Kensie was frowning, so he tried to explain. “I’m an only child. They had me late in life and in some ways I think they never quite knew what to do with me.”
She frowned even harder, so he rushed on, “Don’t get me wrong. They love me. They just never understood me. Never got why I wanted to join the military or what I was looking for there. The military gave me a mission, camaraderie and a brotherhood. I know it’s different than your bond with your sister, because I didn’t grow up with them, but it’s a brotherhood all the same.”
He trailed off, wondering how he’d gotten onto this subject. The faces of his lost brothers flashed in his mind and he gulped in a deep breath, praying he wasn’t about to go into panic mode.
Rebel whimpered, scooting out from where she’d cozied up to Kensie to come around and nudge him. She was good at that, nudging him back to the present. Nudging him out of his panic.
Colter grounded himself by fisting his hand in her soft fur. He blew out the breath, focusing on evening out his heartbeat. It slowed and Kensie came back into focus, looking worried.
“I’m fine,” he said before she could ask. “Hard subject.”
“Why?” she asked slowly, like she was afraid she already knew the answer.
Colter pushed the words out fast, not wanting to linger on them. “They’re all gone. Every one of my brothers, dead in an ambush. I’m the only one still here and it’s not right. I should have gone with them that day.”
* * *
COLTER THOUGHT HE should be dead?
Kensie had been shocked into silence at his admission, especially after Colter dropped that secret and then hadn’t said another word about it. Even now, half an hour after he’d first told her, she was at a loss for words. She hadn’t even known him for two days, but already she couldn’t imagine the world without him.
And yet, how could she say that without sounding like she was infatuated with him or coddling him? Not to mention that now she felt horrible about the assumptions she’d made, thinking he was just hiding out in Alaska because he’d been injured.
She’d said terrible things to him when he’d gotten mad because she wasn’t up-front about the FBI’s assessment. Things about him not understanding loss, about how he should just get over his trauma. As if you could ever just get over losing your family, whether it was blood-related or chosen.
At least with Alanna there was still a chance. Still hope. Colter didn’t even have that much.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, and her voice came out a pitiful whisper as he pulled his truck up to Derrick’s big log house. Her attempt at sympathy felt so insignificant next to what Colter had endured, and she knew she’d waited too long to say anything at all, trying to find the right words. As if there were any right words for that kind of loss.
He gave her a quick, sideways glance. “Not your fault,” he answered briskly, flinging open his door. He stepped out and slammed it shut before she could say anything else.
Kensie glanced at Rebel, ashamed of herself, and the dog stared solemnly back at her until Colter opened the rear door and slapped his leg. Then she hopped out, leaving Kensie alone.
Focus, Kensie reminded herself. She had time to figure out how to give Colter a proper apology, since he was still helping her. Right now, she needed her attention to be on convincing Derrick to give them information.
Because the guy she’d seen at his store was connected to Alanna somehow. Kensie could feel it in her gut, as strong as the instinct screaming that Alanna was still here, that the note was real. That Alanna was still alive. Just waiting for Kensie to bring her home.
Kensie squeezed her eyes shut, praying she was right. Then she opened them and stepped out of the truck, hurrying up the unshoveled drive after Colter.
Derrick’s house was nothing like Colter’s, besides being a log cabin. It was at least twice as big, and the much smaller windows in front were all covered by shades. Still, Derrick must have heard them coming because the door opened before Colter could knock.
If ever she’d imagined a mountain man of Alaska, this is what she would have pictured. Derrick was huge—more wide than tall—with snow-white hair and an unkempt matching beard. He wore pants with a bulky vinyl appearance that looked like they were made for the outdoors and a thick flannel shirt that barely buttoned over his barrel chest. There was even an unlit cigar clamped in the corner of his mouth.
“What do you want?” he asked out of the side of his mouth not occupied by the cigar.
“We’re looking for someone. We’re hoping you can help us.” Colter held out his hand to Kensie and she silently passed over her phone.
“Do you know this guy?” Colter held up the screen.
“He came to your store today looking for you,” Kensie added.
Derrick blinked and then his gaze shifted to her. “Why do you want to know about Henry?”
“His name is Henry?” Kensie shuffled up closer, squishing Rebel between herself and Colter. The dog didn’t seem to mind, just looked up at her and then back to Derrick, as if she was waiting for the answer, too. “Henry what?”
“How about you answer my question first, sweetheart,” Derrick replied, the emphasis on sweetheart making it sound negative instead of an endearment.
Kensie heated with annoyance, but she gritted her teeth and gave him a smile instead. “I think—”
“She thinks Henry might be able to help her find her sister,” Colter cut in.
“She can’t talk for herself?”
“Let’s not start something, Derrick,” Colter answered, his voice low and hard.
Derrick smiled around his cigar. “You trying to scare me, soldier?”
“You don’t want me trying,” Colter shot back just as quickly.
