Out of the Cold

Chapter Nine

T he wind hit him the second he stepped outside. Up above, the stars were cold and bright, the same stars he’d been gazing at since he was a kid. The windows of Lucy’s cabin blazed with light, but the warmth of the evening was already leaving him.

Just as well. He’d been living without it since he came here. It was dangerous to start wanting again. Loneliness was familiar, and he knew how to get through it.

He didn’t regret accepting her invitation, because he’d needed company today. But it had come with her sweetness and compassion, her unconscious sexiness, not to mention her uncanny intuition.

All of which were dangerous as hell.

Sitting on the sofa watching the movie, it was all he could do not to drag her on top of him. He could practically feel her slight weight, the way her slim thighs would have braced against him as she rode him. She was thinking it, too, or something like it. The way she blushed and her eyes got heavy and dark—he could practically read every thought.

But she didn’t want to feel that way any more than he did.

He stashed the generous leftovers in the fridge, stoked the fire, and fell heavily onto his bed.

Once upon a time, he knew how to give women what they wanted. Now he was both too cold and too needy. Too abrupt, too empty.

It was only a little after six, but he was exhausted. The effort to keep his feelings at bay had taken their toll, as had the whiskey. He fell asleep almost immediately.

He dreamed he was trying to call Ricky, but he couldn’t seem to dial the right number. He kept pressing the wrong buttons or forgetting the digits altogether. It was a familiar dream, and as always he woke up strung tight with tension and the knowledge he’d lost his chance. Hours passed before he fell back into a restless sleep.

When he woke late the next morning, there was one person he needed to talk to. He reached for the phone and called a number he hadn’t used in far too long.

“Gabriel!”

He nearly broke down at the sound of Teresa’s voice. “Teresa. It’s been a while.”

“It’s wonderful to hear from you.”

“How are you?”

Her voice was soft. “Some days, not so good. But I’m getting by.”

“And Lupe?”

Ricky’s little sister was twelve. His broken heart cracked a little more whenever he thought of her growing up without her brother.

“Oh, she’s a pistol. She does gymnastics and tap and she’s still not worn out at the end of the day.”

“She takes after you.”

“Are you still in the mountains?”

“Yeah, I’m still here.”

“You shouldn’t be all alone. It’s not good for you.”

“Maybe, but it’s not good for anyone to be around me, either.”

“Oh, honey, I understand. If it wasn’t for Lupe, I don’t know how I’d get up in the morning.”

“I’m so sorry, Teresa.”

“It wasn’t your fault, and I’ve never blamed you. I thought you understood that by now, Gabriel. You know as well as I do that Ricky was always headstrong.”

“I did, which is why I should have known—”

“Known what? That he’d ignore an avalanche warning? How could you know he’d do that?”

“I just wish I’d never flown him there.”

She gave a heavy sigh. “I understand. I’ve driven myself crazy with all the things that could have gone differently.”

“I guess I took the easy way out, coming here. I’m sorry I haven’t been there for you.”

“Maybe it wasn’t so easy,” she said. “You always loved being around people. I can’t imagine you up there all alone.”

Pressure was building behind his eyes and in his throat. He had to take several deep breaths. “I wasn’t sure I should call. I thought maybe hearing from me would be harder for you. You know, remind you of him.”

“I want to be reminded of him. And I loved that he had you. Every time he saw you, it was Gabe says this and Gabe thinks that. He loved you.”

“Most of the time. There was that one time I took him shopping for clothes—”

“Oh, I remember. He was furious when he came home from the first day of school that year. What grade was it?”

“Fifth.”

“You’d convinced him to get Levis, and none of the other kids were wearing them. He was sure his life was over.”

Gabe smiled at the memory. “He called me that night and told me we could never shop together again.”

They both grew quiet again, thinking their own thoughts. He could hear her soft breathing.

“I never told you,” she said finally, “but the first time I met you, I thought you were all wrong for Ricky.”

“Why?”

“He was so withdrawn after his father and I divorced. So I asked for someone sensitive, maybe artistic. And then we got you. You looked so big and macho, and I worried you wouldn’t understand him.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. “I suppose you can blame Tori. She’s the one who thought it was a good fit.”

“And she was right. I kept my mouth shut and watched you with him, and I realized I had misjudged you. You were so gentle and patient with him, and I loved you for it.”

His eyes were starting to well again, and he couldn’t seem to shut himself off the way he usually did. “You’re killing me here, Teresa.”

“Well, you should call me more. This is what you get.” He could hear the tears in her voice, but also the smile. “Would you ever think about mentoring another boy?” she asked. “You have so much to give.”

