BELLA WATCHED NOAH Faraday’s tall, broad figure retreat down the path, carrying her bag, with the sense that her handle on this situation was slipping slowly but surely from her numb grasp.
Who the hell did he think he was? Coming in and scaring her, then pushing his way inside to check out the woodstove and the sink. Not to mention picking up her bag and carrying it away with him.
Dammit, and all sorts of other curse words Grandma June would probably dislike.
Perhaps it was that her feet were numb in her wet sneakers. Or maybe it was the icy cling of her damp jeans and the emptiness in her stomach.
Whatever, the thought of a hot shower and food was too tempting to ignore. Yes, she had her pride, but there was proud and then there was stupid, and she was edging into stupid.
Not that he’d really given her a choice. Not now that he’d taken her bag.
Cursing under her breath, Bella pulled the front door shut, the hinges shrieking in protest, and locked it. Then she hurried down the steps after Noah.
The walk to his place wasn’t pleasant. He had long strides and she had to trot to keep up. The air was bitter and her feet kept slipping in the snow, and she wanted to tell him to slow down because she couldn’t keep up, but then she’d have to walk beside him, and since she had no idea what to say, she didn’t want to do that. So she hurried along behind, shivering.
Night had fully settled in by the time they’d walked up Noah’s long driveway to the large farmhouse at the end.
Momentarily forgetting her physical discomfort, Bella stared as she trudged closer, the lights shining welcomingly in the cold darkness.
She’d almost forgotten the Faraday ranch. Maybe she’d blocked it out since it hadn’t been the best of times, not when her mother had spent much of the one year they’d lived there in tears—not real tears, fake tears—because Hank wouldn’t do whichever thing she wanted him to do at the time. And Noah was there, silent and disapproving, watching her mother with obvious dislike.
There had been stairs. And she’d sat at the top of them, ostentatiously reading a book, but in actual fact waiting to catch a glimpse of him. Half of her had been desperate for him to look at her, while the other half had been desperate for him not to.
Just like she’d never gotten that smile from him, she’d never gotten that look, either. Not once.
It was a pretty house, though—she remembered that. Painted red with white windows and doors. It had looked more worn and neglected back then, but in the light coming from the porch, she could see the satiny shine of new paint.
Obviously Noah had done up the place. Or maybe that was Hank? She didn’t relish seeing Hank again, not after how her mother had treated him. He’d been kind to her, which was more than she could say for a lot of her mother’s boyfriends.
Noah went up the porch stairs, then dug into his pocket, extracting the key. He unlocked the white front door and pushed it open. “Go on in.”
He still had his cowboy hat on, the top dusted with snow, and the brim shadowed his face from the light. His eyes were dark beneath it, gazing at her expressionlessly, the same way he had all those years ago.
Had he really not liked her then? Or was this his usual expression?
Strange feelings shifted in her chest, a sense of trepidation stealing through her.
“You haven’t turned into an ax murderer, have you?” she asked, only half-joking. “Thought I’d better ask before coming inside.”
“No.” His face could have been carved from granite. “I’m pretty sure Grandma June wouldn’t have given you my number if I was.”
Good point.
Taking a silent breath, Bella brushed past his tall, silent figure and stepped inside.
A blast of warm air hit her and her whole body shivered violently as the warmth of the house enveloped her.
Then something heavy and warm draped around her shoulders; Noah had put his coat around her again.
She shivered again, though this time it wasn’t from the cold, not with the way his scent hit her. Turning, she began, “Thanks, but—”
“Keep it on.” Noah’s tone was clipped as he gestured toward the doorway on the left. “There’s a fire in the living room. Go sit down and I’ll fix you something to eat.”
Bella opened her mouth to tell him that she wasn’t hungry, but he’d already dumped her bag in the hall, then headed off toward the back of the house, where the kitchen was.
Left with nothing else but to do what she was told, she gritted her teeth and went through the doorway into the living area.
