Out of the Cold

Chapter Eleven

I t took Lucy a long time to fall asleep the next few nights. Between the turnout and warm enthusiasm from the crowd, it was by far her best reading ever. But what really kept her awake was the memory of Gabriel’s eyes on her, the way he’d leaned in and smiled whenever someone complimented her. He took such obvious pleasure in her success.

And that wink. She’d almost slithered to the floor when he did that.

She would have bet anyone any amount of money that Gabriel couldn’t have winked if his life depended on it. Those moments when she saw his former self were coming more often now, confusing and enthralling her.

But he was off-limits, so she didn’t let herself make up excuses to see him, not even when she made beef stew and chocolate chip cookies. Instead, she poured herself into her book, Hilde’s training, and their treks into the backcountry.

She’d been tempted to go back to walking on the road after the incident with the bear, but that wasn’t such a great idea with plowed snow pushed up high on the side of the road. There was no room on the shoulder, and she and Hilde would be less visible to cars.

And anyway, she didn’t want to go backwards.

The first time back out, they didn’t go very far, but nothing had happened since then, and now she routinely snowshoed several miles out. There were stretches when she completely forgot to be scared of bears or mountain lions. She did, however, keep Hilde on a long leash attached to a belt and the phone in her pack.

A week after her reading, she woke in the middle of the night to the sounds of Hilde growling and pacing along the front wall, her ruff and tail fur standing on end.

The bear must be back. Or maybe some other animal was making her dog crazy.

She pulled the covers over her head and tried to go back to sleep, but Hilde’s agitation didn’t let up. There was nothing outside for a bear or anything else to eat, so what could it be?

“This better be good, Hilde,” she said, peering through the curtains.

Nothing.

Curious now, and hoping she’d see something cool, she headed into the mudroom and pulled on her coat and boots.

“You stay here,” she told the dog.

She had just stepped outside when something—no, someone—bolted from behind the cabin and headed down the driveway, quickly disappearing from view. A car engine started up, then faded away until the night was still and soundless.

Except for her heart, which was pounding in her chest.

What could anyone possibly want? Were they trying to break in?

She should call the police. But what would they do? Seeing someone on the property was trespassing at most.

Unless something had happened to Gabriel. Her whole body went cold at the thought.

She went back inside and dialed his number, praying aloud as it rang and rang, eventually going to voicemail. How could he sleep through his landline ringing like that?

Still in her boots and coat, she ran out the door toward his house, blazing a trail through the powdery snow. She was out of breath when she got to his door.

There was no time to waste with gentle knocking. She pounded and called his name.

The door opened and Gabriel—wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs—looked at her with sleepy eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She sagged against the doorframe. “You’re okay.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I—”

“Come inside.”

She followed him to the table, sinking gratefully into a chair across from him. His cabin was warmer than her own. No wonder he slept practically naked.

Quickly, she told him what had happened. “I worried when you didn’t answer the phone.”

“I left my cell phone charging in the kitchen and didn’t hear it.”

“I thought I called the landline. Ugh. I guess I panicked a little.”

He sat down across from her. “People in town have been reporting thefts—tools mostly, sometimes snowmobiles and ski equipment. In the morning, we can take a look around and see if anything’s missing.”

“Why would anybody risk going onto someone’s property for that kind of stuff?”

“They’re either dumb kids or addicts looking for things they can sell.”

“Have they been breaking into cabins?” she asked.

He hesitated. “A few have been robbed when no one was there. That’s actually one of the reasons Len offered his place to me. I stayed in the big cabin so no one would be tempted.”

She stared at him. “Why didn’t you mention this?”

“I’m sorry. It honestly never occurred to me. No one’s broken into a home when someone was there. These guys are strictly opportunistic.”

What he said made sense, but her fear still simmered. She was only just getting comfortable here, and now her sense of safety was disrupted again.

“It’s pretty creepy some guy was here, though, don’t you think?” she asked.

“It is creepy, but I also don’t think it’s anything to lose sleep over. This is small-time stuff. None of the people who’ve had things stolen were hurt, or even saw who did it.”

She nodded, turning it all over in her head.

“You could stay here if you’re nervous,” he said. “Or I’ll come to your place.”

As tempted as she was, it didn’t make any sense. What was she going to do, have him move into her cabin full-time?

The idea was way too appealing. Even now, as nervous as she was, she was having a hard time not staring at his chest. She wanted him, wanted his strength and his warmth, his essential goodness, all over her.

