Chapter Six
S era called her sister from the landline in the kitchen, talking softly and trying to convince Mel not to worry, as she rummaged around in the pantry.
Of course, she didn’t get into the gritty details.
All she said was her car slid off the road somewhere in Montana and she was currently waiting out the snowstorm at a cabin.
When Mel started asking a million questions, Sera told her she had to go.
The more she thought about it, the more it sounded like she was trapped in a Grimms’ Fairy Tale: villains chasing her, getting lost in the woods, stumbling upon a cabin in the middle of nowhere, encountering a wolf and—her gaze zeroed in on the sleeping man—a slumbering giant lumberjack.
Maybe she should just let him sleep on the couch. He seemed comfortable enough. Plus, it was nice and toasty now. As long as she got up throughout the night and made sure to keep adding wood to the fire, they’d be fine.
Time to stockpile the wood because the log holder was empty.
Sera pulled on the man’s huge, heavy coat, figuring he wouldn’t mind if she borrowed it, and stepped onto the front porch.
Somehow it felt even colder than earlier—maybe because the fire had warmed her up—so she pulled the coat tighter and the scent of wood and cinnamon surrounded her.
Wow, it smelled good. Kind of spicy and strangely comforting.
Hell, she couldn’t remember the last time a man had been close enough for her to smell or the last time she’d been held in someone’s arms.
No time to feel sorry for yourself. She drew her shoulders back and marched down the steps and across the yard to a shed.
It would be the perfect place to store firewood and apparently the owner thought so, too, because she found stacks and stacks of neatly-piled logs against the furthest wall.
There were also tools, an axe hanging on the wall, a rider mower and a wheelbarrow.
After filling the wheelbarrow with wood, she fought her way through the snow and carried the logs into the house, depositing them in the bin by the hearth.
By the time she was done, she had worked up a good sweat and was exhausted.
Shrugging off the large coat, she hung it back on the hook by the front door and decided to eat something.
After rummaging around in the cupboards, she chose a can of soup, found a pan and warmed it up on the stove.
She felt like Goldilocks, but unlike that particular character, Sera planned on giving the man money for using his stuff.
Once the soup was hot, she poured some in a bowl, found a box of crackers and sat down on a stool at the kitchen island. Yeah, she was Goldilocks—eating his food, wearing his coat and about to sleep in his bed. Well, the guest room bed, anyway.
Desperate times called for desperate measures.
Hopefully, he’d understand. And, anyway, she was also keeping the house warm and looking after him.
She was going to see if he wanted any soup, and maybe introduce herself, but the guy hadn’t so much as moved a muscle since he’d collapsed on the couch earlier.
Chewing her lower lip, she hoped he was alright.
Maybe she should investigate, even though that would mean facing the dire wolf.
So far, the animal hadn’t bothered her, but he must be hungry.
Sliding off the stool, she stored the rest of the soup in the fridge and found some cold cuts.
She placed them in the dog bowl, washed the dishes and then turned to go check on her host’s well-being.
When she reached the couch, the wolfdog lifted its head and eyed her. She waved his bowl back and forth. “How about some turkey, Storm?”
She set the bowl down, away from the couch, and when the wolf got up to go eat, she moved closer to the man. The wolf’s head snapped up, watching her warily.
“I’m just checking on him,” she murmured softly.
His breathing appeared normal, his broad chest rising and falling with even breaths beneath a blue flannel button down.
The beard made him look older than he probably was, but she couldn’t miss the silver in his thick, dark hair.
He had to be in his late forties, and she focused on the lone beauty mark that rested high on his right cheekbone.
She could still picture his pale, ice-colored eyes.
Even sick as a dog and half his face covered by a beard, the man was extremely attractive.
Pulling in a shaky breath, she took a wobbly step back. “Okay, well, I’m going upstairs now. I’ll be back down in a couple hours to check on you both and add some wood to the fire.”
And now she was talking to the wolf and feeling like Little Red Riding Hood. What a bizarre and frightfully strange twenty-four hours. Turning away, she went up to her room and hoped she wouldn’t find Rumpelstiltskin hiding under the bed.
◆◆◆
After taking a shower, Sera put her pajamas on and fell asleep on the comfy bed. She planned to keep the small lamp on the nightstand turned on all night because, well, the darkness wasn’t her friend.
The unsettling sounds of a man in pain woke her a few hours later, and she jerked upright, completely disoriented.
Loki lay with her, also sleeping, and outside the window, it was dark.
Everything came rushing back in a flash.
Seeing Joel shoot Jeremy, going on the run from bad guys, careening off the road, finding a mountain man passed out in the snow, making dinner for a wolf and crashing at the lumberjack’s cabin.
How had her life gone from boring to dangerous so quickly?
Sliding out of bed, she slipped into the hallway, softly closing the door behind her so Loki wouldn’t escape. She tilted her head, listening carefully and looking down the dark corridor. Downstairs, she heard a groan followed by…talking? Who was he talking to? Was someone else there?
Heart beating hard, she hurried over to the stairs and peered down, getting a clear view of the entire downstairs. But no one else was there. Just the man and his wolf, and the poor guy was thrashing around on the couch as though caught in a bad dream.
Realizing he was talking in his sleep, she hurried down the stairs and over to him. The wolfdog whined softly.
“Yeah, I get them, too,” she murmured, referring to the nightmares that never seemed to go away no matter how much time passed. The ones that still woke her up in a cold sweat, tears soaking her pillow.
