Chapter 6 Oliver #2
I stand there, breathing in the ice, letting it cool the fire in my blood. I need calm when I go back to her. I can't let her see this side of me yet. The violence. The darkness.
I inspect her porch again.
Fixing the railing isn’t enough. I want her in my bed, but I won’t let her property be a target while she’s under my protection.
I turn and begin the climb back up the hill. The walk burns the rest of the adrenaline out of my legs. By the time I reach the clearing of my cabin, my breath evens out.
I stop at the woodpile and grab an armful of split logs. A peace offering. Or an excuse for why I was outside.
I kick snow off my boots on the porch and open the door.
Warmth hits me instantly. Smells of coffee and bacon.
Avery stands by the stove. Wearing my flannel shirt, the hem hitting her mid-thigh. Bare legs. Hair a messy, glorious disaster.
She turns when I enter, a smile lighting up her face. It punches me in the gut harder than any fist.
"There you are," she says. "I woke up and you were gone. I thought maybe you ran away."
I dump the logs by the fire and hang up my coat. I wash my hands at the sink, scrubbing away the feeling of the smoker’s wrist snapping under my grip.
"I don't run," I say, drying my hands on a towel.
I walk over to her. Small. Fragile. But her eyes remain bright and fearless.
"Where were you?" she probes, flipping a piece of bacon in the cast iron skillet.
"Securing the ridge," I answer. "Ensuring the mountain knows who you belong to." Mostly the truth.
"Find anything?"
"Just some tracks. Deer, mostly." I lie smoothly. She doesn't need to know about the wolves. Not yet.
I step up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist. I pull her back against my chest, burying my face in the crook of her neck. She smells like sleep, vanilla, and the musk of our sex.
"You're cold," she murmurs, leaning back into me. She trembles, gooseflesh rising on her skin, but she doesn't pull away.
"You're warm," I rumble against her neck.
I hold her tighter. The memory of the men on her porch flashes in my mind. The way they looked at her home like garbage. Like she was nothing.
I press a kiss to the sensitive spot under her ear. Her pulse jumps.
"Avery."
"Hmm?"
"You're not going back down there today."
She stiffens. "Oliver, I have to eventually. I have things to do. I need to call the contractor about the roof, and—"
"No." My voice comes out firmer than intended. "Snow is too deep. Road is blocked. You’re staying here."
She turns in my arms, facing me. Blue eyes narrow. "Are you asking me or telling me?"
I look down at her. I could tell her the truth. I could tell her bad men circle, that her home isn't safe, that I just broke a man's arm for littering on her porch.
But that would scare her. Make her feel like a victim.
"I'm telling you," I state. "The storm isn't done with us yet. And neither am I."
Her cheeks flush pink. Her jaw relaxes, blue eyes turning dark and liquid.
"Oh," she breathes.
I reach out, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. My hand is large enough to crush a skull, but I touch her as if she’s made of glass.
"I'm going to head down there later," I say casually. "Grab some more of your things. Take a look at that roof myself. You don't need a contractor. You have me."
"You want to fix my roof?" Skepticism colors her tone.
"I want to fix everything," I say. And I mean it.
I want to board up the windows. Reinforce the doors. Install locks that actually work. I want to make it so that nothing gets to her unless it goes through me first.
"You're bossy," she accuses, poking me in the chest.
"I'm right."
She rolls her eyes, but a smile tugs at her lips. She turns back to the stove, dishing up eggs and bacon onto two plates.
"Sit down," she orders. "Eat. You can't fix anything on an empty stomach."
I sit. I watch her move around my kitchen. She hums a little tune, soft and off-key. Opens my cupboards like she knows where everything is. Pours coffee into my favorite mug and sets it down in front of me.
Domestic. Terrifying.
I take a sip of coffee. Strong. Perfect.
The radio on the counter crackles again. Austin this time.
"Vanguard, this is VP. Checking in. How’s the weather up there?"
I pick up the handset. "Clear," I say, eyes on Avery. "Holding the line."
"Need any supplies?"
"No. We have everything we need."
I set the radio down. Avery slides into the chair across from me. She pulls her legs up, tucking them under her flannel.
