so long it's not just a physical need."
He had echoed her thoughts. Anne was more interested in him than in
anyone else since Jeff's death, but she wasn't ready for a full-time,
open relationship. There was still that loose end to tie up in court,
still that emotional barrier.
He pressed her cheek to the beat of his heart. "I wouldn't want to hurt
you for the world, Annie. You deserve the best. You need a guy's full
attention and devotion. I have too many other responsibilities right
now."
It was the right answer, still she felt discouragement and loss. She
held on, and was held for long seconds. When she looked up, he brushed a
tear from her cheek.
"I won't ask much," she whispered falteringly. "I'm not sure what I want
any more than you are. The only thing I ask is that you be here for me
to come to every once in a while."
He tightened his arms around her. "I will, honey, I will."
The New Year arrived with a surge of high spirit that neither of them,
weeks before, would have imagined possible. They ate at a small inn
where the restaurant was elegant, intimate, and quaint. For Anne it was
like a first date. She wore her favorite navy knit, which she had packed
for the occasion. Its softness offset her darkness, its gentle wrap
showed curves that had begun to return. She wanted to look
sophisticated, and to that end, wore makeup for the first time here.
Mitch rewarded her with a glow in his eyes. He looked gorgeous in his
fine wool slacks and tailored blazer. They made a stunning duo, drawing
the attention of more than one pair of curious eyes.
He avoided intimacy beyond a light hand on her waist when he escorted
her to their table. Later, back at the cabin, they rang in the midnight
hour with champagne toasts.
And the light-hearted tone held through the week. They took daily walks
in the crisp, cold air. The woods were an enchanted place in winter, a
safe harbor from winds that whipped across the meadow but couldn't
penetrate the evergreens. Bundled in woolen and down, they hiked over
ponds of solid ice and followed the crusty line of the brook from
mountaintop to valley. The snow squeaked under their boots, but, aside
from their voices, it was the only noise in the forest.
Shielded by spruce, pine, and cedar, they walked for hours through the
blue-shadowed land, returning to the cabin only when their hands and
feet were numb. More often than not then, they settled in at the kitchen
window to watch chickadees at the feeder that Mitch had staked into the
ground.
It was a time of quiet serenity. Anne did little reading and even less
work. Rather, she spent hours in calm reverie before the fire, a triumph
in and of itself. She was happy. She wasn't brooding or mourning. She
didn't want to be anywhere else, with anyone else in the world.
During one of these relaxing moments, on the last evening of their stay,
Mitch suddenly went to his bedroom and returned with a small box. It was
wrapped in white and had a pale blue ribbon.
"What's this?" she asked in surprise.
"Open it."
She pulled at the bow with unsteady fingers. "When did you get this?"
She hadn't expected a gift. His presence was enough.
"I was in Brazil right after Thanksgiving. It was made by one of the
local artisans in a small village in the interior."
The top of the box fell back to reveal a ring, a rectangular piece of
enamelware framed in gold and mounted on a fine gold band. Anne gasped
at the beauty of the intricately painted design, a semiabstract por
trait of sand, sea, and sun, all woven together in blues, greens,
yellows, and creams.
"It's beautiful," she breathed. "You never should have-"
"Put it on," he said.
The ring fit perfectly on the third finger of her right hand, and gave
her pale, slim fingers even greater delicacy.
"There," he said with a satisfied sigh. "That's a little color for you.
Maybe next time a bright sweater to wear for me."
Next time.
The words thrilled her as much as the ring. "I will. And ... thank you,
Mitch. The ring is beautiful. I'll cherish it." She put both hands up to
frame his face, to trace the powerful line of his cheeks, his jaw, his
chin. Then she leaned forward and gave him a soft and heartfelt kiss. "I
wish I had something to give you," she whispered when it was done.
In a trembling breath, he said, "You already have, Anne. And I thank
you."