“No way. I—” He broke off, unable to go on.

“I’d be the last one to suggest that anyone could replace Ricky, but there are so many kids who need someone, and taking care of people can help. It connects you with the world.”

“I know you’re probably right, but I can’t do it again.”

“At least think about coming back home. Your friends miss you.”

He sat for a few minutes after saying goodbye, his relief that she didn’t blame him leaving him wrung out. She’d said it many times, but he hadn’t been able to hear it. All he could think was that she’d lost her son because of him.

Everyone told him to stop blaming himself, that it was Ricky’s bad decision that got him killed. But it had happened on his watch, and nothing anyone said could change that.

***

L ucy’s first real snow arrived in the middle of the night. Opening the curtains in the morning, she stared out the window and watched it come down for long minutes. She might have been in a snow globe—it was that silent and perfect.

“This is it, Hilde,” she told the dog. “My moment of truth.”

She quickly pulled on her hat, snow pants, and jacket, then headed outside.

When she held out her hand, the flakes fell to her mitten perfectly formed, for all the world like miniature versions of the paper snowflakes they’d sometimes cut out in grade school—the closest that Florida children got to the real thing.

Hilde raced madly around, snuffing into the snow, her tracks an erratic and joyful design in the landscape.

There were a couple of inches already, enough to make her first snowball. She threw it as far as she could, then another and another, aiming for a cedar tree twenty feet away. Hilde tried to fetch them, racing after each one, only to look around in confusion when she couldn’t find them.

But it wasn’t time for their walk. A real exploration would have to wait.

“Come, Hilde,” she called. She had to say it twice before the dog came to her, tongue hanging outside her mouth.

Inside, she made a quick breakfast and sat down at her laptop. Normally she tried to write in chronological order to make sure the arc of her story stayed true, but this morning she broke her rule and started a scene set on a snowy day in Chicago. While there would be plenty of other snowy days, today was magical, and that’s what she wanted in her book.

Mick and Maggie walked down the dirty city block together as snow started to fall. Soon it had covered the grit and grime, making everything clean and new. Maggie smiled at him and he looked at her, his expression holding an emotion she was almost afraid to name.

“Here, take this,” he said, pulling off his scarf.

“No, I—”

But he was already wrapping it around her neck. It was soft and warm from his skin.

Mick took her hand. “Maggie, darling,” he said.

Lucy’s hands stilled on the keys. She didn’t know what happened next. Did Mick declare his feelings? It felt too soon, and it would change the arc of her story. She wanted to focus on Maggie and her dream of medicine, her struggle to find her way. But Mick was stealing the focus, pulling Maggie away from what Lucy had planned for her.

“It’s cold,” Maggie said, crossing her arms over her chest to keep Mick from taking her hand, from saying something she wasn’t ready for.

If she became his girl, he’d think he had a say over her and make demands. He’d probably be sore she never had time for him. That’s how it happened with all her friends. How it happened for her gran. You had to do what needed to be done before you linked yourself to a man.

Mick nodded, his expression carefully blank. “Of course. Let’s get you home.”

She’d probably ruined everything. Maybe he’d never look at her again like she was someone special.

They continued on without saying anything, but he saw her to her door.

“You have a good night, Maggie.”

She started to take the scarf off.

“No, you keep it. It matches your eyes.”

He backed away a few steps, as if keeping her in sight as long as possible, before turning back the way they’d come. He tugged his hat down over his ears and pulled his collar up to shield his bare neck. It was only the two of them on the quiet street, and then it was only her.

Lucy stopped typing and looked out the window, seeing Maggie on an empty street. Would Maggie be alone at the end of the book? No, not alone. Having friends and family who loved you wasn’t alone.

But probably not a man. She was having a hard time believing in the kind of man Maggie needed.

She closed her laptop and stood up, the high of writing ebbing until she was left empty and uneasy. Outside, the snow was still falling, even heavier now. In the two hours since she’d been outside, everything had changed. The surroundings she’d grown to know so well had been transformed, covered and smoothed and mounded over.

She pulled on her long underwear and a sweater, then went into the back room and opened the closet door. It was huge, with shelves on one side full of lanterns, flashlights, batteries, and other things she couldn’t identify. On the other side was snow gear, including a pair of boots that were only a little too big for her.

She recognized the odd webbed things hanging on pegs as snowshoes. Poles were also hanging inside the closet.

She was going snowshoeing.

