Beyond the Can-Am 700 is a snow drift that looks to be about six feet high.For the first time since this storm began, I’m damn glad I’m dealing with heavy, wet precipitation, because the light and fluffy stuff wouldn’t hold its shape the way I need it to.
Next, I walk back to the shack and exchange the snow shovel for the heavy-duty scoop shovel left behind by the surveyors.
I use it to start carving out an entrance on the backside of the drift, away from the wind.I’ve picked a spot that’s far enough away from the cabin to be safe if the roof collapses, but close enough to take advantage of the ATV’s weight.That sucker’s not moving, so I could tie down supplies, if needed.
I dig.This shelter must be small enough to contain our body heat but large enough to hold some gear and allow us both to sit upright and lie down flat.My back aches as I dig out an arched entrance.It’s slow going.
I pray we won’t need this.But it’s my duty to provide the option, in case we do.
With each heavy shovelful removed, a cave begins to take shape.I can’t finish this job in one go, since I’ll need more accumulation to raise the burrow’s height, but at least I’m getting it started.That’s critical.With each trip I take outside, I’ll dig deeper and higher.I’ll smooth out the floor and scrape out the curved walls.
My mind wanders as I work, and I keep coming back to this: it’s a damn miracle we found this place.And in the quiet of my mind, I once again thank my mom for looking out for me.Since I’m already in the neighborhood, I decide to take the opportunity to apologize to her for my behavior as a kid, and for how petty I could be.
It's long overdue.
I’m sorry, Mom.
I was always waiting for her to admit that she had her favorites—Cal and Special K, obviously—her oldest and youngest.I convinced myself that half the time she didn’t even remember I was there.She’d never think to seek out my company, just the two of us.
I resented the hell out of her for that.
Now that I’m an adult, I see things differently.I know that Stella Roberts MacLaine loved her family with an unwavering fierceness, and I have many happy memories of my life before she died.
I now understand that she worked like a dog to keep the ranch afloat while raising five loud, obnoxious, demanding boys who did their damnedest on the daily to get into trouble.
It couldn’t have been easy.She was an incredible woman.Even now, all these years later, I miss her like hell.
Thank you, Mom.
I spear the shovel into the snow and decide I’ve done what I can for tonight.I give the interior one last leveling scrape, then retrace my steps to the cabin, clearing the path again as I go.
I arrive at the door.Resting the scoop shovel against the exterior wall, I take a moment to steady myself before I go inside.
Hard physical work usually clears my brain, yet here I am, still unsure what to do about Phoebe.
Because what Iwantto do and what Ishoulddo are two very different things.
CHAPTER 22
Evander
Phoebe is in a vulnerable state.Recovering from hypothermia.Exhausted.Likely overwhelmed.The girl almost died, for fuck’s sake.
She’s under my protection.She’s my responsibility.I’ve told her to trust me.
But I’m aware of what’s going on inside that pretty head of hers.That's the part I don’t know how to deal with.
I caught her looking at me again.Her eyes were filled with longing—and not the kind that can be satisfied with just one kiss.
That’s the real problem.From what I’ve surmised, Phoebe’s still a virgin.She thinks she wants me, but has no idea what that would entail.And if she got me, she wouldn’t be able to handle me.
So that’s her side of the equation.
Here’s mine: Despite Phoebe’s vulnerability and innocence, I want her.Bad.I suppose that makes me a complete bastard.
She may not know whatshe’sasking for, but I know whatIwant.I want it all.And I’d happily take it.
But not here and now.Not under these circumstances.It wouldn’t be right.It wouldn’t be fair to her.
