Two hours later, after a mostly silent breakfast and a short nap, I’m dressed in my old clothes. They’re clean, but in the light, I can still see the bloodstains. Outside the big front window, the snow sparkles in the sun, and water drips from the eaves.
Wyatt thrusts a large down jacket at me. “It’ll take us twenty minutes to get to the General Store, but almost twice as long to get back. It’s a steep climb back up the mountain.”
Two of me could fit inside the coat, and despite the overly large plate of bacon, eggs, and hashbrowns Wyatt served me this morning, I’m still shaky.
When he passes me a pair of gloves, his gaze zeroes in on my fingers still fumbling for the zipper. “Let me.”
I hate this lingering weakness, and I huff, but then he’s so close, I can smell his shampoo. He stills my hands with his, and for a moment, something almost magical sparks between us. I hold his dark, intense gaze, mesmerized, barely able to breathe. Something as simple as him bundling me into a coat shouldn’t be so intimate. Yet, it is.
“Here,” he says, snagging a fleece-lined hat from a hook by the door and offering it to me. “Put this on.”
The moment shatters, and I scowl. “I really need all of this?”
Wyatt arches a brow. “Do you want to freeze to death?”
“Of course not. I tried that the other day and didn’t enjoy it at all.” I offer him a weak smile, but Wyatt’s having none of it. His stern expression would scare me if it weren’t for the heat in his eyes.
He tugs the ear flaps down and secures them under my chin, a move that should annoy me, but instead, is oddly tender. “Then you’ll wear the hat. And the gloves.”
I’d argue—because I’ve had it with men telling me what to do—but then Wyatt adds, “Please.”
It’s his tone that gets me. The worry. The care. The intense need to protect me. So I wear the gloves.
He pats his hip like he’s checking for his wallet, but as he reaches for a small backpack, a leather holster peeks out from under his jacket.
“You’re bringing a gun?” Panic claws at my chest, and I take a step back. Murphy whines and paws at my thigh. It barely takes the edge off. Until Wyatt’s deep voice anchors me.
“Look outside.” He waves his hand toward the window. The towering snow drifts have all but disappeared, and while it’s still white as far as I can see, a light rain falls steadily. “It’s warmer today. Which means…”
“Simon’s men could be out there.” A cold chill settles in my belly, despite the hat, coat, and gloves. “Is it safe for me to go with you?”
“You’re sure as shit not staying here alone,” he growls.
“Excuse me?” Despite my fear, I find a small bit of strength deep inside. With my back straight, I march over to him and get right in his face. As much as I can since he’s at least six inches taller than I am. “You saved my life, brought me here, and now you don’t trust me?”
“For fuck’s sake.” Wyatt pulls me close and cups the back of my neck. The kiss is rough. Demanding. Passionate. Definitely not a kiss born out of mistrust. I’m breathless when he lets me come up for air, but he doesn’t release me. Instead, he cups my cheeks and urges me to meet his gaze. “You’re not staying here alone because until I know you’re safe and somewhere that bastard can never find you, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
Wyatt
With Hope’s arms wrapped tightly around my waist, focusing on the hazardous terrain is a hell of a lot harder than it should be. The storm passed overnight, but the temperature still hovers just above freezing.
The top layer of snow has turned to ice, and wind stings my cheeks. I wish I had a spare set of goggles for Hope. Though without them, she presses her face to my back.
Not a terrible position to be in.
There are only a half dozen cabins on this particular mountain peak, and last time I bothered to check, mine was the only one occupied year round. No other tracks in the snow—thank fuck—but that could change any minute. If I wasn’t worried about leaving a trail directly to my door, I’d hike all the way to the highway where the SUV left the road to see if anyone had been looking around.
Parker’s General Store is a good five hundred feet lower in elevation than my cabin, and by the time I pull the ATV around the back of the building, a few patches of green peek through the snow.
Hope doesn’t let go of me when I kill the engine, so I pat her hands gently. “We’re here.”
“I don’t like ATVs,” she mutters, pain tightening her voice.
Helping her off the back seat, I steady her until I can get a good look at her face. Shit. The ride wasn’t good to her.
Her car fell halfway down the mountain two days ago. Of course she’s in pain. Be a little more sensitive, dumbass.
“How many times have you ridden on one before today?” I ask.
