While he trots off to the laundry room to get his clothes, I start cleaning up. I've washed one plate when someone knocks on the front door. I wipe my hands dry on my jeans as I hurry to open the door.
"Mornin', Sammy," Wayne Hendley says with a big smile. "Hope you and your guest stayed warm last night. It was a chilly one, hey?"
Only Wayne ever calls me Sammy. I'm not crazy about the nickname, but he's such a nice man that I don't want to offend him by announcing I don't like being called that.
"Yeah, it was cold," I say. "But the snow was insane."
"Sure was." He hooks a thumb over his shoulder. "Got your friend's bags in the sled. I'll bring 'em on in."
"Let me help you."
"Nah." He waves a dismissive hand. "You don't even have shoes on. Let me take care of it."
"Thanks, Wayne. You're a lifesaver."
His attention veers to something past my shoulder. "Got your bags for ya. Bring 'em in right now."
Wayne jogs back to his snowmobile, which is parked near the porch steps.
I shut the door and turn around, face to face with Ben. An entire day with the British hottie? Oh, this might be a worse disaster than what happened to Ben last night on the road.
Can my willpower survive spending more time with him?
Chapter Five
Ben
While Sam stares blankly at me like she's gone catatonic, I raise my brows. "Who was that?"
"Huh? Oh, that was Wayne Hendley. He's in charge of the county barn and the snowplow crew."
"I thought they only had one plow, and it's broken."
"True. But whoever's available takes the job of plowing whenever snow hits."
"Makes sense."
At least I'm now wearing my own clothes, the outfit from last night that had gotten soaked during the Great Blizzard Catastrophe. Maybe it wasn't a catastrophe to anyone else, but I will always view it that way. My khaki pants and grey cable-knit sweater will make a better impression than Sam's grandfather's old clothes. I've got my snow boots too.
"That's definitely more your color," Sam says with a teasing smile as she eyes me up and down. "Purple makes you look sallow."
"It makes me look ruddy ridiculous." I pat my thigh. "Flannel-lined trousers. I was ready for the cold, but not for a bloody snowstorm."
"Didn't watch the weather report before you took off on your getaway?"
Though I try not to, I flinch the tiniest bit. "No, I didn't check anything. Just hired a car at the airport and took off."
"What was the big rush?"
"I, ah…" Hunching my shoulders, I jam my hands in my trouser pockets. "I needed to escape from my life for a while. Needed it badly."
"Don't you like your job?"
I wince. How can I explain without telling her everything? The Dixons and the Hunters have always known who I am, and they've always treated me like just another mate, not a sodding crown prince. The few times I told someone else about me, it did not end well. So I tell Sam, "I love my job. It's…other things that aren't working for me."
I can't blame Sam for quizzing me like this. She seems to have an insatiable curiosity, something I can identify with and that I find so endearing that I want to kiss her again. More than anything, I want to ask her questions and learn more about her. But that's a bad idea. The more I know, the more I'll like her. It's inevitable because she is so adorable.
But I stumbled into her life last night, seduced her on the sofa bed a few hours later, and made her breakfast this morning. That's the sum total of our acquaintance so far. I shouldn't let it go any further.