Chapter 3 Sawyer
THREE
SAWYER
My cell buzzes, drawing my attention away from the snow-packed street and the ever-darkening sky. My gaze darts to the screen, stomach twisting when Noah’s name appears on it.
Under my breath, I curse and pull over. The call ends abruptly before I can pick it up, but as soon as my gloved hands curl around the device, he calls again.
He wouldn’t call unless it was an emergency.
“Yeah,” I say, picking up the call. The other end is already fuzzy with static, the connection failing.
“Emergency,” he says, sounding tense. “A woman’s truck has broken down. She’s nine months pregnant, and the power is out on her street. She’s close enough to her house that she can get in, but without power…”
My stomach sinks, thoughts flashing back to the woman at the grocery store. So round, she looked like she was ready to pop. Heart pounding, I switch the cell to my other ear and pull onto the street.
“Where is she?” I ask.
“Down Saint View Street,” Noah replies, his girl talking quietly in the background. Maybe to the pregnant woman, though I can’t hear anything over the static in the background. “We would go ourselves, but we’re too far. I figured you’d still be close to town.”
I press my lips into a firm line, trying to ignore the pressure building in my chest. “Yeah. I’m close.”
Maybe I should have approached her at the store. Maybe I should have told her to get back in her truck and get the hell out.
“Skye says she’s going to get out,” his girl says, panic filling her voice. “I’m trying to convince her to wait. She’ll be alone.”
There’s something about the way she says alone that triggers something within me. I’ve been alone my whole life. Never thought twice about it once I escaped the foster system and found my way here.
But there’s also never been someone who has cared whether or not I was alone, so hearing her panic come through from the other end of the line makes my chest hurt in a way that’s unfamiliar to me.
“I’m going to get her,” I promise, heart pounding. “Don’t worry.”
I pull up by the old, worn truck, stomach sinking as I take in the same vehicle I’d clocked less than an hour ago outside the grocery store. Now it’s buried beneath so much snow, I can’t even be sure.
My gut says it is, and the woman inside…
Fuck, I can’t see her.
I brave the cold and jump out of my truck, shivering immediately as I take in the flurry of ice and wind darkening the surrounding landscape. One of the nearby houses looks almost dystopian with Christmas lights blinking in and out, while the nearby motel looks abandoned and shut down.
Slowly, I make my way around the woman’s truck and check inside. Blue eyes I knew I’d get lost in meet mine, relief pouring through that one look. It’s a look that twists something within me, that has my heart crashing frantically against my ribs. And it dredges up something I’m not used to.
Clearing my throat, I pull her car door open and offer my hand. “Let’s go,” I say, keeping my gaze locked on hers.
Her cold, almost frozen fingers tremble, but she places her palm in mine. “The power is out,” she whispers, “and our landlord didn’t get us a generator.”
I growl under my breath, glancing back at her almost snow-covered house. “Then you’re coming back with me,” I reply without thinking, helping her out of the truck. “I have a place on the mountain.”
“Wouldn’t that be completely out of the way?” she asks carefully, teeth chattering. “I have a wood-heater. But—” She cuts herself off with a shake of her head. “No wood.”
“I have a place in town, too,” I reply, keeping my voice low as I guide her to my truck. “Somewhere we can lie low during the storm. Has a generator.”
I stayed there rarely, only when I was on call for volunteer work at the station. But even then, being on the mountain usually served them better. I could usually co-ordinate up there and give them an idea of the fire from my vantage point.
The thought of bringing this woman into a space that’d been mine alone and never been touched by another should have made me uneasy. But as I help her into my truck, there’s only a strange sense of protectiveness swelling within me.
“Thank you,” she says as I grab the seatbelt, our faces inches apart. She’s damn near going to freeze to death, and yet I find myself trapped in her blue eyes. She has my heart warming without even trying—and that’s dangerous.
There’s a reason I prefer to be alone.
Clearing my throat, I buckle her in. “No worries,” I mutter, slamming her door shut. I eye her truck for a moment before going back and getting her meagre supplies off the passenger seat, locking the vehicle before I jump into my own and embrace the heat once more.
The woman makes a sound in the back of her throat. “Thank you.”
“You already said that,” I mutter, kicking the truck into gear and getting us the fuck away from her dead street. For a moment, the snow seems to soften, the sky turning from its original angry grey to white, like the storm wants to clear.
“I mean, for getting my stuff,” she stutters, teeth chattering, arms wrapped around herself. If she could somehow fold in on herself, I had a feeling she would.
The snow comes down faster in a flurry of harsh white snowflakes. As I push through the storm—a storm that’s quickly turning into a blizzard—I clear my throat. “We aren’t far from my place,” I tell her, turning down a familiar street.
I’ve spent enough time in this small town to know it better than the back of my hand. Even though I prefer the isolation and quiet the mountain offers me, it’s hard not getting used to a place like this.
“That’s good,” she says, breathing in sharply. “I need to rest so I don’t give birth in your truck.”
That has my heart racing. I spare her a quick glance and find her bracing against the seat, one hand digging into the leather, the other gripping the oh-shit handle above her head.
Every instinct in me is telling me to get this truck down to the hospital, but if she’s in labour, I doubt she’d make it with how slow the drive will be.
Despite those instincts, something else roars to life inside of me.
A desperate need to protect her, a desire to see her through this.
It’s a foreign feeling I don’t quite understand, yet as I listen to her breathing, each small puff of air laboured and painful sounding, the feeling grows within me.
Without thinking, I reach across the centre console and rest a hand on her knee. The simple touch has her almost jumping, though just as quickly taking my hand and gripping my fingers tightly.
