Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
DENVER
Dawn creeps in slow through the curtains, pale gold seeping across the cabin’s rough-hewn walls. The fire’s gone to ash, but the room still holds its heat.
I smell it first. Pine, soap, smoke, threaded with something sweeter, honey. Out of place, too sweet for this cabin or me. But I like it all the same.
She’s curled on her side, one hand tucked beneath her flushed cheek, hair spilled like dark ink across my pillow. My flannel drowns her—sleeves too long, collar slipping just enough to show the slope of her shoulder.
Bear’s stretched between us like a damn chaperone, tail twitching with every breath.
I tell myself I’m checking to make sure she’s breathing, not just staring.
Truth is, I’d forgotten what peace looks like until right now.
The storm’s passed, but the world outside still drips and sighs. I slip out of bed, careful not to wake her. Slide into my prosthetic and stand. Floorboards creak anyway; she murmurs, shifts, settles again. Something tightens in my chest.
Coffee. Distraction. That’s what I need.
I stoke the fire, set the kettle on. The smell of wood smoke and cedar fills the air—home, routine, safety. All the things I thought I wanted alone.
Then she appears in the doorway, wrapped in a fur blanket, hair a wild halo from sleep. Barefoot, blinking. I turn away, try to pull myself together.
“Mornin’,” I manage, voice rough.
“Is it?” she murmurs, yawning. “Feels like a dream.”
Her smile wrecks me more than last night’s wind ever could.
“Coffee?”
She nods, clutching the blanket tighter. “Please. And maybe a new plan for the day that doesn’t involve exploding pipes.”
I snort. “Ambitious. Let’s start with breakfast, then see if your cabin survived.”
“Guess that depends on who’s cooking.”
I arch a brow. “You volunteering?”
“Maybe,” she says, grin growing, sunlight itself in human form.
The kettle whistles, cutting through the silence.
Outside, the forest steams, silver fog lifting off the trees.
Inside, something in me starts thawing that I hadn’t realized was frozen.
I pour her a mug of coffee, pushing it across the counter to her. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Cream, please.”
I pour until the black brew blossoms, cloudy swirls that settle into a light brown shade. The color of her skin.
“Thank you,” she smiles warm but groggy.
“Sleep okay?”
“Like a baby.”
Those three words knock something loose in my chest. I grimace, feeling an unaccustomed ache.
Her dainty fingers grip the mug. “So, I was thinking,” she says.
“About today’s cabin repairs. It was kind of you to offer.
But if you’re not feeling it, I can call someone.
” She walks toward the hearth where a new fire burns.
“It looks like you stay busy enough as it is. Don’t need my problems on top of it. ”
But I don’t want someone else doing this for her. I want to be the one. I shake my head, voice gruff. “Last thing I need are more strangers out here. I’ve got it.”
“But are you sure?” she asks, eyes wide.
I cross my arms over my chest, narrowing my gaze. “Couldn’t be more sure.”
She sits, stares into her steaming cup of coffee. “Thank you.”
I grunt, look away. Don’t want my face to show what my heart’s feeling, a contented glow.
“Why the Wheeler cabin?” I ask, side-eying her.
She shrugs. “Long story.”
I pull eggs from the ceramic bowl on the counter, crack a few into the skillet where butter crackles.
“Wait, you don’t refrigerate your eggs?” she asks, head bobbing between me and the appliance.
“No need until you wash them.”
Her face scrunches. “They’re not washed? But don’t they come out of a chicken’s butt?” She looks at me like I’m missing a cog.
I laugh, can’t help it. The sound booms through the quiet cabin. Can’t remember the last time I heard it. “Yep.”
She waits, creases in her forehead deepening.
“Eggs come with a natural—” I search for the right word, tongue feeling tired thanks to so much talking. “Membrane. Protects them from going bad.”
“Oh,” she says, opening her phone. Her fingers fly.
I grip the spatula, scrambling the eggs as butter crackles. “Texting someone?”
“No signal up here. Taking notes … for my cabin challenge. I need all the homesteading tips I can get, especially since my subject hates cameras.”
I tug at my beard. “Still do.”
“Can’t I just get one picture of you? To prove to the world you exist?”
My eyes narrow. “Don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”
She laughs, shakes her head, and takes another sip of coffee.
“What?”
“I knew you’d say that. You’ve definitely got the strong, silent type bit down.”
“No one to talk to … usually,” I counter.
“Is that why you seem like you’re hating every moment of conversing?”
“No,” I protest too quickly. “Talking to you’s good. Rest of the world? Not so much.”
She cocks her head, understanding softening her gaze. “So, how’d you end up out here all alone, Denver?”
“Wanted to be.”
“For any particular reason?” she asks.
A shiver runs down my spine. Cold metal, darkness, harsh lights—white, blue, red. A steady voice, “Sir, tell me your name.”
I shrug. “Needed to live my life on my terms.”
Recognition flares behind her eyes. Her smile intensifies. “Like me, then. That’s why I’m here.”
I nod, shift my weight, slide the eggs onto a plate, then add greens to fry with garlic, salt, pepper, and chopped bacon. “Explain.”
