Nora Roberts - Blood Brothers

“I can’t read minds, and I don’t want anyone reading mine.”

“It’s not like that, exactly.” He was going to have to work with her, he decided. Help her figure out what she had and how to use it. And he was going to have to give her some time and some space to get used to the idea.

“Anyway, we’re probably going to be snowed in here for the weekend. I’ve got stuff next week, but when we can get back to town, you could come in when it suits you, let Mrs. H show you the ropes. We’ll see how you feel about the job then.”

“Look, I’m grateful you’d offer-”

“No, you’re not.” Now he smiled and tossed another shovel of snow off the deck. “Not so much. I’ve got instincts, too.”

It wasn’t just humor, but understanding. The stiffness went out of her as she kicked at the snow. “There’s gratitude, it’s just buried under the annoyance.”

Cocking his head, he held out the shovel. “Want to dig it out?”

And she laughed. “Let’s try this. If I do come in, and do decide to take the job, it’s with the stipulation that if either of us decides it’s not working, we just say so. No hard feelings.”

“That’s a deal.” He held out a hand, took hers to seal it. Then just held it while the snow swirled around them.

She had to feel it, he thought, had to feel that immediate and tangible link. That recognition.

Cybil cracked the door an inch. “Breakfast is ready.”

Fox released Layla’s hand, turned. He let out a quiet breath before calling the dog home.

PRACTICAL MATTERS HAD TO BE SEEN TO. SNOW needed to be shoveled, firewood hauled and stacked. Dishes had to be washed and food prepared. Cal might have felt like the house, which had always seemed roomy, grew increasingly tight with six people and one dog stuck inside it. But he knew they were safer together.

“Not just safer.” Quinn took her turn plying the shovel. She considered digging out a path to Cal’s storage shed solid exercise in lieu of a formal workout. “I think all this is meant. This enforced community. It’s giving us time to get used to each other, to learn how to function as a group.”

“Here, let me take over there.” Cal set aside the gas can he’d used to top off the generator.

“No, see, that’s not working as a group. You guys have to learn to trust the females to carry their load. Gage being drafted to make breakfast today is an example of the basics in non-gender-specific teamwork.”

Non-gender-specific teamwork, he thought. How could he not love a woman who’d use a term like that?

“We can all cook,” she went on. “We can all shovel snow, haul firewood, make beds. We can all do what we have to do-play to our strengths, okay, but so far it’s pretty much been like a middle school dance.”

“How?”

“Boys on one side, girls on the other, and nobody quite sure how to get everyone together. Now we are.” She stopped, rolled her shoulders. “And we have to figure it out. Even with us, Cal, even with how we feel about each other, we’re still figuring each other out, learning how to trust each other.”

“If this is about the stone, I understand you might be annoyed I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“No, I’m really not.” She shoveled a bit more, but it was mostly for form now. Her arms were killing her. “I started to be, even wanted to be, but I couldn’t stir it up. Because I get that the three of you have been a unit all your lives. I don’t imagine you remember a time when you weren’t. Added to that you went through together-I don’t think it’s an exaggeration to say an earth-shattering experience. The three of you are like a…a body with three heads isn’t right,” she said and passed off the shovel.

“We’re not the damn Borg.”

“No, but that’s closer. You’re a fist, tight, even closed off to a certain extent, but-” She wiggled her gloved fingers. “Individual. You work together, it’s instinctive. And now.” She held up her other hand. “This other part comes along. So we’re figuring out how to make them mesh.” She brought her hands together, fingers linked.

“That actually makes sense.” And brought on a slight twinge of guilt. “I’ve been doing a little digging on my own.”

“You don’t mean in the snow. And on your own equals you’ve told Fox and Gage.”

“I probably mentioned it. We don’t know where Ann Hawkins was for a couple of years, where she gave birth to her sons, where she stayed before she came back to the Hollow-to her parents’ house. So I was thinking about extended family. Cousins, aunts, uncles. And figuring a woman that pregnant might not be able to travel very far, not back then. So maybe she’d have been in the general area. Ten, twenty miles in the sixteen hundreds was a hell of a lot farther than ten or twenty miles is today.”

“That’s a good idea. I should have had it.”

“And I should’ve brought it up before.”

“Yeah. Now that you have, you should give it to Cyb, give her whatever information you have. She’s the research queen. I’m good, she’s better.”

“And I’m a rank amateur.”

“Nothing rank about you.” Grinning, she took a leap, bounced up into his arms. The momentum had him skidding. She squealed, as much with laughter as alarm as he tipped backward. He flopped; she landed face-first.

Breathless, she dug in, got two handfuls of snow to mash into his face before she tried to roll away. He caught her at the waist, dragged her back while she screamed with helpless laughter.

“I’m a champion snow wrestler,” he warned her. “You’re out of your league, Blondie. So-”

She managed to get a hand between his legs for a nice, firm stroke. Then taking advantage of the sudden and dramatic dip of his IQ, shoved a messy ball of snow down the back of his neck.

“Those moves are against the rules of the SWF.”

“Check the book, buddy. This is intergender play.”

She tried to scramble up, fell, then whooshed out a breath when his weight pinned her. “And still champion,” he announced, and was about to lower his mouth to hers when the door opened.

“Kids,” Cybil told them, “there’s a nice warm bed upstairs if you want to play. And FYI? The power just came back on.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “Apparently the phones are up, too.”

“Phones, electricity. Computer.” Quinn wiggled out from under Cal. “I have to check my e-mail.”

CYBIL LEANED ON THE DRYER AS LAYLA LOADED towels into the washing machine in Cal’s laundry room. “They looked like a couple of horny snow people. Covered, crusted, pink-cheeked, and groping.”

“Young love is immune to climatic conditions.”

Cybil chuckled. “You know, you don’t have to take on the laundry detail.”

“Clean towels are a memory at this point, and the power may not stay on. Besides, I’d rather be warm and dry in here washing towels than cold and wet out there shoveling snow.” She tossed back her hair. “Especially since no one’s groping me.”

“Good point. But I was bringing that up as, by my calculations, you and Fox are going to have to flip for cooking detail tonight.”

“Quinn hasn’t cooked yet, or Cal.”

“Quinn helped with breakfast. It’s Cal’s house.”

Defeated, Layla stared at the machine. “Hell. I’ll take dinner.”

“You can dump it on Fox, using laundry detail as leverage.”

“No, we don’t know if he can cook, and I can.”

Cybil narrowed her eyes. “You can cook? This hasn’t been mentioned before.”

“If I’d mentioned it, I’d have had to cook.”

Lips pursed, Cybil nodded slowly. “Diabolical and self-serving logic. I like it.”

“I’ll check the supplies, see what I can come up with. Something-” She broke off, stepped forward. “Quinn? What is it?”