A gust of wind slams against the wall, and both of us flinch. The cabin windows shudder in their frames, rattling loudly. Ally pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and wraps it around her like a burrito. She looks tiny in it, even though I know she’s strong enough to hold a bow steady in a gale.
“Is the generator meant to sound like that?” she asks.
“No,” I admit. “But it’s doing its best.”
She huffs a mirthless laugh. “That makes two of us.”
Another silence stretches, this one less painful. Only then do I remember the part I’ve been avoiding. “So,” I clear my throat, “the cabin.”
She groans immediately. “Oh no. Whatnow? Coyotes? Bears? Serial killers? Cos I’m happy to take on all comers.”
I give a small smile; I don’t doubt it. “Worse.”
Her eyes widen. “How is itworse?”
Swallowing hard, I blurt it out. “There’s only one bed.”
The whimper of despair she lets out is eloquence itself. “Don’t tell me the couch is broken.”
I wince. “…Yeah, it’s broken.”
She presses the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Are you kidding me? I’m sitting on the bastard right now.”
“And how comfortable are you?” She shifts grudgingly under the old, rickety sofa that isn’t long enough for either of us to stretch out. “And the other one in the den has been used as a prop storage dump for Mac’s latest Oscar grab. Unless you want to sleep under shit tons of horseback riding shit, broken saloon furniture, and a fake cactus…”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then there’s just the one bed.”
Silence rings out with the same impact as a klaxon, and she goes very still. “We arenotsharing a bed.”
“Obviously not.” She looks relieved. I don’t let myself feel the sting of that. “I’ll take the floor,” I tell her. “I’ve slept on worse.”
“Nate—”
“Seriously. I have a sleeping bag. It’s fine.”
She hesitates, biting her lip as she does mental math. “You need proper rest, too.”
“I’ll manage.”
She narrows her eyes. “For frig’s sake, I’m not kicking you onto the floor like a mistreated dog.”
“Technically, I’m volunteering.”
“Even so.”
Lightning cracks outside, white and violent. The lights flicker. Instantly, we both look at the generator.
“Oh, comeon,” I mutter.
The lights dim again. The hum wavers like a drunk soprano.
Ally groans. “If that thing dies, I swear by Satan’s ass I will scream into the void.”
“I’ll go check -”
“No,” she says sharply. “You’ve already been outside in a snowstorm. As if I’d let you freeze to death because you’re trying to outmaneuver a piece of machinery.”
