170:

"Blaze, you're freaking me out. You're changing the.... The dynamic. You're burning up all the trust we've... please, don't say it again. Just come on in and let's go- go to bed."

"Why are you pleading with me? Why not just get mad and slap me and be done with it, race off to Mexico, or Italy, or somewhere far away." Like she had with Austin.... Was the thought behind that. She cringed.

"I just don't want you out here in the c-cold. That's all. It's too cold out here. I want you to be okay."

"You care about me."

"Of course I care about you. You're my friend." She said and then dropped her entire stance. "Come in now."

"Kiss me again." He said and walked toward her.

She stood there. "No, we'd be better off not...." He walked to her deliberately, swooped in and kissed her, holding her by the shoulder and the back.

Tracy turned away from him, struggled to get away.

"Slap me, Trace." He said.

"Knock it off, you don't mean that...." She pushed against him and he pushed back, covering her resistance with more passion.

"Come on."

"I have never been pushed so hard.... Would you stop?!"

"Make me stop then."

"What, and have you hate me? Damn it, Blaze, I want to be..." he kissed her again, and Tracy barred her teeth, a knee came up, an elbow caught him. He grabbed her arm and tossed it behind her back, holding her there, but she wasn't defenseless, she bent down, artfully backed up, heaved him off the ground and then flipped him over her head and kicked him in the side for good measure.

"Bastard!" she screamed furiously. "Leave me alone!"

He was on the ground and laughing,  leaned up on an elbow. "That was awesome."

She kicked at him again, snow went flying and she retreated inside. But she didn't slam the door. She wouldn't wake the kids.

He shrugged. "Well, it wasn't effective." He said to himself. "Making her fight me didn't even put a dent in it. I still want her." How long till she came out with the kids all bundled and jumped in that plane?

Would she run again?

No, not this time. She was confused.

He cocked his head as he rolled his bruised body to its feet. 'I'm kind of confused too. I went from a religious discussion to pushing her unreasonably for no good reason. Stupid. Why?'

Because everything about her is so hot, so desirable.

He shook the snow off and went up on the porch. His brows rose. Did she lock him out? He tried the door, it stuck at first, but then opened easily. He went in. The noticeable lack of wind was a relief. It was a heck of a lot warmer in here, even though they had opted to sleep inside the tent.

 He heard her moving around immediately, and the crackle of fire in the wood burning stove, the smell of green larch, mixed with old pine. The sap snapped. 

He entered the kitchen, no light, through the hallway, he could see her in front of the stove, stoking it. She didn't turn to look at him, but he knew she was aware of him. He should apologize. He'd created confusion.

The flashlight was on in the tent, he could see the bundles of blankets through the outline. Her life right there, in that tent. Except for one guy.... He stood in the hallway watching her. She'd taken off her jackets and sweaters, and was wearing long-johns bottoms, and socks, and a loose fitting long sleeved t-shirt. Her hair was loose also, trailing haphazardly down her back and she held it aside with one hand as she poked the embers and started some more wood.

"Who is he?" he croaked, wishing his voice didn't sound so rough right now.

She didn't look at him.

"This perfect man you're waiting for. You owe me that." He said coming to stand next to the stove, feeling its warmth, needing it.

"I don't owe you.... Anything." She ground out, and he couldn't tell if she'd been crying, but he thought it likely, she cried when she was frustrated.

"Trace...."

She stood up abruptly, shut the stove door and laid the stick she'd been using aside. She turned to lay some clothing on the top of their luggage. He took another step and she skittered away. He chuckled.

"Come on."

She stared at him incredulously. "Stop it. Don't say that."

It referenced those moments when he was pushing her for no good reason. She was right, he'd created moments.... Memories and moments. She had known, the dynamic had changed. He wanted to apologize. But that was trite. No, no apology was needed, or wanted. It would sound lame anyway, insincere.

"I guess we don't know each other as well as I'd hoped." He said, instead, a half-apology.

She froze, her back to him, long hair coiling like molten gold in the dimness. There were no curtains, moonlight came in the windows, but it was silver, and the light from the edges of the stove was gold and red.

"I don't think you know me at all."  

*****