Fortune's Cinderella

Scott barked out a laugh. “Point to you.”

“Thank you.”

She felt him shift beside her. “You remind me a little of my youngest sister. Wendy.”

“The one your parents sent out here because she was about to drive ’em up a wall?”

“The very one.”

“Is Wendy your favorite?”

“Yes. But don’t you dare tell her that. Or anyone else.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Christina thought a moment, then said, “I’m very flattered, then.”

Scott chuckled. “So tell me about your family.”

Yeah, he would ask that. “Not a whole lot to tell. My father jumped ship when I was a toddler, never to be seen again, and my mother … we’re not real close.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

“No brothers or sisters?”

“Nope. But I do have a dog … ohmigosh!”

“What?”

“I can’t believe I forgot! I have a dog. And I have no idea if he’s okay—”

Feeling her eyes burn, Christina pressed a hand to her mouth. Not being dead yet, she figured she was ahead of the game, but suddenly not having any idea how her baby was made her sick to her stomach.

“What’s his name?” Scott said gently.

She lowered her hand. “G-gumbo. ’Cause when God made him he tossed whatever parts He had on hand into a bowl, and Gumbo was the result. Although he gets called Dumbo a lot, too,” she said on a shaky little laugh. “Dog’s dumber than a load of bricks, I swear. But he’s mine, and I love him, and—”

The tears came whether she wanted them to or not. The shock came when Scott slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her head to his chest. Not saying anything, just holding her close.

So. Unfair.

Then her stomach rumbled. “How long do you suppose we’ve been here?”

“I have no idea. It’s been dark for a while, though.”

She listened. “Rain’s stopped.”

“Yep. In fact, there must be a full moon.”

Christina blinked, noticed the silvery light here and there delineating the scene. “Oh, yeah.” She sighed. “I’d kill for a burger and fries right now.”

Another of those low chuckles preceded, “You and me both.”

“While we have the light … there’s a refrigerated case, if you can get to it, with food, such as it is. And water and stuff.”

“Be right back.”

He disappeared; for several minutes she heard scuffling, some cursing. Then a surprised, “I’ll be damned. I found my phone. Although … crap. No service. But … hold on …”

A minute later he returned with a couple of sandwiches, two bottles of water and that little box. “The case was pretty banged up,” he said, sitting beside her again. “But still cold. I have no idea what I got, though.”

“Ask me if I care,” she said, grabbing one of the sandwiches and ripping off the cellophane. “So what’s in the box?”

“Heaven. Or so I’m told.”

“Yeah?”

“Yep. After she started working at Red, Wendy discovered she had a talent for making desserts. So she gave all of us a sampling of some of her creations.” He turned on his phone, the feeble light illuminating the contents of the box enough for Christina to see several kinds of cookies, some sort of bar thing and a Napoleon-like pastry. “Help yourself, I’m not big on sweets. But you’d better believe I wouldn’t tell Wendy that.”

The sandwich gone, Christina hesitated, then selected something that melted in her mouth. Butter and chocolate and caramel and maybe some kind of liqueur? It was the fanciest thing she’d ever tasted in her life, given that, for her, a “splurge” was buying real Oreos instead of the Walmart fakeouts. Which she wasn’t about to tell Scott.

“That was amazing” was all she said, then closed the lid on the box.

“Please. I mean it. Take what you want.”

Like she’d ever been able to do that in her entire life. “No, it’s okay. I’m good.”

Their meal done, they sat in silence for a little while, digesting what had happened to them—well, at least that’s what Christina was doing—as well as their food. Outside, the wind had picked up enough to whistle through the jagged orifices left in the wake of the destruction. Close by, something periodically scraped against the wall on the far side of what used to be the snack bar.

Scott cleared his throat. “I think we need to keep talking—”

“Yeah, I think you’re right. Absolutely.” Then she yawned. “If I can stay awake. I think the adrenaline’s gone.”

“You comfortable?”

“I’ve been better. Been worse, too.”

He pulled her close again. “Lay your head on my chest.”

“I couldn’t—”

“One, you already have. And two, I cannot tell you how little I’m in the mood for arguments right now. And I’m cold, too. So just do it, dammit.”

All righty, then. Although, even before her cheek made contact with his soft, soft sweater—and the hard, hard muscles underneath, Christina knew she was doomed.

Whether they made it out alive or not.

Scott couldn’t remember the last time he’d held a woman close—one not related to him, that is—with no ulterior motive in mind. Or when doing so had provoked such mind-blowing feelings of … tenderness. Especially when, with a long sigh, Christina relaxed against him.