Chapter 12: Opposites Attract

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When they finally arrived at the cabin, Rachel was overtaken by a fit of nostalgia. The long, winding driveway that led to the house looked exactly the same as the last time they'd been here. She was floored by the memories of the snow-covered woods, the smell of burning firewood in the distance, the harsh cold upon the air, how quiet it was.

When the truck had at last rounded the corner and pulled up to the house, Rachel noticed a small blue car already waiting by the garage. Her mouth dropped open in shock as her son opened his car door and stepped out with a huge grin on his face.

"Fletcher?" she cried out in surprise, barely waiting for the truck to come to a full stop before she flung herself out of the door and ran into his arms. "You're here? How did you–?"

"That's why I left early," he shrugged. "You surprised?"

"Surprised? I'm in shock! I had no idea." She playfully smacked his arm with her hand. "You little sneak!" She turned to Frank as he walked over to them, smiling at Fletcher. The two of them patted one another on the back in greeting, but Rachel sensed something was being kept from her. "You knew about this, didn't you?" she asked Frank.

He looked amused. "Oh, we had it planned out days ago."

She looked questioningly at Fletcher again.

"There was never any trip to Stanislaus," her son explained. "But I had to drive alone anyway. My plans were to visit friends in Oakdale for New Year's Eve." He smiled at Frank again, looking proud that they had pulled it off. "So it all worked out."

"Oh, baby, I'm so thrilled you're here!" Rachel gushed again, hugging him until he had to squeeze out of her grasp.

"Come on, let's get inside," Frank said with a laugh. "I'm sure Fletcher has been waiting for about an hour for us to catch up."

"I let the car run for a bit," he said with a shrug. "Besides, I don't mind the cold so much."

"Speak for yourself" Rachel groaned, hurrying ahead of them to get inside.

Frank caught her arm and tugged her back gently before she could go too far. "Watch the ice," he warned, steadying her before she could slip. Fletcher chuckled behind them.

"Hey, Frank, can I drive your truck later on?"

Rachel narrowed her eyes at her son. "Honey, we just got here, let the man rest for a bit."

"I said later on," Fletcher defended with a laugh as they walked into the foyer.

"It's a stick shift," Frank warned, looking amused as Fletcher's eyes lit up.

"Sweet."

Rachel rolled her eyes. "Are you two gonna be doing that guy-talk this whole trip?" She thought from the way Frank was looking at her that he could tell she secretly adored it.

Fletcher bounced on the balls of his feet excitedly after dropping his solitary backpack on the stone floor of the entryway. "Mom, Frank said we could cut down a tree in the woods. Like a real Christmas tree!"

Rachel looked her son up and down in disbelief before turning to watch Frank drag several of her bags through the doorway. "How many phone conversations did you two have this week?"

Neither of them answered her.

"Sorry she packed her entire closet for the stay!" Fletcher called out as Frank went back outside for round two of her luggage. Rachel again smacked her son's arm before running back outside to help with the last bags.

She stopped by the back of the truck to watch Frank lift the last of her luggage out. "I haven't seen him this excited in months," Rachel humbly admitted.

There was a distant look in Frank's eyes as he glanced down at her then slammed the tailgate closed. "To be honest, I haven't been this excited in months either," he said softly.

A gust of wind tousled his hair a bit. It was lighter when it was grown out, she noticed. His eyes were preposterously blue against the stark white backdrop of overcast sky and snow.

"You don't have to carry those," he told her as she dutifully picked up the two heavy handbags she'd brought.

"I've already made you my chauffeur for today, I'm not about to make you my bellhop, too," she said with a giggle.

She had spoken too soon, for when it came to the staircase, he did have to play the bellhop – though Fletcher had helped.

When Frank showed them their rooms, Rachel noticed that neither she nor Fletcher were staying in the one they had slept in last time. The door to that room seemed to be the only one on the second floor which was sealed shut.

"So, how many times did she make you stop so she could use the bathroom?" Fletcher asked Frank.

"Oh, shut your mouth," Rachel shooed her son away as they made their way back downstairs.

"She slept for about five hours of the trip, so we only had to stop twice," Frank answered with a grin.

"Okay, you know what, I think you two need to get it out of your systems. Why don't you go ahead and chop that tree down now while I relax and take a bath?"

