The Gamble Read online

  “Listen –”

  “No, you listen to me. I’m tired, my sinuses hurt and it’s snowing. I haven’t driven in snow in years, not like that.” I pointed into the darkness extending my grocery-bag laden arm. “And you’re sending me on my way, well past nine o’clock at night, after reneging on a contract.”

  As I was talking, his face changed from looking annoyed to something I couldn’t decipher then, suddenly, he grinned and it irritated me to see he had perfect, white, even teeth.

  “Your sinuses hurt?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I snapped. “My sinuses hurt, a lot,” I told him then shook my head again, this time they were short, angry shakes. “Forget it, what do you care? I’m too tired for this.”

  And I was. Way too tired. I’d figure out what I was going to do tomorrow.

  Then I stomped somewhat dramatically (and I was of the opinion I could be forgiven for that too) into the night, thinking this was my answer. This was the universe telling me I should play it safe. Marry Niles. Embrace security even if it was mostly boring and deep down if I admitted it to myself, it made me feel lonelier than I’ve ever felt in my life.

  Paralyzingly lonely.

  Who cared?

  If this was an adventure, it stunk.

  I’d rather be sitting in front of a TV with Niles (kind of).

  I opened the boot and put the bags back in and when I tried to close it, it wouldn’t move.

  This was because Unfriendly, Amazing-Looking Man was now outside, standing by my car and he had a firm hand on it.

  “Let go,” I demanded.

  “Come back into the house, we’ll work somethin’ out, least for tonight.”

  Was he mad? Work something out? As in, him and me staying in the A-Frame together? I didn’t even know his name and, furthermore, he was a jerk.

  “Thank you,” I said snottily, “no. Let go.”

  “Come into the house,” he repeated.

  “Let go,” I repeated right back at him.

  He leaned close to me. “Listen, Duchess, it’s cold, it’s snowing, we’re both standin’ outside like idiots arguing over what you wanted in the first place. Come into the damned house. You can sleep on the couch.”

  “I am not going to sleep on a couch.” Then my head jerked and I asked, “Duchess?”

  “My couch is comfortable and beggars can’t be chosers.”

  I let that slide and repeated, “Duchess?”

  He threw his other hand out, his gaze drifting the length of me as he said, “Fancy-ass clothes, fancy-ass purse, fancy-ass boots, fancy-ass accent.” His eyes came to my face and he finished firmly. “Duchess.”

  “I’m American!” I shouted.

  “Right,” he replied.

  “They don’t have duchesses in America,” I educated him.

  “Well, that’s the truth.”

  Why was I explaining about aristocracy? I returned to target.

  “Let go!” I shouted again.

  He completely ignored me shouting and looked into the boot.

  Then he asked what I thought was insanely, “Groceries?”

  “Yes,” I snapped, “I bought them in Denver.”

  He looked at me and grinned again and again I thought it was insanely before he muttered, “Rookie mistake.”

  “Would you let go so I can close the boot and be on my way?”

  “Boot?”

  “Trunk!”

  “English.”

  I think at that point I might have growled but being as I was alarmed at seeing only red, I didn’t really take note.

  “Mr…” I hesitated then said, “whoever-you-are –”

  “Max.”

  “Mr. Max –”

  “No, just Max.”

  I leaned toward him and snapped, “Whatever,” then demanded, “Let go of the car.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes,” I bit out. “Seriously. Let. Go. Of. The. Car.”

  He let go of the car and said, “Suit yourself.”

  “It would suit me if I could travel back in time and not click ‘book now’ on that stupid webpage,” I muttered as I slammed the boot and stomped to the driver’s side door. “Idyllic A-Frame in the Colorado Mountains, not even bloody close. More like Your Worst Snowstorm Nightmare in the Colorado Mountains.”

  I was in the car and had slammed the door but I was pretty certain before I did it I heard him chuckling.

  Even angry, I wasn’t stupid and I carefully reversed out of his drive, probably looking like a granny driver and I didn’t care. I wanted out of his sight, away from the glorious yet denied A-Frame and in closer proximity to a bed which I could actually sleep in and I didn’t want that bed to be in a hospital.

  I turned out of his drive and drove a lot faster (but still not very fast) and I kept driving and I didn’t once look into my mirrors to see the lost A-Frame.

  Adrenalin was still rushing through my system and I was still angry as I think I’d ever been when I was what I figured was close to the main road but I couldn’t be sure and I hit a patch of snow shrouded ice, lost control of the rental and slid into a ditch.

  When my heart stopped tripping over itself and the lump in my throat stopped threatening to kill me, I looked at the snow in front of my car and mumbled, “Beautiful.” Then I went on to mumble, “Brilliant.”

  Then I burst out crying.

  * * * * *

  I woke up or at least I think I woke up.

  I could see brightness, a lot of it, and a soft, beige pillowcase.

  But my eyeballs felt like they were three times their normal size. My eyelids actually felt swollen. My head felt stuffed with cotton wool. My ears felt funny like they were tunnels big enough to fit a train through. My throat hurt like hell. And lastly, my body felt leaden like it would take every effort just to move an inch.

