Chapter 4 Skye
FOUR
SKYE
When I exit the bathroom after the longest pee I’ve had to take thus far during my pregnancy, I find my mystery saviour standing in the kitchen rifling through the contents of the fridge.
Which isn’t much.
I press my lips together and come to a stop, gaze darting to the dark window above the sink, which reveals the heavy storm raging beyond.
“So,” I drawl, leaning against the doorway. “I never actually got your name. Well, Sophia probably told me, but I might have blocked it out.”
His deep brown eyes find mine, unimpressed if I have to guess. “Sawyer,” is all he says before going back to grabbing what looks like an opened tin of tuna.
“Okay, Sawyer,” I mutter, watching as he tosses the tin into a trashcan beneath the sink. “The last time we had a storm like this, I spent the entire thing at the hospital delivering babies. How long do you think it will last?”
The sullen grump doesn’t look at me as he opens an upper cabinet and pulls down a bag of red lentils and a can of beans. Good Lord, what is his plan?
“What are you doing?” The only thing I crave right now is pizza.
With salty tomatoes sliced on top of it, doused in oil and ranch dressing.
If this baby hasn’t put much weight on me, then the food she makes me crave certainly has.
All I do other than work is eat. I think being on my feet for nearly twelve hours a day has kept me relatively okay.
But now that I’m on maternity leave, I suddenly have a lot of time…
and access to a pizza place that will make me the exact things I crave.
The tattooed giant doesn’t look back at me as he assembles something on the counter. “Food.”
“You are a man of very few words,” I reply, entering the small kitchen. It’s u-shaped, with an old, off-white refrigerator, a sink across from it with the window overlooking the front of the cabin—and the storm—as well as a gas-top stove that looks barely functioning.
As I inch closer, I catch a whiff of his cologne. Several times now I’ve gagged from the perfume men wear. But as I breathe him in, I can’t help but want more. He smells like sin and temptation; whiskey and toffee, a hint of caramel and something a little spicy.
My mouth waters as I take another step towards him.
My hero grunts as he catches me coming closer. “There something you need, Skye?”
Maybe some actual conversation, I think, shaking my head. He’d been chattier before sweet girl kicked her way into the conversation. Now, he’s a damn…
Grump.
A nice-smelling grump, though.
“Do you have any idea how long this thing will last?” I ask again, leaning against the counter and crossing my arms.
His dark eyes flicker over me, and he tenses when they land on my stomach. Yep, definitely baby-related tension. “No,” he says, looking back at his new assortment of food. Joining the lentils and beans are rice, more tinned tuna, and a packet of instant ramen.
Not even my weird cravings could have conjured this up.
“Great.” Looking through the window again, I can’t tell if it’s getting darker because the day is ending or because the storm is getting worse.
You can’t even see the cabin across from us anymore.
“Would you be able to handle it if I gave birth in your kitchen?” I ask honestly, gauging his reaction.
If there’s one thing I’ve had to get good at being a labour and delivery nurse, it’s assessing my patients—and the people they bring with them.
More than once, I’ve had to kick out a disturbed mother-in-law or a lazy, no-good father.
I’ve wrestled men who clearly don’t have their wife’s best interests at heart, taken the phones of Instagram-crazy sisters who want to share literally everything to their followers, and booted unwanted visitors without remorse.
Most of these things I’ve had to pre-emptively figure out before disaster struck.
And unfortunately, I need to know if this man has my back if the storm keeps us in its clutches for more than the night.
There’s something hard in his eyes as they find mine, and he straightens to his full six-foot-huge height. Tattoos crawl up his neck towards his strong jaw. They cover his hands, probably all of his body.
This man should scare me. Should make me think twice about trusting him with not just my life—but the life of my child. I know nothing about him except for the fact that he volunteers with Noah, Sophia’s new boyfriend.
“Yes,” he answers clearly—confidently. But that’s all he says. And maybe that’s all he needs to say, because that simple answer has me believing him.
All I manage is a simple nod before I push off the counter and leave him to whatever concoction he’s making in the kitchen.
“I will make you last,” I whisper to my measly pack of Twizzlers. One of the few treats I have for myself that I do not plan to share with the grumpy man cooking in the kitchen.
He’s probably forgotten I’m even here. And honestly, it’s probably for the best. So long as I have his help if everything goes south and I have to do this on my own, then I should be okay. Everything will be okay.
At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
I tuck the packet of Twizzlers into my purse before fishing out my cell.
At half battery, I know better than to waste what’s left, especially because I don’t see an outlet anywhere…
and I don’t have a charging cable for it, anyway.
But I still check it. There’s no service, and no missed calls or messages.
Not from my sister or cousin, and none from Sophia, either.
As much as I don’t want to, I look at Sawyer. The thin material of his t-shirt grows taut over his thick shoulders as he washes a pan in the sink. The way he’s bowed over it makes even more tattoos appear beneath the collar of his shirt.