Like the rest of the place it was vaguely familiar, with a heavy beamed ceiling and a big stone fireplace along one wall. A worn but comfortable-looking couch covered in dark blue fabric stood in front of the fire, with a couple of armchairs to either side and a soft-looking red rug on the floor.
She remembered those armchairs. Hank used to sit in one. It was empty now, as was the little side table that sat next to it and the coffee table in front of the couch. In fact, there was no clutter anywhere—the room was almost stark, which she was sure it hadn’t been years ago. It felt oddly bleak.
Moving over to the fire, she stretched out her numb fingers to the flames, belatedly realizing they were filthy with ash. Oh, God, and she’d wiped those hands over her face, too.
No wonder Noah was helping her. She probably looked a complete mess.
You are a complete mess.
Embarrassment heated her cheeks, along with a healthy dose of anger at herself. And—unfairly—at him for coming along only to see her fall flat on her face.
To save you from a night of freezing your ass off, you mean.
“I got you a drink.” Noah’s voice came from behind her, the gritty sound carrying its own static charge. “Come and sit down.”
She should have protested. Told him she didn’t want a drink and she didn’t want to sit down, and could he please stop ordering her around like a drill sergeant. Yet she found herself turning and going over to the couch, sitting down on it without a word. As if she’d come to the end of whatever stubborn strength she had left.
He’d put a steaming mug on the coffee table and she caught the sweet, delicious scent of the liquid.
Dear lord. It couldn’t be, could it?
She wrapped her ash-smeared fingers around the handle and lifted it. Noah stood on the other side of the coffee table, watching her. He’d taken his hat off, revealing black hair shorn close to his skull, and somehow she’d thought he might not look as imposing without the hat on, but if anything, he looked even more intimidating, the hard, masculine lines of his face standing out, his dark eyes watchful and guarded.
Disturbed, Bella avoided his gaze, taking a sip from the mug instead. And as soon as the liquid hit her taste buds she wanted to burst into tears.
Hot chocolate. Goddamned hot chocolate.
Not quite what Grandma June made, but still sweet and chocolaty and just what she’d been craving. How long had it been since she’d had simple hot chocolate? Years. And certainly no one had ever made it for her.
Conscious of Noah’s intense gaze, she ignored the hot prickle behind her eyes and took another sip, relishing the taste and the heat, her fingers feeling less numb, a warm glow igniting in her stomach.
“That okay?” he asked eventually.
“Yes.” She had to force the word out, hoping it didn’t sound as graceless as she thought it did. “Thank you.”
He gave a nod. “Drink that, then you can get yourself clean.”
Oh, a hot shower...
Her throat tightened. Damn, why was she getting emotional? Must be the end of a long and trying day getting to her, plus the cold and maybe a bit of grief all mixed in.
Nothing to do with him and the heat of the fire or the drink he’d made for her.
A silence fell that wasn’t entirely comfortable.
Noah didn’t move, the pressure of his gaze making Bella want to fidget.
She resisted the urge, sipping at her hot chocolate, racking her brains for something to say and then feeling annoyed, because why should it be up to her to say something? It was his house and he was the host. Surely it was his job to be polite and say something, not her.
But he stayed silent, and eventually, Bella found herself looking around and asking, “So where’s Hank?”
“He’s dead,” Noah said flatly.
A pulse of shock went through her and she lowered her mug. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
He lifted one powerful shoulder, the fabric of his black thermal pulling tight over hard muscle. “It was five years ago.”
His tone indicated that he did not want to talk about it, so she fell silent.
Did her mother know Hank had died? Bella wouldn’t have put it past her to have known and yet not told Bella about it. Avery probably hadn’t cared, anyway. Hank was just another man in a long line of men she’d discarded once they were of no more use to her.
“So...the ranch is yours now?” she asked.
“Yeah.”
“It looks...nice.” A lame thing to say and she didn’t know why she was trying to make conversation, especially when he obviously didn’t want to talk. Then again, he’d never been very chatty as a teenager. Not that she had been, either. She’d been far too shy and he’d been far too intimidating.
