“Sounds like a plan,” I say. I look around the cabin and raise the next obvious question. “How do we work out the sleeping arrangements?”
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Hurley says. “You can have the couch.”
I frown at that, knowing the floor won’t be very comfortable and worried about the occasional scurrying sounds I keep hearing in the darkened corners of the cabin. “You don’t have to do that,” I tell him. “We can share the bed.”
Hurley looks at me, his eyes dark and dangerous. “I don’t know if that’s a wise idea,” he says, arching a brow at me.
“We can put a roll of blankets or something between us in the bed,” I suggest. “It will be fine. We can leave our clothes on. And frankly, I’m too tired and sore from working out at the gym to consider doing anything anyway. Not to mention that I haven’t had a shower.”
Hurley considers this and gives in. “Okay, we’ll give it a try.”
He goes to one of the cupboards and digs out a stack of pillows and blankets. After a few minutes we have the couch opened and the bed made up with a rolled-up quilt serving as a line of demarcation down the center.
When we’re done, we stand on either side of the couch, eyeing the bed between us. “You okay with that side?” Hurley asks.
“I’m fine.” I climb in and pull the blankets over me to prove it.
After adding a few more logs to the fire and stirring it up, Hurley climbs in on the other side. I catch a whiff of him as he adjusts the blankets—that clean, faintly spicy smell that seems to send my hormones into overdrive. I turn on my side facing away from him, wondering if this was such a smart idea after all, and doubtful that I’ll ever be able to fall asleep with a fabulous-smelling, handsome-as-hell hunk of man meat next to me.
Chapter 38
Apparently I was more tired than I realized because the next thing I know, I’m waking up feeling warm and cozy, still lying on my side, staring at sunlight beaming in through the window across from me. Memories of the night before come flooding back to me, and when I become aware of something along the length of my backside, at first I think it’s the barrier quilt. But as my mind clears its cobwebs, I realize it’s too warm to be the quilt. Then I become aware of a weight on my chest and when I lift the covers and look down, I see an extra arm there.
That’s when I realize that it’s Hurley along my backside, spooning himself against me, his arm draped over my side. We fit together disturbingly well and a part of me wants to close my eyes and stay snuggled up against him this way forever. But I know how dangerous our situation could be and besides, my bladder is throbbing with urgency. I carefully lift Hurley’s arm and slide out of the bed. It isn’t easy; my body is stiffer than ever and the left side of my neck hurts like hell where the Taser bit me.
The cabin is freezing cold and I see that the fire has gone out and the woodpile is depleted. Clearly Hurley got up during the night to tend to it and the thought of him being awake and watching me while I slept is titillating . . . until I remember how David used to tell me I tend to fart in my sleep.
Hurley rolls onto his back and starts to snore lightly. I stand there a moment, admiring the outline of his body beneath the blankets and imagining the could-have-beens. But I realize it’s a slippery slope and after a minute I shake it off and head for the outhouse.
The spiders don’t seem quite as intimidating by the light of day and after relieving myself, I head around to the back of the house and grab a bunch of logs. When I come back inside, Hurley is still sleeping so I busy myself stacking the wood in the fireplace. A few minutes later I light one of the little starter packets and the wood starts to burn.
When I turn back toward the rest of the cabin, I’m startled to see Hurley awake and watching me.
“Good morning,” I say. “How did you sleep?”
“Amazingly well,” he says with a stretch and a smile. “You?”
“Like a baby.”
Hurley flings back the covers and gets out of bed, and my eyes are irresistibly drawn to the front of his jeans, where his morning erection is obvious. Flushing hot from more than the fire, I quickly look away and busy myself removing the bed linens from the couch.
Hurley walks over to the door and grabs the toilet paper. “Be right back,” he says.
By the time he returns, I have the bed stripped and folded back into the couch. A surreptitious glance at Hurley’s jeans lets me know that things are back to normal and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Hurley heads for the woodstove, where he lights a fire and puts a pan of water on to boil. A few minutes later, he has taken the package of bacon we bought last night out of the tiny fridge and several strips are frying in a pan. I join him in the kitchen and measure out spoonfuls of instant coffee into a couple of mugs.
Since Hurley seems to have a handle on the cooking duties, I lean against the counter and watch him for a few minutes. The sight of him being so domestic triggers an emotional response in me, followed by sadness and a sense of loss when I recall our discussion from the night before.
“So I’ve been thinking about your situation,” I say, hoping to redirect my thoughts. “And I keep coming back to Mike Ackerman. I think it would be worthwhile for me to meet and speak with his wife.”
“To what end?” Hurley asks, turning the bacon.
“To get a better feel for what she knows. If Ackerman was having an affair with Callie, she might know about it. Even if she doesn’t, if we can put a seed of doubt in her mind and make her look at her husband a little more closely, it might put more pressure on him and make him do something desperate. Hell hath no fury and all that.”
“Maybe,” Hurley says, sounding unconvinced. “But it could be dangerous. I don’t want to involve you any more than I already have. If we do it, I should be the one to talk to her.”
I shake my head. “You need to lay low. There are too many people looking for you. Besides, I think Ackerman’s wife will be more likely to open up to another woman.”
“Let me think about it,” he says.
Half an hour later we are seated at the small folding table finishing up a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon, coffee, and toast that Hurley made by placing slices of bread inside a foldable grill with a long handle on it and holding the whole thing over the fire. The toast is unevenly browned and still soft in spots, but a little strawberry jam covers it up nicely. I discover I’m ravenously hungry and make quick work of the food, which tastes surprisingly good.
Feeling sated and full, I lean back in my chair and sip my coffee.
“How does a person shower around here?” I ask, worried I might be getting a bit ripe.
“There’s soap, washcloths, and towels in the cabinet over there,” Hurley says, gesturing over his shoulder. “Heat up some water on the stove and then do the best you can. You’re a nurse, so I’m sure you know how to do a sponge bath. I’ve got some spare clothes in my bag you can wear if you want.”
I look around the cabin with a skeptical eye. “And where, exactly, am I supposed to give myself this bath? The outhouse?”
“I’ll go outside for a bit and you can have the cabin to yourself.”
“You won’t peek in the windows?”
“Tempting,” Hurley says with a wink. “But I promise to be a good boy. I’ll knock before I come back in.”
“What are you going to do in the meantime?”
“I’m going to go outside and get ready for our hunting expedition.”
“Hunting expedition?”
“Yep, since tomorrow is Thanksgiving, you and I are going to shoot us a turkey.”
An hour later I am as clean as I’m going to get. I’ve used soap and water to wash out my undies, which are hanging from the mantel to dry, and I’m wearing a long-sleeved pullover shirt with a mock turtleneck and a pair of sweatpants from Hurley’s bag. The shirt collar covers the Taser mark on my neck and the ribbing in it rubs against
