Candy Cain Read online

  Chapter 4

  Throughout the night both man and woman gave and took until they could take and give no more; they succumbed to exhaustion as the sun rose. Candy woke when her body jerked. The truck tires were spinning dramatically, fishtailing back and forth. The engine revved and she could feel the willful power of the awesome machine it was.

  “Come on, ole girl, get us out of here,” she heard Cain mutter from behind the wheel.

  Candy pulled herself into a sitting position. Cain’s jacket slipped from her shoulders, and she realized he must have draped it over her before he exited the truck. Gazing outside the window she saw where Cain had dug them out. He must have been freezing. She felt a flush of gratefulness stain her cheeks at his chivalrousness. She pulled his jacket and the blanket tighter about her shoulders and tucked her bare feet up almost under her, though she could feel the welcome blast of the heat from the vents.

  They had miraculously survived the brutal night. They had kept each other warm and safe. Much to her dismay, the snow was still falling, although not as strongly. The weather had cleared enough for her to see a moderate distance down the road. She assumed Cain had put gas in the tank, as it now read half-full. Cain must have spent some time digging them out while she slept; all four tires were bare of snow. She had to admit the man had a great deal of stamina. The truck lurched forward, and was free. Cain gave a whoop of triumph and cast a winning smile in her direction. Candy couldn’t help but grin back. He looked tired, but nonetheless predatory. She blushed as she still felt the warmth of his tingling skin next to hers. They sat, thigh pressed to thigh.

  “Are we headed into town? I need to be there before Christmas; it’s very important,” she asked.

  There was a family who lost their father recently, and Candy picked their family as well as three others to buy gifts and Christmas dinner for. She needed to pick up a few more items and finish shopping. A soak in a hot bath full of scented water and mounds of slippery bubbles would be welcome. Surprisingly, she had a fleeting thought and hoped Cain could be persuaded to join her.

  “Nope, not yet. Don’t worry; I’ll get you there before Christmas. But right now the bridge into town is most likely closed until the weather clears.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “My place. I have a cabin not too far from here. We’ll be there soon as long as the weather holds for a few more minutes.”

  “Oh, you have a cabin?”

  “Well, you didn’t think I lived in my truck did you?”

  Candy blushed from her head to her toes. He gave a rude snort at her expression. And feeling some dismay, she felt his body stiffen and then shift from hers.

  “You have to admit we didn’t actually get off to the right start,” she said in way of an apology.

  “You mean having sex with each other is a bad way to start?”

  “You know what I mean, and it wasn’t the sex,” she responded heatedly.

  He chuckled. “Look, call it whatever you want, we saved each other from certain death or hypothermia.”

  Candy cast her gaze down. “Is that all it was to you?”

  “What do you want, a vow of everlasting love? A marriage proposal?”

  Candy didn’t respond. What did she want? The way he had made love to her felt so magical and wonderful, a gift really. Cain had been so tender and sweet. He was powerful, and yet so incredibly gentle. Everything she ever wanted in a man had been hers last night. Was she now just to forget it happened? Say, ‘thanks for the memories?’ She was saved from a reply when a small log cabin came into view.

  It was rustic, quaint, looked solid, and no more than a shoe box in size, and Candy wondered if Cain had built it with his own hands. A stone chimney rose from the roof. You could have fit the entire structure into her penthouse bathroom at home. All was quiet from within.

  From the corner of her eye, she could see Cain awaited her answer critically. He was once again wearing his arrogant sarcastic look, and she felt ruffled.

  “Well, I suppose if having one-night stands is all you are used to, I guess I can understand. Please be a gentleman and give me a few moments to digest your uncouth reply, as I am unused to such behavior.”

  “Well, la-ti-da.”

  Cain pulled the truck up to the cabin, practically parking it at the front door. Candy slipped on her high heels. She grimaced at her one shoe with the heel missing, as these had been her favorites. Cain offered her a disparaging glance.

  “The snow is almost waist high; you’re bare-legged, and you think those will offer some protection?”