“Thanks, but I’m okay,” she lied. “No one would get near us without Hilde knowing.”

That last part was true, and she felt better as soon as she said it.

“If you get nervous, you only have to say the word, and I’ll be there.”

“Same goes. You know, if you get scared.”

He smiled, his eyes crinkling. “I appreciate that.”

“I’ll let you get back to sleep,” she said, standing.

He got up and walked with her to the door. She tried not to let her gaze drift down, but it wasn’t easy. She’d managed to have sex with him without seeing him naked, which was a crime. Now here he was, miles of bare skin over etched muscles. So effortlessly powerful, even at rest. He could probably rip trees from the earth with those arms, and his legs...

“Lucy.”

Her gaze snapped to his face. “Hmm?”

“You know how we said we were friends?”

She nodded and bit her lip, her face heating.

“The way you’re looking at me right now...” His voice was low, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded. “It’s definitely not the way my friends look at me.”

“Then they must be blind.”

His mouth fell open with surprise, and he laughed. “I’ll watch you until you’re inside.”

“You don’t have to do that. It’s freezing, and they’re gone.”

“Humor me.”

So she walked back, knowing his eyes were on her, and despite the fact that someone had been lurking around the cabin, she was too busy thinking about Gabriel naked to worry.

***

T he blizzard started on Christmas Eve. She’d heard the forecast and had gone to the grocery store, so she was ready to hunker down for a few days. She’d seen plenty of snow by now, but not coming on wind that blew horizontally. It was so heavy she couldn’t even see Gabriel’s cabin.

That night she dreamed of wolves howling outside the house, trying to lure Hilde into the woods. She woke up to the wind howling around the eaves, then fell back into an uneasy sleep, reassured that at least whoever had been creeping around the house wouldn’t be back while the storm raged.

In the morning, there was another two feet of snow. At their lowest spots, the drifts came up to her waist. And according to forecasters, this wasn’t ending anytime soon.

Her mother called at eight o’clock. “We’ve been wanting to call you for hours,” she said. “I can’t stand the thought of you all alone up on that mountain on Christmas. You should be with your family.”

“You know I wish I could have been, Mom. But it didn’t make sense. Anyway, it’s a nice change. I’m experiencing my first blizzard.”

“Are you safe? Do you have power?”

“Perfectly safe. And yes, I have power. Plus lots of flashlights and lamps if it goes out.”

Her mother held up the phone and her father, brothers, and their wives called out their hellos. The sound of her whole family together on the other side of the country, laughing and bickering, brought home how alone she was. She barely managed to keep it together until hanging up, and then she gave in and let the tears fall.

This was not okay. She was not going to cry all day.

She made herself pancakes, like her father did every Christmas morning, and while she was at it—and crying only a little—she whipped up some banana bread with overripe bananas.

Because even her fruit was pointing out how alone she was by going bad before she could eat it all.

A little later, eating her pancakes and watching Groundhog Day , she couldn’t help thinking that she, too, was living the same day over and over. The question was, was she Bill Murray at the beginning of the movie, when he was still clueless, or at the end, when he’d gained a little wisdom?

She’d gone around and around in her head about inviting Gabriel over for Christmas, but she still didn’t know if it was a good idea. Thanksgiving had gotten too intense. If she did invite him over, she’d need to keep it light.

They hadn’t done more than wave hello to each other since walking the property together the morning after she saw someone outside the cabin.

“This was the jackpot they were hoping for,” Gabriel had said as they stood in front of the shed. The tracks of two people led from the road, around the cabin, and stopped here. “Good thing I locked it.”

“It wouldn’t be that hard to break in, though, would it?” she had asked. “Are the contents worth enough to make them come back again?”

He’d scowled at that, clearly not wanting to answer.

Thank goodness she had Hilde. If anyone or anything came around, Hilde would let her know. She’d call the police if they came back, but the real comfort was knowing Gabriel was close by.

The two weeks since had been incident-free, and she was sleeping fine again.

She was switching Groundhog Day for It’s a Wonderful Life when the lights flickered. Oh, dear God. She could not lose power before she’d watched all her movies. They were the only thing keeping her sane.

In the back room, she opened the utility closet and pulled out a hefty flashlight, a couple of lanterns, and some candles and matches. She carried everything to the kitchen table and spread the items out at the far end in a comforting display of preparedness.