“Lila said you were staying for the winter,” Noah said after another couple of excruciating minutes had passed. “That true?”
“Yes. I’m, uh, going to be fixing the house up to sell it.”
“Sell it?”
It was clear from his expression that he did not like that idea one bit.
Too bad. It wasn’t his house.
“That’s the plan.” She met his gaze head-on. “And before you say anything, it was Grandma June’s idea.”
His dark gaze ran over her in a clinical kind of way before settling on her feet. “You should take your sneakers off,” he said. “They’re wet through.”
A strange urge to tuck her feet under the couch gripped her. Because, of course, her sneakers were wet through. The fabric was also a little worn and the rubber of one sole was starting to come loose, and there was a part of her that didn’t want him to see just how worn they actually were.
He might ask questions such as why she wasn’t wearing boots, or did she have another pair of shoes to put on? And then she’d have to figure out some lies to cover the fact that she was wearing these sneakers because they were her only pair of shoes, and since she’d been putting every penny she owned into her café fund, she didn’t have any money to spare to buy any others.
Still, given that, it might be a good idea to take them off and dry them by the fire.
“Uh, yeah, okay.” She put her mug down and bent to fiddle with the laces. But because they were wet she had problems undoing the knots.
She struggled for a moment or two and then Noah was coming silently around the coffee table, dropping down onto his knees in front of her. He took one of her feet in his big hands and propped the sole on one muscular thigh, then began to pull at the knots himself.
Shocked into immobility, Bella could only stare as he deftly undid the knot and pulled the laces free. Then his fingers were circling her ankle as he gripped the heel of her sneaker and pulled it off her foot.
She had no time to protest, no time to even jerk away. He’d already stripped her damp sock off, let the foot go and moved on to the other before she had the chance. But she could still feel the imprint of his fingers as they’d brushed her bare skin, burning like embers, making her heartbeat accelerate and her breath catch.
“You don’t have to do that,” she muttered.
He ignored her, tugging at the lace on her other foot, and for some weird reason, she felt something pull right down low inside her, a response she didn’t want and wasn’t ready for.
She almost jerked her foot away, but stopped herself at the last minute, too worried about what that might reveal. Except she could feel her cheeks heat yet again in a helpless blush.
Hell, what was wrong with her? She hadn’t seen him in ten years and all she had to do apparently was lay eyes on him and she was back to being thirteen again and deep in the clutches of her first crush.
But these feelings didn’t have the soft-focus romanticism of a young teenager. No, these feelings were a bit more...basic than that.
Bella swallowed and hoped to God he wouldn’t hear the frantic beating of her heart. And despite the hot chocolate she’d been drinking, her mouth had gone dry. And even though her clothes were damp, she certainly wasn’t feeling cold anymore.
Noah’s shoulders were wide, his thermal outlining all the muscle beneath it, enough that she could see his biceps flex as he worked the laces. She could feel the heat of his thigh under her sole, too, seeping through the rubber, and when he finally got the shoe and sock off, she had the oddest urge to put her bare foot back on it, see what it would feel like when there wasn’t rubber between them.
How weird. She’d avoided men for the most part, hadn’t wanted a relationship and wasn’t in any hurry to divest herself of her virginity. She hadn’t met anyone she’d had any feelings for, anyway.
But this man... Whether she liked it or not, she did have feelings about.
As if he could feel her staring at him, Noah looked up, his dark gaze meeting hers, and what little breath remained in Bella’s lungs vanished.
Something electric and hot passed between them. Something she’d never felt before, though it was familiar, as if she’d felt an echo of it at one time in the past.
She wanted to say something, but she didn’t know what, because her voice wasn’t working.
Before she could get a word out, Noah rose to his feet abruptly. “The shower’s upstairs. You remember where.” His voice was curt. “I’ll go get you something to eat.”
Then he stalked from the room without another word.
NOAH PULLED OPEN the fridge door sharply and stared unseeing at the contents.
