Steady as the Snow Falls (2 page)

Something feral, something magnificent.

“You said it yourself.”

Beth went over her words in her head, but nothing she’d said made it obvious why he’d hired her. If anything, it made it that much more ridiculous, when spoken out loud. “What part do you—”

“We’re wasting time,” he interrupted, his hand lifting and lowering as if pulled by an invisible cord.

Focusing on the lined white paper on her lap, she nodded. She wondered if her face showed exactly how put off she was by his attitude. Beth hoped she adapted quickly to his rough demeanor, or it was going to be a long, tense winter. She understood control, and the need for it. She hadn’t had enough of it in her life. It was her own fault—she gave it away.

But what about this man? What part of his life was so misconstrued in chaos that he felt he had to act in such a way to her? She was a stranger, and one with whom he’d initiated contact. Being rude didn’t make sense, unless it was about power. Control. Was the control taken away, or given? Beth wondered. She wondered too many things.

“Still wasting time,” the man mocked, causing Beth to drop the pen as her thoughts were interrupted.

“I thought it would be beneficial for you to tell me about yourself, your views on things.” She scooped up the pen and looked in his direction, her eagerness to begin hurrying the tempo of her words. “What are your goals? Where do you want this book to go? What parts of your life do you want to cover? What do you have to say? What do you want the world to know about you?”

He flicked his wrist before raising a hand to his forehead, the gesture absentminded. He didn’t speak until his arm was lowered at his side once more. “How about I show you the trophy room?”

Trophy room? Why would he want to show her a trophy room? Without knowing his real name or what he looked like, anyone could be reclined in the chair a few feet away. She knew he had money, and now she knew he was exceptional at something. Beth stood on legs that felt heavy and uncooperative. She supposed if he didn’t want to talk about himself, she could get a feel of him from the objects that made up his world. Of course, maybe the trophy room would be empty of anything, much like the entryway. A trophy room without trophies. It wouldn’t surprise her.

“Okay. Whatever you want.”

“Whatever I want,” he repeated slowly. A bitter sound left him. “If only it were that easy.”

His response was puzzling. What did he mean by that? The longer she was in the same room as him, the more peculiar he seemed. Beth didn’t like anything that could not be explained. To her, there had to be an answer for everything. Even this man whose face and name she did not know.

He placed his hands on the armrests in preparation of standing. His muscles bunched, repressed strength visible in the forearms. His form hardened to stone. “When you signed the contract, you agreed to keep my anonymity. No one is to know you’re here, or who I am.”

She wanted to tell him that in a town like Crystal Lake, his identity probably wouldn’t remain a secret for long. The town was like a swarm of aggressive bees, and they stung before they were aware of what they were stinging.

“Do you understand?”

Beth’s lips parted at his words, more because she was finally going to be able to put a face, and possibly a name, to the voice. She studied his arms, noticed the faint tremble as his muscles held a pose they no longer wanted to.
Who are you? What face do you hide?
Her heart pounded a dull, heavy beat.

Around a dry throat, she said quietly, “Yes. I know. And I won’t tell anyone who you are. I promise.”

In the silence that followed, she knew he weighed her words, her tone, deciding if he would trust her. And then when she felt like she would go mad from the stalemate, he stood, revealing unkempt red hair that was sun-streaked with lighter shades of red, blond, and a hint of gold. It was like looking at fire. Rumpled waves hung over a high forehead, a bit of mutiny on an otherwise reserved man. Pale eyebrows were presently lowered over empty eyes—black eyes.

There were lines around his chiseled mouth, darkness beneath the fathomless eyes staring at her. He dissected her as she did the same to him. The air got colder, as though his gaze sucked everything warm from the room. Beth swallowed, and swallowed again, fighting for air that wasn’t there. Her stomach swooped, settled, and dipped again. He was lovely, like the sharpest blade, the agilest panther. The most destructive tornado. Lovely and deadly.

The man’s cheekbones were slanted slashes of bone across an intimidating face, his jaw narrow yet strong, proud. He was cuttingly attractive, but the coldness evident in his face detracted from it. And he was too thin, the height of his frame making it more so. Beth was five and a half feet tall, and he had to be close to a foot over that. She guessed him to be in his mid to late thirties, the hardness of his appearance possibly adding years that weren’t there.

Beth felt like she should know him, recognize him from somewhere, but there was nothing there.

Something happened to his eyes. They narrowed, lightened to the darkest brown, crinkles forming around them. If eyes could smile, she’d say his were, faintly, grudgingly. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”

Brushing a hand over the top of her blonde hair, she shook her head and dropped her hand. “Other than you obviously being a guy…”

His eyes narrowed.

“I mean…” Not knowing what she was trying to say and deciding the least she said, the better, she ended with, “Not a clue.”

A grin, crooked and unexpected, flashed across his mouth. “That’s what I was counting on. Follow me.”

It took her ten seconds to remember to draw air into her lungs, the hint of boyishness she’d witnessed in his smile making her stomach swoop and fog form in her head. It tossed away years from him, and built up a wall of ammunition against her sensitive bearing. She’d always been a sucker for a pretty smile—one twist of Ozzy’s lips and Beth forgave him almost anything. This man’s smile was more disarming than pleasant, and she instinctively knew he wouldn’t do anything that he felt necessitated an apology.

Beth tugged at the hem of her shirt that was down as far as it could go, needing a shield that wasn’t available, and hurried after him. He made her feel inside out and upside down. She didn’t want to get lost in the house, fearing if she did, that would be the end of her, and any future contact with the outside world. She’d be stuck with a brooding, intimidating, unstable man. She didn’t want that unless it was by choice.

“HOW DO YOU like the area?” Beth asked lamely as they walked.

