Liberating Mr. Gable Page 8

  Anson pulled back, leaning up to give her a kiss laced with sincerity. “That’s fine. Don’t get much of that. Morals. Rules. I can respect that.”

  Etta deflated with relief. “Good. Thanks.”

  “I want us to have fun together. So I’m thinking we can spend half our time like this, making out in your bed, and the other half of the time I’ll help you out with whatever you need around the house.”

  Etta struggled to remember what they had been talking about, distracted by his striking body as he walked to the foot of the bed to retrieve his shirt. “You don’t have to, you know. I’ve got it under control. You’re a guest here,” she reminded him.

  He looked her up and down, tugging his t-shirt over his head. “You make out with all your guests, then?” His scandalous grin did not falter, even as Etta flung a pillow at him. “Little duck, you need to get out of this bed. I won’t get anything done with you distracting me, flaunting your perfect body sprawled out over the sheets like that all afternoon.”

  No one had ever called her figure perfect before. In fact, no one mentioned her form at all, except in the normal exchanges of being short or too young to handle the B&B. She looked down at her breasts, as if examining them in new light. “Perfect? Really?”

  He pointed to the mattress. “Do you need me to bend you over this bed and take you right now? Because I’ll do it.”

  Etta laughed, her cheeks pink. She grabbed the forgotten quiche and led Anson to the list on the fridge.

  He read over it as he tried to pull himself out of his one-track mind. “Well, I can do most of this stuff, but I don’t know a thing about plumbing. Might have to hire a plumber for that.”

  “I’m not ready to admit defeat. I got a book from the library in Foot Town. I think I can figure it out.”

  “Foot Town?”

  “Oh. It’s what we call the town at the foot of the mountain. Chloe works weekends at a bar down there.”

  He read further down the sheet. “Greenhouse? You’ve got a greenhouse?”

  “Sure. How do you think we have fresh produce in the general store? A few of us have greenhouses. We alternate crops, so there’s always a variety. Then we don’t have to go all the way down the mountain every time we want a tomato.”

  He gazed at her in admiration. “You are a woman of many talents. Kitchen. Bedroom. Greenhouse. Is there a room you can’t master?”

  Etta laced her fingers through his and led him to the dining room. “This one. This room scares the daylights out of me.” She pulled back the plastic sheet that closed off that room, revealing a broken bookcase, a hole in the drywall, several gouges in the paint, and a broken light fixture.

  “Yikes. What happened here?”

  “I was raped,” Etta answered succinctly. “Tried to fight him off best I could, but he won. Gave me this nifty little scar here.” She showed him a permanent mark on her arm. “And now I have a broken bone and a trashed dining room to clean up.”

  Anson turned to her, his face determinedly stern. “I’ve got this.”

  “No, Anson. There’s too much to do here. I’ve been putting it off because, well, I’m a big chicken and I’ve been avoiding the whole area. Like that’ll make me safer.” She let out a pfft sound, trying to brush off her fear.

  Shaking his head, Anson’s rule was firm. “I’m the guest. I get to choose. I want to work on this room, and I need some space to do it. Do you know how to oil the squeaky doors?” He picked out one of the easier items on the list.

  Etta shot him a baleful look. “Yes. Amazingly enough, I can oil a hinge.”

  “Good. Hop to it, then. Give me a few hours here. Let me see what damage I can do.”

  “Anson, you don’t have to do this.”

  He responded by pulling her close and pressing his lips to her forehead. His hand gripped her arm firmly. “Don’t you even think about arguing with me on this.” Eyes boring into hers, he spoke his vow. “No woman I share a bed with will feel unsafe in her own home. I’ll fix this.” Then, to break the tension, he released her with a forced smile. “Now, run along, little duck. Go pick wildflowers or skip rocks, or whatever you country girls like to do.”

  Etta huffed. “Skipping rocks in January? You really are a city boy.”