She plugged every device she owned into its charger, turned on a few lights, and sat back down in front of the TV. She fell asleep before the movie ended and woke when it was dark outside. Her stomach growling, she got up and headed to the kitchen, opening the refrigerator just as the lights went out.

She’d once gone swimming in the ocean at night and been knocked over by a wave, then tossed about. Her disorientation had been so complete, she couldn’t have said her own name.

For a few moments, she was there again. The cabin was plunged into such complete and utter darkness, she couldn’t make out a single thing.

The dog’s clicking nails brought her back.

“Hilde,” she called, her voice panicked. “Hilde.”

Her dog’s cold wet nose nuzzled her hand, grounding her.

She let out a shaky breath.

Feeling her way over to the table, she turned on both lanterns and lit several candles, spreading them out on the table and counter. When she was done, it was almost cozy.

Except that strange men were creeping around the house only two weeks ago. Maybe the blizzard wasn’t enough to keep them away. Maybe a blackout would tempt them back. Would Hilde even hear them in all this wind?

There were nearly thirteen hours of darkness until the sun rose.

Grabbing a flashlight, she checked that the front door was locked. She’d walked through the house many times before with only a little light to guide her, but somehow this was different. She found herself holding her breath as she went through the mudroom to check the side door.

She nearly screamed at the sight of someone on the other side.

Gabriel came up the stairs, big and dark against the snow, wearing a blazing headlamp. She opened the door, and wind and snow gusted in with him.

He turned his headlamp off. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Come, Hilde,” she said, grabbing the dog’s collar and pulling her out of the way.

He stepped inside the mudroom far enough for her to close the door. Snow covered his hat and drifted off his clothes. “I turned the generator on, but it can’t power the whole house. It’s set up to power the well, water heater, stove, and fridge. You won’t have lights.”

“What about you? Do you have a generator?”

“For the well and fridge.”

“Maybe you should stay here,” she said, after some hesitation. “There’s plenty of room, and at least you’d have hot water and a stove.”

The strange shadows thrown by her light made it impossible to read his expression. “I was going to offer to stay, actually. I thought you might not want to be alone.”

She wanted to be strong and tell him she was fine, but she didn’t have it in her. “I really don’t.”

“I’ll go get my things,” he said, turning for the door.

“You can come right in. Don’t bother knocking.”

He disappeared into the storm twenty feet from the house, only his light visible, and then that was swallowed up, too.

Quickly she tidied the bathroom, then grabbed towels and set them on the bed in the bedroom closest to the living room. If he left his door open, some of the heat from the woodstove should make it to him.

She heard him return as she was finishing up. He had a duffel bag in one hand and a sleeping bag under his arm.

“Come on in and get warm,” she said. “I was about to heat up some dinner when the lights went out. Would you like some?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Are you being stoic? Because that’s silly. Besides, I have chicken and dumplings.”

“Homemade?”

Even in the odd shadows cast by the candles and lanterns, she could see the way his face brightened.

She laughed. “Yes.”

“That sounds great, if you really don’t mind.”

“Of course, I don’t.” She opened the fridge and pulled out the pot she’d kept the food in. “You said you used to cook for people, so you know how good it feels to share what you made.”

“Yeah, I do.”

She put the pot on the stove and turned the burner on, grateful to have something to watch when looking at him became too much.

“I used to cook a lot when I lived with my parents,” she said. “When I felt up to it, anyway. It was about the only thing they let me do.”

“I’m cooking less than ever. But maybe I’ll make more of an effort. I see you were prepared for the power going out,” he said, nodding toward the various lighting implements and charging devices on the table.

“Well, you did warn me. At least I wasn’t caught off guard.”

She took the pot off the stove, poured it into a bowl, and set it on the table with a spoon.

“Eat,” she said, sitting down on the other side.

He took a seat and dug in. “This is delicious.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest, and she was glad it was too dark for him to see her heated face.

“Thanks.” She searched for something to say. “Did the storm keep you from flying home?”

“No, I didn’t have any plans. My family was hoping I’d come, but it’s too far, and I didn’t want to fall further behind on my book. Anyway, I’m finally having a white Christmas.”

“That you are. Is it everything you hoped it would be?”

“I miss my family more than I expected, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“My family in L.A. wanted me to visit. They’re hurt and worried that I’ve been up here so long, and I don’t blame them. My mother thinks retreating up here like I have will make it harder to rejoin the world.”

She was so shocked at how much he’d revealed that it took a moment to respond. “Do you think she’s right?”

