“I did, but I’m not sure ‘drifted away in a rural flash flood’ is covered.” I run a hand down my face like that’ll scrub the disaster away. “Too bad my pusillanimous nature means I won’t even fight them on it.”
He glances over. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means I’m lacking in courage.” I let out a breath. “Which, honestly? Story of my life.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps his eyes on the road while the truck hums beneath us and the snow whispers against the windshield.
Then, quietly, he says, “I disagree.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh? You’ve got me all figured out after what? Ten minutes?”
His lips twitch, just barely. “Out here, you learn to trust your gut.”
“And yours says…?”
He looks at me, just for a second. Steady. Sure.
“My gut says you’re stronger than you think.”
Something warm flutters in my stomach, and it has nothing to do with the truck’s heater. It’s a dangerous warmth that’s unexpected and unwelcome. Especially when the rest of me is soaked, frozen, and teetering on the edge of a complete emotional breakdown.
I shiver, tugging the blanket tighter around my shoulders.
“You okay over there?” he asks, voice softer now.
“Cold,” I murmur.
He reaches over without looking and turns up the heat. Warm air hums through the vents, fogging the windshield slightly, just as something massive comes into view up ahead.
I blink.
A house.
No, a lodge, practically. Built from stone and timber, nestled against the snowy hills like it’s been part of the land forever. The snow filters down behind it in soft curtains, catching in the porch lights and glowing like something out of a dream.
“Wow,” I breathe. “Is that your house?”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat, shifting in his seat. “Looks like you’ll be staying with us for a few days.”
My head jerks toward him. “Days? What do you mean ‘days’?”
He doesn’t flinch. Just watches the road. “That bridge isgoing to need to be repaired. And it’ll be a while before the creek calms down. Might even rise again tonight.”
He glances toward the clouds like they’ve insulted him. “And I don’t like the way those look.”
I follow his gaze. They’re clouds. Gray and moody, sure. But they’re just clouds.
“How are they supposed to look?” I ask, eyebrows raised.
He doesn’t answer that. Just keeps driving.
“Surely there’s someone I can call in town,” I say, clutching at the last thread of practicality. “A tow service. Or, I don’t know, a rescue helicopter.”
He smirks. “Not for a few days, darlin’.”
Thedarlin’isn’t flirtatious. It’s casual. Uncomplicated. Like he says it to everyone. But it still knocks something loose in my chest. Something fragile and reckless I wasn’t prepared to feel. Which is probably why this is starting to feel like a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come here. I should’ve waited for the creek to go down. I should’ve called Frederick. I should’ve?—
“Darlin’?”
