Signs of Life

by Sloane Reynard

“You have one, too?” He gestured to the other side of the sofa and, haltingly, she limped over and perched upon the deep cushion. She sat rigidly, as if expecting to be graded on her posture.

  “Used to,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper. “He died.”

  “I’m sorry.” The idea of losing Tyler sent a shaft of pain through Wyatt so sharp it took his breath for a moment. He’d have to apologize, maybe send one of those ruinously expensive bottles of cognac Tyler was so fond of, to his liver’s detriment. “A while ago, or…?”

  “Long enough for it not to hurt as much as it used to.”

  The light was dying, fading quickly because of the thick snowfall, and the rising dimness in the cabin was throwing her face into shadow. He reached to the nearest lamp and switched it on. The light fell in a wide golden pool and glinted in her eyes, throwing sparks like stars into all that blue. The urge to lean across the sofa and kiss her gripped him like a fist.

  Wyatt cleared his throat. “I bet that pot roast is almost ready, let me check—”

  The wind, a constant moan all day beyond the snug log walls, rose to a howl that interrupted him mid-sentence.

  “Leo should have been back by now,” he muttered, standing, and was about to bundle up and go find the dog when there was an ominous creaking, and a crack like lightning, and then something impacted the cabin with a deafening crash.

  And the lights went out.

  Wyatt sucked in a gasp as the room was flung instantly into near-darkness. He bolted to the back door, throwing it open to reveal a frozen hellscape of swirling gusts and hip-high drifts. Wet snow immediately soaked his sock-clad feet and he cursed, then cursed again at the sight that met him: the wind had broken a massive branch from one of the ancient pines, and the branch had fallen right onto his generator. It was a sturdy machine, serving him well for the years he’d lived there, but even it could not withstand a sharp impact from a few hundred pounds of wood. A sizable dent was evident under where the branch had landed, and a thin coil of smoke rose from the creased metal to be snatched away into the surrounding storm.

  “Here,” said Corinne, hobbling to him as fast as she could, her boots already on and his in her hand. He jammed his soggy feet into them and stomped over to the generator, hand shielding his eyes from the flying snow. He could barely see a thing, but it was clear that nothing could be done to repair it until the branch had been removed. Even then… Wyatt was a dab hand at minor repairs, and had a full tool kit, but from what little he could tell, it was a job for a professional.

  But there wasn’t a repairman in the whole country who he could coax to the top of the mountain to fix it, not in weather like that, not for every dime the Lindstroms had.

  A wavering pool of light appeared from behind him.

  “Hm,” Corinne mused over his shoulder. “Donnelly brand. You know, I bet I could fix that.”

  He turned his head to find her directly behind him, her coat on, his in one hand and one of his oil lanterns lit and swinging from the other. He had to give her credit where it was due: she was not only calm— calmer than he felt, in that moment— but resourceful, as well. Good to have along in a crisis, for sure.

  “You can?” he asked, incredulous as he took his coat and tugged it on, but also… not. There was something about Corinne that was unflappable, utterly competent. He bet she could do just about anything she put her mind to.

  “I mean, we’ll have to cut this branch off— do you have a chainsaw?— but… yeah.”

  He stared at her in wonder, and something on his face must have embarrassed her, because even in the dark of the storm he could tell when she blushed, the rest of her face turning as pink as her cold-chapped cheeks.

  “I’m, uh, I’m a mechanical engineer. This sort of thing… yeah. We’ll have to wait until tomorrow—” she angled her head back, peering up at the heavy snowfall and pitch-dark sky overhead. “—It’ll be no problem, as long as you have tools and parts.”

  Wyatt stared a moment longer, only vaguely aware that his naked hands were freezing and his wet socks were making his feet so cold inside his boots that he might lose a toe or three, and snow was blowing down his neck. She was amazing.

  “You’re amazing,” he told her, and then he took her by the shoulders, yanked her forward, and planted a big wet kiss right on her shocked mouth.