“Probably. But I had my reasons for coming here, and nothing has changed.”

“I can see how it would be hard to leave. You forget the outside world. It’s a little like being in a spell.”

“That’s a nice way of thinking about it.”

“It’s probably silly. I suppose I read too much.”

“You should never apologize for the way you view the world. It’s one of the things I like most about you.”

Her mouth fell open, and her heart started to beat faster.

?***

M aybe it was the way the dark surrounded them, like they were the only two people left in the world. Maybe it was the way she didn’t ask any questions, didn’t press to know what had driven him up here.

She’d opened up to him about her own struggles. He could do the same. Or maybe he was simply tired of holding back. It took more energy than coming clean.

“You were right that I used to be a different person,” he said.

Her head came up, her eyes dark and solemn.

“Something happened last winter, and I haven’t...it just about killed me. I didn’t know what else to do, so I came here.”

“You don’t have to tell me, Gabriel.”

“I want to, though. I think I might need to.”

He took a few steadying breaths.

“When I was twenty-two, I dated a woman who worked for Big Brothers Big Sisters. She talked me into being a big brother, and I got matched with Ricky.” His voice was shaking, but he kept going. “He was only seven, this skinny little kid with glasses and big eyes. I was worried about what I’d do if I didn’t hit it off with the little brother they gave me, or if he didn’t like me, but it was great right from the beginning.”

“I bet you were an amazing big brother.”

“I tried, anyway, and it was so easy to make him happy. I saw him at least once a week for years, less as he got older, but we always talked or texted. I took him hiking and camping, and he loved it, so that was kind of our thing.”

He stopped, not sure he could go on. Lucy put her hand over his. It was so simple, but that one gesture, the warmth of her hand on his, gave him the courage he needed to keep going.

“Last January, right after the New Year, I flew him to Telluride with me, where I was meeting with suppliers and distributors. I figured he could do some skiing, and I’d join him when I wasn’t working. He was in his senior year of high school and busy with a million things, so I hadn’t seen him in a few months.”

Ricky had talked nonstop the whole flight, first telling him about a girl he’d been trying to hook up with, then asking him a million questions about the skiing in Telluride.

“I had meetings all day the first day, so he was planning to ski the resort slopes. But he changed his plans that morning and went out with a couple of guys he met in a ski shop.” He was sweating now, his stomach roiling with nausea. “They headed into the backcountry, to a pass they had no business being on with the avalanche danger that had been forecast. He skied down first and was killed in an avalanche the second guy triggered.”

“Oh my God.”

He hadn’t known for hours. He’d schmoozed and negotiated, eating a catered lunch in a conference room that looked out over the mountains. He’d even noticed a helicopter in the distance at one point. He’d never know if it was the one picking up Ricky’s body.

“He should have known better. He did know better, because I taught him myself.” He stopped and took a breath, but his voice still shook when he spoke again. “I had to call his mother and tell her he was dead.”

Both her hands were on his now. “I’m so sorry, Gabriel.”

He stood and paced to the glass doors. But there was nothing to see but his own reflection. He strode over to the woodstove and opened it up. It could do with more wood.

“Gabriel.”

He put a log in, then another and another, before closing it carefully.

She was beside him now, her hand on his arm. “It wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know what he was going to do.”

“Maybe not, but he’d be alive if I hadn’t brought him out there.”

“A lot of things led to his death, but they were out of your control. You couldn’t have predicted them or stopped them.”

He sat heavily on the couch and let out a long, shuddering breath. “All I can think about is what those last fifteen minutes were like for him if he survived the rush of snow. How he might have suffocated, waiting for someone to come. I dream about it sometimes. I dig and dig, but there’s always more snow. I never get to him.”

Tears were coursing down Lucy’s cheeks, and she was biting her lip like she was trying not to make any noise. She sat next to him and wrapped her arms around him—her hold surprisingly strong for someone so slight.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“I’m glad you did. No one should keep all that pain inside them.”

He was too worn out to resist the comfort she offered. Her warmth flowed into him, her weight anchoring him to the present. Resting a hand on her arm, he let his eyes drift shut.

The wind howled and buffeted the cabin, as if it were seeking a way in. The fire popped, and a log fell inside the woodstove. Hilde whined in her sleep.

He’d never told anyone about the dreams. He’d been too busy trying to deal with his guilt and pain himself. He didn’t want anyone to help him or try to make him feel better. He was a lost cause, anyway.

But the tightness in his chest had eased.