Anne drove north again on a Friday afternoon in the second week of
February. As the first flakes of snow began to fall, she sniffled and
pulled another Kleenex from the glove box. For the better part of the
week she'd had a cold. If she had known Mitch's number, she might have
called to cancel their meeting. But she didn't know it, and she wanted
to see him. She was counting on feeling better in the clean country air.
What she hadn't counted on was the snow.
As she crossed the border from New York into Vermont, the flakes grew
larger and more feathery. They were sticking to anything and everything
in sight. Traffic had slowed with the decreased visibility, but that was
a double-edged sword. Yes, it was safer driving slower. But it meant the
trip took longer, and the longer she was on the roads, the worse they
became.
She was impatient to reach the cottage. Even aside from a hacking cough
and the accumulation of snow on the windshield, she wanted to be in a
place that had become, in some ways, more real a world than the other.
The past six weeks in New York had been a way of passing time between
trips. She was happier here, more relaxed and alive with Mitch than
anywhere else.
Traffic slowed another notch. She glanced at her watch. Two hours
behind, already! It was late afternoon. Darkness would be here before
long. She didn't relish driving through the storm in the dark.
She thought of stopping at an inn for the night, but feared that
tomorrow wouldn't be any better. Besides, she had no way to contact
Mitch. He would be worried if she didn't show up.
Her snow tires clung tentatively to the road as she turned off the
highway at last. There were still miles to go, but at least the road was
smaller. Unfortunately it was also deserted. She pushed the small car
through a blinding rage of white. Vistas were obliterated. Only the low
fencing at the side of the road kept her on course, though how long it
would be before they were covered by drifts, she didn't know.
Her hands were white-knuckled on the wheel. The snow was a thick wall
behind her, so there was no turning back. She peered nervously through
the windshield, praying for a plow. With each passing mile, she drove
more slowly through accumulating depths.
When her pace was down to fifteen miles an hour, and she couldn't see
more than a single car's length ahead, she felt a wave of panic. The
sense of isolation was utter and intense. Fighting a sudden dizziness,
she kept her foot on the gas.
Dusk had fallen by the time she reached the cottage cutoff. She was so
relieved to see it, that she took the turn a hair too fast. The car
skidded and fishtailed before coming to an abrupt halt several yards
into the private way, lodged firmly in a snow bank at the side of the
road.
Swearing under her breath, Anne worked the gear shift, alternating
between forward and reverse in an attempt to free the car from the
drift. Her nerves were already taut. Now she cursed her luck as she
fumbled with the door handle, tripped out of the car, and promptly sank
in snow nearly as high as her boots. Even through rose-colored glasses,
hopes for the car were low.
She peered up the hill in the direction of the house. In ideal weather,
the walk was a mile's mild uphill challenge. But in this blizzard? And
then there was the possibility that Mitch was stuck somewhere, too. But
he was the one with the key.
She sneezed and raised a parka-covered arm to her face. If the door was
locked, she would just have to break in. There was no other choice. She
couldn't go back, and she couldn't stay here.
Packing her pockets with KLEENEX, she closed up the car. She zipped the
parka all the way, pulled its hood over her wool hat, pushed her hands
into gloves, and set off. She trudged as fast as she could through the
mounting snow, lifting one leg high, then the other. Her muscles began
to ache. Tucking her head deeper into the hood of her parka, she plodded
on.
Thirty minutes passed, then another fifteen. Exhausted, she looked
around for something to rest against. But all was white, lonely,
uninviting, and bleak. Looking back, she saw nothing but her own
footsteps. Looking ahead, she saw nothing at all. She pushed on,
absolutely, positively refusing to believe that she may have taken the
wrong road.
Bone-weary and weak from coughing, she grew more frightened as the
minutes passed. Signs of life were nonexistent. The cabin had to be
somewhere. For another half hour, she pushed herself forward, pausing
occasionally to blow her nose, huffing hoarsely at the exertion,
ignoring the heat on her cheeks.
Snow continued to fall, creating a fairyland that, to Anne's bleary
gaze, was nightmarishly grotesque. She imagined being lost and freezing
to death. The road had never been this long.