Kensie stepped forward, slightly in front of Rebel, almost in Derrick’s face. “Look, I get that you want to protect this guy’s privacy, but—”
“Nah, I don’t care about that,” Derrick cut in. “Henry comes by the shop plenty, ’cause he knows I’ll help him out. Advice. Best places to hunt, how to stay below the radar. I don’t mind. But it’s pretty clear the guy’s hiding from something.” He darted a sideways glance at Colter. “Then again, isn’t everyone?”
“I’m not hiding from the law,” Colter said, tipping his head meaningfully.
Derrick’s eyes narrowed at Kensie. “He hurt your sister?”
“I don’t know.” Her voice broke and Kensie cleared her throat, embarrassed. She knew how to do this. She’d done this since she was thirteen years old. It was almost a role: dutiful older sister, willing to show whatever pain or desperation was needed in order to get information.
“Henry Rollings.”
“You know where he lives?” Colter asked as Kensie breathed, “Thank you.”
Derrick nodded at her, then looked back at Colter. “Up past the snowplow shop. He always comes in from the west. Off that old unmarked trail. Could be anywhere up that way.”
Colter looked pensive, then held out his hand. “Thank you.”
Derrick shook his hand and told him, “Look after this one.”
Kensie stiffened a little at being talked about like she wasn’t standing right there, but softened as Colter answered seriously, “It’s my top priority.”
“Good luck,” Derrick told her, then closed the door on them.
Colter turned and headed back to the truck, Rebel trotting after him.
Kensie moved more slowly, staring at his back. This man working so hard to help her thought he shouldn’t even be here. The idea filled her with a dangerous desire: to give him something to live for.
Chapter Nine
Kensie was in his bedroom right now. Probably undressed.
The idea made Colter breathe faster and he couldn’t keep his gaze from drifting over—yet again—to the closed door between them. No one besides Kensi
e had ever been inside his cabin. Now she’d been here twice. This time, it had been his idea.
Even though the reasons weren’t personal, having her in his space felt personal. He imagined her right now, looking around his room. Taking in the simple spindle bed in the middle, Rebel’s cushy dog bed in the corner. Maybe the pictures on his nightstand.
One of his parents from his graduation, younger and still convinced he’d change his mind about the military. Grinning with their arms around each other’s waists, still madly in love after twenty-five years together. Back then, proud and excited about the future they imagined for him, so different than the path he’d seen for himself.
Another picture of Colter’s brothers, taken not long before that final mission. Laughing and smiling, relaxed at the base. None of them knowing they had only a few hours left to live.
The memory sobered him, and images of Kensie changing out of her clothes into something more appropriate for the weather fled. But thoughts of Kensie herself stuck. Having her here didn’t feel strange. It felt natural. And that made him nervous.
He had no room for anyone else in his life, especially not a woman whose time in Alaska had an expiration date. Because even though he missed his parents—and there were days he desperately wished he’d followed their dreams for him instead of his own, so he wouldn’t know this pain now—he couldn’t imagine ever returning to Idaho. Or going anywhere else, for that matter.
In the past year, Alaska had become his home. This cabin calmed him. The wide open spaces and cold, unforgiving weather relaxed him, helped reduce his panic. One day, maybe this place would even heal him, get him partway back to whole again.
The door to his bedroom opened and Kensie lumbered out.
Colter couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. After talking to Derrick, she’d wanted to immediately try and track Henry Rollings. But he’d insisted on bringing her back to the main part of Desparre to get clothes more appropriate for Alaska’s coming weather.
Instead of dropping her at her hotel, he’d brought her here to change, because he’d wanted to stop off for a different kind of gear himself.
In early October, Desparre might hit twenty-five degrees midday if you were lucky. Lows regularly got down to two degrees. It wasn’t really that bad, once you got used to it. But the problem was that Desparre wasn’t a city like Chicago, filled with easy places to stop in and warm up if your car broke down or the wind chill got to be too much. October was also the snowiest month of the year and there was no guarantee when the snow would start—or stop. In a few weeks they could be so snowed in that no one was getting out until spring.
Keeping Kensie here until the flowers poked up in the valley below wasn’t a half-bad idea. Even how she was dressed now, in boots appropriate for the mountains, snow pants and a jacket that would actually keep her warm if they got stuck out in the cold somewhere, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She took big, exaggerated steps out of his room, as though she was weighed down by all the gear he’d made her get. But he shook his head, not buying it. Everything he’d picked for her was relatively lightweight.
“I feel like a snow monster,” Kensie complained.
“You look cute.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, and her eyes widened. Hoping she wouldn’t take that the wrong way, he added, “This is going to be much better if we get stranded somewhere.”
“Why would we get stranded?”
“Well, hopefully we won’t,” Colter said, even though the idea of being stranded anywhere with Kensie didn’t sound bad at all. “But weather here can be unpredictable. We get surprised by a blizzard or trapped on the hill by an avalanche and you’re going to want real winter gear.”
She looked nervous for a second, but then her expression shifted and her thoughts were broadcasted on her face. She’d definitely looked at the pictures in his room, and they’d made her think of his words earlier, about avoiding his rightful fate alongside his brothers. The look on her face now was one of uncertainty, as if she wanted to bring it up again but wasn’t sure how. And mixed with that was pity. If there was anything he hated, it was pity.