  “Get going. I’m serious. I don’t want you anywhere near this room till I’m done with it.”

  “Anson?” She looked up at him, unable to verbally communicate her gratitude. He was not helping her because she could not handle the workload. He was not pitching in because he pitied her. Judging the sincerity in his face, she realized that he was taking on her demons and slaying them, so she did not have to. She threw a hug around his body, clutching him tight as she buried her face in his strong chest. “Thank you.”

  “If I’m here, you’re safe,” he assured her, though it sounded just as much like a threat to unseen villains as it did a promise to her.

  In it

  Having another body in the house motivated Etta to cross more items off her list. She fixed the garbage disposal, removed some of the more noticeable marks off the walls, and changed the oil in her truck.

  The snow was no longer falling, but it showed no signs of melting, either. By the time she finished her chores, the sun was giving a tired wave to her house, illuminating it in the early evening light.

  She walked into the house from the garage, realizing it had been several hours since her last meal. Anson was still plugging away in the dining room, tarp drawn over the doorway so his progress could not be viewed. Etta pulled out items to make chicken enchiladas, assembling the ingredients in the pan on autopilot. She used the time it took to marinate the chicken to take a quick shower.

  Etta breathed easily, now that her list was shrinking and Anson was helping her in more ways than one. As she dried off and dressed, she could not help but feel grateful for his lack of foresight when it came to making a reservation.

  The phone rang, and Etta groaned as she stalked into the kitchen with wet hair.

  “Rang twice while you were outside. I didn’t know if I should answer it,” Anson called to her.

  “No, it’s fine. I got it.” She picked up the receiver with the air of practiced patience. “French Connection.”

  “Thank God! Are you okay?”

  Etta sighed, not bothering to keep her exasperation from her friend. “I’m fine, Coop. Just changing the oil on the truck.”

  “Oh. Well, I called, and you didn’t answer. I was freaking out.”

  “You don’t have to worry about me. It’s sweet and all, but I don’t require checking up on. I said I’d let you know if I needed help, and right now, all’s well. How’s Jamie handling being stuck inside?” She hoped the quick subject change would distract him.

  “He’s coping. We’re about to go snowmobiling in a little bit. Want to join us? We’re racing down the mountain.”

  Etta chuckled at the fun they participated in on numerous occasions. “Not this time around. I’m busy with home repairs. Finally motivated, so I don’t want to jinx it.”

  “Suit yourself. Uncle Ben wanted to know if you needed anything.”

  “I’m fine. Tell Benji I’ll be sure to call if anything changes. Enjoy your race.” She put away a few dishes. “You know, if Chloe were here, we’d smoke you guys.”

  “Your definition of ‘smoking us’ was winning on a technicality last time. You know I always brake for animals.”

  “All I hear is ‘I’m a gigantic loser who lost to a couple of girls’.”

  “Girls I taught how to ride on the snowmobiles!”

  “And the student becomes the master.” She shook her head, smiling at the easy conversation she missed. Everything had taken a serious turn since her grandfather passed and the incident happened. It felt nice to rag on her best friend without the dark cloud hanging over them. “I miss this. I miss you like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Fun. Normal. I hate when you check up on me like I’m an invalid or something. I li
ke when you see me as someone who can race you down the mountain, not a helpless, pathetic little girl.”

  “Not pathetic. Not helpless. A little bull-headed, but definitely not an invalid.”

  “Thanks, Coop.”

  “You’re like my sister, and I hate watching you muscle past all this like you have to go through it alone.”

  Etta stared out the kitchen window, watching the snow fall on the mounds that refused to melt. “If I’m your sister, then stop kissing me. Seriously. Unless you want to get barfed on.”

  Cooper laughed from his diaphragm, and Etta could picture his jovial nature taking over his expression. “Kept the weirdo with the glasses off you, didn’t it? For real, who wears sunglasses at night?”

