Dan was looking at her with amusement, clearly guessing her thoughts.
“What?” she demanded, hearing the “bleeding-heart” even without him saying anything.
He gave her a “back off, angry woman” hand. “I didn’t say anything.”
“But you were thinking it.”
“You aren’t exactly hard to read.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Pot. Kettle.”
He laughed. She was a little scared how much she was growing to like that sound. “Maybe so. But I for one am hoping there were hunters here who were nice enough to leave some kind of shelter behind. You look frozen.”
Secretly she hoped so, too. She hadn’t noticed how cold and wet she was on the boat when she was fighting for her life, but now that she was safe—and no longer had his body next to hers—she couldn’t stop shivering.
They found the cabin a short while later, tucked against the hillside on the other side of the flat area. It wasn’t much to write home about, but she wasn’t going to complain. The cabin—or bothy as Dan said the Scots called it—was a one-room stone building with a turf roof. At about ten by fifteen feet, it had a couple of steel bunks in one corner and a “kitchen” on the opposite side. There was a sink, but with no running water; there was also a big wooden bucket on the ground for hauling water from the sea. She hoped there was a freshwater source nearby as well.
The best news was that there was a stove that served the dual purpose of cooking and heating.
Dan quickly went to work loading the few bricks of peat that had been left underneath into the stove and getting it lit, while she did the best she could knocking the dust from the furniture, blankets, and mattresses. She was glad not to see any cobwebs—spiders weren’t her favorite.
She was just beginning to feel the first warm tingles of heat coming from the stove when she lifted the bottom mattress from the bunk to shake it out and screamed.
•••
The sound of Annie’s scream turned Dean’s blood to ice. Considering how desperate their situation had been a few minutes ago—if this island hadn’t had a place to land the boat, they would have been in real trouble—his reaction was laughable. Dean knew how to control his emotions. He didn’t experience fear or anxiety the way most people did. He buried it. Put it aside. Compartmentalized.
But her scream scared the shit out of him.
He spun around from his position by the stove to see her running toward him. He barely had time to open his arms before she was leaping into them. He could feel the frantic pounding of her heart against his. At least he thought it was hers, but his was freaking slamming against his ribs.
She latched on to him as if she were a terrified kitten who had no intention of letting go. Which was fine, as he had no intention of letting her.
Scanning the area behind her, he didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. No dead bodies or bogeymen lurking in the corner. As she didn’t seem inclined to offer an explanation, he asked, “What is it?”
She turned her face toward his, and his throat caught. Terror still made her voice tremble. “A r-rat! I saw a rat!”
Dean stilled. Jesus fucking Christ, she had to be shitting him? All that for a rat? Relief ate away at his composure. He couldn’t help himself; he started to laugh.
She looked up at him again, no doubt feeling the reverberation in his chest. “Don’t you dare laugh. It was terrifying.”
He tried to sober. Not very successfully. “I’m sure.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”
He feigned innocence. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“‘You are such a girl.’ Tell me you aren’t thinking that right now!” He couldn’t do that. “It would have scared anyone. It had teeth! And a tail. It must have been this big.” She pulled away from him long enough to show him about a foot. But he still had his arm slung around her waist and had no intention of letting her go.
He peered over behind the bed and didn’t see anything. “I’m sure. But I don’t see anything.”
Tentatively she broached a look. He could feel her relax. “It’s gone. But you need to find it.”
“I don’t know. That sounds a little sexist to me. Why do I have to do the hunting? Because I’m a man? Does that mean you’re doing the cooking?”
If looks could kill, he’d be roadkill. “That isn’t funny.”
He grinned. It was fucking hilarious.