Neither of them protested, and they were off to the woods with axes in tow before she could even stammer a goodbye. Rachel was happy enough not to be a part of the action when it came to outdoor activities in the cold. She much preferred the beach to a snowy escape, but she had to admit it was stunning out here.

Her heart ached at the thought that Frank wanted to live out here alone. Although, she reminded herself, he had lived alone for many years before he came to work for her. Maybe it only seemed more lonely because here he would be so far from civilization. She had never imagined him becoming an old man here, a perpetual bachelor, with a dog and a hunting rifle, and a boat and a truck. Who did he think he was? Clint Eastwood?

She had to wonder if part of the reason he'd invited her here was to scare her off so that he could pursue such a future. Maybe he really didn't crave constant companionship as she was beginning to. Rachel had grown so used to sifting through men like a deck of cards. But Frank was her Ace of Spades. He was too good a card to throw down.

She succumbed to her thoughts as she filled the tub, stirring the hot water around with her hand. This was exactly why she'd never let herself fantasize about him since that night at the Oscars. She couldn't allow her mind to bend reality in such a cruel way. They were not compatible – not in the slightest. She was a loudmouth, he was the strong silent type. She wanted hot weather, he wanted cold weather. She wanted to live in Los Angeles, he wanted to live out in the boondocks. She was used to living in luxury, and he was used to living off the land. She was obsessed with designers, and he was designed by discipline.

With a sigh, Rachel settled into the bath until her chin met the surface of the water. No matter which angle she approached it from, it wouldn't work. She would infect his entire world if they had tried to become a couple. He wanted to escape the spotlight from every direction, but having her around would be like sending up searchlights from his location wherever he wanted to settle down.

So what was his intention in all this? She didn't magically appear out here. He had made this happen. Did he think they had a chance? Did he believe they had changed enough to where they could make it work? Or was he just using this trip to try and prove how incompatible they were? Only time would tell.

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Rachel had to stifle a laugh watching her son help Frank carry their chosen fir tree into the garage. Fletcher may have been out of his element out here, but he was a quick and eager study. She may have been biased, but her son was hands-down the cutest teenager she had ever seen.

She attempted to help clear a path for them as they dragged the tree through the house and to its final spot by the main fireplace. Fletcher had already busied himself detangling strands of Christmas lights on the sofa, despite Frank's reminder that they would have to let the tree's branches settle overnight before decorating it.

Fletcher had volunteered to drive Frank's truck into town for a grocery run before the local stores closed. Frank insisted that Rachel come along with them, not wanting her to be left alone at the house. She did not savor the thought of having to sit in the middle seat while her son drove a stick shift for the first time. Frank spent roughly fifteen minutes giving Fletcher a demonstration along the massive driveway, and he had deemed her son qualified enough for the ten mile drive to the nearest Safeway.

Rachel rode with her eyes closed the entire time.

It was strange to watch her son and her former bodyguard interact so casually. It was almost like she was living in some alternate universe where they didn't have a history together. Like she had just met him on a trip to the lake and they happened to hit it off. Frank behaved so differently when he was not on duty. For as competent as he was at his job, he could be a paranoid wreck sometimes. Here he was easy-going, even friendly. He made small talk with local strangers and laughed easily.

Rachel had insisted that she pay for the groceries, justifying her offer based on the fact that Fletcher typically ate enough for four people. But she was out of luck because Frank had kept to himself that the stores out here only accepted cash. He had roughly refused her when she told him she would pay him back later – as if she were trying to emasculate him by implying that she should be paying for things. Her absurd level of wealth was not a secret between them. Did he think she had recklessly spent it all? Or that she was hurting for money in the current state of her career? Royalties were a beautiful thing; if only he knew.

Fletcher would not stop talking the entire ride back. Rachel would occasionally throw an apologetic look at Frank, who didn't seem to mind in the slightest. He humored her son more than was deserved.

After a very late dinner, they retired to the living room where Fletcher and Frank were fussing with their tree, making note of its bare spots and trying to decide which direction it should face. Rachel tried to offer suggestions of her own, touseling its branches experimentally as she circled the tree, distracted by the beautiful aroma of real pine needles.

All it took was one poke and it emerged, like a furry black demon from the depths. She let out a blood-curdling scream and jumped up onto the sofa. "Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Kill it! Kill it!"

