Her stomach growls.
“I made stew.”
She stares at me, like I’ve hit my head rather than offered her hot food.
“Fire.”
The word does nothing to move her closer to the biggest source of warmth in this cabin. She wasn’t outside for long but the longer she stares at me with confusion the more worried I become.
“Woman, you’re shiver—”
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“My name is Rachel.”
And I am an idiot. I was so wrapped up in getting her inside my cabin that I skipped a few steps.
“Dominic Barlowe.”
“I know. Yesenia told me.”
Even if I wasn’t already convinced she was the girl for me, the soft lilting way my grandmother’s name rolls off her tongue would seal the deal. The tone is telling. Full of warmth and love, it’s proof that my abuela chose well.
I might actually owe the old woman an apology.
“I’m sorry,” Rachel says shuffling her feet. We’ve tracked snow inside and it’s melting into dirty puddles all over my hardwood floors, but I don’t give a damn. I’ll clean the floors later. Right now, I just want to take care of her.
“Don’t worry, it’ll clean up just fine. Please get warm. The roads won’t be clear for a few days thanks to this storm. There’s no way down to the hospital if you get sick.”
“I don’t think cleaning the porch is going to fix it,” she mutters even as she moves away from me.
The porch. In the excitement of meeting my soulmate I completely forgot about the porch. Not to mention her car.
“The porch needed to be rebuilt anyway. It wasn’t stable.” It’s a small lie, but one I hope will ease her apparent guilt. She nibbles on her bottom lip as she stares at the fire, working the tender flesh in a manner that screams anxious.
Rachel is quiet. My words do nothing to soothe her as she stands by the fireplace still clutching her basket like it’s a lifeline. I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to avoid conversation. Now I’m desperate to talk to her.
“Sit in the rocker.”
She doesn’t look away from the flame to see me pointing to the chair in the corner. It’s older than me, built by my paternal grandfather, and solid as hell.
I don’t want to leave her, but I do. Briefly. I’m no use to her barking orders she either doesn’t hear or won’t obey. The cabin is small, and I’m quick on my feet. There aren’t many creature comforts in my home but the knit blanket my abuela made five Christmases ago is soft, and most importantly, warm. It settles around Rachel’s shoulders like a red plaid cloud. She jumps, startled, but when her eyes land on mine I don’t detect any sign of fear.
Good.
Dragging the rocking chair over, she plops down after I nudge her. I’d rather get her out of those wet clothes and take a warm shower, but that would probably cross a line. No matter how innocent the desire to see her safe and warm is, there’s no denying her effect on me. The last thing she needs is a man with a hard cock telling her to strip.
When I come back with a steaming bowl of stew, I find her burrowed into the blanket, her head poking out when I get close.
“Thank you.” The words are soft, and I want to tell her that she doesn’t need to be grateful. This is the bare minimum of what I’ll do for her.
The bare fucking minimum.
I need to rein in these protective instincts. She’s not used to a man like me. I go after what I want, and I protect what’s mine.
Rachel doesn’t know it yet, but that’s exactly what she is. Mine.