In the mudroom she donned her snow pants, winter coat, hat, and gloves while Hilde danced beside her in anticipation. Two extra pairs of socks made the boots almost fit, but it took her ten minutes to figure out the snowshoes.

Dressing for winter was exhausting.

Since she couldn’t imagine holding Hilde’s leash while handling her poles, she stuck the leash into her coat pocket. Then they were out under the white-washed sky, the wind cold on her face and pushing inside her collar. There was at least a foot of snow now, but with the snowshoes on, she only sank a few inches.

She started to head for the trail behind Gabriel’s cabin, then stopped. She didn’t have to stick to marked trails when she could follow her own tracks back home. She could go anywhere she wanted. She’d seen Gabriel head into the woods in the other direction, across the road. It was much flatter, which was probably a good thing given she was still getting used to the snowshoes.

“We’re explorers, Hildegard,” she told the dog.

But Hilde already knew that. As soon as the dog saw the way Lucy was headed, she dashed ahead, leaping through the snow like a dolphin breaking the surface of the ocean.

Cutting through the yard, Lucy crossed the unplowed road and entered the forest. She could identify many of the trees thanks to a field guide she’d found in the cabin. The cedar with its reddish trunk was easy, and she was pretty sure she saw mountain hemlock. But she wasn’t even going to try to make sense of all the different evergreens. It was enough to take note of the dark outline of their needles against the pale sky.

She moved deeper into the woods, nervous and excited by the new territory.

She passed over what she took for deer tracks, and then other smaller ones that merely skimmed the surface. A squirrel? Up ahead, Hilde was following a set of dainty tracks, her nose snuffling in the snow. Curious but still slow in snowshoes, Lucy trailed behind.

A dozen yards away, she found Hilde dancing around a hole in a huge rotten cedar lying on its side. Grabbing her by the collar, she pulled her dog back far enough that she could bend down and peer inside. It took a few seconds to adjust to the darkness, but then she saw the gleaming eyes of fox cubs—that wasn’t right, they were called kits—curled together in a heap. All at once, they began yipping.

Hilde was beside herself, straining to dive inside the den, though the den was deep and she couldn’t fit more than her head inside.

Standing up, Lucy dragged Hilde backwards, even as the dog went stiff-legged in opposition.

She got her a few yards away. “Heel, Hilde,” she commanded, determined to get the dog back under control.

Hilde continued to pull. This wasn’t good. Lucy hadn’t been practicing commands with other temptations around, and now she was paying for it. Once more she gave the command, this time applying backwards pressure on Hilde’s collar, and finally the dog sat.

“Good girl, Hilde.” Lucy let out a long breath and clipped the leash on. No more off-leash adventures until Hilde listened properly.

Movement at the corner of her eye made Lucy look up. She instantly froze as every hair on her body lifted. A bear, perhaps thirty feet away, stood watching them.

Hilde had spotted it, too. Her ruff rose up and she growled, so low it was almost inaudible.

Thank God Hilde was already leashed. Backing away slowly with her dog in tow, Lucy put more distance between them and the bear. It didn’t look threatening, and she didn’t see any cubs, but it was enormous. It watched them for another minute, then continued on into the trees in the opposite direction.

She was shaking and nauseous from adrenaline. That bear was gone, but what if there were others?

Stepping into her own tracks, she plowed in the direction of home through the snow. The cold burned her lungs as her breath sawed in and out. Now the quiet seemed ominous instead of peaceful, the silence of other living things hiding, waiting out danger.

Finally she smelled wood smoke, and soon the road came into view. She was safe.

Gabriel was outside chopping wood. He set a log on the stump and swung what she now knew was an awl in a clean arc through the air. The head lodged neatly about halfway through the log, then he used the awl’s handle to slam it the rest of the way. The two halves fell to the ground, joining a growing pile half-submerged in the snow.

He looked up and saw her.

She tried to wave, but she was so exhausted her arm didn’t respond to her command. Whatever force had propelled her home was fading away, and she was shaking and wrung out. She really, really didn’t want Gabriel to see her like this, not when she was trying so hard to seem capable.

Please don’t come over, she silently begged.

But something in the way she moved must have given her away. He dropped the awl and headed toward her, catching up as she neared her front door.

He frowned down at her. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Her voice shook. She’d grown overly warm on the way back, but her body was cooling, the sweat chilling her. “I went out a little too far, that’s all.”

His eyes narrowed, and he looked her over, his gaze raking her from her knitted hat with the pompom on top to her snowshoes. “That’s all?”

She managed a nod.

He held her elbow as they headed for the side door. Hilde rushed in ahead of them, shaking her wet fur.

