by Tawna Fenske
It’s perfect.
Yawning, I let my gaze stray to the bed. How long has it been since I slept through the night? Days. Weeks. Maybe longer.
But I can’t sleep yet. Fire first, since the cabin is freezing. Trudging back out onto the porch, I haul in enough wood to get things going. My chest burns with appreciation for the well-stocked woodpile. I know I’ve been an asshole these past weeks. Maybe longer, and I’m grateful for friends and family who have my back.
Back inside, I blow on the tiny embers until flames roar to life. I add a couple big logs, hoping that lasts through the night. Closing the door, I sit back on my heels and take a breath.
Now I can rest.
But I can’t. Like an idiot, I plunk down on the sofa and pull out my phone. There’s no service out here, so it’s just a dumb habit. Besides, the last thing I want is to be buried in a barrage of messages.
Are you okay?
Gable, we need to talk.
It wasn’t your fault.
But now my phone screen is blank. Just the spot in the top left corner indicating zero bars for service.
Perfect.
I power off and make a mental note to drive to town tomorrow to let James and Lily know I’m here. I texted them when I passed through, so they know I made it that far. When this is over, I’ll have to remember to do something nice for them. A case of wine or maybe industrial-strength lipstick remover.
I don’t realize I’m smiling until Gretchen’s face flashes in my mind.
That kiss. My God. Soft and sweet and hungry and passionate and everything a first kiss should be but almost never is.
Part of me wishes I’d gotten her number. Most of me knows it’s for the best that I didn’t.
If she had any idea who I am—what I’ve done—she’d never talk to me again. Better to leave with her thinking I’m a regular guy with good table manners and a normal family. It’s easier that way.
I glance at my watch, surprised to realize it’s nearly midnight. The room is toasty and smells like woodsmoke, so I force myself to leave the couch and pry off my boots and flannel shirt. Recalling something I read about body heat circulating better without clothes, I strip off my jeans and sweater and T-shirt, leaving me in boxers and socks.
Then I burrow into the deep puddle of quilts and pull the covers over my head. I know I should brush my teeth. I know I should stoke the fire. I know I should do a lot of things I’ve failed to do in my life.
But right now, nothing in the world sounds as wonderful as sleep.
Sleep and the woman whose face hovers behind my eyelids as I drift into a peaceful oblivion.
“Get up.”
I force my eyes open, fighting through the soupy fog of sleep to figure out where the hell I am. There’s a mountain of blankets piled over my head, with a thin thread of daylight shimmering between two of the quilts.
How long have I been out?
Wait, no. That’s not the question.
Who found me?
“I’m going to count to ten.” A trickle of fear slides down my spine as the intruder speaks again. Female, I realize as my brain wakes up. “And I want you to come out nice and slow with your hands up.”
That voice. I blink again, pretty sure I’m imagining it. Or projecting maybe, since I spent the night dreaming of Gretchen in her warm, cozy kitchen.
She’s not really here. She can’t be.
“Ten.” Her voice is clear and calm, with no trace of humor. “Nine.” Another long pause. “Eight.”
“Wait.” I stick my hands out of the covers, heart drumming in my ears. I have no idea what’s happening, but I’m not eager to face it in my boxer shorts. “I’m unarmed. And un-pantsed. Any chance you’d let me get dressed?”
“No.” There’s a distinct click, a sound I recognize from every action hero standoff scene I’ve watched. All the blood drains from my head.
A gun. Holy shit, she has a gun.
My agent warned me. Something about violent messages in an online forum, but he swore it was nothing. Just talk, not a real threat.
“Seven.” Another pause. “Six.”
Struggling to keep my voice as calm as hers, I wiggle my fingers in a ridiculous gesture that’s half surrender, half cheerful wave. “Look, whoever you are, I haven’t seen your face yet.” It’s hard to breathe under here, or maybe I’m starting to hyperventilate. “My wallet’s on the counter. Just take what you want and go.”
