Nine Hours

Chapter 12

Perhaps the stillness of the house is what wakes me. Light filters into the dim room from the shaded windows above the bed. A glance at the table-side clock shows it's almost six. Still early. I listen for sounds of Gunnar moving about. Nothing. Reluctantly sliding from beneath the warm cover, I put on the sweatshirt left draped across the foot of the bed. Huh...I don't remember actually coming to bed last night. I recall laying on the sofa, talking to Gunnar. He must have brought me to bed. Whether or not that bothers me, the fact that he'd left me dressed is a relief.

I expect to smell coffee brewing as I emerge from the room, but I don't. The large living room and kitchen are quiet, and there's no sign that Gunnar has woken yet. Might as well make coffee and maybe breakfast as well.

It takes a few minutes to find everything, but soon the coffee is brewing and I'm stirring pancake batter in a ceramic bowl. Gunnar's kitchen is surprisingly well-stocked considering he said he'd been away from home for several months. It's as though he had planned for us to be here this week and the grocery fairies made a shopping trip. The coffee finishes the task of waking me up. My gaze is drawn to the hallway floor, where a thin strip of light escapes from under the door to Gunnar's bedroom.

He must be awake. Should I bring him a cup of coffee?

Why not? If anything, the guy has no problem walking in on me when I'm half-dressed, so why not turn the tables a little bit? The idea I might get a chance to see Gunnar without a shirt on, all that muscled and firm torso on display, sends a hot flush through me. A girl doesn't need an X-ray machine to know what hides beneath his shirt. Good lord. What if the man happens to be standing buck naked when I walk in? The image of what that perfectly built body might look naked like sails through my mind. A pleasant thought...until I imagine what's below the belt. Yesterday I'd felt it pressed against my backside when Gunnar wrapped his arms around me. If it looked anything like it felt...I sputter, nearly choking on the coffee.

Setting down the cup, I pour one for Gunnar and move down the short hallway, stopping in front of his door to muster courage. One tap. Silence. A second tap. This time a little harder. Still silence. Squeezing my hand into a tight fist and drawing a breath, I gather enough inner bravery to barge into his room. Pinching my eyes closed, I grip the knob and turn.

The door swings open. With my mouth gaping, I step inside the large room and gasp. It's totally different from the rest of the house—and far from what I expected.

The windowless walls are covered in some kind of leathery material. Multiple large animal skins hang on each of them instead of traditional artwork or photographs. The biggest is right behind the bed, which is made with military precision. The mug is too hot to hold, so I set it on the tall dresser to my left and move toward the bed. Never have I seen one as big as this. It had to be custom-made. As I'd glimpsed the other day, the frame is constructed out of debarked, polished logs and what looks to be antler, carved and twisted into a complex design to create the head and foot boards. It's beautiful in a rugged sort of way. My hand weaves through the thick fur of the skin draped over the foot of the bed as I glance around.

The bathroom door is open and the light on. Gunnar isn't in there, either. In contrast, his bathroom is like the rest of the house, modern with an enormous walk-in shower along the far wall. The room smells like Gunnar—warm, woodsy, spicy. A towel lies in a heap on the floor. It's damp, but cold, indicating it hadn't been recently used. I fold it in half and hang it on a wall rack. Where has Gunnar gotten to so early?

As I'm about to leave the room, two things catch my attention. A carved box, no more than six inches long and four inches high sits on the dresser. The lid sits next to it. Tentatively running two fingers over the elaborate carvings, the smooth light wood is a stunning piece. The body of the box depicts a Viking ship surrounded by trees that bleeds into a leafy scroll covering the rest of it, leaving no unmarred, flat surface. Inside, the box is padded and lined in velvet. Each end of the lid holds a carved buttress—one side a kind of serpent, the other the image of a wizened man with a tumble of long hair and lengthy beard. The two figures are connected by a handle—a polished piece of what is probably antler.