He shot a look over his shoulder, showing swooped down eyebrows and a frown. Without a word, he faced forward, clearly dismissing her and her question.

“I take it, really well then,” she muttered to his back.

The stranger’s shoulders stiffened and released within the span of a second, but she caught it.

“I’ve lived here my whole life. The most entertainment we have is trying to determine if the current gossip of the day has any truth to it or not. It usually doesn’t,” she added.

He didn’t reply.

Her mouth, without first asking her brain, had decided to fill the awkward silence with even more awkward conversation. Beth pressed her lips together and hoped they stayed that way, at least for a little while.

She studied his shoulders as they walked, her footsteps sounding uncannily like her pounding heart. His shoulders were wide, telling a tale of muscle, once known even if no longer there. Hair curled up on either side of his neck, like the strands were trying to hug his skin. He didn’t walk—he ambled—a predator lazily prowling its domain, knowing prey was near, and his. Like Beth was his. She blinked. She wasn’t completely repulsed by the thought. There was something about the broadness of his shoulders and back, the multifaceted strands of his hair, the darkness in his eyes and the distance in his expression.

Everything about him told her to stay away, and yet, something in the man called to her on some level she didn’t entirely understand, but also didn’t think she should ignore.

“Stare any harder and maybe you’ll get lucky and see all of my secrets,” he taunted without turning.

Her eyes jerked away from him as he took a turn down the hallway she’d earlier avoided. She didn’t want him to think she was watching him with such intensity because she was fascinated by his appearance of mystery and aloofness, although she was. Beth wanted to know his secrets. She wanted to delve into the blackness of his mind and find the light within, however small, however dim, and learn his thoughts.

They walked through a dining room with sky blue walls that housed only a rectangular table and six chairs, not even a picture on the walls. Every room was missing something, as if someone had started to set them up and then abandoned the mission. She wanted to ask why, and instead made a flippant remark. Damn her nerves that made her talk first and think second.

“I like your minimalistic decorating sense. It shouts:
space is underrated
.”

The man paused and lifted an eyebrow, his expression telling her she’d have to do better than that to get a verbal reply out of him.

The tall windows let in blinding white light, showing a view of a snow-capped countryside. The outside was overtaken by a blanket of white fluff, like someone stood in the clouds and dumped powdered sugar on the world. Unease weaved down her spine and dwelled in her stomach, growing into a pool of worry. How would she make it home later? 

“Do you know how much snow we’re supposed to get?” Her voice was faint, scratchy. Beth cleared her throat.

“No,” he replied abruptly, continuing through a doorway on the right.

She frowned. “Don’t you keep track of the weather?”

“Do you? If so, you wouldn’t be asking me if I know how much snow we’re supposed to get.”

His offhand answer was correct, and it put a sour taste in her mouth. She ignored his words. “How do you ever know if it’s okay to go anywhere?”

“I don’t need to know what the weather’s like. There’s no reason for me to go anywhere.” The words were hard, and brooked no further discussion.

“Why not?” she demanded, pretending she hadn’t heard the closed off tone in his voice. When he didn’t answer, she went on. “But you have to have a radio, or a television…”

“No television.”

Beth’s footsteps momentarily faltered. It was inconceivable. Who would intentionally go without a television? Not that she watched a lot of it, but she liked knowing that if she wanted to plop down in front of her television and vegetate, the option was available. How did he know what was going on outside of his house? Maybe that was the point—maybe he didn’t want to know. She opened her mouth to comment on it, but then she saw where they were.

The trophy room.

And it was full of trophies.

Stagnant air constricted her throat, thick from being still for too long. She tried to breathe through her mouth, but the unpleasantness made its way up to her nose. Plaques and statues took up most of the space, gleaming gold, copper, and silver under the gauzy overhead light. There was no order to them, almost like they’d been dumped wherever and forgotten. Uncared for; an obligated, unwanted display.

Beth tried to focus her eyes, to remove the fuzzy lines from everywhere she looked. She coughed, realizing it was dust. She was breathing in dust, smelling it, looking at it, being suffocated by it.

“There’s a fan.” He brushed past her, flipping a switch.

His shirt sleeve barely touched hers as he swept by and it felt like a spark ignited in the space between them. Beth shivered and rubbed her arms in the chill that followed. He paused, his eyes shooting to hers as if he felt the charge too. The whir of blades sounded, pushing around the dusty air. Neither spoke, neither moved. It was a perfectly tense instant full of unmentionables.

Beth was the first to look away, training her attention on the mess around them as she fought to steady her nerves. She didn’t have to ask how often he came here. Rarely, if he ever had. Why boast about a trophy room he didn’t care enough about to enter? Why show her something he clearly neglected? Rubbing at her stinging eyes, Beth leaned down and squinted at the closest award. It said something about a national football league and was addressed to a name.

Harrison Caldwell.

“Your name is Harrison Caldwell.” It was a question, but it came out as a statement. The name didn’t mean anything to her; sparked no knowledge of who he was. It wouldn’t, though, if he was a football player. She didn’t follow sports.

Beth looked at his clenched fists, tried to imagine them wrapped around a football.

“Yes.”

Harrison stared unseeingly at a spot beyond her shoulder. She studied his dark brown eyes; wondering what they saw, because it wasn’t anything in this room. His eyes were glazed, like he was only halfway with her, the other part of him in some faraway place only he could witness. He was fractured. It seemed an apt description of the man.

“You asked why I hired you.”

She started to nod, and then stopped. He wasn’t looking at her.

“You had no idea who I am. You still don’t, although I am smart enough to realize your ignorance won’t be for much longer.” His tone was faint, and then hard. He shifted his gaze to her. The singular focus with which he watched her was unnerving. “That’s why I contacted you, and that’s why I hired you.”