“We aren’t far from the cabin,” I tell her quietly. “Just a few more minutes.”
“I really shouldn’t,” she explains on a long breath. “I’m not due yet. It’s just the stress. Probably false labour. I just need to get inside and lie down.”
My jaw clenches as I nod. “I see the cabin up ahead.”
Beside me, the woman sighs in relief. Slowly, I pull into the lot.
There are six small single-bedroom houses that are rented out mostly to guys like me—recluses who live on the mountain and occasionally return to civilisation.
Of the six, I know two belong to the Jade Mountain rescue team.
Another to an ex-military guy I sometimes see hunting on my cameras. The others, I didn’t know.
I pull into mine, the last on the right, and cut the engine. “I’ll get you in first, then come back for the stuff,” I say, barely looking at her.
The only response I get to that is another sharp breath.
The last thing I want is her actually giving birth—not here, and definitely not now.
So, I jump out, round the hood of the truck, and get her door open with a grunt.
I manage a cursory look around the lot for any of the other guys who live here, but there’s no one else around. Not another truck, and no lights.
We’re completely on our own.
And I don’t know if I like that or not.
While she rests on the sofa in the living room, I get a fire roaring to life, pack away the meagre supplies we have, and do a thorough check of everything—twice. All the while, she’s working through breathing techniques and muttering to herself about giving birth in a stranger’s cabin.
If I thought I was panicking, I can’t imagine how she feels. It melts a little of the tension inside me. It shouldn’t. My focus should be on getting her through the storm safely, then to the hospital so someone else can look after her.
But when I stop in the small hallway hiding the tiny bathroom and single bedroom—which is barely good enough for me, let alone her—and watch her, that unfamiliar protectiveness swells within me again.
I don’t do…attachments. I never have. You learn quickly in foster care not to form any lasting relationships with anyone, not when you can be moved on to another house in the blink of an eye.
I only have acquaintances now; the guys who volunteer, other men who rarely leave the quiet of the mountain.
And yet there is something about this woman that sparks a need to protect her—and her unborn child.
“I think we are safe from giving birth,” she announces, looking at me from the sofa. Despite the chill in the air, sweat beads along her brow, dampening her upper lip. A small smile plays at her lips, though her eyes reveal a discomfort I want to fix. “False alarm. I will not be having this baby.”
It gives me only a small amount of relief that I don’t act on. “You sure about that?”
She nods once, pulling her beanie off, then her scarf. “Yeah. Labour and delivery nurse,” she shares with a grunt, pulling her heavy coat off. I take two long strides to meet her at the sofa and grab it from her hands before she can stand. “Thank you.”
I nod once and take it to the small rack of hooks by the door, hanging it up alongside mine. “You work at the hospital?” I ask, glancing out the window.
“Yep. With Sophia. Though she’s down in the ER.” The sofa creaks as she sits back with a sigh. When I turn around, she has a hand on her swollen stomach, fingers splayed over the bump. “So, if anything happens during the storm, I’m pretty confident I can do this myself.”
My stomach rolls at the thought. “And what about your husband?”
At that, she barks a laugh, looking at me like I made the funniest joke of the year. “Please,” she scoffs, waving her left hand. Which has no ring in sight. Not a wedding band or an engagement ring.
It shouldn’t have my heart racing the way it does. Or the protective instinct rising further.
Who the fuck leaves their pregnant girlfriend over Christmas? Hell, who leaves a woman like this ever?
She’s stunning. And apparently smart. Kind and gentle, probably. Has a smile that chips away at any hardened resolve I have.
Whoever knocked her up and left has to be an idiot.
“Where is the father?” I ask, crossing my arms.
Her eyes narrow, lips pursed. “Why do you care?”
“Sounds like he isn’t in the picture then.”
Blue eyes narrow further. “He’s not,” she admits, finally looking away. “Which is for the best.”
Clearly not, is what I should say. But that confirmation is like gasoline hitting the spark already lit in my chest for her.
“Well, he’s a fucking idiot,” I finally manage, voice rough. “Don’t understand why he’d leave someone so…” I trail off when her eyes flicker back to mine, a rosy blush forming on her cheeks.
“I gave him the out,” she explains with a shrug. “Trust me when I say this is for the best.”
I want to ask more, but based on the hurt flickering in her eyes, I know I shouldn’t. Even if I’m curious.
Clearing my throat, I nod toward the hallway. “Bedroom is all yours. The sheets are on, and it’ll be getting warmer in there now. Bathroom is the door across from it. You need anything?”
For a moment, she’s quiet, eyes searching my face. But then she yawns and grimaces, hand clutching at her stomach. “Well, I didn’t,” she says as she struggles to stand. “But now I need to pee.”
I meet her without even thinking and help her, one arm going around her back, the other hand on her forearm. A simple touch, and yet it has electricity rushing through me. It brings us closer. We’re almost flush together, except for her stomach, which presses into my lower abdomen.
And for a moment, I think the baby kicks me.
Skye’s eyes widen for a moment before a smile breaks out across her face. “Oh, did you feel that?” She grabs my hand from her forearm and places it over her stomach, right where I felt the kick. “I think the baby likes you.”
That shouldn’t make me feel any sort of way. I should be indifferent—to her and her unborn child. This shouldn’t even elicit a reaction within me.
And yet, my heart skips a beat as I feel it again. A flutter of movement directly below my hand, right against my fingers. Like the little thing is telling me it knows I’m here.
It has a lump forming in my throat. And it definitely cracks whatever walls I need to have in place around this woman.
She’s a danger to everything I’ve built for myself, bulldozing every wall I’ve ever erected.
And I doubt I’ll be able to stop her once she takes me, too.