  Etta avoided answering him, since only a few hours ago, she shared a bed with said “weirdo”. “Have a good race. Tell Jamie my money’s on him.”

  “Be safe, fake girlfriend.”

  “Love you, too, Coop.” Etta hung up the phone, smiling in the afterglow of having an actual conversation with her friend. With lightness she had not felt in weeks, she popped the enchiladas into the oven. Then she began washing the dishes, humming to herself. When she turned to begin sweeping and mopping the floor, she let out a muffled yelp at Anson’s unannounced presence. His gaze was focused on her. “Goodness gracious! How long have you been standing there?”

  “Not long. Just watching you. You’re really close with that Cooper guy, aren’t you?”

  Etta cocked her head to the side. “Something you want to ask me?”

  Anson shrugged. “I’ve got no right to be territorial. Just didn’t expect to feel jealous. I don’t really know you, but he does. He makes you smile.”

  “He’s had a lifetime of practice. I only just met you.”

  “I know. I’m being irrational. Is it wrong that I want to rip that broom out your hand, sweep you off your feet and make out with you some more in your bed?”

  “Cheese and crackers, Anson!” Red colored her cheeks as she fiddled with the dishtowel. “Trust me, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Cooper and I have never been involved. And something tells me, I’m not the only woman you’ve seduced with that smile.”

  Anson winced. “No. You’re right about that. But you’re the only one who—”

  “Stop.” She held up her hand. “You don’t have to promise me things or reassure me. I’m not some teenager with a crush. I know… I know we can’t stay like this. I’m just enjoying it – enjoying you, while it lasts.”

  Anson swallowed. “I guess that’s fair. How long would you like us to last?”

  Etta’s confusion was displayed on her face. She refused to answer his question with the truth. “What are my options?” she countered.

  Anson ran a tired hand over his face, trying to bring logic back into the conversation. “Honestly? I don’t know. My life back home is complicated. I wouldn’t want to drag anyone into it. And you seem fairly comfortable here.” He gazed across the kitchen into the face of the only person who had been able to calm him in the past few years. So much about his life he wished he could run away from. Start over. Not her, though.

  “Okay.” Etta refused to give more than two syllables.

  The foreign thought of escape crept into his brain and latched itself there, growing into a fully-fledged promise of hope. “Maybe I could stay here for a while.”

  “I don’t think you have any other choice.” Etta motioned to the unrelenting snow out the window.

  He leveled his gaze at her and made the boldest move he ever had without consulting anyone. “I meant that I could stay with you even after the snow stops falling. After the snow melts. Until the snow goes away completely and then starts up again next year.”

  Etta could not move. So many times, she caught a deer staring into her headlights, but she could never fully commiserate with the animal’s conundrum firsthand until that moment. “What?”

  “I scared you,” he stated flatly. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.” He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “And now I’ve freaked you out. Please don’t be freaked out.”

  Etta swallowed the lump in her throat, positive he could hear her heart pounding from across the room. “Tell me why you’re saying this.”

  “You want me to scare you even more? Really?”

  “No. I need more information. It’s kinda out of the blue, Anson. We don’t know each other, like you just said. I met you exactly two days ago. What makes you think you want to stay here with me?”

  Anson ran a nervous hand through his hair, ruffling it further as he tugged at the strands, searching in the roots for eloquence that escaped him. “You don’t know me, so you can’t understand the wreck I was before coming here. The unstable, shaky guy I was when you first met me? That was every day, holed up in my house by myself, because stepping outside sent me into full-on panic attacks. I haven’t been a normal person in a long time.” He took a step toward her, wishing he could make her understand. “But with you? I’m the me I haven’t been able to find. I’m the me I used to be, only better. I like who I am with you.” The distance between them shrank as he allowed the gravitational pull she had on him to draw him closer. “You keep me sane.”

  Etta tried to maintain a level head, but his close proximity gave her an intoxicating whiff of him, which scrambled her brain. She attempted to steer them both toward logic. “But why me? What am I doing that’s helping? Maybe it’s just being on the mountain you like.”

