Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Trinity
Linc gives me an approving look as I finish eating the bowl of oatmeal he made me for breakfast.
“Feeling better?” he asks.
“Yes. I felt like I was about thirty percent myself for the past few days, and today, it’s more like sixty. My headache is almost gone.”
“Good.”
“The brown sugar and raisins in that oatmeal were really good.”
“The only thing that was missing was some really good butter. When we make it back home, I’ll make you a bowl with butter, too, and you’ll see.”
I smile, thinking about home and how much I miss it. “Home’s two different places for us, though.”
He cringes. “You must hate living in Chicago.”
“Not at all, I love it there.”
“It’s a fun city to visit, but it’s too much for me. Traffic’s crazy.”
“Yeah, I have a car but I don’t really drive it except for weekends.”
He leans back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest. I try not to look too thirsty as I check out his arms, the definition of his muscles showing through the gray thermal shirt he’s wearing.
“What’s your place like?” he asks me.
“My apartment?” I laugh lightly. “It’s tiny. I live downtown and apartments are stupid expensive there. It’s a one-bedroom and my bed is lofted to make room for my desk beneath it. My living room and kitchen are small and overflowing with plants. Karma has a cat hammock in the living room window where she lies all day and passes judgment on everyone who walks by.”
“What color is Karma?”
“She’s the most beautiful shade of gray.” I walk over to the sink with my breakfast bowl and spoon. “What about you? Do you live in a brothel?”
He grins. “Not even close, smart-ass. I have a house on the outskirts of Minneapolis.”
“Is it furnished, or are you one of those bed, big screen and recliner guys?”
“Fully furnished. I’ve even got two guest rooms.”
I arch my brows, impressed. “Look at you, hosting people. Do you leave clean towels stacked on the bed and a chocolate on their pillows?”
“Fuck no. My housekeeper makes the beds and all that.”
I use snow water to rinse my dishes in the sink. “Dalton refuses to stay the night with me when he’s in Chicago because I only have a love seat and one chair in my living room. My mom is so short she can fit on the love seat just fine.”
“Dalton’s a puss about that stuff.”
“Tell me about it.”
I grab a towel to dry the dishes, our eyes locking for a second. When I’m standing this close to him, our height difference seems more pronounced. I’ve never been with a man as tall as him or as in shape.
He looks away and clears his throat. “I’m gonna head out.”
I don’t let my disappointment show. He’s going in a different direction today in search of help. I’m feeling better and the swelling in my ankle has gone down, so the least I can do is stay here and pass the time while he hikes through two feet of snow trying to get us rescued.
“Do you want to take some food?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “I’ll eat when I get back. Or when I run across a steak house.”
I laugh at the thought. “Bring me back a loaded sweet potato if you find one.”
When he smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way I find incredibly sexy. I’ve never reacted to a man just looking at me like I do when Lincoln does it. Somehow, he makes me want him with just a look that communicates in a way words can’t.
“Are you okay with me going?” he asks.
I won’t admit that I want him to stay. His going out in this weather to look for help is our only chance of rescue at this point. No search party will look for us inside this cabin. It’s my anxiety that wants him here, safe inside the cabin with me.
“Of course. But be careful and turn around if the wind picks up.”
“I will.” He takes a step closer to me, the intensity of his gaze making my heart race with excitement. “I’ve got an idea for when I get back.”
Sex. For the love of God, please let him say sweaty marathon sex. My face heats just from thinking about it.
“Oh?” My attempt at casual falls short, the word squeaking out of me.
I’m imagining how his beard will feel on my bare thighs when he says, “Boggle.”
“Boggle?” My brows shoot up in surprise.
He nods toward a shelf near the kitchen table, which has the game of Boggle and a deck of cards on it. I don’t let on how disappointed I am. Not that I really expected him to propose sex, but a girl can dream.
“Loser has to answer any question the winner asks,” he says with a smug grin.
I take a step back to give my overworked heart a break from being so close to him. “Well, prepare for me to know all your dark secrets, then. I was an English major in college.”
“I can take you.”
“We’ll see.” I hang the towel on the bar mounted on a kitchen cabinet. “But best-case scenario, you come back with the entire Alaska National Guard to get us out of here.”
