Chapter 4
Cassidy
The hike up the mountain took forever, and I clung to Hall the entire time. I knew his feet were torn up worse than mine, but he never faltered. The man was made of steel.
“We’re almost there,” he rumbled.
I pulled my head off his shoulder and looked. The cabin materialized out of the darkness like something from a dream. Lights were on inside, and it looked warm and cozy.
As we approached, I saw the rough-hewn logs, a sloped roof, and a front porch with a lone rocking chair on it.
Hall carried me up the steps and through the front door, setting me down gently on a worn leather couch.
He wrapped a blanket around my shoulders, then disappeared immediately while I looked around.
The interior was rustic, yes. Simple, definitely. But also warm.
A stone fireplace dominated one wall, embers still glowing from an earlier fire. Bookshelves lined another wall, stuffed with thriller paperbacks and what looked like astronomy magazines.
Everything about the place felt deeply lived in. And somehow still deeply lonely.
A small kitchen occupied the back corner, clean but sparse. I spotted one plate in the drying rack. One mug on the counter. And a single chair pulled up to the small dining table.
This man lived alone, truly alone.
Hall emerged moments later with a bucket of warm, soapy water and a hand towel. Without saying a word, he dropped to his knees in front of me, lifted my legs and dipped my feet gently into the bucket.
“Let them soak. I’ll make you something warm,” he said, already moving toward the kitchen. His voice was gruff, as if he wasn’t used to speaking this much.
I nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around my shoulders while I watched him work. His hands shook as he poured milk into a pot, then measured out cocoa powder.
He had big hands. Capable hands. Hands that had carried me up a mountain as if I weighed nothing.
Hall was still shirtless and barefoot, and I could see now that his feet were torn up bad. He’d run down that mountain without boots. No thought for himself, just to save me and my house.
The reality of what had happened crashed over me all at once. My house was gone, along with my fresh start. Everything I’d worked for and everything I’d built since leaving Abeline. Gone. Up in smoke.
A sob tore out of me before I could stop it.
Hall was at my side in an instant, the hot chocolate forgotten. He stood there awkwardly for a moment, hands hovering like he didn’t know what to do with them. Then, slowly, carefully, he sat down beside me and pulled me into his arms.
He was so gentle. That was what undid me. This massive man with shoulders like a mountain and hands that could crush stone was holding me like I was made of glass. Like I was something precious.
I buried my face against his chest and cried. They were ugly, heaving sobs that I couldn’t control.
He didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to shush me or tell me it would be okay. He just held me, one hand stroking my hair, his heartbeat steady against my cheek.
Then a realization hit me like a thunderbolt. I felt safe. Safe in this stranger’s arms in a way I hadn’t felt in years. Maybe ever.
It didn’t make sense. I knew it didn’t make sense. This was trauma bonding, adrenaline, and the intensity of the situation warping my emotions. I knew all of that.
But I couldn’t stop myself from pressing closer and breathing him in. Wood smoke and pine and something underneath that was spicy and full of life.
Eventually, my sobs quieted. I lifted my head, meaning to pull away, to apologize for falling apart on him.
But I didn’t.
Our faces were inches apart, mouths too close for strangers.
His eyes were dark in the firelight, fixed on mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. I could feel the warmth of his exhale against my lips, and I saw the moment his gaze dropped, just for a moment, down to my mouth.
My heart pounded. The air between us felt electric, charged with something I couldn’t name. I leaned in, just slightly, drawn to him like a moth to flame, ready to give this man everything.
He groaned and pulled back.
The world felt cold without his warm embrace. I clutched at him, trying to bring him back to me, but he stood abruptly, putting distance between us.
“You need rest.” His voice came out rough. “First, let me clean your feet.”
Then he dropped to his knees and pulled my feet out of the bucket, gently drying first one and then the other with an old, ratty towel.
My heart pounded while he did this, my libido pulsing to its beat.
Once my feet were dried, he applied some medicated cream on them, rubbing it in softly, careful every time I winced.
While he did this, silence wrapped around us, but I was aware of his eyes taking in the curve of my calves, the hem of my nightgown.
It was an intimate act, and I felt wildly, wonderfully, and totally cared for.
When he was done, Hall stood up. With a strained growl, he said, “Let me get you something more to wear.”
I sat there, stunned, as he disappeared into what I assumed was his bedroom. My lips tingled with the ghost of a kiss that never happened.
