A Home of Her Own (Dundee, Idaho #4)(8)
Author: Brenda Novak

“Still?”

Mrs. Simpson chuckled. “Still. Do you want me to get him?”

Evidently, she had no better choice. “Yeah.”

With a final curious glance, Polly headed the other way, her panty hose rubbing as she walked. A moment later, she poked her head out of a room at the end of the hall and waved. “Mike says you can come on back.”

Lucky quickly removed her boots because the caked-on snow was beginning to melt and create puddles on the plastic protecting the entryway carpet. But when she saw her feet, she wished she hadn’t been so polite. There was a hole in her sock, which made her look like the white trash everyone here already thought she was.

“Miss Caldwell?”

Lucky straightened. “I’m coming.” Ignoring the hole, along with the wetness of her jeans and her generally haggard appearance, she refused to acknowledge the curious stares of the office personnel and walked down the hall as if she and Mike had been friends for years.

Mike had a large office with a mahogany desk, four soft leather chairs, a wet bar in one corner and several horse pictures hanging on the walls. Huge windows revealed the storm, but Lucky knew that on a clear day, they’d show the barn and the beauty of the land sweeping away from the house.

“Lucky.” Mike stood. Cool curiosity filled his hazel eyes, but he didn’t come to meet her, and he didn’t smile. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Lucky resented having to ask him for a favor, even a small one. But unless she wanted to turn into a Popsicle by morning, she had to. “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind letting me use your phone.”

“Of course not.” He paused briefly, studying her, and she stood completely still, forcing herself to bear the weight of his gaze. She had no doubt that he wouldn’t like what he saw. She’d lost a lot of weight since she’d lived here, but her hair color was too light to be the rich auburn everyone seemed to admire, and her skin was too pale.

“You’re soaked,” he said. “Don’t tell me you walked over here.”

She didn’t want him to know how desperate she was for the basics in life, so she shrugged carelessly. “It’s only half a mile or so.”

“It’s storming.”

“I guess I could’ve dug my car out of the snow, but the closest thing I have to a shovel is a broom.” She chuckled, hoping to elicit a smile from him and ease the tension between them, but it didn’t work.

“In that case, I think you made the right choice.” He brushed past her as he dragged a chair across the carpet to a small table in the corner, where there was a phone.

As he swept by, Lucky caught the scent she’d noticed last night. Mike had been in his midtwenties when she was growing up, fifteen years her senior, but she’d always respected him—almost idolized him. And now that she could see him more clearly, she decided he’d changed for the better. Where he’d once been tall and lanky, he was well-muscled and perfectly proportioned. Faint laugh lines bracketed his eyes and mouth, and the skin of his face, hands and neck showed how often he worked outdoors. She liked Mike’s rugged virility, his light eyes and brown hair, the aura about him that said he’d been around awhile and knew how to handle life. But last night was the first time she’d ever gotten close enough to connect a specific scent to him. He smelled like the outdoors, like a wintry forest….

“Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” he said, but she knew his words were only a polite facade.

She shook her head. “I won’t sit, I’m too wet.”

He frowned at her soaked feet as if he’d missed them in his earlier perusal—and seemed to zero in on the hole in her sock. Her toes curled before he motioned her into the chair again. “I’m not worried about you getting anything wet.”

Clearing her throat, she did as he suggested so she could leave as soon as possible. “Um, do you happen to have a phone book I could use?”

He leaned into the hall and asked someone to bring him a phone book. “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” he asked, turning back.

Lucky longed for hot coffee. Without electricity, she couldn’t brew any for herself. But she wasn’t going to press her welcome long enough to drink it. She didn’t want to take anything more from Mike than absolutely necessary. “No, I’m fine.”

He opened his mouth to speak again but Polly Simpson interrupted with the phone book, which he immediately passed to her.

“Thanks,” she mumbled and tried to get her burning fingers to work well enough to turn the flimsy pages.

Mike shoved his hands into the pockets of his Wranglers and leaned against the doorjamb, then seemed to think twice about hanging around to watch. “I’m gonna grab a cup of coffee,” he muttered and left, and Lucky breathed a sigh of relief to find herself alone.

It took her nearly fifteen minutes to get through to the power company, and an additional five to reach the other utility companies, but when she finally hung up with her third customer service representative of the day, she had promises that the electricity and phone service would be restored at 215 White Rock Road. She just didn’t know exactly when. She’d been told it would happen after the storm, but the storm could last another day or two.

“All set?” Mike reappeared almost the second she closed the phone book.

Lucky took the question to mean that he was as anxious for her to leave as she was to go. “Yes. Thank you.” She stood and headed for the door, but knew she’d be stupid not to ask Mike if she could borrow a shovel. If she didn’t get power and water today, she’d have to dig out and drive to town. She was down to a small bag of sunflower seeds for food, only half a gallon of water and no more firewood.

Cursing herself for not being better prepared for the harsh Idaho winter, she paused on her way out. “I’m sorry to bother you again, but would it be possible to borrow a shovel? I won’t need it for more than a couple of days.”

He’d already started working on his computer. He glanced up—and hesitated long enough that she regretted asking.

“If you don’t have an extra one, I understand,” she said.

“No, that’s not it. I’m sure I can find something.” Getting up, he came around the desk and led her through the offices. When they reached the outside door, he told her he’d be right back.

She put on her cold, wet boots while he disappeared into the private part of the house. By the time he returned, she was dressed and ready to go, and he was carrying a fair-size snow shovel. “Here you are.”