Chapter 14
Betty
I could scarcely remember falling asleep, but a loud hammering jerked me awake.
My body felt heavy and stiff, eyes crusted shut with the remnants of sleep.
Mr. Beans let out a chirping meow as I moved, his weight pinning me to the mattress.
I was under no illusions about where I was.
Forgetting wasn’t a luxury I’d be allowing, today or any day from now on.
From my corner of the cabin, I risked a look around. The hammering started up again. A woodpecker, without a doubt. How Gray hadn’t lost his mind, considering he built the place himself, was beyond me. The bird was literally making holes in his creation.
I spotted Villainy near the front of the room, perched in the window, gazing outside. Sunlight streamed through the glass, and the melting snow dripped from the deck’s eaves, reflecting the glimmering light and sending rainbows around the room.
Besides the woodpecker’s incessant drumming, the only other sound was the wood crackling in the stove.
I don’t know how I knew, but I was alone in the cabin.
It was a sixth sense, a feeling I’d grown accustomed to since Sybil and Nash moved out of the townhouse.
I wriggled my toes in my thick wool socks, pulling back the quilt’s edge.
The night had tortured me with the scent of Gray, surrounding me and soaked into the sheets of his bed—the familiar, woodsy aroma of days in the forest, of earth, trees, and clean air. It was a constant reminder that kept my predicament fresh in mind each time I jerked awake.
I sat up, and Mr. Beans let out another protesting yowl. I couldn’t shake my worries about my brother and Sybil. Gray insisted they were safe in their remote Scottish retreat, but could I really trust him? It wouldn’t be difficult to track them down if someone were determined enough.
How far would they go to get to me, to Gray? And my father. If he were in any danger, I’d break. He would be the fastest way for anyone to get to me.
I had to reach my family and warn them.
I stood up from the mattress, wary of being caught snooping if Gray suddenly appeared.
Practicing stealth, I crept my way to the front windows to determine his whereabouts, allowing the chairs to shield me from outside view.
I used Villainy’s line of sight as my guide.
Sure enough, the cat was keeping tabs on Gray and observing his movements in the yard.
As my eyes adjusted, the scene unfolded, and it was…
insane. Towering trees loomed all around us, so tall that I could scarcely see the tops.
The gate to the river was wide open, offering an unobstructed view of the water, as I hoped it might.
The rapids were close to the gate, a lot closer than they’d seemed last night.
With the swollen banks and powerful current, it was a bit unsettling.
One decent rain shower, and we might float away.
To the left, and downhill, I caught sight of a familiar head of golden-brown hair and shoulders just above the waterline. Gray was sitting in a natural pool, created by rocks that diverted the river rapids, resulting in a calm swimming hole.
My jaw dropped. The water must be freezing. How can Gray stand it?
His back was to me, wet hair a mess of curls that grazed his shoulders. Squinting, I could barely make out his shape when he sprang from the water with a theatrical upward splash. I almost jerked back at the suddenness; he was like a dolphin surfacing for air.
His entire torso was heaving, fighting the cold, with his skin flushed pink.
All his muscles were tight and triggered, accentuating his impressive physique and drawing my attention to a large, dark scar that marked his back.
He had a lot of scars, this I knew, but this one was the worst by far.
It sat just below his right shoulder blade, near his armpit.
I’d felt it before, but never had the chance to see the entire thing.
It was messy and jagged, hard to deduce the cause from this distance, but it almost resembled a burn.
I’d need a closer look. He turned to face the cabin, and I ducked behind the armchair.
After a moment, I risked dawning the top of my head and eyes above the back of it.
Now facing me, there was a scar on his chest, the entry point to the one on his back.
It was smaller and less prominent, and a near-perfect circle, maybe an inch wide.
He snatched up a towel from a nearby rock and began making his way toward the porch.
Shit.
Thinking fast, I ducked down again; I didn’t want him to know I’d been spying.
I backed out of the sunlight and monitored his shape from the corner of my eye as he approached. It was hard not to let my eyes snag on the way he was huskily drying himself off; why was that so hot?
