head.

Nobody knew he was coming, so it was a sure bet she wasn’t here for him. Maybe she was a friend of Corrie’s? He tried to remember his sister’s school schedule. She had a break coming up at Thanksgiving, but as it was only the first week of November, she should be in her apartment in East Lansing.

His eyes narrowed when Red leaned over the sink to peer out the window. The shirt rode up just enough to give him a hint of—yes, that was indeed a world-class ass. Bare, no less, and despite his fatigue, interest stirred.

He ignored it. If she wasn’t a friend of Corrie’s, then she was his mother’s guest. Mom hadn’t mentioned anyone coming to stay with her the last time they’d talked, but that had been six weeks ago. He’d been out of the country on a job, only getting back into Chicago early that morning. He’d picked up Henry from the kennel, and with the okay from his boss to take a much-needed break, had decided to head north for a visit. He hadn’t bothered to call ahead. His mother wasn’t expecting him until Thanksgiving, and he’d wanted to surprise her.

It looked like his appearance was going to be a surprise to more than one person tonight.

He hated to ruin the view, but he knew the gentlemanly thing to do would be to announce himself. And even if his gut hadn’t been nagging him to do so, he knew his mother didn’t consider him too old to have his ears boxed if she thought he’d behaved poorly towards a guest.

He took one last look at long legs and barely covered bottom, then fixed his gaze firmly on the back of her head. “Hello.”

Anna spun around, momentarily blinded when her hair flew in her eyes. Almost before her vision cleared, she was moving. The plastic water bottle winged out of her hand, instinct and her self-defense training kicking in. It hit the man standing in the kitchen doorway square in the forehead and exploded on contact.

“Shit!”

He staggered back but didn’t go down, flinging out his arms to catch himself on the doorway as water rained down from the broken bottle. She didn’t bother screaming, just grabbed apples out of the bowl on the counter and sent them flying. The first hit the doorway, spraying chunks into the air and wrenching a curse from the intruder. He ducked to avoid fruit shrapnel, and the second apple sailed through the doorway over his head. But she took a second to aim with the third, and it hit him exactly where she intended.

Dead in the crotch.

His eyes went wide, all the color drained out of his face, and he folded like a cheap suit.

“Yes!” She thrust her arms into the air in victory as he curled into a fetal ball in the kitchen doorway, his hair dripping water into a puddle on the floor. Then she remembered all she wore was a t-shirt and hastily lowered them again.

The intruder let out a low groan and propped himself up against the door jam. A string of impressive curses spilled out and he pinned her with a vicious glare, one hand cradling his crotch.

“What the fuck, lady?” His voice was a ragged growl, full of pain and insult that absurdly had an apology leaping to her lips. Swallowing it down, she fixed her most ferocious scowl on her face and snatched up another apple.

“Don’t move,” she warned.

“I can’t move,” he retorted. He lifted one shaking hand to shove at the hair dripping in his face, his eyes narrowing when he saw the apple in her hand. “Don’t you throw that at me, dammit. I’m already on the damn floor.”

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