He pounded on the door.
"Edie!"
No response. The wind swallowed his voice like it was nothing.
He pounded harder. "Edie! Open the door!"
A pause. Then the door cracked open, just wide enough for a pair of brown eyes to peer out at him through the swirling snow.
"Tarmek?" She had to shout to be heard. "What are you doing out there? Are you insane?"
"Let me in."
"I'm fine! Go home!"
He didn't bother responding. He put his hand flat against the door and pushed, not hard enough to hurt her but hard enough that she stumbled backward and had to catch herself on the tiny counter. He stepped inside and pulled the door shut behind him.
The cold hit him immediately. Not just the absence of warmth, but aggressive, biting cold that had infiltrated every inch of the cramped space. His breath fogged in front of his face. Ice crystals had formed on the inside of the windows.
And she was standing there in four sweaters layered over each other, fingerless gloves, two scarves wrapped around her neck, and what looked like every pair of socks she owned stuffed into a single pair of boots.
"Your heater is dead," he said.
"It's just being temperamental." She rubbed her arms, a gesture that didn't quite hide the shiver running through her. "It does this sometimes. I'll figure it out."
"How long has it been off?"
"I don't know. A while. It's fine."
"How. Long."
She hesitated. "Maybe... three hours?"
Three hours. In subzero temperatures. In a metal box with the insulation capacity of a tin can. He looked around the camper and saw the evidence of her attempts to cope. The pile of blankets on the narrow bed. The battery-powered lantern that was producing the flickering light he'd seen from outside. The kettle on the propane stove, clearly her attempt to generate some warmth, now sitting cold and useless.
The propane was probably running low too. Or frozen. Or both.
Something inside him broke. It wasn't anger, exactly. Or not just anger. It was something older, something primal, something that had been building for weeks every time he noticed her skipping meals or working too late or leaving her door unlocked. Something that had been coiling tighter and tighter in his chest, waiting for the moment when her stubborn independence would finally push her into genuine danger.
That moment was now.
"You are not sleeping in a frozen metal box," he said.
His voice came out as hard as the granite in the surrounding mountains. It wasn't a suggestion. It was a statement of fact, as immutable as the storm howling outside.
She blinked at him. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"I'm fine. I've been through worse. One time in Colorado, my heater died in the middle of October and I had to?—"
"I don't care what happened in Colorado. You're not staying here."
"Tarmek." She drew herself up to her full height, which put the top of her head roughly level with his chest. "I appreciate the concern, but I'm a grown adult. I've been taking care of myself for years. I don't need you to?—"
"You're shivering."
"I'm a little cold. I'll live."