I headed for my bed, but on my way back, something familiar caught my eye by the door. There was a newly added stack of items there; things Gray must have retrieved from the sled this morning. Diverting toward the pile, I tossed aside a few bags and boxes, and there she was—my red Birkin Kelly bag.
“Oh, thank God,” I whispered, tugging it free and looking inside.
My taser was still at the bottom, and just beside it, my phone.
I wanted to scream with joy, but sucked it down.
Hands shaking, I took the phone out and quickly assessed its operational capacity. It had 79% battery life and no service.
I heard the thud of Gray’s footsteps on the porch.
“Damn it,” I cursed aloud, tucking the phone back into the bag and taking the entire thing to the bed. I shoved it under the quilt just as the door swung open.
He was panting, backlit by the sun, the cold air making his breath visible in the doorway. When my eyes adjusted to the bright light, I found his gaze all over me, then his breathing stilled.
I felt like a kid caught stealing candy.
He looked me up and down, eyes narrowing before blessedly moving on. He rubbed the towel over his wet hair one more time. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said.
He hung the towel around his neck, making no further effort to cover his very bare chest. Goosebumps covered his skin below his ample and even flattering chest hair.
He was the embodiment of a true mountain man.
His body was tense, and his abs remained flexed against the cold he’d endured.
I should have looked away, but he looked away first, walking towards his cot where he picked up a shirt.
Since I’d won the stare-off, I rewarded myself with a feast for the eyes.
The expanse of his impossibly broad, muscled back was even more impressive than it had been from a distance; my gaze drawn back to the scar.
It stood out starkly against the rest of his skin, roughly the size of my hand.
It spread out like a sunburst across his back and under his arm.
A scar like that… it must have been painful and hard to recover from. I’d seen nothing like it.
He pulled the long-sleeved blue shirt over his head, then grabbed a pair of jeans, the belt clattering against the buckle as he hooked it over his arm. He turned and glanced at me again before heading to the bathroom, probably to change out of his wet shorts and into the jeans.
“Want some coffee?” he asked as he moved across the room.
I snapped out of my trance. “Yes, please. I... I’m not sure what to use here,” I said, gesturing to the distinct lack of a coffee machine. “I’m used to my very civilized Nespresso.”
He chuckled as he reached the bathroom. “Let me change, and then I’ll show you how it’s done so you can do it yourself whenever you want.”
I offered a polite smile and a nod.
Once he was inside and the door was closed, I released a long breath of relief and fished my Birkin bag out from under the comforter. I rummaged this time for my compact mirror. Flipping it open, I checked my face, smoothed my hair, snapped the mirror shut, and tossed it back in.
I didn’t hate my bare face; in fact, it looked good right now. I was fortunate to have naturally dark features and thick lashes, so my eyes were always well-defined, even without makeup.
As a bonus, I found some lip gloss and put it on. My lips were seriously chapped after yesterday, and the moisture was near orgasmic as it touched my thirsty skin. I needed to brush my teeth, but I hadn’t seen a toothbrush anywhere. Hopefully, there were some in the extra supplies he brought in.
Retrieving the phone from the bag, I shoved the device under the mattress. It was an obvious hiding spot, but he didn’t seem aware of its existence, so hopefully he wouldn’t think to look. If he had known about it, I was sure he’d have taken it by now.
I heard the doorknob rattle and slid my bag under the covers once more. I sat on the bed, trying to look nonchalant with my legs crossed at the ankles. The door opened, and he stepped out, fully dressed.
“I put a new toothbrush in there for you. It’s next to the sink. It’s pink.” He grinned.
How was he always a step ahead of me?
Maintaining my bratty persona, I rolled my eyes at him and applied my usual air of indifference. “Coffee, Gray, please,” I mock-begged.
He rolled his eyes, dishing the attitude right back, and made his way to the stove. He pulled down a Moka pot that was hooked on the chain of utensils. I’d seen those often enough—it was an Italian thing. That made sense.
I picked at a loose thread on the comforter. “So, were you, like… taking a cold plunge just now?” I asked. “Is that what the gym bros call it?”
He poured warm water from the kettle, which was already on the stove, into the bottom chamber of the Moka pot. Next, he added several scoops of coffee grounds to the filter, screwed the top on, and placed it over the hottest burner.