  I made that effort and managed to get up on a forearm. Then I made more of an effort and pulled my hair out of my eyes.

  What I saw was a bright, sun-shiny day out of the top of an A-Frame window through a railing. I could see snow and lots of it, and pine trees and lots of those too. If I didn’t feel so terrible, I would have realized how beautiful it was.

  Cautiously, because my stuffed up head was also swimming, I looked around and saw the loft bedroom from the A-Frame website.

  “I’m dreaming,” I muttered, my voice was raspy and speaking made my throat hurt.

  I also needed to use the bathroom which I could see the door leading to one in front of me.

  I used more of my waning energy to swing my legs over the bed, I stood up and swayed mainly because, I was realizing, I was sick as a dog. Then I swayed again as I looked down at myself.

  I was in a man’s t-shirt, huge, red, or it was at one time in its history. Now it was a washed out red. On the left chest it had a cartoon-like graphic of what looked like a man with crazy hair, madly playing a piano over which the words “My Brother’s Bar” were displayed in an arch.

  I opened up the collar to the shirt, peered through it and stared at my naked body, save my still in place panties.

  I let the collar go and whispered, “Oh my God.”

  Something had happened.

  The last thing I remembered was bedding down in the backseat of the rental having covered myself with sweaters and hoping someone would happen onto me somewhat early in the morning.

  I’d tried unsuccessfully to get the car out of the ditch and, exhausted and not feeling all that well, I’d given up. I’d decided against walking in an unknown area to try to find the main road or happen onto someone who might just be stupid enough to be driving in a blinding snowstorm. Instead, I was going to wait it out.

  I also suspected that I’d never get to sleep not in a car, in a ditch, in a snowstorm after a showdown with an unfriendly but insanely attractive man. So I took some night-time cough medicine hoping to beat back the cold which was threatening, covered myself with sweaters and bedded down in the backseat.

  Apparently, I ha
d no trouble getting to sleep.

  Now I was here.

  Back at the A-Frame.

  In nothing but panties and a man’s t-shirt.

  Maybe this was My Worst Snowstorm Nightmare in the Colorado Mountains. Weird things happened to women who travelled alone, weird things that meant they were never seen again.

  And this was all my fault. I wanted a timeout from my life. I wanted an adventure.

  I thought maybe I should make a run for it. The problem was, I was sick as a dog and I had to go the bathroom.

  I decided bathroom first, create strategy to get out of my personal horror movie second.

  When I’d used the facilities (the bathroom, drat it, was fabulous, just like in the photos) and washed my hands, I walked out to see Unfriendly, Amazing-Looking Man, otherwise known as Max, ascending the spiral staircase.

  Like every stupid, senseless, idiotic heroine in a horror movie, I froze and I vowed if I got out of there alive I’d never make fun of another stupid, senseless, idiotic heroine in a horror movie again which I did, every time I watched a horror movie.

  He walked into the room and looked at me.

  “You’re awake,” he noted.

  “Yes,” I replied cautiously.

  He looked at the bed then at me. “Called Triple A, they’re gonna come up, pull out your car.”

  “Okay.”

  His head tipped to the side, he studied my face and he asked, “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” I lied.

  “You don’t look too good.”

  Immediately a different, stupid, senseless, idiotic feminine trait reared its ugly head and I took affront.

  “Thanks,” I snapped sarcastically.

  His lips tipped up at the ends and he took a step toward me.

  I took a step back.

  He stopped, his brows twitching at my retreat then said, “I mean, you don’t look like you feel well.”

  “I’m perfectly fine,” I lied.

  “And you don’t sound like you feel well.”

  “This is how I sound normally,” I lied yet again.

  “It isn’t how you sounded last night.”

  “It’s morning, I just woke up. This is my waking up voice.”

  “Your waking up voice sounds like you’ve got a sore throat and stuffed nose?”

  I kept lying. “I have allergies.”

  He looked out the windows then at me. “In snow?” I looked out the windows too and when he continued speaking I looked back at him. “Nothin’ alive in the ice out there that’ll mess with your allergies, Duchess.”

  I decided to change the topic of conversation however I was becoming slightly concerned that I was getting lightheaded.

  “How did I get here?” I asked him.

  His head tipped to the side again and he asked back, “What?”

  I pointed to myself and said, “Me,” then pointed to the floor, “here. How did get here?”

  He looked at the floor I was pointing to, shook his head and muttered, “Shit.” Then he looked back at me and said, “You were out. Never saw anything like it. Figured you were fakin’.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  He took another step toward me and I took another step back. He stopped again, looked at my feet and then for some reason grinned. Then he looked back at me.

  “I waited awhile, called the hotel to see if you’d checked in. They said no. I called a couple others. They said no too. So I went after you, thinkin’ maybe you got yourself into trouble. You did. I found your car in a ditch, you asleep in the back. I brought you and your shit to the house. You were out like a light, dead weight.” His torso twisted and he pointed to my suitcase which was on a comfortable looking armchair across the room then he twisted back to me. “Put you to bed, slept on the couch.”

  I was definitely getting lightheaded, not only because of being sick but also because of what he just said. Therefore, in order not to fall down and make a right prat of myself, I skirted him, walked to the bed and sat down or, if I was honest, more like slumped down.

