Page 10 of Finding Forever

I zip the hoodie part way and step back. “Are you right or left-handed?”

“Left. If I had to get shot, right shoulder was the better choice.” He reaches for my hand again, fingers warm around my hand. “Lead the way.”

I tell myself the warmth spreading through me is irritation. Or adrenaline. Or fear.

Not this. Whatever this is.

We move through the darkened inn together, window to window, Penny padding silently at our heels. We peer outside, listening. Even wounded Luke’s presence is steady and alert.

“Are there motion lights on the porch?”

“Yeah.” I worry my bottom lip. “Briggs might come up on the porch for shelter.”

“It’s possible.” He sounds serious and focused, but also like he’s in pain. “He’ll be desperate to get warm. He knows we’re armed. Most likely, he’ll find an empty cabin and break in. Less likely, but still a risk, he takes his chances and tries for the inn.”

“I have the alarm activated. There’s battery backup if the power goes out.”

“Gotta love a woman who’s prepared.”

The words hit harder than they should. My heart gives an entirely unhelpful jolt.

I’m saved from replying by the phone timer pinging in my pocket. “Dinner’s ready.”

His fingers tighten around mine. “Sounds good.”

Outside, the snow continues falling. Inside, the air feels charged, like everything has shifted, and neither of us knows exactly how to deal with it.

CHAPTER FIVE

Luke

There’s little more than blowing snow to be seen from the windows. Not knowing Briggs’s whereabouts gnaws at me. We return to the kitchen where it’s warmer. I’m exhausted, but I take a minute to check in with Beckett. He’s got nothing new to report.

The smell hits me and my mouth waters. “Is that bread? Are you baking bread?”

“Yeah. Hold this, please.” Kit hands me the flashlight. Like she did earlier, I cover most of the beam.

Using mitts, she pulls a round loaf from the oven and sets it on a wire rack. Steam rises into the air. Then she stirs a pot on the stove, her movements efficient, practiced.

She tips her head toward me. “How are you feeling? Do you think you can eat?”

My shoulder throbs, but my stomach is fine, and I need to eat so I don’t end up totally useless. The bread alone could convince me.

“I can eat. I’ve never known anyone who makes their own bread. Or soup.”

Her expression turns incredulous. “Then you’re in for a treat. Get back in bed and I’ll bring a tray.”

I hate being an invalid, but the circuit around the inn sapped my energy, so I follow orders. And with the windows covered, the bedroom is the safest place for us to be.

I collapse onto the bed and close my eyes. I must’ve drifted, because the next thing I feel is her gentle touch, unzipping my sweatshirt to check the bandage.

“Will I live, Doc?”

My attempt at humor falls flat. Worry clouds those hazel eyes.

Worry for me. I have to stop myself from leaning into it, from soaking up everything she gives.

The temptation is there to take what I can, to absorb the comfort she offers like a balm to my soul. Kit has a way of settling something inside me, soothing rough edges I’ve learned to live with.