Chapter 4
Savannah
The first thing I notice is the warmth. Not the sticky, humid heat of Florida, but something softer, like being wrapped in an old quilt fresh from the dryer. I blink against the sunlight filtering through a small window and try to make sense of the room around me—dark wood paneling, a battered armchair in the corner, and the faint herbal scent in the air.
This isn’t a car.
I bolt upright, immediately regretting it when the world tilts and spins. Someone presses a hand gently on my shoulder, pushing me back against the pillows.
“Easy there,” says a woman, brisk but not unkind. “You’ve had quite the adventure.”
I crack one eye open, only to flinch and close it again. The room is too bright, the light too much.
After a few breaths, I try again, squinting until my vision adjusts.
She’s standing beside the bed, and her touch to my shoulder is light and reassuring—a woman in her mid-fifties whose sharp eyes seem to miss nothing. Her auburn hair sports a few gray streaks and is tied back in a ponytail, and her navy fleece vest over a flannel shirt is the kind of practical attire that screams small-town sensibility.
“Who are you?” My voice comes out scratchy, dry as sandpaper.
“I’m Mel. Nurse practitioner. And before you ask, you’re in Northwick Cove, at the house of the two brothers who found you stranded. Todd and Colton. Do you remember what happened?”
I rub my temples, trying to piece it all together. The car breaking down. The cold gnawing at my skin. Two tall figures leaning over me. It feels like a bad dream, but the chill in my bones says otherwise.
“Yeah,” I manage to say. “I remember.”
“Good.” Mel moves to the small table beside the bed where she pours steaming liquid from a thermos into a mug and hands it to me. “Here, drink this. It’ll help.”
I take a cautious sip, expecting coffee and wincing when the floral bitterness of tea hits my tongue. “Ugh. Do you have coffee? I think I’ve earned some caffeine after nearly freezing to death.”
Mel snorts, folding her arms. “You can whine all you want, but tea’s better for you right now. Hydration first, caffeine later.”
“I hate tea.” I scowl into my mug.
“It’s good for you. You don’t like it? Too bad.”
The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. “Are you always this bossy?”
“Only when people are too stubborn to take care of themselves,” she shoots back.
I almost smile. Almost.
Since I’m thirsty and not in a fighting condition, I guzzle down half of the contents of my mug. “So,” I say, resting the mug in my lap, “I guess this is where you tell me what happened.”
Mel sits on the edge of the chair, assessing me like she’s deciding how much I can handle. “You were found about fifteen miles from here in a dead rental car. No heat, no cell signal, and temperatures cold enough to make you a popsicle if those boys hadn’t stopped when they did.”
“I wasn’t going to freeze to death,” I protest, though the shiver that runs through me suggests otherwise.
“You sure about that?” She arches an eyebrow. “Because from where I’m sitting, you were a bad decision or two away from it.”
I grit my teeth and push the blanket off my lap. “The stupid, piece-of-shit car broke down. Not exactly something I planned. The alternator belt snapped.” I automatically fall into mechanic mode. “Probably from the cold or wear and tear. I could’ve fixed it if I had a spare, but—” I gesture at my luggage in the corner of the room. “Guess I don’t usually carry one around for fun.”
Mel’s lips twitch, and her eyes sparkle. “You know your way around an engine.”
“I’m a mechanic.” I shrug like it’s no big deal. “Luxury cars, mostly. Back in Miami.”
Mel lets out a whistle. “Miami. You’re a long way from home.”
“Yeah, taking a vacation.” The words slip out like I don’t have a care in the world, but they don’t sit that way in my chest. I keep my voice steady, but my spine’s gone stiff. I don’t owe her the truth. It doesn’t matter how kind her eyes are or how gentle her tone—Northwick Cove isn’t my home, and Mel sure as hell isn’t family. So, I fall back on the version that’s safe, the one that doesn’t come with bullet holes and panic attacks. Just a girl on a break, soaking up some small-town peace and quiet.
“All right.” She stands, brushing her hands on her jeans. “My cousins run the local garage and repair shop. Sounds like you should meet.”
I blink at her. “Why?”
Mel shrugs. “I think they’ll like you.”
“Huh?”
“It’s rare to find a woman around here who can talk car parts without looking like a deer in the headlights.”
Before I can respond, a sharp knock at the door cuts through the room. Mel turns.
“I hear you talking. Is she all right?” a man says.
“Come in, Todd, and check for yourself,” she calls.
The door swings open, and at least six feet of rugged, cold-weather perfection fills the doorway, wearing a flannel-lined jacket, jeans, and a cocky half-smile that would look insufferable on anyone else. But on him? It works.