“Wait, I need to take these off,” she said, struggling with the straps of her snowshoes. Her fingers were frozen and clumsy. She was shivering, dismayed at the snow falling in drifts and clumps from her boots and clothes.

Bending down, he worked the straps loose and slid each snowshoe and then each boot off her feet.

She was feeling almost weightless now, and she’d started to shiver uncontrollably.

“Let’s get you out of this,” he said, unzipping her coat and pulling it off.

She held his arm as she stepped out of the snow pants, too weary and cold to care that she was left standing before him in skintight long underwear.

“No wonder you got chilled,” he said, sounding appalled.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re wearing cotton. That’s the absolute worst thing you could wear when you go out.”

“I thought this is what people wore. What else would it be for?”

“It’s fine if you want extra layers when you’re going shopping or carrying in wood, but not when you’re going to work up a sweat. Cotton stays wet, and you can get hypothermia in no time.”

Another thing she’d never heard about before that could kill her. How was she supposed to convince both herself and Gabriel that she could get by on her own when her ignorance was so vast and wide?

“I didn’t know,” she mumbled, so tired she could barely hold herself upright. “But you don’t have to get so mad.”

“I’m not...” He dragged a hand through his hair. “I’m not angry. But when I think what could have happened...”

“But nothing did.”

Pulling a throw off the sofa, he wrapped it around her and urged her into one of the chairs near the woodstove. Hilde took a long drink of water, then came and sat by her side. Lucy smoothed her hand down the dog’s wet head and pulled the blanket tighter. She wasn’t shaking so badly anymore, but her toes were still numb.

As if reading her mind, Gabriel knelt before her and stripped off her socks.

“What are you—” she began.

His big hands encased her foot, their warmth spreading through her. Then his thumbs rubbed deep into her arch. She moaned.

“Good?” he murmured, his eyes warm on hers.

“God, yes. That’s wonderful.”

“Mmm,” he murmured.

She let her eyes close. She was safe now and probably had been all along. The problem was not knowing for sure.

“It was so quiet and peaceful,” she said, her head falling back. “I’ve never been out in the snow, but it was so much lovelier than I imagined. Then I saw a bear.”

“Did you?” He didn’t stop massaging, but she could feel him looking at her. “What happened?”

She opened her eyes. “Not much, actually. But it was huge, a male I think, and it was suddenly standing there watching us. I backed away until it headed off in another direction.”

“That was the exact right thing to do. Good thing Hilde didn’t agitate it.”

“I had just put her leash back on because she was ignoring me and trying to get into a fox den. I don’t know what would have happened otherwise. I hate to even think about it. We’re going to be doing some hardcore training.”

She stifled a moan and kept her eyes open, mesmerized by the sight of him. His luxurious eyelashes fanned his skin as he looked down at her foot, so small in his big hands.

Had she been less exhausted, she would have stopped him.

“Better?” he asked, setting her foot carefully on the floor.

“Yes, thanks. I think I’ll get in the hot tub in a bit.”

“Good idea.” He went into the kitchen and set the kettle on the burner, then scanned the tins on the counter. “Tea, coffee, or hot chocolate?”

“Tea, please. But only if you have something, too.”

A few minutes later, they were settled in matching chairs before the stove. They sat without saying anything, but his eyes were watchful.

A log cracked, breaking the silence, and he finally spoke.

“I know you hate me lecturing. Hell, I hate to hear myself. But no one else in the world knew where you’d gone.”

“It would have been pretty easy to find me. All you’d have to do is follow my tracks.”

“Except I thought you were safe inside.”

“Do you tell someone where you’re going every time you head into the woods?”

He glowered at her.

“I didn’t think so. And fine, you’re obviously more experienced, but even so, something could happen to you, too.”

“I don’t want to have to worry about you.”

“So you’ve said, many times. I never asked you to worry about me, Gabriel.”

“That’s not how I meant it. Not like before. But I can’t...I can’t worry about another person being hurt. I don’t have it in me.”

“Gabriel. Look at me.”

She waited until he’d dragged his gaze back to hers. “I’m tired, and I’ll be sore in the morning, but I’m not hurt.” She gripped the mug in her hands, willing him to hear her. “I need to believe I can take care of myself. Can you understand that?”

He nodded, his throat working. There was something more going on here, a private pain in his eyes when he looked at her again. “I understand.”

She wanted to ask who’d been hurt, but she didn’t want to upset him even more or drive him away.