It is so unfortunate that he is my type. Rob really wasn’t. He’d been more on the nerdy side, and in the beginning, his sweetness had been a factor in why I’d given him a chance. But that sweetness turned to incompetence way too fast, making him unattractive and us incompatible.
It’s not just looks that draw me to Sawyer. It’s his energy. The safe feeling I have being near him. When he pulled up beside my truck, I almost cried. But then he got my door open, and it was like all the fear disappeared because he was there.
Clearing my throat, I carefully push my way out of the armchair by the fire. “You wouldn’t happen to have a satellite phone, would you?” I ask carefully.
Sawyer doesn’t hesitate to look over his shoulder at me. “Not here,” he says, sounding almost disappointed. “I have two, plus a radio for the rangers back at my cabin.”
That might be the most words he’s spoken in the last hour. It shouldn’t make me all warm and fluttery hearing the deep timbre of his voice, the soft growl that seems to live in the back of his throat.
Not only does he smell amazing, but he sounds good, too. That is a terrible combo.
“Shit,” I whisper, scrubbing a hand through my hair.
A furrow appears between his heavy brows as he steps away from the sink, turning the tap off without looking at it. Those dark eyes roam my body for a moment like he’s assessing me for any potential damage—or maybe a sign that he might actually have to help deliver this baby.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, striding towards me with ease. The way he asks the question has my heart skipping a beat, the worry in those words making me feel…honestly, I’m not sure.
It’s the hormones, I tell myself as he comes to a stop in front of me. Just silly little hormones screaming out for the hunky, grumpy mountain man.
Swallowing hard, I shake my head. “I just wanted to let my sister know I’m okay,” I admit. “So she isn’t worrying about me or baby. And hopefully tell Sophia and Noah we’re fine.”
Something shifts in his eyes as he takes a step back. “Noah will let your sister know you’re okay,” he says evenly, maybe disappointed in my answer. “Food’s ready.”
I frown, watching as he turns his back on me. “Uh, look, I know there’s a stereotype about pregnant women and our cravings, but I don’t think you could make me eat whatever it is you put together.”
Sawyer keeps his back to me, though for the first time ever, he chuckles.
He actually chuckles.
And it sounds nice. It’s still deep, but it makes my heart flutter again.
“Come on.” He waves a hand, motioning me to join him. And with a sigh, I make my way into the kitchen only to find…
A lot of edible food.
A variety of different dishes cover the counter. I would honestly call it struggle food—there was more than one occasion where a paycheck only covered so much that Vic, Millie, and I needed to make our budgets work through college—but the unappealing food I’m used to isn’t here.
Cheesy beans and rice, a large steaming bowl of ramen with the works, tomato soup and—surprise—grilled cheese, plus two already opened baked potatoes topped with butter.
“How…” I look from the food to him. “You might yet redeem yourself.”
His lips quirk. “I rescued you. That should be redemption enough.”
My stomach tightens with hunger as I take a step towards the tomato soup and grilled cheese. The man must have gotten all of this at the store before rescuing me, because none of this food was in the fridge when we got here.
“You surprise me,” I rectify, giving him a nod. “Thank you.”
He grabs a plate and loads it with a potato, a side of cheesy beans and rice, and a grilled cheese. “Go sit down,” he says without looking at me. “I’ll bring you your food.”
There’s that fluttery feeling again. And this time it’s because he’s taking care of me.
I’ve never actually been taken care of—unless you count my best friend or sister, but even then, I’d count that as loving obligation.
This is a man who doesn’t know me, who owes me nothing, and he’s treating me better than Rob ever did.
I turn around and flee to the small table in the living room before he notices the tears in my eyes or the wobble of my lips. That would be more than mortifying, and then having to explain to him the reasoning?
Just hormones, I repeat to myself as I sit. Outside, the wind howls, rattling the window by my head. Ignoring Sawyer as he approaches, I take a peek outside, and the ever-darkening sky has my chest tightening with worry.
What happens if we’re trapped together for more than just a night?
What if I really do give birth here with him as my only witness?
What if everything goes terribly wrong?
Sawyer sets the plate he put together down in front of me, as well as a mug of soup he must have ladled. There’s something about the simplicity of the meal that brings me a sort of comfort, even with fear heightening all of my emotions.
Glancing up, I take in the hulking man. He seems far more vulnerable now than before. Less imposing or scary, especially as he steps back from the table after delivering the meal to me.
“I know it isn’t much,” he grumbles, “but I hope it’s okay.”
My heart does a little somersault in my chest. “It looks amazing,” I tell him softly. “Thank you.”
He nods once before turning back to the kitchen and retrieving his own dinner. Together, we sit in a comfortable silence I actually enjoy, a silence I don’t need to fill. And for the first time ever, I feel a sense of safety I’ve never had before.