She swallows hard, looks at the ceiling. “My best friend, Maya, died suddenly. One minute here, the next gone.”
“How?”
“Motorcycle accident. She and her boyfriend were both killed.”
I nod, listening.
“Maya and I always dreamed of leaving the city behind, moving somewhere remote, pristine, where we could get back to nature—what really matters. It was always five years down the road. Never today until she had no more days.” Her voice cracks at the end, and she looks away.
“Sometimes, surviving’s the hardest part,” I say.
She nods, smiling at me.
Silence settles, only the crackling of the fire, the sound of Bear’s tail thudding on the wood floor as he draws closer, nuzzles her hand like a sympathetic brother.
“Car accident for me,” I say before I can catch myself. I rub the place over my chest where my heart is.
“What happened?”
“Out on a work call with my partner, Steve. He drove. Massive heart attack on a back road. Windy, two-laner. Killed him instantly. Truck plowed off an embankment into a gorge.” My face sours. “Messy.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says quietly.
I nod. Don’t want to get into the details. The rehabilitation and scars, the PTSD, which still haunts me. My injuries from before in the service. A broken man. Useless to the world.
“Is that the reason for your limp?” she asks, facing the awkward head-on. Makes me like her even more.
“Prosthetic leg from the knee down.” The air buzzes between us. Too intimate. But I can’t help myself. “Slept together, but you didn’t notice?” I tease.
She smiles, not easily embarrassed. “Kind of had a wall of fur between us.”
“True.” Liked waking up to you. Feels lonely here sometimes—most of the time. “Didn’t stop you from hogging the blankets,” I add with a chuckle.
Her jaw hits the floor, face flushing. “Really? Did I do that?”
I nod. “Thankfully, I was on the fire side.”
“I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
A strange sting hits the back of my eyes. Too old and too wise to mince words. “At forty, it’s a good problem to have.”
A mischievous grin captures her mouth.
“What’s that smile for?”
“Just reflecting on our age difference.”
I cock my head. “How old are you, Dahlia?”
“Twenty-five.”
I nod.
“That a problem?” she asks.
“Not for me.” I arch an eyebrow.
“Not for me, either.”
I grunt, relieved. Don’t even know why.
She meets me at the table where I set two plates piled with golden eggs, greens, and thick slabs of homemade bread drenched in butter.
Her stomach rumbles. “Oh my God, sorry,” she apologizes.
“When’s the last time you ate?” I ask, sitting opposite her.
“Can’t remember apart from the Mexican Hot Chocolate.”
“Not enough,” I scold. “Dive in. Eat as much as you want. Can make more if needed. Warm up on your coffee?”
“Yes, please.” She bites her lip, regarding me for a long moment. “You’re a kind man, Denver, and a good one.”
I shrug. “Don’t let that get around. Apart from you … don’t want guests.”
“So, I passed the sniff test?” she asks.
“Bear likes you.” I let the thought trail off. Don’t need to get sentimental.
After eating, we head down to the Wheeler cabin, Bear carting tools. Dahlia keeps eyeing the dog, laughing under her breath. Something funny about his utility, I guess.
I poke around inside, hit by the scent of iron and mud. “Place is a wreck. Be a while before you can stay here again.” I wheel back around. “Not that you should’ve stayed here before. Place needs demolishing.”
Her bottom lip trembles as she squares her shoulders, eyes me defiantly. “It just needs a little TLC.”
A deep, booming laughter escapes my lips. Twice in one day she’s made me laugh. “A lot of TLC. Do they make that much TLC?”
She lifts her chin defiantly. “Never shied away from a fixer-upper.”
My chest warms. Don’t want her to now, either.
“So, what’s this mean? I’ll have to stay in town ’til it’s fixed? This’ll totally derail the cabin challenge.”
“Use mine instead.” I look at the toes of my boots.
“Yours? But I can’t impose like that.”
My head darts up, eyes meeting hers. “You—”
“Already have,” she chuckles. “I know.”
“Good food, warm digs, decent company.”
She arches an eyebrow, skeptical.
“Talking about Bear.” The big fluffy pooch roams the treeline, chasing his shadow—never gets into much trouble, but sure keeps me entertained.
“But you don’t even like people,” she says, putting her hands on her hips.
“Like you,” I admit. Instant vulnerability. Not a fan.
Her smile is sunshine peeking through clouds. Need more of it. “That means a lot coming from a man like you.”
A weighted statement. Could ask her a million questions about it, only I know what she’s getting at. “It does.”
“But—”
“But you’ll freeze out here without my help, my cabin.”
Her face is conflicted.
“And you’ll have to postpone the challenge. At my place, you can have at it. Just keep me off camera.”
She nods.
“Besides, you’ve got guts. Not much sense. But plenty of guts. Like that about you. Don’t want to see it change.”
“So, you want me to stay, then?”
I look away, heating to my neck. Fuck being a redhead. Never can hide my emotions. I clear my throat, open my mouth, strain to drag out the words buried deep. “Yep, want you to stay.”