The sizable spider scurried along the hardwood floor, heading towards the sofa where she stood. Rachel screeched again and leaped from the sofa to the armchair, causing several throw pillows to fall onto the ground. Fletcher burst into a fit of laughter as Frank walked over and attempted to stomp the spider with his boot before it disappeared under the baseboard of the staircase.

"Did you get it?" Rachel shouted from her perch, knowing that he hadn't.

"I think he got away, Mom," Fletcher said, still wheezing from laughter.

"It'll turn up later," Frank said nonchalantly.

Rachel stared between the two of them in disgust. "How can you just be okay with letting it roam free about the house? How am I supposed to sleep tonight knowing it could just jump out at me again?"

Fletcher smiled, shaking his head at her. "Mom, it's not that big of a deal. It's just a spider."

She shuddered, still refusing to come down from the armchair. Brushing her off as dramatic, both men began to casually sweep up the fallen pine needles and set up the string lights for tomorrow. Then they had the audacity to head for the steps.

"Where do you think you're going?" Rachel demanded, clutching a pillow to her chin as she remained in her safe spot on the armchair.

"Uh… Bed?" Fletcher said sarcastically. "It's after eleven. Aren't you tired?"

Rachel scoffed. "I am not setting foot on that floor until I know that thing is dead."

"Guess you'll be sleeping on that chair tonight," Fletcher said with a shrug. But even from her distance, she didn't miss the twinkle in Frank's eyes before he walked across the room to lift her reluctant body off the chair and over his shoulder.

Fletcher dissolved into laughter as Frank dutifully carried her upstairs to her room.

She had somehow forgotten about the spider by the time he placed her down on her bed.

"Don't be looking so pleased with yourself, Farmer. I wasn't making a fuss just to get you to carry me up those steps."

"No, I believe you're actually dramatic enough to have slept on that chair all night."

Maybe he had a point.

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Rachel took her time getting ready for bed. It was nice to not have anywhere to be in the morning. The view outside her bedroom window was beautiful, and she lost herself in the snowy landscape for a while as she thought back on their first day here. As relaxing as it had been so far, she did fear the idea of becoming too comfortable. After all, this was likely not to be a repeat invitation. Depending on what Farmer's next move was in life, he could very well end up selling the property altogether and moving out of state again by the new year. Fletcher would probably be torn up by it. She feared equally for her son growing too attached to Frank. This was not a man who could stay in their lives for very long, as he'd proven before.

Her thoughts were disrupted by a quiet knock on her door.

Wrapping her robe tightly around her body, she rose from the bed and opened the door to find Frank, still fully dressed in his clothes from the day.

"I've got something for you," he murmured.

She looked down curiously to watch him open his left fist, revealing a crumpled napkin with the spider inside.

Rachel cried out in terror at the sight of it, and jumped back, smacking his arm. "Frank! You fucker!"

He laughed so hard that his cheeks turned red and eyes were watering. He looked so beautiful that she couldn't be too bothered by his merciless teasing, but as usual she had an image to maintain. She crossed her arms protectively across her chest.

"What?" he spluttered, his voice hoarse. "I thought you'd be happy. Now you can sleep."

"I'd give you a kiss, but I don't want to risk you putting that thing in my hair."

His eyes gleamed. "Don't give me any ideas," he warned.

She shuddered and backed away, her eyes wide with terror. "Get that thing out of here. Go burn it in the woods or something."

At the sight of her expression he bowed his head in laughter again – his laughter more that of an enamored fourth grader than a grown man.

"Goodnight, Frank," she said pointedly before slamming the door on his 'goodnight.'

As she crawled into bed, she could hear the combined laughter of Frank and Fletcher outside in the hall. The sound warmed her through to her core.

She had never imagined a situation where she would be back here, of all places, with Frank and her son. This was the safest and most secure Rachel had felt in the longest time. There was no one to impress, no paparazzi to dodge, no fans following her, no manager, no bodyguards, no obligations. Rachel had always craved her freedom, and finally after years of chasing it, she was beginning to feel truly free.

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She hated that they had to sleep in separate rooms. It was only right though, with Fletcher under the same roof. She hadn't really gotten to share a bed with Frank properly since the night of the Samurai Sword. She smiled vaguely to herself at the memory, wistful for another like it. Their time alone at the Sheraton had been so frustratingly brief. She wanted him to take her the way he had back in 1992, where every minute had lasted an hour. She had gotten only a taste of it in his hotel room. She wanted him to unleash everything he had been holding back, here in his own domain.