“Stop staring at me like I’m damaged.”
She looked startled. “I’m not.”
Rebel lifted her head from the spot she’d claimed near the hearth, her head swiveling between them, ears perked.
He took a few steps toward Kensie. “Yeah, you are.” He didn’t know why he cared. They both knew it was true, so why did it matter if he could see it on her face? Was it better that she thought it, but kept it hidden?
Still, the idea of her thinking that he was less made tension build up inside him. Suddenly he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to prove he was whole. Or, at least, whole enough.
He was still walking toward her. He hadn’t intended to, but the closer he got, the better an idea it seemed. The closer he got, the more her eyes widened and her lips parted.
As he stared at the fullness of her lips, the rapidly increasing rise and fall of her chest, the past seemed to fall away. He reached out, letting his fingers drift over the puffiness of her coat, down to her bare hands. Somehow, with Kensie so covered up, the act of sliding his fingers between hers was intensified. The softness of her skin, the delicate strength in her fingers, calloused from playing violin. Pleasure shot up from the point where their skin met, and he tugged her toward him.
Instead of pulling back like she probably should have, she fell into him. He smiled at how huge her coat suddenly seemed, putting unnatural distance between them. But instead of unzipping it, he just wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tighter.
Her hands made a slow, jerky ascent up his chest, and with her head tucked close to his shoulder, he wasn’t sure if it was desire or uncertainty putting the hitch in her movements. But then she lifted up on tiptoe so they were lined up perfectly, her beautiful eyes staring back at him.
Her lips were only inches away, her breath puffing against his mouth, but he froze, captivated by the pure toffee brown of her eyes, by the mix of emotions in her gaze. Raw desire, yes. But also something softer, more intimate.
If only that metal hadn’t torn through his leg. If only those bullets hadn’t torn through his friends. He barely knew her, and yet he could imagine if his life had gone a different way. Kensie waiting for him through deployments, her letters putting a smile on his face when he was away in some far-off country like he’d seen with his brothers when they’d gotten messages from home.
As if she could read his mind, Kensie’s expression shifted, lines appearing between her eyebrows. Colter didn’t want her to think. He didn’t want to think, either. He only wanted to feel.
He leaned in, pressed his lips softly to hers, letting her decide. For a second, he thought she’d change her mind. Then her arms looped tight around his neck, her eyes closed and her mouth moved against his.
All the built-up pressure in his chest released and he sighed against her, loving the silky softness of her lips, the raspiness of her tongue seeking his.
It wasn’t enough. He pulled her in even tighter, suddenly hating the sensible coat he’d had her buy. He kissed her harder, faster, desperate for more.
She met each stroke of his tongue, her fingers sliding through his short hair, not enough to grasp. She rose even higher on her toes, giving their kiss a new angle.
A different kind of pressure rose inside him. He could lose himself in this woman. Release all his pain and his past and try to forget himself with a few hours of pleasure.
He forced his hands away from her back, shifted them to her hips. Misunderstanding his intent, she tilted her hips toward him, almost changing his mind. But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t use her to soothe the aches in his soul any more than he wanted her to do the same with him.
Because whether she thought so or not, this kiss wasn’t really about him. It couldn’t be.
They barely knew each other. But, on some level, they understood each other.
He knew her pain, the way losing her sister must have followed her through her life, a silent, torturous ghost. He knew the razor-thin line between hope and desperation, between love and torment.
Using his grip on her hips to anchor her, he leaned back, simultaneously peeling her off him. “We shouldn’t do this.”
His voice didn’t even sound like his. It was deeper, gruffer than usual.
She blinked back at him, her cheeks flushed bright red and no comprehension in her gaze.
The fog of desire surrounding her made him want to pull her right back in. Instead, he told her, “Maybe I should be dead, but I’m not. So stop looking at me like I am.”
Kensie’s lips twisted up, lines raking her forehead. “What?”
Her voice wasn’t right either. It was breathy, higher pitched. Way too sexy.
He steeled himself, trying not to lean back in. “You heard me.”
Then he turned away so she wouldn’t see how little this had to do with his proving something. He might have started walking toward her because of that, but it had quickly become something very different.
But not enough. And she deserved better.
Reaching on top of a cabinet, Colter pulled down his shotgun and dug out a box of shells from the drawer. When he felt like he had some control over his emotions, he turned back toward her.
She looked equal parts stunned and confused.
“Let’s do this,” he said, tapping his leg for Rebel to follow and heading for the door before he could change his mind.
* * *
HOW COULD A man who didn’t think he belonged among the living make her feel so alive?
At twenty-seven, she’d had a handful of long-term relationships, even one that her parents had pushed her to make permanent. She’d had a handful of flings, too. But none of them had made her feel even close to what she’d felt with Colter for a few minutes up in his cabin. Minutes he regretted, if his abrupt stop was anything to go by.
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