  Angered by his cruel, taunting look, Candy had a hot retort on the tip of her tongue, but didn’t get a chance to reply. Cain left the truck, grabbing up his jacket she had dropped beside her and ordered her to stay put. She supposed she should be at least a little grateful he seemed to have dropped the word stupid from his vocabulary. She watched him trudge through the drifts of high snow, clearing a haphazard path, slipping occasionally in his running shoes.

  He opened the cabin door wide, needing to put a strong shoulder into it before it would budge, and came back for her. He tucked the blanket around her, and then, to her surprise, pulled her into his arms, cradling her against his chest. Ignoring her protests, he carried her into the cabin, where he set her on a dilapidated, ancient couch that had seen better days…possibly fifty years ago.

  In no time Cain had a roaring fire going in the mismatched-in-size rock fireplace, a copycat to a Texas longhorn ranch no doubt. It didn’t take long for the tiny room to turn toasty warm as he fed the hungry flames that lapped at the wood greedily. She settled back into the saggy couch. A jerk and an ass though he may be, he was definitely very efficient.

  “You hungry?” he asked. Without waiting for a reply he strolled off toward a small room, she guessed was his kitchen.

  Her belly gave a rumble, and she supposed she was. “I guess some hot chocolate would be wishful thinking,” she mused aloud.

  Candy took in the meager surroundings. It was sparsely furnished. Not one Christmas ornament could be seen to brighten the ambiance. No pictures graced the barren walls. It looked to be a lonely, woe-begotten place. A door to her right remained closed as did a door to her left. She assumed one to be a bedroom, the other the facilities. Her eyes widened momentarily, hoping one was a washroom. She couldn’t be expected to use an outhouse in this weather; her silk-clad bottom would freeze.

  With the obvious poverty surrounding her, she wondered just what kind of fare he planned on serving her. She was surprised when a few moments later he handed her a mug of steaming cocoa with miniature marshmallows.

  “You like this stuff?” she asked. She sipped at the heavenly flavor and closed her eyes in delight. It was good.

  “No, it’s gross,” he commented seriously, and went back to the kitchen, where she heard him fumble with pots and pans. “Once you’re warmed up, go over to the door to your right, and in the closet are some women’s clothing. They may be a bit big, but useful enough. At least you won’t get chilled in them or freeze your ass off.” He stuck his head out of the room and added, “That is, if you don’t mind slumming it, princess.”

  Candy scowled at him. The man was an enigma. I loathe enigmas. The floor was freezing with her shoes off, and she moved quickly from the cold, wooden floorboards to the one small carpet covering a miniscule patch of floor in the tiny, neat bedroom. The mattress was a double, the bed frame made from metal, and there was no headboard. It sagged suspiciously in the middle, displaying its old age and was devoid of a box spring.

  A clean, well-used, aged brown quilt covered the bed. A decrepit, unimpressive lamp sat on a paint-chipped night table within easy reach. Candy opened the tiny closet and jumped back as a half a dozen or so random items tumbled out, crashing heavily onto the floor.

  “Sorry about that.” Candy heard yelled from the other room. “I should have warned you to approach with caution.”

  Candy shook her head in annoyance. She shoved the
offending objects back in, taking note of a dog-eared rag doll missing an eye, and a worn, red toy fire truck missing two back wheels. She thumbed through the rag tag clothing and removed a pair of women’s faded jeans, and a gray sweatshirt. He was right, they were too big, but by this point she didn’t care; as she was once again feeling chilled to the bone and changed into them.

  Wandering to a dresser, she found three pairs of Cain’s thick wool socks in a drawer; out of the three pairs, only one sported no holes. She donned them, tucking the pant leg into the socks to keep them from falling down.

  She walked over to stand beside the bed. On the night table was a picture of a beautiful, smiling, young blond-haired woman and four equally beautiful children. The one child she held was no more than a year; the oldest perhaps was seven. They all looked remarkably like Cain. Their clothing was somewhat better than his attire. In a farther corner of the bedroom stood an old, outdated computer put together with mismatched pieces and a generous mound of paperwork upon a small desk. It looked so lonely for some reason.

