“Mm-hmm.” River shut the door.
Keely lay on the bed, staring at the top bunk.“I will get you home,Keely.”
She rolled over and pulled the pillow over her ear, closed her eyes. Not. Her. Cop.
The lodge had quieted, the chatter of the families no longer humming. Earlier she’d sat at a long table and watched Donald play a game of Aggravation with a homemade board and marbles. Two cute kids—they’d introduced themselves, but she couldn’t remember their names. Wren? And Oliver, she thought. She’d put Wren at around seven, Oliver a little older.
Wren reminded her of herself, maybe, with blond hair in a couple messy pigtails, always swiping her hair out of her face. She wore leggings, with a hole in one knee, and sat on her daddy’s lap, her arm around his neck.
Now, the image conjured up and sank in, settled in her chest, and her throat filled.
“Not every cop is like your dad.”No. Not every man was like her dad either.
She might have slept, fatigue finding her bones, pressing her into the bed, but something woke her.
Whining.She heard it, near her door. Caspian? Surely Dawson wouldn’t leave him out all night...
She got up, eased onto her foot. Not terrible. Outside, the light still glowed from the barn, pressing into the window. Balancing on the bunk bed, she worked her way to the door.
Opened it.
Caspian rose from where he lay on the floor outside the room. “Hey there.”
The dog let himself in.
Went to the window, whining.
“What’s going on? Did Dawson leave you out in the hallway?”She limped back to the window, crouched next to the dog, running her hand over his neck.
He turned to her, whined again, pressing his nose into her hand.
“Oh, you are sweet. You want to stay here, with me?”
And that’s when she looked out into the night at the light flickering and glowing and—
Oh. What—
In the light outside, despite the storm, she spotted a man in a green jacket lying in the snow. He seemed unmoving.
Could be a community member, out checking the barn—
She got up, using the bunk, then gave up and limped to her door.
Darkness bathed the hall, save for the flickering fire in the hearth in the opening below. Caspian pushed past her out into the hall. He turned to Dawson’s room.
The man’s door hung open, and she spotted the same layout as hers—a bunk bed, and in the lower bunk, a form curled up on the bed, still dressed, his arms tucked to himself, his one leg straight, the other bent. As if he’d simply fallen there.
Caspian ran past her, whining, and nudged his hand overhanging the bed.
“Stop,” he mumbled. “Casp, c’mon, man—”
“Dawson?”
He sat up so fast he slammed his head into the top bunk. Then he peered at her, blinking, as if he didn’t recognize her.
Oh. Um. “There’s a man outside.”
He frowned at her.