  Then I looked up at him and asked, “You put me to bed?”

  He’d turned to face me, his brows were drawn and he didn’t look amused anymore.

  “You’re not okay,” he stated.

  “You put me to bed?” I repeated.

  His eyes came to mine and he said, “Yeah.”

  I pulled at the t-shirt and asked, “Did you put this on me?”

  The grin came back, it was different this time, vastly different and my lightheadedness increased significantly at the sight.

  Then he said, “Yeah.”

  I surged to my feet and then my vision went funny, my hand went to my forehead and I plopped back down on the bed.

  Suddenly he was crouched in front of me murmuring, “Jesus, Duchess.”

  “You took my clothes off,” I accused.

  “Lie down,” he ordered.

  “You took my clothes off.”

  “Yeah, now lie down.”

  “You can’t take my clothes off!” I shouted but I heard my loud words banging around in my skull, my head started swimming and I would have fallen backwards if my hand didn’t come out to rest on the bed to prop me up.

  “I can, I did, it ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before, now lie down.”

  I started to push up, announcing, “I’m leaving.”

  He straightened and put his hands on my shoulders, pressing me right back down. My bottom hit the bed and I looked up at him suddenly so fatigued I could barely tilt my head back.

  “You aren’t leavin’,” he declared.

  “You shouldn’t have changed my clothes.”

  “Duchess, not gonna say it again, lie down.”

  “I need to go.”

  I barely got out the word “go” when my calves were swept up and my body twisted in the bed. I couldn’t hold up my torso anymore so it also fell to the bed. Then the covers came over me.

  “You had medicine in your groceries. I’ll get that and you need some food.”

  “I need to go.”

  “Food, medicine then we’ll talk.”

  “Listen –”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Then he was gone and I didn’t have the energy to lift my head to find out where he went. I decided to go to my suitcase, get some clothes on and get out of there. Then I decided I’d do that after I closed my eyes just for a bit. They hurt, too much, and all that sun and snow, I had to give them a break, it was too bright.

  Then, I guess, I passed out.

  * * * * *

  “Nina, you with me?” I heard a somewhat familiar, deep, gravelly voice calling from what seemed far away.

  “How do you know my name?” I asked, not opening my eyes and I would have been highly alarmed at the grating sound of my voice if I wasn’t so very tired.

  “You’re with me,” the somewhat familiar, deep, gravelly voice muttered.

  “My throat hurts.”

  “Sounds like it.”

  “And my eyes hurt.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “And my whole body hurts.”

  “You’ve got a fever, Duchess.”

  “Figures,” I murmured. “I’m on holiday. Fit as a fiddle through my boring bloody life, I go on holiday, I get a fever.”

  I heard a not in the slightest unattractive chuckle and then, “Honey, I need to get you up, get some ibuprofen in you, some liquids.”

  “No.”

  “Nina.”

  “How do you know my name?”

  “Driver’s license, credit cards, passport.”

  My eyes slightly opened and that was too much effort so I closed them again.

  “You went through my purse.”

  “Woman sick in my bed, yeah. Figured I should know her name.”

  I tried to roll but that took too much effort too so I stopped trying and said, “Go away.”

  “Help me out here.”

  “Tired,” I mumbled.

  “Hon
ey.”

  He called me “honey” twice. Niles never called me “honey” or “sweetheart” or “darling” or anything, not even Nina most the time which was my bloody name. In fact, Niles didn’t speak to me much if I thought about it which, at that moment, I didn’t have the energy to do.

  I was nearly asleep again before I felt my body gently pulled up then what felt like my bottom sliding into a man’s lap then what felt like a glass against my lips.

  “Drink,” that somewhat familiar, deep, gravelly voice ordered.

  I drank.

  The glass went away then I heard, “Open your mouth, Duchess.”

  I did as I was told and felt something on my tongue.

  The glass came back and then, “Swallow those down.”

  I swallowed and jerked my head away, the pills going through my sore throat hurt like crazy.

  I ended up with what felt like my forehead pressed into someone’s neck, soft fabric against my cheek.

  “Ouch,” I whispered.

  “Sorry, darlin’.”

  I was moved again back between sheets, head on pillow and before the covers fully settled on me, I was asleep.

  * * * * *

  I woke up when I felt something cool, too cool, hit my neck.

  “No,” I rasped.

  “You’re burnin’ up, baby.”

  I wasn’t burning up. I was cold, so cold I was trembling, full on human earthquake.

  “So cold.” The words scraped through my throat and I winced.

  The cool left my neck and was pressed to my forehead.

  “Nina, do you have travel insurance?”

  I tried to focus but couldn’t and asked, “What?”

  “This doesn’t break soon, I gotta get you to the hospital.”

  I stayed silent mainly because I was trying to concentrate on getting warm. I pulled the covers closer around me and snuggled into them.

  “Nina, listen to me, do you have travel insurance?”

  “Wallet,” I told him, “purse.”

  “Okay, honey, rest.”

  I nodded and pulled the covers closer but I couldn’t get warm enough.