He couldn’t work out what the hell was wrong with him.
What on earth had made him kneel at her feet and take her shoes off for her like that? Because whatever instinct it had been, it had been a mistake.
When he’d held Bella’s small foot and felt her watching him, and then he’d looked up, something in her blue gaze had hit him like a hammer.
There had been heat in her eyes and she’d been staring at him like she’d never seen him before in her entire life.
He didn’t know why it had struck him so forcibly, but it had.
Yet that hadn’t been the worst part.
The worst part had been when he’d felt something hungry stir inside him in response. Something he’d pushed down deep, that had been hibernating, and now was waking up.
Irritated, he grabbed the chicken casserole he’d made yesterday, slammed the fridge door shut and stalked over to the counter. Then he busied himself with heating up the food, trying to focus on that and not on Bella Jacobson’s big blue eyes.
He didn’t want to be attracted to Avery Jacobson’s daughter. Avery had been a real piece of work, and though there was no guarantee that Bella would end up being the same, you could never tell. Hell, sometimes he was sure he felt the same hunger for oblivion or whatever it was that had propelled his father headfirst into a vodka bottle.
Not that he’d ever end up the same way. Not if he could help it. He had far more self-control than Hank ever did.
Yeah, you do. So just ignore whatever the hell is going on with Bella and be more of a gracious host, and less of a dick.
Noah growled under his breath. Yeah, he hadn’t exactly been friendly, though again, he wasn’t sure why.
Was it only because she was the daughter of the woman who’d ruined his father’s life? Or did it have something to do with her mentioning that she was planning on selling Grandma June’s house? June had loved that house and she wouldn’t want it sold to some strangers, surely?
It’s not about Grandma June’s house and you know it.
He gritted his teeth. If all this irritation was simply the result of animal attraction, then he needed to handle himself and not let her get under his skin.
Getting some bread out, he put a couple of slices on the plate then grabbed some cutlery before taking it all into the living area.
Bella wasn’t there, which presumably meant she was having a shower.
Automatically, Noah began straightening things.
He liked a tidy household and had done all the cooking and cleaning since his mother had left, driven away by the relentlessness of Hank’s addiction. She’d given Noah the choice to come with her, but Noah hadn’t felt able to leave Hank. Someone had to take care of him, and even though Noah had only been thirteen at the time, he’d made the decision to stay.
Things had been pretty bad after she’d gone.
He’d had one good year, when he’d thought his father had given up the bottle for good. That was the year he’d married Avery. But Noah had always known it wasn’t going to last, because nothing ever did.
Sure enough, his father had hit the bottle hard as soon as Avery had left.
So much for the happily-ever-after.
And it wasn’t that Avery and Hank’s marriage hadn’t lasted that had made him so bitter. It was that for a little while, he’d thought that it would.
The thoughts were uncomfortable so he shoved them away, picking up Bella’s soaking sneakers and carrying them over to the fire so they could dry. They were worn and there were holes in them, the rubber starting to perish. She needed new shoes, not to mention socks. Those were full of holes, too.
Moving over to the coffee table where the empty mug sat, he picked it up to take it into the kitchen and then stared at it, slightly puzzled. The mug looked as if it had been licked clean.
She sure had seemed to like the hot chocolate. In fact, now that he thought about it, he’d had the strange impression that she’d been going to cry when she’d seen what was in that mug.
Probably due to her being cold and obviously hungry, because he’d never had a reaction like that to his hot chocolate before. Not that he’d ever made hot chocolate for anyone but himself. But still...
“Um, thanks for the shower.”
Noah looked up to see Bella standing in the doorway, looking somewhat hesitant.
She’d taken her beanie off and her black hair lay damp and shining across her shoulders. The ash was gone from her face and her skin was flushed, the deep blue of her eyes almost luminous in the firelight.
No, she wasn’t pretty. She was beautiful.
The hungry thing inside him shifted again, and for a second all he could think about was whether her cheek would feel as soft as it looked if he ran the backs of his fingers across it.
