Page 8 of Seeking Shelter

“There’s a couple of inches of snow.” He feeds the wood burner.

“Any sign of the poachers?”

“No.” There’s something in his expression that gives me pause.

“What is it?” I bite my lip. “You think they know this cabin is here?”

“It’s possible. They could attack, try to drive us out so they can take our shelter.” He gives me a level look. “You think they saw you using your camera?”

I nod slowly. “I didn’t notice when they came over the ridge. They must’ve seen me before I saw them.”

I pick up the camera, fiddle with a few buttons, then angle it so he can see the picture on the screen. A quick look and he glares at me. “Fucking Abel is aiming a rifle at you, and you were taking a picture of him? You didn’t think to duck?”

“I did duck, but I wanted the evidence.” I shrug. “And I have it.”

“You put a target on your back. That was reckless as hell because now they have every incentive to come for not just your camera, but you too. They get caught, your testimony and the evidence on the memory card means they’re looking at five to ten years in prison and hefty fines. That puts you in danger until they’re behind bars.”

My throat feels tight. “Then I need to get out of here so I can log my evidence and those two can be arrested.” I extract the memory card and zip it into a pocket on my pants. “Until then, I’ll keep the card separate from the camera.”

He nods, then glances out the window. “We’re not going anywhere in this weather.”

He straps his duty belt on lean hips, gun at his side, pulls on his poncho, then clamps his hat on his head.

“What are you doing?”

“Going up to the ridge. I should be able to hit the repeaters for the VHF radio at a higher elevation. I tried from here and got static.”

“You’re exposed up there. The poachers could shoot at you. There’s been lightning.”

“Worried about me, Angel?”

“It’s Evangeline.” I don’t know why I bother correcting him. He’s going to call me what he wants, and I’ll never admit that I like his nickname for me.

“Thunder stopped so I don’t have to worry about lightning, and I’ll keep an eye out for anything else. I need to do this while it’s still light.”

A chill sweeps down my spine. “It’s too dangerous,” I say stubbornly. “They could be lying in wait.”

He hands me the scabbard holding my rifle. “I’ll be careful. If it’s not me coming through the door, shoot them. Not their knees. Not their fingers or toes. Defend yourself, Angel. Shoot to kill.”

He dips his head and brushes his lips over mine. “For luck,” he says, then slips out the door.

With the loaded .30-06 across my lap, I sit in a chair by the window and watch Jonah stride across the clearing, snow swirling around him, until he disappears into the trees.

I check the time so I’ll know when to start worrying.

I should be thinking about how we’re going to get out of this mess. But is that what I’m doing? No.

My brain’s full of the kiss, busy cataloguing the exact pressure of his lips, the smell that clung to him—woodsmoke with a hint of rain—and those calloused palms on my skin. All those feelings I’ve spent years pretending don’t exist come rushing back, and I only want more.

There’d been that kiss when I was in college. After which he’d acted like I had a communicable disease. Our families are socially connected, so we’ve run into each other over the years. Each time his behavior has been consistent. Exchange greetings if he must, then avoid me as best he can. If he can’t, then act like it’s his job to keep me out of trouble. It’s clear that first kiss and the revelation I had feelings for him are a source of embarrassment.

So what’s the deal with him today?

I scan the snowy scene, looking for any movement, and mull over the possibilities. The conclusion is obvious. Jonah takes his job seriously and he’ll protect me like any other person in a similar situation. If my brother hadn’t called asking him to come looking for me, he’d have assigned another LEO to the job.

And the kisses? I can’t read something into them that’s not there. Gunshots, the poachers, the storm…we’re in an intense, adrenaline-producing situation. Add in the forced proximity and emotions are running high. The minute we’re safe and back to our regular lives, I have no doubt he’ll revert to being his usual stoic and aloof self.

I yawn and settle back in the chair, grateful for the warmth of the stove.