The image startled me into a laugh. She had no idea how apt that image was. Chainsaws were pretty much my stock in trade.
I filled the empty glass and brought it back to her.
“Don’t have to wait on me.”
Not bothering to respond, I went and grabbed the pile of clothes I’d set beside her at the door. I didn’t typically get embarrassed about my stuff, but the fabric on these was worn, washed, and faded like everything I owned. I’d picked the thermals because they were the tightest items I could think of, but suddenly I thought I might need to go back and see if I had anything more appropriate for a woman who wore glitter and had hair that looked like a wig.
I muttered something about a soak, went to the bathroom to turn the water on, and left the clothes in a pile on the radiator, along with a towel.
I took a second in the bathroom to regroup. I’d be fine with someone in my space. Just for a day or whatever. She seemed nice enough.
I stared myself down in the mirror. Bearded, gruff, and mean-looking. Jesus, what must she think?
Probably something close to the truth. That I was an uncivilized dude coping alone in the wilds of Washington State. Just surviving day to day.
She, however, was gorgeous. And, yeah, attractive women scared the hell out of me. But Jesus, no matter how much I wanted to grab the dogs and take off, leaving her the cabin, that wasn’t an option. She needed help.
“Bath’s ready,” I said and grabbed her empty bowl from the side table. “No bubbles or any other fancy shit.”
“Oh, look. I don’t need a bath. I could just—”
“Trust me. You need it.” The look she threw me said I was being pushy, so I explained. “It’ll help your soreness. Left some clothes in there for you.”
“Okay. Thank you.” She reached out a hand and I stepped back, not daring to look at the questions I’d see on her face. “Look. Um, Micah. I’m sorry to barge in on you like this.”
“Can’t be helped.”
“Well, I appreciate it.”
I was probably supposed to fill the pause she left, but I couldn’t come up with a single thing to say.
“As soon as the ice is gone, I’ll call someone to get me, okay?”
I went into the bathroom before she could say anything else and shut off the tap. When I turned to leave, she stood in the doorway, blocking my exit. I cleared my throat to fill the silence.
“You have Christmas plans?”
I searched that earnest little heart face to see if she was kidding. “No.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d celebrated Christmas. Or, actually, yeah. I could. Kabul, six years ago. Brown turkey in gelatinous gravy, spongy cornbread, mashed potatoes that were whiter than the tray and tasted like chalk. I’d had no idea I’d been spending my last Christmas as a soldier.
“Okay.” A big inhale lifted her chest. Was she disappointed? “Well, then…okay.”
She went into the bathroom and I shut the door, then stood there for a few seconds, trying to figure out what to do about the sleeping arrangements.
7
Christa
Oh, God.I groaned and sank into the deep, hot water. Maybe I had died, after all, and this was heaven.
I’d eyed the tub before getting in because, though the cabin appeared neat, I’d had enough filthy ex-boyfriends that I didn’t automatically trust a person’s cleanliness. This one, apparently, was the exception to the rule. The tub was spotless. His soap selection left something to be desired, but I’d deal.
He’d saved my life. The man had a pass on everything. Forever.
And this felt amazing.
For a second, with my eyes closed, I let my mind wander, which was a mistake. A sound smacked me, loud as a freight train: screeching tires, smashing metal, breaking glass. I gasped and worked hard to catch my breath.
Freezing. Hurting. Loud. So loud. I threw my hands up over my face, splashing water everywhere.
