Chapter 8 Scott
EIGHT
SCOTT
It’s cold as hell out here. Colder than it should be for this time of year, even with this much snow.
It’s not just winter cold, but bitter and unnatural.
The kind of chill that seeps into your bones no matter how many layers you're wearing or how much you’re moving about. Something about it feels wrong.
The sky’s that colorless shade of gray that flattens the landscape, leeching warmth and life from everything it touches. Even the snow doesn’t sparkle. It just lies there in silent drifts, muting the sounds of nature.
I crunch through it, boots breaking through the frozen crust as I make my way around the cabin toward the shop out back.
The trees crowd closer here. Only twenty or so feet out.
The space beneath them is dark, intensified by their branches sagging under the weight of fresh snow, blocking a way in or out.
The stacked firewood inside the shop is still dry, thank God. It’s the only thing keeping us from snapping, from tipping over the edge of whatever this weird tension is between survival and something carnal. Something neither of us wants to name, and both of us can’t seem to ignore.
I move the snow shovel from its spot in the corner and prop it up beside the door so that I won’t forget it on the way back.
Might as well clear a path while I’m out here.
If the generator acts up again, I’ll want a clear line to it.
Besides, the labor helps. Gives my hands something to do, something besides fixating on her.
The scent of her shampoo still clings to my skin.
That exotic clean mix of something floral and citrus that doesn't belong out here in the middle of nowhere.
But it fits her usual bubbly personality perfectly.
The notes infiltrate my senses, just as they did last night when I woke up and found her body pressed up to mine.
The feeling of her head on my chest, and the warmth of her steady breaths as they ghosted across my collarbone, stayed with me all through breakfast.
I couldn’t even look at her without wanting to drag her back to the room or throw her down on the kitchen island and finally get a taste of what’s hidden between her legs.
My cock ached through every bite of pancake, every stolen glance across the kitchen.
It wasn’t right. It felt good, too good, and wrong all at once.
I had to slip away, hole up in the bathroom like a damn teenage boy just to get myself under control.
I jerked off with my teeth clenched, trying not to picture her the whole time. I failed.
It’s pathetic. I’m a grown fucking man, more than twice her age, and yet that little fact keeps slipping my mind when I look at her.
I can’t sleep with her again. I shouldn’t have last night. Maybe if I hadn’t, I’d have the ability to walk right now without a limp from my cock being uncomfortably stiff in my jeans.
But the moment she curled into me like I was something safe? I was lost. She doesn’t even realize the power she holds.
When I woke up a few hours after drifting off, she was peaceful and warm beside me, so much for the ample space I intentionally placed between us.
I couldn’t fall back asleep right away. I just lay there like a fucking creep, watching the rise and fall of her steady breath, memorizing the curve of her cheek in the dim firelight.
I want her so bad it hurts, and I shouldn’t.
I’m the last thing she needs in her life.
An old man who’s basically retired and ready to live the easy life out in the country.
She’s got her whole life ahead of her with parties and graduations.
Not to mention first jobs and a second one that comes when you’re fed up with the first sucking the life out of you.
She’ll meet her future husband and have a couple of kids.
I can’t take that from her. It’s illogical and complicated.
Plus, her father would kill me as soon as he found out, and then it’d all be for naught anyway.
I haul another armful of firewood from the stack and head toward the front porch, dropping the load under the overhang to keep it out of the elements.
The wind howls through the trees like it’s got teeth and they’re ready to sink into my skin.
It rattles the eaves and sets the shutters groaning.
I pause, glancing out at the woods. Something about the silence beyond the cabin feels.
.. loaded. Like, even the forest holds its breath, waiting for something to sneak out from its depths.
By now, it’s well past midday. Ava offered lunch hours ago, but I waved her off with some poor excuse about digging out my rig.
It was total bullshit. I’d need a damn snowplow to clear the winding driveway back to the county road, and even then, I’d be lucky to make it half a mile.
The Jeep’s buried past the wheel wells, and the drifts keep building. We're stuck.
I shovel along the edge of the drive, widening the path. My gaze gets sidetracked from my project at hand, catching a wisp of her hair crossing by the window. A gust of wind brings a delicious scent drifting from the kitchen window, which she still has propped open.
She’s baking something. Bread maybe. The cinnamon smells like the bakery I used to frequent near my office downtown when they’d have fresh cinnamon rolls in the afternoon.
I work backward, rounding the side of the shop to dump my last load of snow, and pause. There, half-buried in a drift near the base of a fir tree, something dark pokes through the snow.
At first, I assume it’s a broken limb, too weak to keep hold under the pressure of the mounting snowfall.
But as I move closer, a sick feeling curls in my stomach.
It’s not wood at all. The cloth, faded and fraying at the edges, is a jagged scrap of red plaid.
It’s too thick for a hunting flag. Too soft for a tarp.
I crouch down, heart pounding, and brush the snow away with gloved fingers. More fabric emerges from the hidden depths, revealing a full sleeve ripped straight off a jacket. Something dark stains the underside as I pull it free.
Blood?
But, no. How is that possible? There can’t be anyone around for miles, and this was only partially hidden under the snow.
The closest property is located another twenty miles down the country road, off to the other side, near the river.
If they’d somehow made their way all the way out here in this weather, they’d surely have made it known.
The air in my lungs freezes. The inkiness beneath the trees stretches on just a little too far. It whispers a warning in an ancient language I don’t understand, but one I heed regardless.
I straighten slowly, eyes scanning the property, but nothing looks amiss.
To the unsuspecting, it’d look like a winter wonderland.
A perfect snowglobe come to life. But after Ava’s reactions and a bloody sleeve buried not twenty feet from the cabin, I’m on edge.
I swear, for a moment, I feel like I’m being watched. The hair on the back of my neck rises.
I don’t think it’s an animal moseying out of its den.
“Fuck!” I jump out of my skin when something lands on my shoulder.
Spinning and nearly toppling Ava to the ground, I jolt my hand out to steady us.
“Shit, sorry. I thought you heard me. I wasn’t exactly being quiet on my way out here. What were you looking at anyway?”
I should let her go, but having a hand on her solid form helps my racing heart settle. I look behind me at the snow where the soiled fabric lies like a sacrificial offering.
“It’s nothing, we should get back to the cabin. The sun’s starting to set.” The last thing we need is to be out here when the light dies, and the night swallows everything in its path.
She ignores my words and shoves me out of the way, reaching down to take the fabric into her hands. I want to snatch it from her before she sees the stain on the other side, but I’m stuck in place watching the area around us, half expecting whoever lost it to come running out from somewhere.
“Is this blood?” She asks, her voice full of concern.
“Yeah, I think so.” I snatch the soiled fabric from her hands and throw it to the ground, turning her back toward the cabin. “As I said, let’s head inside.”