Chapter 5
FIVE
WILLA
I wake up tangled in quilts that still smell like Colt, my body’s still sore but not screaming anymore.
The cut on my arm is a dull itch under fresh gauze, and the bruise across my ribs has faded from angry purple to a mottish yellow-green.
I can breathe without wincing now, which feels like a small miracle.
Sunlight slants through the frost-laced window in thin, pale bars.
Wow. Actual sunlight. The storm hasn’t stopped entirely; wind still rattles the shutters now and then, but the relentless howl has quieted to a low moan.
I sit up, swing my legs over the side of the bed, and test my weight. Steady. No dizziness. Progress.
I pull on a flannel shirt lying on the edge of the bed. It’s Colt’s. Something he laid out for me. I pad barefoot into the main room.
Colt’s already up, of course. He’s at the stove in a fresh gray Henley and jeans, pouring coffee into two mugs.
The fire’s low but steady, and the cabin smells like pine smoke and fresh bread he must have started before dawn.
He glances over when I step in, green eyes sweeping me head to toe like he’s checking for new damage.
“Morning,” he says, voice rough from sleep or the cold or both.
“Morning.” I hug my arms around myself. “It’s… lighter out there.”
He nods toward the window. “Storm’s breaking. Wind’s down. Snow’s still coming, but not like yesterday. Should clear enough by tomorrow or the day after to see the ridge.”
Relief floods me so fast my knees feel weak. I sink into one of the chairs at the small table. “Thank God.”
He sets a mug in front of me, and then slides a plate of thick toast slathered with jam beside it. He sits across from me, elbows on the table, watching me with those piercing green eyes.
I wrap my hands around the mug, letting the heat seep into my palms. “I need to get back.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Just takes a slow sip of his own coffee.
“I’m an elementary school teacher,” I say, the words tumbling out like I’ve been holding them too long.
“Third grade. They’re probably wondering where I am.
And my friends at the library, Evelyn and June will probably be losing their minds.
They both work at the library. We run the after-school tutoring program together.
I tutor the kids who need extra help with reading and math.
It’s small, just a handful of us volunteers, but those kids…
some of them only get one-on-one time because of us.
Evelyn helped me get it started last year.
She’s probably called the police by now, or my principal, or both. ”
Colt’s jaw tightens, but he stays quiet, letting me talk.
“I hate that they’re worried. That the kids might think I just disappeared.
And June—she’s the only person who really knows what I was running from.
She’s the one who gave me the cash and the burner phone when I finally decided to leave him.
If she thinks something happened…” My throat closes.
I swallow hard. “I just want the storm to end so I can get back to work. Back to normal. Or whatever normal looks like after this.”
He sets his mug down. The sound is deliberate. “Storm should be done in a day or two. Roads’ll be plowed by then, assuming no more dumps. But Willa—”
I look up.
“You’re not going anywhere until we’re sure it’s safe.”
My stomach drops. “What do you mean?”
“Your ex and his buddies didn’t make it up here in the blizzard.
Doesn’t mean they’re gone. They know you ran.
They know roughly where. Iron Peak’s small—folks talk.
If they’re still looking, they’ll check the town, the motels, the bus depot.
You show up bruised and bandaged, asking for a ride or a phone? They’ll hear about it in an hour.”
I stare at my toast. The jam suddenly looks too red. “So what? I stay here forever?”
“No.” His voice is low and steady. “But we make a plan. We get you back quiet. Maybe I drive you in myself once the pass clears. Drop you somewhere safe—police station, hospital, friend’s place. You report what happened, hand over whatever evidence you’ve got stashed. Let the law handle the rest.”
I shake my head. “They’re connected. My ex—he’s got friends in low places and higher ones. Cops looked the other way more than once.”
Colt’s eyes darken. “Then we find someone who won’t. Or we make sure they can’t touch you before you step foot back in town.” He sighs. “I know the sheriff, Hank, personally. He’s a good friend. I’ve got other friends who can help, like my buddy, Rhett. Served with him back when we were SEALs.”
I search his face. He’s serious. Deadly serious. The same look he had when he said he’d kill anyone who came for me.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whisper. “Any of it. You’ve already done more than—”
“Stop.” He leans forward, forearms braced on the table. “You’re here. You’re hurt. You’re scared. And yeah, maybe I could’ve shut the door that night and pretended I never saw you. But I didn’t. And now you’re mine to keep safe until this is over.”
The words land heavy. Mine to keep safe.
Heat prickles behind my eyes—not tears, exactly, just pressure. Gratitude. Something warmer. I reach across the table, hesitant, and cover his hand with mine. His skin is warm and rough. He doesn’t pull away.
“Thank you,” I say again, softer this time.
He turns his hand over, and laces our fingers for one brief second before letting go. “Finish your breakfast. Then we’ll check those bandages again. You’re healing fast—ribs look better already—but I want to make sure nothing’s pulled.”
I nod, picking up the toast and taking a big bite. It’s good—sweet, buttery—but I barely taste it. My mind’s racing ahead to the library, to the kids waiting with their dog-eared chapter books and multiplication flashcards. To June and Evelyn’s worried faces when they see me walk in.
But underneath the worry, there’s something else settling in.
Safety.
Not just from the storm or the men hunting me.
From him.
Colt stands, crossing to the window, and peers out. “Clearing faster than I thought. Sun’s breaking through. By tonight we might see stars.”
I swallow the last bite, and stand too. “Can we go outside? Just for a minute? I need air.”
He studies me, then nods once. “Bundle up. My coat’s by the door. And stay close.”
I pull on his heavy Carhartt—it swamps me, sleeves dangling—and follow him onto the porch.
The cold bites, but it’s clean. Sharp. The world is blinding white, snow glittering under a sky that’s finally blue in patches. The wind is down to a whisper. Pine trees bow under fresh powder, but the ridge is visible now—jagged, endless.
I step to the railing, breathe deep. Colt stays a foot behind me, rifle slung easy over his shoulder like it’s an extension of him.
“It’s beautiful,” I say.
“Yeah.” His voice is quiet. “When it’s not trying to kill you.”
I turn, and look up at him. Snowflakes catch in his beard, melting against his skin. He looks like he belongs here—solid, rooted, unbreakable.
“I don’t want to drag you into this mess,” I tell him. “But I’m glad I ended up here. With you.”
His gaze softens, just a fraction. “Me too, Willa.”
We stand there a minute longer, the quiet wrapping around us like another blanket.
Then he jerks his chin toward the door. “Inside. Before you freeze again.”
I smile—small and real—and go.
The storm’s ending.
But whatever’s building between us?
That’s only just starting.