What was wrong with me? My house had just burned down, and I was thinking about kissing a stranger?
Hall returned with a flannel shirt, red and black plaid, soft from years of washing. “This should work for tonight,” he rumbled. “We’ll deal with everything else in the morning.”
I took it from him, our fingers brushing, and he jerked his hand back as if I’d burned him.
“Bathroom’s through there,” he announced gruffly, pointing towards the only door in the cabin that didn’t lead outside. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the couch.”
“I can’t take your bed.”
“You can. You will.” His tone left no room for argument as he shoved the cup of hot chocolate into my hands. “Get some sleep, Cassidy. Everything’s going to be okay. It will be better in the morning. And… I won’t let Abeline hurt you.”
His words resonated deep in my soul. This man would protect me.
The way he said my name sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. And the way he talked about Abeline. It was as if he thought it was a person instead of a place.
I changed in the bathroom, pulling his shirt over my head. It fell to mid-thigh, drowning me in soft flannel that smelled like him. I caught my reflection in the mirror and barely recognized myself.
I was smoke-stained, tear-streaked, and wearing a stranger’s shirt in a cabin on a mountain.
But alive. Because of him.
When I came back out I gave him a small, “Thank you,” my voice sounding weaker than it normally did.
“Yup,” he rumbled softly. “Sleep well, Cassidy.”
His bedroom had no door. Just a rough-hewn frame arching the space between the living room and it. I guess if you live alone you don’t need one.
It was as simply decorated as the rest of the cabin. There was a large bed with a thick antique quilt, a single nightstand with a lamp… and a book.
I flipped it over so I could see the title. It was a thriller from an author I’d never heard of before. ‘A Lost Crow’ by Buckley Hansen.
There was a large picture window with no curtains that looked out over the valley. Though I couldn’t see anything but darkness right now, I imagined the view must be breathtaking during the day.
Climbing into his bed, I pulled the covers up to my chin. The sheets smelled like him too. Pine and wood smoke and that warm, masculine scent that made something flutter low in my belly.
I could hear him moving around the living room.
The crackle of logs grew louder as he worked the fire. Then the creak of the couch as he settled onto it, and the light, sloshing sound of him dropping his feet in the bucket of water, finally taking care of himself after he’d taken care of me.
He was out there, settling in for the night.
I wanted that kiss.
The thought surfaced unbidden and undeniable. Even though it didn’t make sense. I’d just met him, but I still wanted to feel his lips on mine. I wanted to find out if they were as rough as his hands.
I drifted off to sleep with the knowledge that, for the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn’t alone.
There was fire everywhere. Flames licked up the walls, crawling across the ceiling, consuming everything I’d built.
Then he was there. Hall. Emerging from the flames like some kind of avenging angel, his skin glowing gold in the firelight.
He reached for me and suddenly we weren’t in my burning house anymore. We were somewhere else, somewhere warm and safe, and his hands were on my body, his mouth on my lips, and then the fire wasn’t destroying us, it was us… we were the fire…
I woke with a scream lodged in my throat, thrashing under an unfamiliar blanket.
Hall filled the frame of the doorway, wild-eyed and chest heaving.
He was wearing nothing but a pair of dark boxer briefs, and my brain short-circuited at the sight of him coming towards me through the shadows.
Muscles. So many muscles.
His chest was broad and defined, covered with a dusting of dark hair. His stomach was flat and hard. And lower, the bulge in his underwear was…
I looked away, heat flooding my cheeks.
Then his arms were around me, pulling me against that magnificent chest, and I forgot to be embarrassed.
“Nightmare,” I managed to say, my voice shaking. “It was just a nightmare.”
“You’re safe.” His voice was a low rumble against me. “You’re safe, Cassidy. I’ve got you.”
I let myself sink into him, just for a moment. Let myself feel the strength of his arms, the warmth of his skin. My body remembered the dream and the way he’d touched me, and heat pooled in my core.
This was insane. I was insane.
I pulled back, wiping my tears with the back of my hand. “I’m okay. Really. I’m sorry I woke you.”
He studied my face, searching for something. Whatever he found must have satisfied him, because he nodded slowly and released me.
“Holler if you need anything,” he said. “I’m right out there.”
Then he was gone, back out to his perch on the couch.
I lay back against the pillows, my heart racing. But it wasn’t fear making my pulse pound now. It was the memory of his arms around me and the heat of his skin.
And the intoxicating way his body had felt pressed against mine.
I was in so much trouble.