"Who was that?" she asks.
"My cousin Austin. He worries."
"About the storm?"
"About everything."
We eat in silence. Fire crackles in the hearth. Wind howls outside, a reminder of the cold world I’ve locked out.
"Oliver?"
"Yeah?"
She puts her fork down. Nervous. Fingers trace the rim of her plate.
"What happens when the snow melts?"
The question hangs in the air.
I stop chewing. I look at her. I see the insecurity in her eyes. The fear that this—us—acts as a temporary shelter. That once the roads clear, I’ll expect her to pack up and leave.
I think about the tablet I smashed. The route mapped through her land. The way her body felt around my cock last night.
"The snow isn't going anywhere for a while," I say.
"But when it does," she presses. "I mean... I can't stay here forever. I have my own place."
"Your place is a wreck," I say bluntly.
She bristles. "It has potential."
"It has rot. And a leaking roof. And no insulation."
"I'm working on it!"
"I know." I reach across the table, covering her hand with mine. My palm completely engulfs hers. "That's why I'm going to help you."
"I can't pay you," she says quickly. "I have some savings, but the inheritance wasn't exactly a windfall."
"I don't want your money, Avery."
"Then what do you want?"
I look at her. The pulse beating in her throat. The faint mark on her neck where I bit her.
I want you safe. I want you here. I want you to never look at another man the way you look at me.
"We'll figure it out," I say instead. "Labor trade. You cook. I build."
She narrows her eyes. "That sounds incredibly sexist."
I smirk. "You don't know how to use a hammer, Avery. And I’m tired of being the only one who can sear a steak. It’s called playing to our strengths."
She laughs. The sound settles something in my chest.
"Deal," she agrees.
"Deal."
I finish my coffee. The urge to go back to bed, to drag her with me and spend the rest of the day exploring every inch of her, pulls at me. But the itch remains. The need to secure the perimeter.
"I'm going to go down to your place," I say, standing. "Check the damage from the storm. Get a list of materials."
"I should come with you."
"No." I say it too fast. I soften my tone. "Your ankle is still swollen. Rest it today. If you hurt it worse, you're no good to me."
She frowns, looking down at her ankle. Still puffy.
"Fine," she sighs. "But take pictures. I want to see how bad the porch is."
"I will."
I grab my coat again. I need to go back down there. Need to cover the blood in the snow before she sees it. Need to reinforce that door. Need to set a few traps. Just in case Lanky and Smoker decide to be brave.
I walk over to her chair. I lean down, capturing her mouth in a kiss. Possessive. Deep. She tastes like coffee and syrup. She melts into it, hands gripping my shirt.
When I pull away, she looks dazed.
"Lock the door behind me," I command.
"Oliver, we're in the middle of nowhere."
"Lock it."
She searches my face, finding the seriousness there. She nods. "Okay."
I step out onto the porch. The cold hits me again, but I don't feel it.
I have a job to do.
I walk down the steps, boots crunching. I head back toward the tree line. Back toward the threat.
The mountains are beautiful, but unforgiving. They chew up the weak and spit them out.
Avery is soft. Light. She doesn't belong in a war zone.
So I will make sure the war never reaches her.
I reach the spot where the confrontation happened. Snow churned up. Drops of bright red blood on the white powder where the smoker fell.
I kick fresh snow over it, burying the evidence.
I look at the tracks leading away. They were running. Good.
I turn toward Avery’s cabin and pull out my multi-tool.
I spend the next three hours reinforcing the door frame. I check the windows. I find the loose board on the back deck where someone could pry it open, and I nail it down with long, jagged spikes I find in her shed.
When I’m done, the place is still a wreck, but a tighter one.
I stand back, wiping sweat from my brow despite the cold.
The door is reinforced, but the radio crackles with a new frequency. Not Logan. A scrambled city signal.
“We see you, Big Man. One cabin isn't the whole mountain.”
I grip my Sig Sauer. They weren't just scouts—they were a vanguard of their own. They think they can wait for the thaw. They don't realize that on this ridge, I am the storm.
This is my territory. She is my woman.
Anyone foolish enough to cross that line will pay the price