  Replacing the picture Candy strolled over to the desk. A few pens and worn-down pencils littered the desktop. She punched a button on the computer but it didn’t start; the power was off, the outage no doubt caused by the storm. A heavy manuscript caught her attention and she thumbed through a few pages of written work. The story was good, remarkably thought-out, surprisingly well written, interesting.

  Cain appeared to have a skillful vocabulary after all. She set the book back down and noted what appeared to be works of poetry. Candy lifted a printed piece of paper and read aloud:

  The shadows of night move in when death closes its door,

  Locking you out from the past that is nevermore,

  Of what once was yours, of what could have been,

  Stolen in a heartbeat, a tragedy unforeseen.

  Can you hear me? Do you remember who you were?

  Can you give me a sign? Or is my face but a blur?

  I wish I knew if you were safe where you went,

  For now I wait, until I myself, become Heaven sent…

  How sad, she thought as she read through the lost lonely lines of grief. Were the people in the picture Cain’s family? Had Cain lost his wife and children to some unforeseen tragedy? Perhaps that was why he seemed so distant and sometimes cruel. Perhaps that was why the toys had been sequestered away, unrepaired. It would explain why his emotions seemed so torn from one moment to the next.

  Candy had cut herself off from people for a long time after her family had fallen apart, so she understood such loss. This time of year was brutal to those who missed their loved ones.

  “If you’re done invading my privacy, you can come and get something to eat,” a deep voice drawled from the doorway.

  Startled, Candy spun around and dropped the poem. It fluttered soundlessly to the hard floor. Cain strolled over to retrieve it.

  “It’s so beautiful, but so sad,” Candy remarked.

  “Well, unlike your sunshine and lollipop world, others have crosses they bear.”

  “I’ve lost loved ones,” Candy replied quietly. She felt a certain sort of kindred spirit.

  “Really, let me guess, mom and dad, and oh, how awful it was to inherit all their worldly goods when they ventured into the great beyond, seeing as though you’re an only child. Right?”

  “Why must you be so cruel? You don’t know anything about me,” Candy snapped angrily, though her eyes filled with pained tears at his callous words.

  “I know you like hot chocolate; I know you like to make love,” he replied. His tone had unexpectedly changed from condescending to caring. “I know you love life, and care enough to do whatever it takes to save another.”

  Candy shook her head in confusion when he cupped her chin. His lips descended toward hers slowly. Delicately they grazed the very tips, offering her the smallest teasing of his mouth. Tenderly his lips butterflied their way across her eyelids, her cheeks.

  When he broke contact, his eyes were dreamy, as though he had been caught in a different magical place for a moment. She wondered if he were thinking of the woman in the picture. The picture he kept near and dear.

  “I’m hungry,” Candy said abruptly.

  She pushed past him to the kitchen feeling somewhat flustered and confused by his rapid change in attitude. On the small wooden table, surrounded and cluttered by six wooden chairs, she found her breakfast.

  “Oatmeal. How enchanting,” she muttered.

  “Sorry it’s not crepes and caviar, princess. It’s the maid’s day off.”

  So, Mr. Condescending had returned. Why did she always seem to rub him the wrong way? Candy loved oatmeal; her foster mother had made it for her on cold days. It always made her feel so warm inside, like being hugged for hours from within.

  “Oatmeal is fine,” she told him.

  Cain finished quickly, and headed outside. He told her he needed to stock up on firewood, and she could stay inside where it was warm. The snow was still falling heavily; he didn’t want her to get lost by accident outside the safety of the cabin; he couldn’t babysit her, he had things to do. He didn’t want her to catch the sniffles, she might expire, her being so fragile. Angered, Candy lobbed a wooden spoon at his back. The force, when it hit the wall beside him, shattered it. Annoyingly, he just chuckled and slammed the door.