There’s a long silence. She’s stopped counting, which is a good sign. “Are you serious?”
A burst of laughter cracks the silence, and I know. I know it’s her.
Gretchen.
I throw back the covers and stare at the woman who dominated my dreams all night. She wears jeans and a red and pink flannel over a white tee. Her caramel hair is loose around her shoulders and topped with a tasseled pink hat.
It’s such a contrast to the pistol in her hand that I almost laugh out loud.
“What the—” Gretchen gasps as the quilts slip down around my waist. Her eyes drop to my bare chest and linger a few beats before she lowers the gun. “Holy shit.”
“That’s my line.” I squint against the glare of sunlight streaming through the windows, struggling to focus on her face. “What are you doing here?” A ripple of panic moves through me. “Wait, did something happen to James and Lily?”
“James and Lily?” All at once, Gretchen’s eyes go wide. “Oh my God. They loaned you the cabin?”
I’m grateful she figured it out, since my sleep-sluggish brain is still dog paddling through molasses to get to shore. Slowly, the pieces fall into place. “I’m going to go out on a limb and say James guessed wrong when he said none of the other siblings remembered this place.” I study her face, and my heart wobbles as those sea glass eyes sweep my chest again. “I’m thinking at least one sibling does.”
Gretchen shakes her head, as dumbfounded as I feel. “Jonathan said their dad won it in a poker game. That no one ever used it, so it’d be the perfect place for me to hole up and work on my dissertation.” She fishes a key out of her pocket and holds it up. “He gave it to me before they left for Europe.”
“Christ.” I glance at the gun in her hand, not sure whether to laugh or be freaked out. At least she’s not pointing it at me anymore. I lift my eyes to her face, and there’s that heart wobble again. “Can I please put on my pants now?”
“Oh. Yes, sorry.” She flips the safety, then sets the gun on the counter behind her. “You scared me.”
“I know the feeling.” Snaking my hand out of the covers, I manage to snag both my pants and T-shirt.
Gretchen blushes and turns around while I tug my clothes on and stand up. I know I shouldn’t check out her ass, but the jeans she’s wearing fit like someone molded them to her curves. Last night’s sweatpants gave me few clues about her figure, but it’s clear from these jeans that Gretchen has a rockin’ body.
“All right, I’m decent.” I’m still buckling my belt as she turns, and her blush goes a shade deeper. “How about I make us some coffee so we can figure out how to handle this. I guess one of us will need to hit the road.”
Her brows furrow. “Have you looked outside lately?”
“I’ve been a little preoccupied with being held at gunpoint.” I shift my gaze to the window and gape at the ocean of white. “Holy crap. When did that happen?” Stepping up to the window, I press my fingers against the glass like a kid on a snow day.
Not that we had any where I grew up.
“It started less than an hour ago,” she says. “It’s about five inches now but piling up fast.”
I stare at my car, which looks like a fuzzy frost turtle. There’s no metal visible at all. I turn back to Gretchen, who’s got her hands in the back pockets of her jeans.
“I thought this wasn’t supposed to hit until tonight,” I say.
“Same.” She shrugs. “I guess the weather guy was wrong. I figured I had plenty of time to get here and get settled.”
“I’ll work on the fire,” Gretchen says, reading my mind. “You figure out the coffee situation.”
“Bathroom first.” My mouth feels like something crawled inside and died. I could use a shower, but I’ll settle for washing my face. “Give me two minutes.”
Or longer, since the morning wood I woke up with is refusing to go down. Must be the adrenaline. I turn toward the bathroom, mustering as much dignity as possible as I close the door behind me and lock it.
Now what?
I start by splashing cold water on my face, since I’m still fighting brain fog. One glance in the mirror reminds me I look like hell, and also that the beard I grew as a disguise is threaded with salt and pepper. When did that happen?