  “Please let me stay with you until the snow melts. Just until you get tired of me. I’ll rent a room so I’m not dead weight.”

  Etta cast him a look with a hint of attitude. “You’re not a burden. I like having you around.”

  “I’m not in it for a free ride, though, and I need you to see that. As soon as we can make it down to the rental office, I’ll rent out a room for the month.”

  “The month?!” Etta raised her voice without meaning to. “Anson, no one rents for that long. Most people are in for a week, tops. That’s ridiculous, and expensive.”

  “It’s worth it to know you don’t think I’m sponging off of you. You’re worth every penny.”

  “You make it sound like I’m a call girl.”

  “Not a prostitute. Just a very good business woman. You run a fantastic B&B up here. Stayed two days, and I can’t fathom leaving. Magic touch, you’ve got.”

  Etta grinned, putting up her weakest protest. “I meant what I said about not having sex until I’m married. I don’t sleep with renters, you know.”

  Anson’s chest puffed out, and his voice took on a gallant timbre. “Well, then, we should make good use of the time, since this might be our last day before I’m your tenant.” His arms went around her dainty waist.

  “I really do like being with you,” she admitted, the first sign of her caving.

  “Well, goodness gracious, Etta. You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Without warning, he swept her off her feet and carried her to her bedroom, laying her down on the bed to see just how good they were together.

  Visitors

  Etta let out a girlish squeak when Anson dumped her onto her mattress, and wished she looked and sounded more refined. Before she could compose herself, Anson’s shirt was off and his arms were around her, pressing her down into the sheets. His chest was a sight to behold, captivating her wholly and distracting her from any fear.

  Dainty fingers shot out and traced with wonder the muscular frame that Anson did not mind showing off. “Why is your chest not hairy?” she questioned. Her hand flew over her mouth, wishing she could stuff the words back inside. “I didn’t mean that as a criticism.”

  “I get it waxed,” Anson admitted, hiding his face in her neck as he kissed it. “Is that okay?”

  “Of course it is. I’ve just never seen a real life person looking so perfect. It’s like you just stepped off a movie set or something.”

  The softness in Anson’s face began to dissipate, adding rigidity to his soft expression.
He focused on her lips, her perfect, pink mouth that uttered silly expressions he only ever heard in old black and white television sitcoms. “Kiss me, before you say something that makes me want to tear your clothes off.”

  Etta complied easily, her lips moving with his as though they had never done anything different. Her hands set to roving over his muscular back, fingering the divots and bulges that made him look spectacular without his shirt on. Etta kissed Anson for half an hour without thinking twice of the time. Even though she remained fully clothed, he did not lose any of his zeal for her. Etta sighed happily as Anson’s hunger for her trailed down her neck and tugged at the collar of her shirt, laying kisses across her collarbone.

  “Get off her!” came a voice that was not Anson’s and certainly not Etta’s.

  A third person in the sweaty room was the only thing that could have pulled Anson away from his conquest.

  Cooper’s hand was over his eyes, shielding him from viewing his best friend sprawled out on her bed with the stranger. “Etta! What’s going on?” Cooper shouted.

  “Out!” Anson yelled, standing up from his kneeling position and throwing a blanket over an Etta as if she was naked and needed covering.

  Cooper assessed the situation with rosy cheeks, judging the situation as consensual, and his presence in the room as unnecessary. He stepped backward into the hallway. “I’m sorry! I heard noises, and I thought… I didn’t know you two were hooking up!” He shook his head. “Etta! He’s a renter!” he scolded, unsure if the woman in the bed was the girl he had always known. “Jamie! Stay over there!”

  Anson swung the bedroom door shut with a bang, and yanked his shirt over his head that had been discarded onto the floor. He was angry, and wished for ten more minutes with Etta, who was sitting up with an expression that was pained with regret.