Her senses blurred black with the onset of night. Dizzy, she fell to her
knees, then forced herself back up and struggled on. Tears of fear mixed
with melting snow on her fevered cheeks. Her clothing chafed against her
sweaty body. Still she moved on.
Finally, though, she was too weak. She collapsed on her knees and sank
into a billowing drift. Head bowed, panting with exhaustion, she fought
hysteria and swayed in the gusting wind.
"Mitch ... Mitch .. . please help me .. ." she whimpered.
"Annie!"
Mirage or reality, she didn't care. When a large form knelt before her,
she fell against it, aware only of the support it offered, the warmth it
held.
He lifted her from the snow. "Hold on, Annie. It's not far to the
house."
"Mitch?" she cried against his jacket as she shielded her face from the
driving snow.
"It's me, honey. Quiet now. Save your strength."
The light from the house filtered through the snowy darkness like a
beacon. Once inside, he kicked the door shut with his boot and gently
lowered her feet to the floor, only to catch her up again when her knees
buckled. Without a word, he carried her to the downstairs bedroom.
Depositing her on the edge of the bed, he began to quickly remove her
wet clothing. He paused once to throw off his own jacket and pull back
the bed's quilt, then returned to undress her. Anne didn't protest.
Chilled to the bone, she trembled uncontrollably.
"Lift your arms, like a good girl," he said softly and, one at a time,
drew the sleeves of her heavy sweater off and pulled it over her head.
"I thought I was lost, Mitch. I walked for so long and I couldn't find
the house."
"Shhh. You're safe now."
She clutched at his shoulders for support when he knelt to pull off her
boots, then her socks. "Lie down, honey. Your jeans are drenched." With
infinite tenderness he eased her back and pulled them off, tugging
impatiently only when the sodden denim resisted his hands.
"I feel so sick," she said in a hoarse whisper, throwing an arm over her
forehead.
In an instant he was bending over her. "I know, Annie. But you'll be
fine now. I just have to warm you up. Okay?" She didn't answer, not even
to protest when he drew off her cold, drenched panties. He tucked the
lower half of her body under the weight of the quilt before turning to
remove her turtleneck and bra. With the covers bunched around her
shoulders, he crossed the room to his suitcase, pulled out a clean
cotton shirt, and returned to the bed.
Sitting beside her, he pressed cool lips to her burning forehead.
"You'll be fine," he repeated and quickly dressed her in the shirt, then
covered her up again. Anne sneezed. "You shouldn't have taken off my
sweater."
"Forget modesty. You were soaked to the skin and freezing."
"That sweater.. ."-a fit of coughing interrupted her, but she managed to
catch her breath-"I wore it for you. Did you notice?"
His lips twitched. "I did notice, Annie. It was pink." He brushed a
strand of hair from her forehead. "Thank you." With the back of his
hand, he felt her forehead, then her cheeks. "I'm going to heat up some
soup for you."
She shook her head. "No. I can't eat. Just stay here with me for a few
minutes."
He drew her, quilts and all, into his arms and rubbed her all over to
warm her up.
"I was so frightened," she whispered. "It was cold and wet. And dark."
"You should have known I'd come looking for you."
"I wasn't sure you were here. There were no tire tracks-" She broke off,
coughing again.
He waited until she quieted. "I arrived before the storm began. Snow can
be pretty dramatic up here. It should be beautiful come morning."
The thought of wandering through the snow with Mitch was a lovely one.
She smiled then sneezed.
"I'll get that soup now."
"No. Really, I'm not hungry."
"You need something warm inside."
"I don't think I can keep it down."
"You will." He set her down. "Just rest. I'll be back."
She rolled to her side and tucked up her knees. The warmth of the bed
burned, still she felt chilled. Turning over, she huddled in a ball and
dozed. She woke up when Mitch returned with a bowl of steaming broth. He
helped her sit, and he fed her himself When she couldn't take in another
drop, he let her sleep.