  Chapter 5

  What the hell was happening? Corinne wondered. One second, she’d been freezing her kiester off, telling him that she could fix his damaged generator, and the next—

  The next—

  Had she been cold? She sure wasn’t any longer. That kiss had lasted only a moment, over as soon as it had begun, had been nothing more than a sign of exuberant relief, but…

  Numbly, she followed him back inside, dropping her boots to the tray and shedding her coat once more. She stepped in a clump of tracked-in snow, soaking her sock, but barely noticed. All her attention was on Wyatt, as it had been from the moment she’d opened her eyes and seen him looming over her.

  Wyatt was complicated, she had soon realized. He seemed annoyed by the very existence of the dog, but fretted when it wasn’t there; he was resentful of her intrusion into his solitude, but had taken her into his home without a peep of objection. He begrudged her presence, but offered her everything she might possibly need. And when she’d revealed her grief, though he was a stranger, his face had been open and generous with sympathy.

  And it seemed he was as stubborn as Corinne was. That stunt with the laundry was something she’d have done, too, so she was having trouble being irritated at his high-handedness in washing her clothes after she’d told him not to.

  She’d have had no struggle ignoring his charms, if he’d only been ridiculously handsome. Handsome and personable? Oh, this was going to test her resolve, and no mistake. She’d have to sit on her hands the rest of her stay in his cabin, just to ensure she didn’t accost him. The playful glint in his eyes, the flash of his smile, his beautiful hands and the length of his legs and width of his shoulders and—

  Her ankle throbbed. She lurched to the nearest chair to sit, watching as Wyatt went around using matches on an array of oil lamps and lanterns. Each threw a warm circle of light and soon the room was softly illuminated, its snugness proof against the shrieking wind and gusting snow outside.

  She’d need another change of clothes, as would he; their excursion outside had rendered anything exposed to the snow unpleasantly damp once more. But she didn’t want to bother him any more that evening. Her talents with the generator aside, she was profoundly uncomfortable about being such a bother to him. A man like Wyatt didn’t live like a hermit unless he was serious about wanting to be alone, and she was exquisitely aware of how much trouble she was causing him, how unwanted her presence was in his home.

  “Aren’t you going to take off your coat?” she asked upon noticing that he was still wearing it and his boots. He’d tromped snow all over, leaving little puddles in his wake.

  “I’m going to go get Leo,” he told her. “Didn’t want you having to sit in the dark by leaving before I’d lit the lamps.”

  Wyatt began bundling up as she pondered his consideration.

  “Wait,” she said, a bit alarmed that he was dressed so ill for the weather. “Your socks are wet, those are just sweatpants… you can’t go out there like that.”

  “Huh?” He looked up from where he’d been zipping his parka. “I’ll be—”

  “—frozen solid in ten minutes,” she finished, standing. “No. I’ll fetch you dry things while you take it all off.”

  Wyatt blinked, seeming inclined to argue, so she hobbled off to the bedroom to excavate dry clothes to the best of her memory from before. Corinne found a close-fitting thermal shirt, yet another wool sweater, and a pair of socks so thick she thought they might not fit into his boots. A peek in the closet revealed a pair of ski pants, and she grabbed them, too, on her way back out to the main room.

  He stood where she’d left him, clothing discar
ded all around him. He’d taken her instruction to heart, and stood before her in nothing but his underwear, a pair of dark red boxer-briefs that left little to her wild and delighted imagination.

  With the flames from the lanterns and fire flickering over his almost-nude form, he looked… like a wet-dream come true, honestly, and Corinne had to consciously keep herself from licking her lips at the delectable sight. His entire body was corded with muscle, dusted with hair. He had those grooves framing his hips, the ones pointing right toward his—

  Corinne lifted wide, disbelieving eyes to his after a thorough and painstaking inventory of his bountiful charms.

  “You said to take it all off,” he said, and while he managed not to smile, there was a gleam in his eye that told her he was laughing on the inside.

  Corinne had been laughed at plenty of times before. This was just one more time a man would flaunt himself before her, mocking her with what he’d never deign to give her. She felt her face settle into its usual placid lines, the way it did when her emotions deadened at the realization that, once more, she was nothing but a joke.