Hilde got up from her spot by the fire and drank from her bowl again. Instead of lying back down, she made her way across the floor to Gabriel and lay her head on his knee. His whole body sagged into the chair, as if giving into something he couldn’t fight anymore. He looked down as his hand smoothed the fur on her head.

“I’ve always wondered what it must be like to be someone like you,” she said.

His weary expression turned to surprise. “In what way?”

“You’re stronger and bigger than almost anyone you meet. You can go wherever you want, do whatever you want.”

“Being strong is only worth something if you can protect the people you love.”

“None of us can protect the people we love from everything,” she said, choosing her words carefully.

His eyes were bleak. “Exactly.”

She watched him, wishing she could say something of comfort, but how could she when she didn’t know what they were talking about?

Petting Hilde seemed to soothe him. They sat for several more minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. He lifted his hand to pass it over his beard, the way she’d seen him do when he was thinking.

“What’s wrong with your hand?” she asked. “Did you burn yourself?”

“It’s only a splinter. I haven’t had a chance to deal with it.”

“I shouldn’t have taken your gloves.”

“I have another pair. I just don’t always wear them when I should.”

Getting up, the blanket still wrapped around her, she took his hand in her own, marveling at how much bigger and stronger it was than hers. He didn’t try to pull away, but a stillness came over him.

Then his hand closed in a fist.

“Let me look.” Her voice came out in a whisper. She peered down, her thumbs smoothing his skin, stretching it so she could see better. Calluses ringed his palm, but the center was pink and angry-looking, a dark sliver visible beneath layers of skin.

“Lucy,” he said, his breath stirring her hair.

His voice was a deep rumble, so low she felt it in her bones, in her blood.

She was afraid to look at him. What had she started, anyway? He was a grown man, perfectly capable of taking care of himself. But this was something she could do for him.

“Wait here,” she told him.

In the bathroom she grabbed tweezers, alcohol, and a few cotton balls. Pulling her empty suitcase out of the closet, she found her little travel sewing kit and slid one of the needles out.

Back in the living room, she placed everything on a towel on the end table. She soaked a cotton ball and sterilized her instruments.

“You have a very serious look on your face,” he said.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

She was a head taller than him now, and his beautiful face was right before her, his dark lashes fanning over the fragile skin beneath his eyes. He smelled of sawdust and soap and forest. He smelled of fire.

She wanted to rest her hands on his shoulders and test their strength, run her fingers through his thick, dark hair.

He held out his hand. “I’m at your mercy.”

She took it in her own, the contact almost unbearably intimate. Sweat prickled beneath her arms and behind her knees.

Avoiding his gaze, she swabbed the tiny wound with alcohol and picked up the needle and tweezers. Now she had to pierce his skin. She stood there with the needle poised above his palm, her breath fast and shallow.

“It’s okay, Lucy. It’s nothing.”

She moved his hand higher, angling it into the light as she stepped closer. Then she dug into his skin as gently as she could, biting her lip with worry.

It took another minute—a minute she barely breathed—and at last she drew the splinter out. She looked up in relief, only to realize she was standing between his thighs. Everything was there in his eyes, in the taut lines of his body. Had a man ever looked at her with such naked hunger?

Every pulse point in her body throbbed in response.

His hand turned over in hers, and now he was gripping her wrist. One little tug and she’d be sprawled in his lap.

She stood frozen, torn between desire and doubt. She wanted it, God, she wanted it. But what would it mean? Would she lose what they had? Would they go back to barely speaking?

She took a step back.

His breath shuddered out of him as he released her wrist.

She swallowed and tried to speak. “Gabriel, I...”

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, standing up.

“It’s okay. It wasn’t...” She cleared her throat. “I feel it, too.”

He was so close, so big and warm, and her whole body longed for him. One step and she could be in his arms.

His eyes darkened and zeroed in on her mouth. “Yeah?”

“But I don’t want to ruin everything,” she said. “We’ve been...we’re almost friends, aren’t we?”

“I guess we are,” he said, his expression softening.

She let out a relieved breath. “The thing is, I think I need that right now. And I think you do, too.”

“You’re killing me here, Lucy.”

“You’re a tough guy. You can handle it.”

“You overestimate me.”

“I don’t think so.”

His eyes were doing that burning thing again, and her heart rate accelerated once more. She needed to get him out of here while she still had some sense.

“Thank you for helping me,” she said. “I’ll make sure I’m dressed right next time.”

“You still look a little pale. Make sure you get warmed up.”

He held her gaze, as if he wasn’t quite ready to leave. Then he turned and went to the door, shutting it gently behind him.

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