  * * * *

  Candy sat on the lumpy, old couch with her feet tucked under her. The blizzard had started up again with full force. The view outside the window was black as pitch. Howls and moans filtered within eerily. Occasionally something banged against the cabin with a clatter. They were still without electricity and short white candles flickered nearby. A few kerosene lanterns were placed strategically so they were able to find their way to the bathroom.

  A pot warmed on the top of a woodstove in the kitchen; it was where Cain had cooked their meals. She was amazed at how adaptable he was. Still, she fretted she would become stuck here, disappointing many children and families. What she wouldn’t give for a powerful knight on a shining snowmobile or even a little old driver who was lively and quick.

  A horse-drawn sleigh, cross-country skis, although right now she would settle for a pair of snowshoes to dash away in. She sighed heavily; it all seemed so hopeless.

  “What’s the matter, princess? The pancakes I fed you for dinner not sitting right? So sorry, but the pheasant would have been hard to cook while the power is out. And I’m afraid I drank all the cognac.”

  Candy was too tired to rise to the bait. She was also too worried. “I need to get into town.”

  “What or who is so important? Your husband? A boyfriend perhaps?”

  “No, don’t be ridiculous,” she said, now feeling her anger stir. “If I had a husband or a boyfriend, I never would have…well, you know, with you. No matter how dire the circumstances.”

  “So what’s in town?”

  “If you must know, every year I pick a few underprivileged families from the area to give Christmas to,” she replied with a regal toss of her head.

  “So you buy them some stuff, feel you’ve done your duty by ‘giving them Christmas,’ and leave, safe in the knowledge for the rest of the year you did a good deed. How noble, princess. Paving or rather, paying, your way into heaven?”

  “I’m sorry if I sounded arrogant,” she said with humility, realizing how she must have come across. She felt a blush creep up her neck with her embarrassment. “I was raised by my foster parents; my own parents died in a horrible accident when I was very young. I was the only survivor. There were no relatives to watch out for me. I was traumatized for a while, and they were unable to find me an adoptive home.

  “Lilly and Mark were wonderful. They loved me, treated me like their own. They made me feel welcome, wanted. And you’re right; we didn’t have much, but we had love. There was never a shortage of love. And that was the most important, because it never got broken or faded all year round. It was a true gift.”

  “I’m sorr
y if I jumped to conclusions. I didn’t realize your childhood had been so hard. It’s just the way you dress and the way you speak,” he said, looking somewhat humble himself.

  “The same way I jumped to conclusions about the way you dress and the way you speak. Losing my parents was awful, but my childhood wasn’t hard. I just want to give those kids and their families something. It’s more than toys and food to me. It’s wanting them to know someone cares, even if it is a stranger.”

  “This is important to you, isn’t it?”

  “It’s the most important; it means absolutely everything to me. As well as visiting my foster parents’ graves Christmas day. They never neglected me, never forgot about me. I won’t forget about them either.”

  “Well, then, it looks like I’ll have to figure out how to get you to town,” he said thoughtfully.

  “I’ll need to get to my car as well. One family was able to get me their Christmas wish list before I left home. It wasn’t very big for having so many children, but it was practical. The mother’s story is so sad. It really touched me; I can’t imagine her loss and having no one close by to help her. She’s all alone for the most part; her only relatives live a fair distance away. So really, she has no one to help her. I added a few more things than they asked for, so I hope they don’t mind. Some people are grateful; well, most are, until you go over the top. Then they just feel embarrassed.

  “I also need to pick up the turkeys and other food I ordered in advance. I was promised they would be ready.”

  “You’re quite the busy little elf,” he said and laughed.

  “I could use an extra pair of helping hands, maybe a big, strong fellow with a huge truck?”

  “Sure, I can help. I got some time. I have a few things to buy in town,” he said. “I got a few bucks from the side job I was working…” He stopped abruptly.

  “There is no shame in honest work,” Candy said, she could see a red flush creeping up his neck. “But if you don’t mind my saying, I saw what you really want to do. You have a real passion for writing. You are very talented.”