Chill Factor (9 page)

And, she had to admit that, if Tierney weren't quite so
attractive,
so vitally masculine, she probably wouldn't be this jittery about being
isolated with him. If they hadn't shared that day on the river last
summer, being confined in close quarters might actually be less awkward.

"Water still running?"

She jumped slightly when he spoke from close behind her. "Yes,
luckily." She turned away from the sink, where she was filling another
cook pan with water. Tierney was holding a towel against the back of
his head. His hair was wet. "How is it?"

"It hurt while the water was running over it, partially
because the
water is so cold. But I think the cold actually numbed it." He removed
the towel. It was stained with fresh blood, but the amount had
decreased substantially. "Helped the bleeding, too. Mind taking a look?"

"I was about to insist."

He straddled one of the bar stools, facing its back. She set
the
first-aid kit on the bar, then moved behind him and, after a moment's
hesitation, gently parted his hair just below the crown of his head.

"Well?" he asked.

The gash was wide, long, and deep. To her inexpert eyes, it
looked
bad. She exhaled through her lips.

He gave a short laugh. "That bad?"

"You've seen overripe watermelons whose rinds have split?"

"Ouch."

"There's a lot of swelling around it."

"Yeah, I felt that as I was washing it."

"I'd say you could use a dozen stitches, at least." He'd
draped the
blood-spotted towel around his neck. She took a corner of it and
gingerly dabbed at the wound. "The good news is, it's not pumping blood
any longer. Just leaking it."

There were only four disinfectant pads in the kit, each sealed
in
its own envelope. Lilly tore open one of them and withdrew a square of
gauze that was soaked with an antibacterial solution. It wasn't much
larger than a saltine cracker. However, if the smell indicated the
strength of the solution, it was going to sting. The
thought
of applying it to the raw wound caused her stomach to somersault.

"Brace yourself," she said, unsure whether she was cautioning
Tierney or herself.

He gripped the back of the stool and propped his chin on the
backs
of his hands. "Ready."

But the instant she touched the gauze to the open flesh, he
flinched. His breath hissed on a quick intake. In the hope of distract
ing
him, she began talking. "I'm surprised you weren't carrying a first-aid
kit in your backpack. Being the seasoned hiker you are." He'd dropped
the backpack on the floor when they arrived at the cabin and hadn't
touched it since except to push it beneath an end table out of their
way.

"Gross oversight. I won't be without one next time."

"Anything else in your backpack?" she asked.

"Like what?"

"Something useful?"

"No, I was traveling light today. Energy bar. Bottle of water.
Both
consumed."

"Then why did you bring it from the car?"

"Sorry?"

"Your backpack. If there's nothing useful in it, why did you
bring
it along?"

"God forbid you think I'm a sissy," he said, "but are you
about
finished? That's burning like hellfire."

She blew gently on the wound, then leaned away from him and
surveyed
it. "I covered all of it with the antiseptic. It looks very angry."

"It feels angry." He picked up the first-aid kit and inspected
the
meager contents. "I'll toss you for the aspirin tablets."

"They're yours."

"Thanks. Do you have one of those little sewing kits? Like a
matchbook. For emergencies like a button falling off."

Her stomach clenched. "Please don't ask me to do that."

"What?"

"Sew up the wound."

"You wouldn't?"

"I don't have a sewing kit."

"Lucky you. Manicure scissors?"

"Those I have."

While he swallowed the two aspirin tablets, she took her
makeup bag
from her purse and produced a small pair of scissors.

"Good," he said. "By the way, that pan is full."

She exchanged the cook pan beneath the faucet with a plastic
pitcher. He peeled the wrapper off a Band-Aid. "We'll cut strips of the
sticky part. Lay them like cross ties across the gash. It's
no
t
stitches, but maybe that'll help close it."

His fingers wouldn't fit into the holes of the tiny scissors.
"Here,
let me." She took the Band-Aid and scissors from him, cut strips of the
adhesive, and applied them to the wound as he instructed. "It's barely
bleeding at all now," she said when she was finished.