Raking my hands through my hair again, I end up looking like I spent the night rubbing my head on the carpet. How can Gretchen look so fresh and bright and beautiful this early in the morning while I look like Wolfman’s feral cousin?
Meeting my eyes in the mirror, I mouth the words that have been a constant buzz in my brain for weeks.
You are such a fuckup.
I brush my teeth, aware that I’m well over my two-minute limit. I need more time to collect myself. To figure out what we do next.
Maybe James can help me find her a cabin at the resort. Someplace pretty and private to work on her dissertation. There’s obviously not room for both of us here, and the longer she sticks around, the likelier she is to figure out who I am.
My subconscious tells me I’m being a selfish prick. It’s a blizzard out there, and she did get the keys before I did. I should be the one to leave.
But there are only so many places I can go and not be recognized, and besides—
“You okay in there?”
She sounds cheerful enough, but there’s an edge of concern to her voice.
“I’m fine.” With a sigh, I dry my face, hang up the towel, and head out to face the woman I haven’t stopped thinking about since last night.
The instant I step through the door, she hands me a mug of coffee. “Here,” she says. “There were enough embers to get the fire going fast, so I made the coffee, too.”
I take a sip, fortified by the bitter heat of it. “This is good. Way better than the stuff I brought.” I take another sip. “Did you bring your own bean grinder and fancy coffeemaker?”
She laughs and sips from her own steaming mug. “It’s a French press, so not technically an appliance. But yes on grinding my own beans.” Lifting the mug again, her eyes drift to the front window. “Man, it’s really coming down out there.”
“Right.” I sigh and glance outside. Might as well take the bull by the horns. “Look, there’s obviously not room for two people here. I’m not sure about the fairest way to decide who’s staying, but we’d probably better do it before the roads get worse.”
She gives me a curious look. “It’s only four miles back to the main road,” she says. “I’ve got chains and four-wheel drive.”
“You’re volunteering to leave?”
Lifting her mug, she gives me another look. “Can I finish my coffee first?”
Right. “Sorry. I’m an asshole.”
“You mentioned that.” She sits down on the arm of the sofa and surveys the cabin. “It really is a nice place. Those beams are beautiful.”
I look up, noticing them for the first time. “Reminds me of my grandmother’s place.”
Gretchen smiles. “The grandma who ate mustard, or the one who flipped you off?”
I laugh and ease onto one of the barstools, glancing out the window again. The snow really is breathtaking, white and fluffy and drifting like bits of white fur.
“The mustard grandma is the one with the cabin.” I can’t believe I told her that story. It’s not like me to open up so easily.
She doesn’t even know your name. Don’t go patting yourself on the back.
I clear my throat. “Look, it doesn’t feel right having you just leave. Maybe there’s a fairer way to decide.”
Gretchen blows on her coffee. “What do you suggest?”
“Flipping a coin? Rock paper scissors?”
She just laughs. “It’s not a big deal. I was actually planning to spend part of my time at the old BONK compound anyway.”
“BONK?” I frown, trying to recall why that sounds familiar. “Wait—you mean the BONKers live nearby?”
“Lived,” she says. “The Feds shut down the Benevolent Order of the New Kingdom more than a year ago. Now it’s just acres of empty vacant buildings and one sneaky fox. Or more, we’re not really sure.”
Ah. I get it now. “Your fox is living at a former cult compound?”
“That’s one of the areas they’ve had sightings.” She shrugs. “The whole property has been tied up in the courts, but the Feds are letting biologists in for research. I’m supposed to head out later this week.”
“It’s close by?”
“About five miles north of here.”
The snowstorm hurls a handful of gravelly flakes at the window, reminding me we’ve got bigger issues to deal with than a nearly extinct fox. “Maybe I should go.”
“Go where?” She glances out the window. “I saw your car outside. Classic Mustang with rear-wheel drive?” She makes a tsk-tsk sound. “Even with chains, you’re going to have a tough time getting out of here.”