She couldn’t just stand there and let him keep running from—or, in his case, probably fighting—the demons. Gently shaking his arm, she said, “Wake up.”
Even through the flannel shirt, she could feel how hot his skin was, and she jerked her hand away and settled it on his forehead. Oh, Jesus, he was burning up. Twisting away from her touch, he made an anguished sound that turned her soul cold. She needed to cool him off. Fast.
Wrapping her hand around his thick wrist, she tugged. “Get up.”
His gorgeous eyes opened and focused on her. “I’m sorry, Cassidy. So damn sorry.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. Was he delusional from the fever? Or reliving some version of his own personal hell in his mind? Either way, she needed to act quickly.
“We need to get you into the bathroom. C’mon!”
She heaved with all her might and he came up off the couch with a grunt. “I don’t feel so good,” he mumbled, draping an arm over her shoulders.
“Yeah, you don’t look too good, either.”
Guiding him down the hall and into the master bedroom, she skirted around the bed and led him straight into the en suite bathroom. “Into the tub,” she ordered. She had to break his fever, and other than depositing him back on a snow mound outside, this would be the quickest way.
He dutifully stepped over the edge and sank down while she turned the cold water on.
After adjusting the water so it wasn’t freezing, she grabbed a washcloth, dipped it beneath the faucet then laid it across his forehead.
As she moved her hand away, he caught her wrist. Their eyes locked, and in his, she saw an ice-blue hell.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he rasped. “I tried. I’m so goddamn sorry.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but in that moment, she recognized infinite pain. Maybe a kindred spirit? A fellow tortured soul?
“It’s okay,” she whispered, searching his gaze and wishing she could ease the pain she saw there. Something deep in her heart ached for him.
Without warning, he pulled hard, dragging her right over the edge and into the tub with him.
She gasped as the cold water seeped through her clothing.
But he was delusional from the fever, so she figured it was best to play along.
He was a big man, taking up most of the tub, so she had to turn sideways on his lap, curling her knees up against his very flat, very hard stomach.
Wow. Total silver fox, complete with six-pack abs.
His grip loosened on her wrist, then he let it go as his head fell back. “So hot,” he murmured.
Yes, yes you are, she thought, unable to miss the way his wet shirt clung to his broad chest. She hadn’t fantasized over a man in a very, very long time, but this delicious stranger was making her tummy do cartwheels.
He was just so very masculine. She could easily picture him chopping all that wood in the shed.
Shirtless, of course. His now soaked flannel clung to his muscles, plastered to his chest and arms, leaving very little to the imagination.
She wondered what he looked like beneath the thick beard.
Did he have dimples? An angular jaw? Full or thin lips?
From what she could see, his cheekbones looked high and sharp.
And that little beauty mark on his cheek was somehow adorable and hot at the same time. She wanted to press her lips to it.
The wolf whined, and she glanced over. He was watching them like a hawk. “You’re interrupting my lusty thoughts, Mr. Wolf.”
Wow, she’d said that out loud. She glanced at the man to see if he’d heard. Yeah, no, he was out of it.
After soaking a little longer, Sera started to shiver. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get sick, too. Carefully extricating herself, she climbed out of the tub, caught a glimpse of her sheer pajama top in the mirror, and quickly wrapped up in a towel.
“Um, excuse me, Mr. Man.” She tapped a finger against his muscled arm. “Time to get out.”
His incredible eyes opened. “Cold,” he muttered.
“Right. That’s why you need to get out and dry off.” She reached for another towel then watched as he stood up, water sloshing around in the tub.
He looked down, appearing confused. “Why’re my clothes on?”
Without warning, he proceeded to undress, and Sera sucked in a sharp breath as he tossed his wet shirt. It hit the tiles with a smack and his jeans followed. When he reached for the edges of his navy boxer briefs, she snagged his arm, stopping him.
“Just, ah, leave those on, please.” Of course, she couldn’t help but notice the outline of his thick cock in the wet, clinging underwear. It was much bigger than anything she’d ever seen in real life, and she had to force herself to pull her attention away.
Yep, masculine. So very, very masculine.
Flutters filled her belly as she reluctantly handed him the towel. The cold water seemed to clear his head a little and help end his delusional chattering.
“C’mon,” she said, motioning for him to follow her. “In bed.”
She kept the bathroom light on but closed the door about halfway shut. Then she pulled back the neatly made covers on his bed and he sank down on the mattress, the towel still wrapped around his slim waist.
She couldn’t deny she liked his body. A lot.
His chest and arms were muscular, but not an outrageous amount that screamed gym bro on steroids.
No, his physique confidently stated “I work out daily in nature.” She could easily picture him jogging through the woods with the wolf and, of course, swinging an ax.
Maybe swimming in the river or doing pullups on a low tree branch.
Preferably all in just a little pair of shorts.
Letting out a low breath, she pressed the back of her hand to her own forehead, feeling a little flushed.
“I’ll be upstairs if you need—”
“Stay,” he rasped.
And before she knew what was happening, his hand snaked around her wrist, and he pulled her onto the mattress beside him.
“Please,” he murmured, pulling her closer. “Don’t leave me.”
Her throat tightened as she recognized the desperation, the fear, the need in his deep voice. It wasn’t sexual. It was a plea from a wounded man who didn’t want to be alone.
“I won’t,” she finally responded, but he was already asleep.