"Cover it with one of those bandages."

As gently as possible she patted one of the sterile gauze
bandages
from the kit into place over the wound. "It's going to pull your hair
when we take it off."

"I'll live." Then in an undertone, he added, "I hope."

CHAPTER  7

STARTLED BY HIS GRIM EXPRESSION, SHE ASKED, "WHY do you say
that? Do
you have injuries I don't know about?"

"Maybe. The whole left side of my body is bruised and sore.
Ribs
feel like someone's tried to pry them apart with a crowbar, but I don't
think I have any broken bones."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but something on the inside may be busted. Kidney,
liver,
spleen."

"Wouldn't you know if you were bleeding internally?"

"You'd think. But I've heard that people can die of internal
hemorrhage before it's discovered. If my belly starts to balloon,
that'll be a good indicator that it's filling up with blood."

"Have you noticed any distention, tenderness?"

"No."

She pulled her lower lip through her teeth. "If there's a
chance
you're bleeding, should you have taken the aspirin?"

"The way my head feels, it was worth the risk." He eased
himself off
the bar stool, went to the kitchen sink, and removed the pitcher that
had been filling. "Assuming I live, we're going to need drinking water
for an indefinite period of time. What other containers have you got?"

Together they searched the cabin and began filling anything
that
would hold water. "Too bad you only have a shower," he said. "We could
use a bathtub."

Once they'd filled all the pots and pans, even the mop bucket,
they
began thinking of other matters. "What's the source of your heat,
electricity?" he asked.

"Propane. There's an underground tank."

"When was it last filled?"

"As far as I know, last winter. Because I was selling the
place, I
didn't order it to be refilled this past fall. To my knowledge Dutch
didn't either."

"So it could run out."

"I suppose. Depending on how much Dutch used it when I wasn't
here."

"How long since you were here?"

"Until this week, it had been months."

"Did you stay up here this week?"

"Yes."

"Did Dutch?"

Suddenly the emphasis of their conversation had shifted away
from
the amount of propane remaining in the tank.

"That's an inappropriate question, Tierney."

"Meaning he did."

"In fact he didn't," she said testily.

He held her gaze for several beats, then turned away and
walked to
the thermostat on the wall. "I'm going to set the temperature lower so
the propane will last longer. Okay?"

"Fine."

"If the tank empties, we'll have to rely strictly on the
fireplace.
I hope you've got more wood than what's on the porch."

She disliked his implication that she was still sleeping with
her
ex-husband, but cooped up together as they were, there was no room for
anger. She let the matter drop. "More firewood is stored in a shed,"
she replied, motioning in the general direction. "There's a path to it
through—"

"I know where it is."

"The shed? You do?" The small structure had been built of
weathered
wood and positioned so it wouldn't be visible from either the road or
the cabin. It blended seamlessly into the environment and was virtually
invisible. Or so she had thought.

"How did you know about this cabin, Tierney?"

"You told me about it last summer."

She remembered specifically what she had told him because,
since
then, she'd replayed their conversations in her head a thousand times.
"I told you I had a cabin in the area. I didn't say where it was."

"No, you didn't."

"So, tonight, how did you know?"

He gave her a long look, then said, "I've hiked all over this
mountain. One day I came upon the cabin, and the shed, without
realizing I was on private property. I suppose I was trespassing, but
not on purpose. I saw the For Sale sign and, because I liked the look
of the place, contacted the realtor. I learned that it belonged to you
and your husband, but because of a pending divorce, you were selling."
He raised his arms at his sides. "That's how I came to know the
location of your cabin."

He gave her a look that practically dared her to question him
further. Then he said, "Now, how much wood is in the shed? A cord?"

Although she wasn't quite ready to relinquish the matter of
his
knowing so much about her, she didn't see any advantage to pursuing it
and creating ill will. "No way near a cord," she replied.

"Well, hopefully we'll be rescued before we have to start
breaking
up the furniture and burning it."

"How long do you think that might be? Until we're rescued, I
mean."