Her thoughts, as sordid as they had promised to become, led her swiftly into a deep sleep.

It was all dark. So dark. Even the wide, fat moon outside could not compete with this darkness.

"Where's Nicki?" she shouted. And her sentence was punctuated by the sound of a gunshot.

Then silence.

She heard Frank calling for his father. She heard Herb confirming that they were all right.

But they weren't. Were they?

The sound of thrashing footfalls over floorboards downstairs told her otherwise. Then she heard it - the striking percussion of unrelenting bullets in the distance - one after the other they sounded, like a thunderstorm without reverb or lightning. Her fear had become too great to hold back, and she ran. She bolted down the stairs despite the gunshots, despite Herb calling for her to stay put, knowing she was putting herself at risk. Knowing that if she was next, Fletcher would lose his mama.

Any one of those bullets could have hit her bodyguard. She had to know.

What she saw instead was a sight that would haunt her forever.

"Nicki!" Rachel shot up in her bed, clutching the heavy quilt tightly to her chest. Her brow was damp with cold perspiration, and her fingers were still trembling.

She breathed fast in the silent room, enduring the awful series of shudders that always followed. Her lips murmured a prayer just before the door to her room opened. His tall silhouette stunted her panic, and from the moment he entered, her heart rate began to settle steadily at last.

Frank sat on the edge of her bed beside her and took her hand in his. Her eyes fluttered closed at the welcome contact. His hand was absurdly warm.

"I heard you stirring," he whispered.

She hung her head. Of course he would come to console her. She couldn't tell him about the nightmare. Because then he would have been right about this place bringing up memories. She had every intention of concealing it from him, but he was too aware of everything she seemed to think and feel.

"My first night back here, I couldn't sleep at all," he admitted woefully, his eyes glinting in the darkness.

Rachel brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. "I just thought I was stronger than this. It was ten years ago."

He was doing that thing again. Looking in a thousand directions without ever letting his gaze leave her face.

"You don't always have to be the strong one, Rachel," he told her, his voice deepened by unspoken promises.

Her lips twitched into a sad smile. "Well, I can't kill a spider."

He smirked affectionately. "You probably can't carry me either."

She laughed a little, her cheeks warmed by his words.

Her eyes drifted down to where he still held her hand, his thumb absently stroking her knuckles. She shivered. "Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?"

He nodded and remained in place, seated on the edge of her bed. She tugged his hand in suggestion until he realized what she was requesting. A fire of pure contentment burned in his eyes. Carefully, he lifted the quilt and laid down beside her.

It didn't make sense that the presence of one person could erase all fear from her body like this. But even in the times she'd been angry with him, even when she used to think she hated him, he had always made her feel safest. She was quickly becoming addicted to the feeling.

She had never really experienced true intimacy with a man before. She had to be getting close with Farmer. In some way it seemed inevitable, but it had been a whole decade. That kiss on the tarmac was her way of leaving an impact, trying to remain in his life despite knowing they could not be together. Being reunited with him had shown her just how well it had worked.

He was obviously attracted to her. He wanted to be around her for more than just a few days at a time. He had taken her to dinner, and he had danced with her. He had driven her five hundred miles out of the way just for the chance to be alone with her.

But he was still so quiet. He had not made any epic professions of love to her. He hadn't decided where he was going to live yet either. Chatsworth was a very reasonable drive from her home in L.A., but it was also where he'd lived with his ex-wife. He had mentioned that he would prefer to live here at the lake, but that would obviously mean he could not pursue a relationship with her. . .

The thought that this thing between them was just a temporary revival, sparked by nostalgia and a decade of feeling unseen, made her very depressed. It nearly ripped her heart out when he wrapped his arms tighter around her, his chin resting against her cheek. The rhythm of his breathing was like the tide, strong and consistent, against her cold skin.

Rachel could not remember a time where she was being spooned by a man who didn't have an erection. It was confusing.

Even more confusing was the idea that this was the same man who had destroyed her house in the name of safety, rescued her from a crazed stalker, and saved her from a bullet. This man who was careful where she was careless, regimented where she was rowdy, and attentive where she was absent minded. This man who noticed every speck of dust in the air, and could start a fire with his bare hands, and only took cold showers, and was willing to die for her.

Secured by his arms, she found restful sleep at last.