“I understand now why my coming here upset you so much,” she said.

“It only takes one mistake.”

They sat there like that for a time, listening to the snow batter the windows. He let his thoughts drift. Ricky the first day he met him, nervous and shy, so different from the boy he’d become. Ricky falling over and over again during their first skiing lesson on a tiny hill. The way he popped back up each time, ready to go again.

Ricky was smart, goofy, and stubborn. But most of all, he was fearless.

That’s how he had described him to friends. He’d said it with pride, never knowing Ricky’s fearlessness would kill him before he graduated high school.

He hadn’t caused Ricky’s death, but he’d created the circumstances that made it possible. Ricky might never have set foot on a mountain if he hadn’t taken him. His family didn’t have much money, and it took money to ski. He certainly wouldn’t have been in Telluride if not for him.

But maybe it was crazy to trace his guilt all the way back to the first ski lesson.

He must have dozed off. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Lucy. She was asleep, still curled on her side toward him, her hand on his, feet tucked underneath her, her head resting on the back of the sofa.

It was too dark to see her well, but he’d memorized her long lashes and fine nose, her graceful cheekbones and stubborn little chin. She was the most compassionate person he’d ever met, no matter how he behaved.

No wonder he couldn’t seem to stay away. But he had too much ugliness inside him, and he’d already brought too much of it to her doorstep. He’d need to be careful while he was here. The temptation to take things further simmered whenever he was with her, but he had no business acting on it.

Hilde rose from her bed by the woodstove, stretched with a little groan, and went to stand by the mudroom door.

Carefully, he pulled his hand from Lucy’s, managing not to wake her, and headed outside with the dog. Hilde raced into the snow, sinking until she was barely visible, then leaping, sinking, and leaping again until she found a spot under a Douglas fir where she could relieve herself.

He was smiling as he grabbed a shovel and cleared the path Lucy had dug to the woodpile, then around back to the generator, where he added fuel to get them through the night. There was no point in doing much more while it was snowing so hard, but he stayed outside a while longer, waiting for Hilde to tire. When she seemed to be slowing down, he called to her. She stared at him for several seconds, as if to say, You’re not the boss of me, then went back to snuffling her nose in the snow.

“Hilde,” he said, his voice stern. He was in trouble if this didn’t work. “Come.”

She lifted her head and looked at him, then loped back through the snow and clambered into the mudroom after him.

She stood, panting happily and occasionally licking his face, while he dried her fur off with an old towel Lucy had left on a hook, then lifted each paw and dried those, too.

“Thank you for doing that.”

Lucy stood in the doorway, crossing her arms against the cold.

He set Hilde’s paw down and stood up. “She had to go out, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I’m glad you got her to come in. She doesn’t listen very well to other people.”

“It took a couple of tries, but we got there. Watching her in the snow could be a cure for depression.”

Her smile was soft and full of affection as she looked down at Hilde. “She’s what got me through these past few months. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” She glanced back up at him. “You should get one.”

“No dog could ever compare to Hilde, though,” he said, shucking all his winter gear.

She beamed at him. “Very true.”

He wanted to kiss her, and he was having trouble remembering why he shouldn’t. He was also wrung out and a little dazed from his confession.

“I’m pretty wiped,” he said. “I guess I’ll head to bed, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I put some towels in the bedroom next to mine. It’s um...I think you’ll be warmer there.”

“That sounds fine.”

She checked the locks on ?all the doors, then went over to the kitchen table and blew out the candles.

The flickering shadows disappeared.

She picked up both lanterns and gave one to him. “Is there anything else you need?”

“No, thanks. I’m all set.”

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you get hungry or wake up before me.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it. But don’t worry about me.”

“Well, good night.” She hesitated, then gave him one of her small, private smiles.

“Goodnight, Lucy.”

Grabbing his duffel bag from where he’d set it next to the door, he headed into the nearest bedroom and placed it on the floor. Moving quietly so as not to disturb Lucy, he used the bathroom and brushed his teeth by lantern light, then returned to his room. At first he didn’t hear anything but the wind, but in the moments when it died down, Hilde’s snores made their way to him through their open doors.

He changed into sweats and got under the covers, strangely at peace considering the fact that he’d spilled his guts.

There was nothing to hide anymore. Now that he’d told her, he wasn’t even sure why it had taken so long. Maybe someday he’d be able to separate grief from guilt and find a way to live with Ricky’s death.

Maybe he could even start now.

?