But I don’t see a sign of their mother. I have to admit, the cabin is spotless. If it weren’t for them sleeping on the sofa, I wouldn’t have known anyone was here.
Gently, I set my pack down and close the door as quietly as possible behind me. There’s still a heavy weight in my chest, especially as I search for any sign of their mother. For a moment, I wonder if she went out and left the kids alone. Is she trapped somewhere in the snow? I look towards the fireplace, which burns hot and has plenty of wood beside it. So, she can’t be out doing that.
The further I creep into the house, the more I can tell someone else has been here. It’s not the shoes by the front door or the coats. One kid left a device on the counter, which is plugged into the outlet with a cell phone and two other electronics kids use. Looks like they’ve been locked up for the afternoon.
There’s also a bag in the hallway leading to the bedroom. I only have one room, purposefully so I don’t have unwanted guests. As I make my way towards the bedroom, I notice the bed is made but not with my sheets. Mine are on the dresser, neatly folded and washed, by the looks of it. And it looks like they’ve all been sleeping in here, judging by the bags by the window.
It would have been easier if they’d trashed the place. At least then I could have been angry. Could have felt justified in what I know I should do.
But as the shutters and windows rattle from the force of the wind, I can’t make myself feel anything other than relief.
Relief they aren’t out in that. Relief that I’m not, either.
Even though this is not how I want to spend my time snowed in.
As I step into the bedroom, I catch sight of the bathroom and freeze. A woman with long blonde hair, wearing nothing more than panties and a bra, combs her hair. She hasn’t noticed me yet, and I can’t make myself say anything to let her know I’m here.
But I also can’t help but run my eyes over her. Her bra barely contains the swells of her breasts, and her panties—which are more G-string than practical—allows me a full glimpse of her firm, wide ass. Her legs are longer than I would have expected, milky and smooth.
In the reflection of the mirror, she finally notices me, and whirls with a yelp. “What—how did you get in here?”
I cross my arms, drawing in a deep breath as I do. There’s no mistaking she’s been here; her perfume hangs in the air, sweet and tempting as it fills my lungs.
“Could ask you the same thing,” I say, taking a step further into the room. “This is my cabin, after all.”
I watch the realisation cross her face as she grabs a towel. “You’re Caleb,” she says on a sigh. “Oh my god. I am so sorry.”
“Sorry?” I raise a brow and watch her pull the towel around her body. It’s not effective in cutting off my view of her; now that she’s facing me, I take in how her breasts spill over the cups of her bra, and between the ends of the towel, I catch sight of a scar on her stomach.
She stops and looks at me, fear flashing across her face. Immediately, I feel guilty over causing it. “You had no idea we were here.”
“Which I’m guessing you already knew,” I say. “Winnie gave you the key.”
Colour leaves her face, panic filling her eyes. “Look, she just wanted to help us. Please don’t get mad at her.”
I press my lips together, drawing in a deep breath that carries with it the scent of her perfume. The floral notes tickle my nose, not overwhelming in the way most perfumes are. It suits the woman across from me well, though I don’t know why I think that.
Fuck, she’s already inside my head, and I don’t even know her name.
“Please,” she murmurs again, inching closer, hands pressed together as if in prayer. “I should have known better than to just…come here. But I needed to get my kids out of the motel. There was this old man in the room next door who kept looking at Cleo weirdly, and it worried me, and I can’t get a job right now. I was a stay at home mom and wife for years, so my resume is rusty, and we can’t move into our house…” She draws in a deep, shaky breath, tears filling her eyes.
Normally, sob stories don’t get to me. I stopped letting them have any effect years ago. Most of the time, they’re used to manipulate—or at least, that’s been my experience. Especially when people want something from me.
But there’s something about the way her words hang in the air between us, the sadness in them that cracks at some of my resolve.
I want to blame Winnie for getting in my head and making me feel bad. But this woman could have let her children trash my cabin. She could have made a mess of everything. But she’s keptit clean. There aren’t toys everywhere. A window isn’t broken. There isn’t rotting food all over the counters.
That would have been easy to deal with. I could have called Winnie to come pick her up, or get the sheriff involved.
But neither option feels…right.
Sighing, I scrub a hand down my face. “I’m not mad at her,” I say before she can open her mouth and continue. “I’m not comfortable with this, but I’m not mad at her. Or you.”
The breath of relief she releases sounds more like a broken sob, and there’s something about it that has me inching closer. Her entire body seems to deflate as tension dissipates from her, and all the reasons she’s held herself together unravel before my eyes.
I’m in front of her in an instant as she crumbles into my arms, sobbing quietly. Something in my chest cracks as I listen to her cry, each sound battering the rest of my resolve. It makes me wonder if I’m as callous and hard as I make myself out to be in front of Winnie. The me who warned Winnie feels like a far-off memory as I wrap my arms around the woman who broke into my cabin.
A lump forms in my throat when she buries her face in my chest. Somehow, she fits almost perfectly in my arms, and there’s something about it that makes me wary.
