A Funny Thing Happened.... Caroline Anderson
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because he wasn’t working. He went into the lobby, shucked his coat and boots and opened the kitchen door.
She was asleep, curled up in the chair by the fire, Noodle on her lap, Jess at her feet, and he stood there for a moment enjoying the warmth and watched her. Did she need her sleep more than the cream? If she did, would she even wake up if he just put it on?
He unscrewed the lid, eased one of her hands out from under the little white dog and smeared a dollop of cream onto the palm of her hand. She mumbled something in her sleep, and then went quiet again, and he massaged the cream into the cracks and fissures of her hands while Noodle sniffed the cream and went back to sleep.
She didn’t move again, just lay there with her head on one side, propped against the wing of the chair, while her chest rose and fell evenly in sleep.
She was exhausted, he realised. Exhausted, overworked and under-funded even without the snow and the power cut.
What would she have done without him?
Coped, was the answer. He knew that, just as he knew he couldn’t have left her to fend for herself alone.
He made more tea and drank it, sitting in the other chair by the fire, Jess leaning on his leg while he fondled her ears and watched Jemima sleeping and thought how gutsy she was and what a contrast with the superficial and fickle women he dealt with in his normal daily life.
She had that pioneering spirit that had conquered the Wild West, he thought—grit and determination and sheer bloody-mindedness, coupled with resourcefulness and humour.
. Interesting.
It was a shame they were going to be so busy that he wouldn’t have time to get to know her!
Jemima woke at midnight, a crick in her neck and Sam asleep in the easy chair opposite her. She watched him for a moment, enjoying the sight of him stretched out in front of the Rayburn, legs crossed at the ankle, his dark hair tousled and boyish above those sinful black lashes.
He had good bones, she thought idly—good bones and stamina. She pushed Noodle onto the floor, opened the little fire-door in the front of the Rayburn and shovelled in coke and slag to keep it on overnight.
The last thing they needed was that going out!
Sam stirred and mumbled something, and she looked down at him and wondered what she would have done if he hadn’t stayed.
Coped, of course, but only just barely and not for long. A day? Two, maybe? No more than that.
She reached out and shook him gently, with a hand that no longer hurt.
‘Sam? Time for bed.’
His eyes flew open and locked with hers, and the message in them was warm and sleepy and unmistakable. Then he smiled, a lazy, sexy smile that made her pulse hammer and her mouth go dry as he unfolded out of the chair with a groan.
‘I don’t suppose you meant that the way it sounded,’ he said regretfully, and a smile played around his eyes, taking away any offence.
She smiled back. ‘No—I wouldn’t have the energy.’
‘I wouldn’t notice—I’d be asleep.’
They laughed softly, and she put the dogs out for a moment before heading up the stairs. It was much colder in the bedrooms, and she hoped he was a tough and hardy type, or he’d freeze to bits. She remembered her first taste of winter here. It had taken a bit of getting used to, but she’d managed.
‘You’re in here,’ she told him, and pushed the door open. The bed looked neat, the room quite welcoming, but it was cold. ‘I’m sorry it’s not warmer. I’ll get you some extra blankets. If you leave the door open the heat’ll come up from the kitchen.’
She reached into the airing cupboard, pulled out a couple of blankets from the bottom and handed them to him. ‘I’ll leave the lantern hoe—don’t flush the loo, because we haven’t got any water. I’ll get some buckets in the morning. Anything else you need?’
He shook his head.
‘Right, I’ll see you in the morning.’
‘What time’s milking?’
‘Five, usually.’
His jaw sagged slightly, then he nodded. ‘Wake me.’ ‘I can manage—’
‘Just do it.’
She smiled. He wanted to be a hero? Fine, he could be a hero. ‘See you at five, then. Goodnight, Sam—and thanks.’
She went into her room, leaving the door ajar so she had some light, and changed quickly into her pyjamas. Her teeth were scrubbed in a dribble of water, she wiped her face with a cleansing pad and dragged a brush through her hair, then curled up under the covers, rubbing her feet inside the thick bedsocks to keep them warm.
Five o’clock was going to come awfully soon...
Sam was freezing. He pulled on a sweater over his one pair of ‘just-in-case’ pyjamas, put on a second pair of socks and threw the other blanket over the bed before huddling back under the covers and shuddering with cold.
He must be even more spoilt and pampered than he’d realised.
The wind rattled the window, shaking the glass in the frame and swirling cold air round the room. So much for the warmth coming up from the kitchen!
He tucked his face under the blankets and blew on his hands, trying to warm them, but all he managed to do was make the bed tepid and damp. In the end he tucked the blankets round his head, curled up in a ball and lay still.
There were no night sounds other than the wind. It was strange. He’d stayed with his grandparents just down the road in the summer once, and he could remember the sounds of the night—the owls hooting, the rustling of countless little animals—he’d used to sit on the windowsill and listen to them, and try and imagine what they all were.
His bed dipped, and something cold and wet pushed into his face. His eyelids flew up and his mouth opened to yell when a loud purr echoed round his head.
A cat.
Dammit, he’d nearly died of fright! It nudged him again, and he reached out a hand and scratched its ears and chuckled, the tension draining out of him. A cat he could cope with. It curled up against his chest, and after a moment the purring slowed down and stopped. The warmth seeped through against his chest, and, seconds later, he was asleep.
It was light when he woke—light with the sort of brightness that only happens with a full moon on snow. He shoved the cat out of the way, got stiffly out of bed and went to the window, peering at his watch.
Five-thiriy-and there was a light in the barn, a thin sliver of yellow seeping round the sliding door. He pulled on his clothes in the moonlight and limped down the stairs, hideously aware of every muscle, to find a note from Jemima propped up against a mug on the table.
‘Gone fishing,’ it said. ‘Didn’t want to disturb the cat.’
He smiled and put the kettle on. However busy she was, she’d have time to sip a cup of tea. The Rayburn needed revving up, and he studied the controls for a minute and decided that it probably needed some breakfast. He found logs in the lobby and pushed them through the little door of the firebox, and once it was packed he opened the vent to allow more air in.
The dogs watched him uninterestedly. Was he eating? No. Therefore they might as well sleep, curled up on the twin chairs. He scooped Noodle up and sat down, and she washed him vigorously before settling down again on his lap.
It reminded him that he needed a shave, but water was short and a beard might keep his face warm in the wind.
Not that it would have much chance to grow before the power came back on, whenever that might be. He put Noodle down and went into the parlour to phone the electricity board.
Still