“I’ll manage.” My ego gives a tiny pinch of discomfort. I know I’m not a mountain man, but I did manage to chop kindling and get the woodstove going last night.
Gretchen polishes off her coffee and sets her mug on the counter. Then she stares at me. Just stares for an uncomfortably long time. “Is this about the kiss?”
I blink. “What?”
“You’re being kind of awkward and weird.” She smiles when she says it, and she’s not breaking eye contact. “I’m just wondering if it’s because you kissed me, and you’re regretting it because you never expected to see me again.”
That is literally the last thing I’d be thinking. “No,” I tell her. “I definitely don’t regret kissing you.”
I hesitate, not sure I should put this out there.
But hell, we’ve already established one of us is leaving. “Frankly, I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss. That’s kinda why one of us needs to leave.”
“Oh.” She gives a funny little smile. “Thanks for the honesty.”
“Don’t mention it.”
God, I’m a dick.
But Gretchen’s smile makes me hate myself a little less. “Seriously, I’m fine being the one to leave,” she says. “They have tons of cabins out at the BONK compound. I’ll just stay there.”
I cast another glance at the snowstorm. “How?”
She laughs. “This storm’s barely getting started. I grew up in Alaska, remember?”
“Sally the Chainsaw. Right.”
There’s a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “I left the chainsaw at home, but I do have tire chains. And four-wheel drive. As long as I get back on the highway before this blizzard gets going, I’ll be fine.”
She steps toward the entrance as I set my mug on the counter and follow. I don’t love the idea of her leaving so soon after she got here, but she makes a strong case. I step past her, headed for the big box of snack food I left by the front door. “Can I grab you—”
“Yes.”
I freeze in my tracks. “What?”
She looks up at me and smiles. “You asked if you could grab me and I said yes.” Her smile widens. “Was that not a complete question?”
I can’t tell if she’s yanking my chain. “I was offering to grab you a snack for the road.”
So why am I stepping closer, moving into her orbit? And why is she looking at me with those blue eyes round and soft and full of heat?
“I’ll take the snack,” she says. “And also another kiss. It’s only f
air, since you kissed me goodbye last time.”
I know this is a bad idea. A terrible idea. So why are my arms sliding around her waist, fingers slipping into her hair as I lean her back against the window by the door? “Okay.”
The kiss is soft and slow and achingly deep. All the tentativeness from our first kiss is gone, replaced by something more urgent. There’s a heat that wasn’t there the first time, a familiarity I recognize like my own heartbeat. We’ve already said goodbye once, so maybe we’re getting good at it.
Or maybe it’s that I don’t want this to be goodbye.
Gretchen sighs and moves against me, pressing closer. God, she’s soft. Soft and so damn sweet. If I’m not careful, I could lose myself in—
Crack!
We spring apart, both blinking like we’ve been whacked with a club.
“What was that?” Gretchen breathes.
For a second, I think she’s as dazed as I am by the kiss. Another loud crack! shakes me out of it.
I glance out the window and feel my blood go cold. “Oh, shit.”
It’s like watching a scene in slow motion. A towering pine sways, teetering in the wind. Snow bursts from the branches as the tree plummets toward the ground. Toward the cabin.
Toward us.
I hurl my body at Gretchen, knocking us away from the window and through the door of the open coat closet. We hit the ground hard, a pile of jackets landing on top of us as I shield her with my body and pray the tree doesn’t crash through the roof.
Ka-thud!
I sit up, blinking, as Gretchen sputters beneath me. “What on earth?”
We scramble to our feet and press our faces against the window. Outside, the tree lies sprawled behind her car. Branches sway in a mist of glittery snowflakes.
“We’re all right.” I swallow hard, not positive it’s true. “We’re okay.”
Gretchen nods, eyes wide as she drags her gaze off the tree and looks at me. “We’re also trapped.”
Right. There’s that.
Chapter 4
Gretchen
I stare at Gabe, heart thudding in my ears. “You just saved my life.”