  She held his gaze, not with hostility but with blankness, a total lack of reaction, so he knew that whatever his intentions had been, they’d failed. She wasn’t going to fluster, or sneer, or— or anything. She’d learned her lesson years ago; her only regret, now, was that she’d forgotten it for an hour or two.

  Corinne thrust the bundle of clothes at him. “Put these on.”

  That gleam in his eye faded as he seemed to realize he’d gone too far. “I’m—”

  “And you can wear my boots, I think we’re of a size. Yours must be damp from when you put them on over your wet socks,” she continued.

  “Corinne—”

  “While you’re gone, I’ll clean up the puddles. I think I saw a mop by the washer—”

  “Dammit, woman, listen to me!”

  She stopped halfway to the utility room, turning around to stare at him in disbelief. “Woman?”

  “I didn’t mean anything by, uh…” Wyatt waved a vague hand in the air to indicate his almost-bare form and began hurrying into the clothes she’d given him. “Anything bad, at least. Not to embarrass or upset you. But I did, I can tell. So…” Ski pants on, he thrust his head through the neck of the thermal, hopping as he pulled on first one sock, then the other. “I’m sorry.”

  Then what did you mean by it? she wondered, but truly, did not want to know.

  “It’s fine,” she lied, watching as he yanked on the sweater. “Just… go get Leo.”

  Wyatt stared at her a moment longer, lips parted, hair mussed, looking entirely edible by the flickering light surrounding them. Then he nodded, lacing up her boots, winding a scarf around his neck, pulling on a knit cap and thick gloves. He took one of the lanterns and paused with his hand on the doorknob.

  “I should be back in an hour,” Wyatt said. “If I’m not… don’t come looking for me. No need for both of us to get caught out there, instead of only me.”

  Corinne nodded, though of course she’d be after him at the sixty-first minute without his return. There was no way she’d leave him to languish in the freezing snow and wind.

  And then, with a gust of cold air blowing in the opened door, he was gone. She busied herself with mopping, as she’d said. It was slow going, with her limp, but she got it done. She decided to tidy up a little, twitching cushions and throw blankets into position, gathering a cascade of papers into a neat stack on the coffee table, tipping the snowmelt from the boot tray into the sink.

  Corinne glanced at the clock: 32 minutes since he’d left. She fished the sodden laundry from the washing machine; the cycle had completed but without the generator, there’d be no using the dryer. She brought the wet clothes to the bathroom, slinging it over the shower curtain to drip-dry as best it could.

  At 43 minutes, she tossed another few logs on the fire, since the cabin’s temperature had noticeably dropped in the time since the generator’s demise. She realized he’d need to change yet again, upon his return, and got another set of things out for him, laying them in a neat pile on the foot of his bed.

  At 57 minutes after he’d gone, she stepped into a pair of shoes she found in his closet andwent onto the porch for more firewood. She pretended to herself it was only to be certain they had plenty to get them through the night, but she knew that for the fiction it was: she wanted to know if there were any sign of him or Leo. Hopefully both of them.

  Corinne held the lantern high over her head, trying to have it shed as much light as far as possible. The faint depressions of his footsteps led from the house, toward the woods where they’d left her car. It was black as pitch beyond the wavering pool of light, frigid in a way Corinne could feel in her bones, and worry bloomed in her belly.

  She was somewhat certain Leo would be fine, he had all that fur and animals were better at enduring extreme weather, but Wyatt… Corinne tried to think if she had left her car unlocked, when she’d left it. If he could reach it, he could at least try to get through the night with a bit of shelter? And Leo’s body heat keeping him warm, if the dog could be coaxed into the car?

  It was very silly, standing there with the lantern held aloft like the Statue of Liberty, but… she was unwilling to go back inside, feeling like that would be giving up on the hope of Wyatt’s return. She began to shiver and realized it was time for her to go inside or risk a chill she couldn’t recover from. Feeling resigned and a bit guilty— why? It wasn’t her dog— Corinne scooped up a token armful of firewood so it wouldn’t be a complete lie, that she’d gone out for the logs, and turned to go back in when she heard a faint woof over the keening wind.

