“Are the bars still in the pocket?” she asked urgently.
He patted the pocket, still grinning. “Yep.”
“Do we eat them now, or in the morning?” She was so hungry she thought she could wolf down half a cow.
“In the morning, for energy. We can split another candy bar tonight. Sugar saps your energy, but all we’re going to be doing tonight is sleeping anyway.”
She sighed. He was right, and she knew it; she hated it, but she agreed. The bars were probably frozen, anyway; better to let them thaw overnight.
He beat the snow from the coat, and Bailey took it from him. It would need to dry before he could wear it, but at least they had a fire so they could dry it. He must have been thinking along the same lines, because he looked up at the sky. “I’d better gather more firewood while we still have some light left. Is there anything else you need to do?”
“Work on those towel chaps for you, I guess. They won’t take long, maybe half an hour. By the way, how are the overshoes?”
“They’re great. Snow didn’t get down in my shoes, and I actually have better traction now.” He wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and drew her to him for a quick kiss, a kiss that somehow lingered. Then he pulled away and gingerly rested his forehead on hers. “Let’s get everything finished, so we can go to bed.”
26
BAILEY WAS WORRIED THAT WHEN CAM SAID “BED” HE had more on his mind than “sleep,” but he was not only a better strategist than that, he was realistic about his own physical condition. They each ate half a Snickers, drank water, brushed their teeth, and settled down in the shelter. The fire flickered in its pit, sending tiny pinpricks of light through the shelter’s stick walls, so for the first time they weren’t in complete darkness. The amount of heat wafting inside couldn’t have been much, but it was either enough to make a difference or the mental lift the fire afforded made them think they were more comfortable.
The faint warmth wasn’t enough, however, to make sharing their body heat unnecessary. Even as she curled into his arms, she was achingly aware that every time she did so she was deepening the connection she felt to him. There was nothing else she could do, no way off this road and no way to avoid the emotional cliff looming in front of her. Even though she knew the drive would end in a crash, all she could do was enjoy the ride.
Despite being physically more comfortable, sleep was elusive. She dozed, but woke every time he left the shelter to replenish the fire. Once she woke with a start when he shook her, saying, “Bailey. Bailey. Wake up. It’s okay, honey. Wake up.”
“Wha—?” she asked groggily, struggling up on her elbow and peering at him in the faint light. “What’s wrong?”
“You tell me. You were crying.”
“I was?” She swiped her hand over her wet cheeks, said “Damn it,” and flopped back down beside him. “Nothing’s wrong,” she muttered, embarrassed. “I do that sometimes.”
“Cry in your sleep? What are you dreaming about?”
“Nothing, as far as I know.” She hitched one shoulder in a shrug she hoped was negligent. “It just happens.” And it was stupid. She hated crying anyway, but when there was no reason for the tears they were particularly annoying. They made her look weak, something she couldn’t bear. She turned on her side away from him and cradled her head on her arm. “Go back to sleep, everything’s okay.”
His warm hand slid over her hip, settled into place on her stomach. “How long have you been doing this?”
She wanted to tell him all of her life, so he’d think it was nothing unusual and forget about it, but her mouth blurted the truth before her brain could catch up. “About a year.”
“Since your husband died.” The hand on her stomach was suddenly tense.
She sighed. “A month or so after that.”
“So you loved him.”
She heard the sudden flat tone of his voice, the faint incredulousness, and abruptly she was sick to death of living with all the misconceptions and assumptions. “No. I respected Jim, I was fond of him, but I didn’t love him any more than he loved me. It was a business deal, pure and simple—and it was his idea, not mine.” If she sounded defensive, well, she was—defensive and sick of the whole thing. At the same time, she felt relief at finally talking about it to someone. Other than herself, only Grant Siebold knew the whole story, and she seldom saw him now that Jim was dead.
“What kind of business deal?”
She couldn’t read anything from his tone now, but she didn’t care. If he thought the worse of her for going along with Jim’s scheme, and profiting from it, then better she should find out now.
“Jim had a…Machiavellian streak. He was really good at reading people, he was really good at making smart business decisions, so I guess he got in the habit of manipulating people. Don’t get me wrong, he wasn’t unscrupulous. He had a strong moral code.”
“I always liked him. He was friendly, down-to-earth.” Still that noncommittal tone.
“I enjoyed working for him. He didn’t cheat on Lena, didn’t look at his female employees as his private playground, so I didn’t have to be on guard with him. He was friendly, interested, he gave me investment advice that I sometimes took and sometimes didn’t. He said I was too cautious. I told him I didn’t take chances with my retirement. He laughed at me, but he was interested in some of my investment choices.” She took a long breath, let it out. “Then Lena died.”