He sat down on the sofa, where a towel now covered the
bloodstain on
the back cushion, and laid his head against it. "Probably not tomorrow.
Possibly the day after. Depending on the storm and the amount of ice
accumulation, it could be longer."

She recalled the winter before last, when an ice storm had
closed
the mountain road for days. People in remote areas were stranded
without electricity because of downed lines. In some cases, it had
taken weeks for the service to be restored and the communities returned
to normal. The storm raging outside now was predicted to be much worse
and longer lasting than that one.

Lilly sat down on the opposite sofa and pulled the throw over
her
legs and feet, very glad that Tierney had thought of the extra socks.
She'd hung the wet ones over the back of one of the barstools to dry.
The legs of her trousers were still damp, but she could live with that
so long as her feet were dry and reasonably warm.

"What did you set the thermostat on?" she asked.

"Sixty."

"Hmm."

"I realize it's not exactly toasty," he said. "You should put
on
that other turtleneck for extra insulation. Keep in your body heat."

She nodded but made no move to get up. "What do you think the
outdoor temperature is?"

"Windchill is subzero," he replied without hesitation.

"Then I'm not going to complain about sixty." She glanced at
the
fireplace. "A fire would be nice though."

"It would. But I honestly think—"

"No, no, you're right about conserving the fuel.
I
was
just wishing out loud. I love the ambience of a fireplace."

"Me too."

"Makes any room seem cozier."

"Yeah."

After a moment, she asked, "Are you hungry?"

"My stomach's still queasy. But if you're hungry, don't be
polite.
Eat something."

"I'm not really hungry either."

"Don't think you have to sit up with me," he said. "I can keep
myself awake. If you're tired or sleepy—"

"I'm really not."

No way would she go to sleep and risk his slipping into
unconsciousness and possibly a coma. He needed to stay awake for a few
more hours before it would be safe for him to sleep. Besides, her nap
that afternoon had been long enough to keep her from being sleepy now.

She'd been talking to fill the silence. Now that they'd
stopped, the
only sounds were those of the wind, tree limbs knocking against the
eaves, and the sleet pattering on the roof. Their eyes drifted around
the room, which had been stripped of everything except the furniture.
There was little to look at, so eventually they looked at each other.
When their gazes connected, the emptiness of the room closed in around
them, creating a taut intimacy.

Lilly was the first to look away. She noticed her cell phone
lying
on the coffee table between them. "If Dutch got my message, he'll be
working out a way to get someone up here."

"I shouldn't have said what I did. About the two of you
staying here
together."

With a gesture she indicated that an apology was unnecessary.

"I'd just like to know how involved you still are with him,
Lilly."

She thought of contesting his need to know but then decided to
lay
the issue to rest once and for all. Apparently he was going to continue
bringing it up until she did. "I called Dutch tonight because he's the
chief of police, not because of any lingering personal involvement. Our
marriage is over, but he wouldn't leave me to freeze to death any more
than I would turn my back on him in a life-or-death situation. If it's
at all possible, he'll rescue us."

"He'd rush to your rescue," Tierney said. "I doubt he'd rush
to
mine."

"Why do you think that?"

"He doesn't like me."

"Again, what makes you think so?"

"It's nothing he's done, really. More what he hasn't. I've
bumped
into him on occasion. He's never gone out of his way to introduce
himself."

"Maybe it just hasn't been convenient."

"No, I think there's more to it than that."

"Like what?"

"For one thing, I'm an outsider, immediately distrusted
because my
great-great-great-grandparents didn't hail from these mountains."

She smiled, acknowledging that he'd accurately described the
prevailing regional attitude. "The people around here can be clannish."

"I'm a visitor, but I've been coming here often enough that a
lot of
people at least know my name and speak when they see me. Welcome me
back. That kind of thing. But whenever I go to the soda fountain at
Ritt's for my morning coffee, I still sit alone at the counter. I've
never been invited to join the good ol' boys' club that fills up the
booths every morning. Dutch Burton, Wes Hamer, a few others, all who
grew up here. That's a closed clique. Not that I want to be included,
but they're not even friendly enough to say hello."