He’d lay money on the fact that it would.
Then he noticed something else: she was still wearing her dirty, ash-streaked clothing.
“Didn’t you have anything else to change into?” he asked, his gaze flicking over her clothing again.
She flushed. “These are fine, just a bit damp. Hey, I couldn’t find a spare towel so I—”
“They’re not just a bit damp,” he interrupted, frowning. “They’re wet and they’re dirty. Go change and I’ll put them in the laundry.”
Bella scowled. “What are you, my mother?”
His jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t get clean just to put on dirty clothes again.”
“Well, thanks for your concern, but I’m fine.” She didn’t look at him, coming into the room and making a beeline for the table where he’d put her food.
He reached out and gently wrapped his fingers around her upper arm, stopping her. “You do have other clothes, don’t you?”
Her eyes went wide, staring first at where he gripped her arm before glancing up at him. “Of course I do. What’s it to you, anyway?”
She was very close, the scent of his own soap rising from her skin, mixed with ash and the cold bite of snow. He liked it. Not so much the ash-and-snow part, but definitely the scent of him on her.
Damn, what was wrong with him? He didn’t go around noticing the way a woman smelled normally, and he definitely didn’t get territorial, either.
You’re supposed to not let her get under your skin.
He let go and stood back, his heart beating faster than it should have been. To distract himself from his body’s ridiculous reaction, he nodded toward the food on the coffee table. “Go eat.”
She moved over to the couch without another word, sitting down and picking up the plate. There were no arguments now about how she wasn’t hungry; she began eating like she hadn’t seen food in months.
Maybe she hasn’t?
The thought came out of nowhere and sat there in his head.
Goddamn.
“You don’t have any supplies,” he said into the quiet of the room. “And I know for a fact that JJ came over and cleaned the fridge about a week ago, so there’s nothing in there. What exactly were you going to eat?”
Her fork clattered onto to her plate, her chin lifting, sudden anger gleaming in her eyes. “What’s your problem? I know having me turn up here is probably the last thing on earth you wanted, but that doesn’t mean you get to order me around, ask me rude questions and generally treat me like some dirt you got on your shoe.”
“I’m not treating you like that,” he growled, knowing he was and feeling pissed about it. “But if I’m going to be saving your ass from freezing to death, I want to know why you arrived with holes in your shoes, no food and clearly no clean clothes to change into.”
She’d gone all stiff, as if he’d struck a nerve. “That’s none of your damn business.”
There was something familiar about this.
It reminded him of the arguments he’d had with his father, about whether Hank had eaten, had a shower, brushed his hair, changed his clothes. His father had always been a proud man and had been incensed at being asked. Usually because the answer was no, Hank hadn’t done any of those things. He’d never admitted he had a problem with alcohol and he’d never admitted that he couldn’t look after himself when he was in the middle of a drinking binge.
Bella wasn’t a drunk old man, but she was looking at him with the same defensiveness and stubborn pride that his father used to. And Noah bet he knew why: she didn’t want to admit that she had no money.
He considered asking her straight out about it, but confrontation had never worked with his father and he suspected it wouldn’t work with Bella, either. Not that it was the time for confrontation. She’d only just arrived and he’d probably reached his being-a-dick limit.
Maybe he’d broach the topic in the morning, after she’d had a good night’s sleep.
Why do you want to broach the topic, anyway? You weren’t going to let her get under your skin, remember?
He was done trying to fix people, especially people who didn’t want to be fixed, and most especially people with more pride than sense.
But he wasn’t trying to fix Bella Jacobson. He only wanted to help her.
He normally wasn’t that altruistic, but he couldn’t leave one of Grandma June’s granddaughters to fend for herself when he knew that she needed a hand. June had been the only person who’d visited him after his father had died, to make sure he was okay and to see if he needed anything, and he owed her for that if nothing else.
Noah met Bella’s stubborn blue gaze and only nodded. “Fair enough,” he said. “I’ll go get the room ready for you.”