The corners of his lips quirk up in a smile. “I’ll do my best.”
He holds my gaze for a couple of heart-pounding seconds before turning and walking over to the hooks by the front door, where his coat is hanging.
After bundling up, he puts a hand on the doorknob and looks back at me. “Don’t worry about me, okay?”
I nod, giving him a confident and completely fake smile. Telling me not to worry while off of my anxiety meds is like telling the sun to stop shining.
Eighteen hours later, I’m swaying to the sounds of Sinatra, my eyes squeezed shut as I fight my urge to throw open the cabin’s front door and go searching for Linc.
He’s been gone for too long. Every howl of the wind unnerves me as I imagine him out there in the snow. I should have told him I wanted him to stay here, where it’s safe and warm. We have enough food to make it just fine until spring when the snowstorms will stop and the snow will start melting.
I wish I could talk to Genevieve. Even though we became friends because we’re coworkers, we’ve become very close. We spend time together on weekends and holidays.
What would she say about all of this? Of course she’d say the whole thing is “fucking ridiculous” because she says that all the time. Then she’d get giddy over me being trapped in a cabin with one bed and a hot, single man.
Libidinous is too long of a word for Boggle, but it’s absolutely me right now. I think about Lincoln day and night. My body has started to crave him. Normally I’m ninety-five percent logical, but he makes me feel ninety-five percent horny and maybe five percent logical.
Is it just the stress of this situation, or is there really a connection between us? As Frank serenades me from the record player with “New York, New York,” I wonder who I’d choose to walk through that cabin door if I could be stuck here with anyone else.
Other than maybe an experienced helicopter pilot and a helicopter, I can’t think of anyone.
Hell, who am I kidding? After the plane crash, I’m never getting on anything that flies again, so even a helicopter pilot is out. I’ve been dreaming about the crash, and it’s always the part where we’re plunging to the ground, knowing we’re going to hit it at any moment.
I exhale hard, putting thoughts of the crash out of my head. That won’t help my anxiety.
What if Lincoln is close to the cabin and he just can’t make it all the way back? I run over to the wall hooks and put on the flannel hanging there, then try to force my injured foot into one of my boots.
“Shit,” I mutter because it hurts so badly.
But my foot fit into this boot when my ankle was more swollen than this, so I’ll get it in there again. Holding my breath, I force my foot into the boot, then quickly get the other one on.
I open the door and walk outside the cabin for the first time since arriving here. Icy snow slaps me in the face.
The outdoor light illuminates the sparkling snow, where I can’t see any footprints from when Linc left. I get dizzy, my pulse pounding frantically.
“Linc!” I race into the snow, looking in every direction. “Lincoln, can you hear me?”
There’s not a single sound in response. Just the snow, which slowly trails from the sky, unbothered.
“Fuck!” I scream at the top of my lungs. “Linc, where are you?”
We’re supposed to be eating rice and playing Boggle. I’m supposed to be flirting with him and feeling a thrill at the way his spine stiffens when I do.
I yell his name as loud as I can until my throat aches and I can’t feel my soaking wet feet. It’s not that I don’t want to be alone in this cabin; it’s the agony of thinking about what might have happened to him.
The way I feel after a long, intense bout with anxiety is like a hangover. I’m spent in every possible way as I drag myself back into the cabin and close the door behind me, pressing my back to it.
He’s a good man. A really good one. I can’t bear the thought of him freezing to death. All alone.
I kick off my boots and walk over to the fire, poking the logs to bring it back to life. If I’m going to be mentally strong, I have to push back against the worst-case scenarios my mind always ends up imagining.
Maybe he’s been gone so long because he found help. Maybe he took shelter somewhere. I hope my friends and family haven’t given up on me being alive, and when Lincoln’s only been gone for—I look over at the clock—nearly nineteen hours, I won’t give up on him.
I walk into the storage room and scan the contents of the shelves. I grab a few items, walk into the kitchen and set them on the counter.
Then I close my eyes, clear my mind, and set my palm on my chest below my breasts. I picture Linc, his hand on mine as he counts while I breathe.
I can’t control so many things right now, so I focus on this—the only thing I have complete power over.