  Dropping the wood heedlessly back onto the pile, she spun around, lantern high once more as she peered into the gloom. Had she imagined it?

  But no. “Woof!” she heard again, and then, at the very edge of the light, Leo bounded into view. “Woof!”

  A moment later, a snowy form appeared behind the dog, and Corinne slumped back against the door, suddenly weak. Tears sprang to her eyes, just from the cold, she was sure.

  “What the hell are you doing outside?” Wyatt shouted as he wardd toward her through the drifts, now past his waist. Hanging from his hand was a snow-covered lump of… something. “Go back in!”

  As if. Corinne stood there, shaking from cold and relief, until he had slogged the last few yards and clomped up the stairs to the porch, yanking his scarf down past his chin. His face was bright red and his absurdly long eyelashes were coated in frost; his breath puffed hard into little clouds around them. But his eyes were sharp and alert, boring into her for a long, electric moment.

  “I hate this dog,” he informed her cheerfully, when he spoke at last. “If we’re snowed in long enough, I’ve decided that we’ll eat him. I won’t even feel that bad.”

  “Yes, you would,” she contradicted, then gave a long, rolling shudder. It was not from the cold.

  Wyatt squinted, peering closely. “How long have you been out here?” Reaching past her, he pushed open the door and chivvied her inside. “Get inside, you idiot,” he told Leo, who’d continued to romp around, still as delighted as ever with the white stuff falling on him.

  Corinne hobbled for the mop once more as Wyatt stomped and bustled about, shedding his gear, and Leo gave himself a brisk shake that distributed a fine mist of water in his general vicinity.

  “I’ll go change again,” he told her with a wry shake of the head. “Fourth outfit of the day.”

  While he was in the bedroom, Corinne realized that the snowy lump he’d deposited on the floor mat by the door was the suitcase she’d left in the abandoned car. He’d hauled it back with him, even though it would be a hindrance, and she knew it was because he thought she’d want it. As an apology for stripping down, earlier? Or something else?

  Her heart gave a lurch in her chest. For a long moment, she stood there like a simpleton, staring down at the suitcase as the snow on it began to melt and drip to the floor.
Mechanically, she grasped its handle and propped it in the boot tray to finish its dripping where it could be contained, and reached for the mop yet again.

  Once the floor was dry once more, and her brain was working properly again, Corinne decided that Wyatt was likely starving, after all that tromping through the woods. Keeping one’s body temperature up took a lot of energy, she knew. She’d explored the contents of the slow cooker, at one point, and they were still quite hot, so she dished up bowls for each of them along with some crusty rolls and a crock of butter. Then she placed an oil lamp in the center of the table and told herself it was so they could see better and not because it cast a romantic glow over the meal.

  When Wyatt emerged, Corinne busied herself with giving Leo a bowl of dog chow from the sack she found in a cupboard so she didn’t have to see his face when he took in the scene she’d created.

  “I thought you’d be hungry,” she mumbled.

  “I am,” he said after a pause, adding lightly, “Good thinking.”

  She hazarded a shy smile, still avoiding his eyes, and took the seat across from him. His hair was a wild tangle, static from removing his knit cap making it stand up every which way, and she couldn’t repress a faint grin at the picture he presented.

  “So what happened?” she asked after a few mouthfuls. The pot roast was delicious; he was a talented cook, it would seem. “Where did you find him? I thought he might have gone back to my rental car.”

  “That’s a rental?” At her nod, he whistled. “Kiss your deposit goodbye; the branches made short work of the paint job.”

  Corinne grimaced. “I had a feeling. So he did go there?”

  “No, but that’s where I looked first. Found his footsteps and followed them. He’d made a cozy nest under a fallen tree and was snug as a bug.” Wyatt slanted a narrow glance at where Leo was crunching his kibble with enthusiasm. “Showed no remorse whatsoever for putting me through all that effort.”

  Leo looked up, then, and bestowed a daft doggy grin upon them before burying his face in his bowl once more.