Chapter 3
WYNDHAM
I was aware of the warmth, and it wasn’t just from the roaring fire in the cabin, but also from the man’s hand that gripped mine as he helped me inside.
“Easy does it.” He steadied me as I wobbled along. “Let’s get you to the couch.”
I’d been about ready to collapse if I hadn’t happened upon that reindeer. I had no clue they were indigenous to the area, and I couldn’t see it anywhere now.
“I’m Ambrose, by the way.”
My brain figured he was telling me something important, but it took some seconds before it latched onto the word. Oh, it was his name. Ambrose. I liked the way it resonated in my head and wondered how it would sound on my tongue.
“Wyndham.”
He guided me to the ancient leather couch, and I sat down gingerly, ouching and owing as I lowered my butt.
Oh gods, the relief of being out of the cold and taking the weight off my leg, which had gone from being painful to excruciating after the trek in the woods.
Each step had sent white-hot pain from my foot to my shin, and I suspected if I looked down, I’d find my ankle swollen to twice its normal size.
Ambrose put more logs on the fire, and despite being in agony, I couldn’t help noticing his very fine butt as he squatted.
Annoyed at being a little turned on when my situation was precarious, I studied the cabin.
It wasn’t huge but cozy and tidy, and there was a small Christmas tree decorated with fairy lights in the corner.
Those were what I’d seen through the woods.
“I need to look at your foot.”
He kneeled in front of me and gently picked up my foot. I hissed at the pain, and to distract myself, I studied his plaid shirt and imagined him in a cologne commercial chopping wood where he put down his ax and took off his shirt, revealing his toned abs.
Not that I was thinking about his chest or his butt or what lay under his pants. Nope. I had other things needing my attention and one of them mewed and scratched, demanding to be let out. The kitten! I’d forgotten about the little one.
Ambrose glanced up as the blanket he’d brought with him moved. The kitten was fine or at least not horrible. I reached for it, stopping short as pain shot through me.
He pulled the cloth off of the tiny creature. “Dont worry. I got your friend. He looks young.” He stroked the little guy and asked if he was okay.
“I think so. We only just met out on the road.” I explained it was seeing the kitten that had me ending up in the ditch. “He’s cold and scared, but we’re buddies now.”
Ambrose placed my foot on the floor and strode off into another room, returning with a quilt. He covered me and the kitten and sat at my feet. When he unlaced my boot, I winced and gritted my teeth.
“Sorry. This is going to hurt.”
Going to? It already hurt like heck, and when he’d eased off my boot and sock, I was gripping the sofa armrest. The kitten snuggled into me under the quilt as if he sensed my discomfort, though that wasn’t hard because I'd tensed my muscles.
“It’s very swollen. But I’m pretty sure it isn’t broken.”
That was the first piece of good news this evening. No, maybe the second one after rescuing the kitty. Or third after being saved by a handsome woodsman.
“Pretty sure?”
“I’m not a doctor, but I’ve had my share of sprains.”
I gulped when he looked at me, and for some reason, I sensed he was fibbing about the sprains. Why I couldn’t say, because living in the woods, he’d be liable to cuts, bites, sprains, and broken bones.
“I’ll get my first-aid kit and some ice.”
He vanished into the other room, and I was left alone with the kitten.
This wasn’t how I’d expected the evening to go.
The Christmas party would be in full swing, and I doubted anyone would notice I was missing.
That was until someone stuck their tongue down the throat of an unwilling participant, and they’d search for me, and there'd be no one to write an incident report.
And while I’d have preferred not to drive my car off the road and sprain my ankle, it was still preferable to being at the Christmas party.
The kitten interrupted my thoughts by scratching at the quilt. His eyes were barely open, and he couldn't have been more than a few weeks old, so he was probably hungry.
“Where’s your mom, little boy? You’re too young to be out by yourself.”
Damn, it struck me that the little one probably had siblings. And if so, were they still out in the freezing weather? The mother had either abandoned them or been attacked by an animal. I held him close, as tears dripped onto his fur.
I was wiping away the tears when Ambrose returned with his first-aid kit, water, and a bag of frozen vegetables wrapped in a dishtowel.
“No ice,” he explained. “This is going to be cold.” He placed the makeshift ice pack on my ankle, and I panted, reminding me of a person giving birth in the movies.
Eventually, the cold numbed the pain, and I unclenched my teeth and butt.
Ambrose didn’t say much as he cleaned my wounds. His hands were steady and capable, and I longed for him to continue doing what he was doing. An image flashed into my mind of his hands on my bare butt, and I shook my head to rid myself of the picture.
“Thank you for looking after me.”
He didn’t look up as he wrapped an elastic bandage around my ankle. “I couldn’t leave you out there to die.” He secured the bandage and asked how it felt.
“Much better.” The ice and the compression were helping, and my thoughts were clearer. I pulled out the phone, but it was dead. It shouldn’t have needed charging, though.
“I should call someone. Do you have a phone?” I doubted he had a land line because not many people did these days, but anyone who could afford it had a mobile.
Ambrose tensed, and so many thoughts rushed through my head. Was he hiding away from someone or the authorities?
“The phone lines are down because of the storm.”
That was reasonable. “Don’t suppose you have a mobile?”
“There’s no signal out here, even on a good day.” He gathered up the first-aid supplies. “You’re welcome to stay until morning, and we can figure out how to get you home.”
This was the plot of so many scary movies.
A lone traveler’s car broke down, and he was rescued by a stranger living in the woods with no way to contact the outside world.
But instead of being wary or scared or hefting myself up, saying I’d sleep in the car, I felt safe, almost as if this was where I belonged.
Perhaps I’d hit my head, and I was suffering from a concussion.
The kitten stuck his head out from the quilt and mewed. Ambrose said he’d warm some milk, and I cuddled the little guy, thinking of his possible brothers and sisters in the snow.
“I’m sorry, little boy if I deserted your siblings. I should have saved them too.” Not that it would have been possible with me hobbling over the deep snow, but I was ridden with guilt.
Ambrose returned with a small dish of milk, and I put the kitten on the floor. It got more milk on its fur and the rug than inside his tummy, but his little tongue lapped enough of the liquid to satisfy him.
Ambrose fashioned a blanket into a little bed closer to the fireplace and encouraged the kitten to snuggle in. I hid a yawn behind my hand, and my host insisted I take his bed. He changed the bedding, saying he’d sleep on the foldout couch. I protested but halfheartedly because I was exhausted.
He helped me into bed, and I must have gone to sleep immediately, because when I opened my eyes, it was pitch dark. I fumbled for the lamp because there was a tiny warm body beside me, and it was purring.
When I finally turned the lamp on, I blinked at the bright light because there wasn’t one small dark kitten in bed with me.
There were two, and the second had white fur.
This second one couldn’t have made it all the way from the road to the cabin, so Ambrose must have gone out looking for it.
But I had said nothing to him, unless he picked up on me apologizing to kitten number one.
There was too much thinking happening and not enough sleeping, so I flicked off the lamp. Tomorrow I’d figure out how to get home, but it’d be a shame to leave the sexy woodcutter. Not that I knew he chopped wood, but he had a fireplace. It was a reasonable assumption.