Because that wasn’t her life. It was a life she’d created. But here, maybe, she’d discovered a person she longed to be. Strong and capable and smart and ... maybe she could even be a decent mother.
She could at least try.
Maybe losing her voice had been the best thing that ever happened to her. That, and a plane crash, and an overzealous dog, and a grumpy ex-cop.
And maybe it was too soon—way too soon—and the lingering memory of their Hallmark getaway, but...
She could love this man. Could even be on her way...
Oh boy. But what was she supposed to do with a man like Dawson? Sweet and considerate and self-sacrificing and...
So this was how it felt to want to love, the urge to give them the best of yourself, to shed all the fears and lies and simply ... love back.
Bliss suddenly felt so far away, a costume, really, that it was time to shed.
Time to be set free.
A scratch at the door made her sit up. Set the handheld on the desk. “Dawson?”
She got up. Another scratch, and this time whining.
What—?She unbolted the door and—
Caspian?
Snow covered his dark fur, and the dog wiggled in past her, turning and barking, his entire back end wagging.
“What are you doing—wait, did youfollowus? All the way from the community?” She crouched, and Caspian came over and nudged her, then lay down on his back.
“Tummy rubs, huh?” She scratched him. Oh, he was cold. But clearly alive, because he rolled back to his feet and shook off the snow, then started running and sniffing through the house.
She stood, watching him. He sniffed at the fire for a long time, then over to the area where blood had dropped, went into the bedroom, and came back out, then came over to her and sat. Looked up at her with those big brown eyes. She rubbed his ears with both hands. “I s’pose Dawson couldn’t really live without you. Don’t worry. Rescue is on the way.”
The door had eased open, and she walked over to close it when Caspian stood up, headed toward it, and stood in the opening. Outside, the wind cast snow across the porch. She found a porch light and flicked it on.
Caspian took off, across the porch, down the stairs, barking.
What now? “Caspian!”
She stepped out onto the porch, her arms around herself, and—
Oh no. Caspian had stopped, just outside the ring of light, pawing at a form—a body.
No,no—
She had taken off her boots, but kept them by the door, and now she shoved into them, didn’t bother to lace them as she reached for her jacket, just ran down the stairs into the snowy yard, the light reaching out past her to nudge the man in the snow.
Dawson.He lay unmoving, no skis, his knees drawn up, his hat off, his dark hair tipped in white. Caspian licked his face, trying to rouse him.
She reached him and pushed him over.
He seemed dead. Except for the tiniest huff of breath.
“C’mon, Caspian, help me!” She rolled Dawson over and grabbed his jacket. She wasn’t serious, but Caspian clamped onto the scruff of his coat and, with her, began to pull. The man weighed a thousand pounds. She didn’t have a hope of getting him to the house or up the stairs—“C’mon, Dawson!” The shout lifted, high and loud, and tore through. “Wake up!”
Movement, and he groaned and then reached up and caught her arm. Squeezed.
She let go. “You’re alive.”