Florida’s supposed to be good for growth—sunshine, citrus, all that. But from where I’m standing, it’s pretty damn clear Maine’s brutal winters and salt air grow men just fine. I think, my gaze tracing the broad shoulders and easy stance—that whole rugged, outdoorsy thing that shouldn’t be my type but absolutely is.
Mel said his name is Todd, and he looks every inch the capable, small-town rescuer. Broad-shouldered, handsome, and sturdy in a way that makes something low in my stomach tighten. My girl parts, clearly traitors, perk up like they’re waking from hibernation.
“Morning,” he says. “How’re you feeling?”
I quickly school my features, refusing to let slip even a flicker of my thoughts. “Been better.” I lift the mug of tea like it’s evidence. “Mel’s trying to drown me in herbal remedies.”
Mel huffs. “She’ll thank me later. Make sure she keeps drinking it.” She glances back at me, smirking. “And don’t let her bully you into coffee yet.”
“Noted.” Todd’s grin widens, and he watches her leave before he turns his attention back to me. The warmth in his eyes is disarming, and I hate how easy he makes it look, standing there like some kind of flannel-clad knight.
“We’ve sent a tow truck to get your rental,” he says, taking a step closer. “It’ll be at the shop later today. Are you really okay? You gave us a scare.”
I set down the mug and fold my arms, mostly to cover my traitorous nipples who seem to salute the lumberjack, mountain man or whatever he is. “Better than last night. I didn’t realize Maine winters were so... aggressive.”
His chuckle is low and rich and pours over me like the hot, orange-blossom-honey syrup I like over my pancakes.
“Yeah, they don’t mess around. You’re lucky my brother spotted your car. Colton got eyes like a hawk.”
“Uh-huh.” I nod, unsure of what to say. Gratitude feels... too big, too vulnerable, but I owe them. “Thanks,” I manage to say, looking down at my hands. “For stopping. Helping me. For everything.”
“No problem.” He leans against the wall. “We couldn’t just leave you out there. But next time? Maybe don’t trust a rental car in the middle of nowhere without checking under the hood first.”
I bristle, but there’s no heat in his words—just teasing. My lips twitch before I can stop them. “Duly noted, Mr. Lumberjack.”
“Lumberjack?” He cracks up into a rich belly laugh. When he calms down, he sends me another panty-dropping grin. “I’m no lumberjack, I’m a fisherman, and I’m no Mr. Anything. You can call me Todd.”
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach flip, but I shove aside the feeling and down the rest of the yucky tea.
* * *
Colton
The coffee in my mug has gone cold, but I don’t bother warming it. I’m not the least bit interested in drinking it.
I merely sit there, elbows resting on the kitchen table’s worn surface, staring at the swirling grain of the wood like it’s got answers to questions I don’t want to ask.
Todd has gone upstairs.
A woman. There’s a woman in our house.
That thought alone is enough to set my teeth on edge. It’s been years since we’ve had anyone under this roof who isn’t a friend or neighbor dropping something off.
The last one who stayed? High heels, high drama, and higher expectations. Annalise had wanted to turn our cottage into something out of a coastal magazine. She’d smiled sweetly and called it rustic—until the first storm rolled in and she discovered the plumbing wasn’t Instagram-worthy.
And now? Now there’s a stranger up there—someone soft, someone who doesn’t belong in a place like this, who looks so... so out of place .
And my brother?
He’s halfway to falling for her already. I can hear it in his tone, that sparkle he gets when he’s hooked on someone. Doesn’t take much with him. If she’s wearing a skirt, is unattached and under forty, Todd’s interested.
Maybe that’s unfair. Am I turning into a bitter old man—thirty-four going on eighty?
And she wasn’t wearing a skirt. She wore snug, dark-blue jeans that hugged her long, muscled legs like they’d been painted on. Legs that looked like they could stand their ground when the going gets tough. Legs I definitely shouldn’t be thinking about.
And that ass. Goddamn.
I press my palms flat against the table, willing away the thoughts, but they stick like burrs.
Of course, Todd noticed her assets, too. And of course, he’s already making plans in his head. But he doesn’t know her, and hell, neither do I. She could be married with children. What I do know is that she’s a complication we don’t need.
Above me, voices filter through the ceiling. Todd’s rich, easygoing baritone rises above hers and Mel’s, and I grit my teeth against the sound. He’s clearly charmed by her, and he’s desperate for a woman in his life. Why is he pushing for changes? We have a good life. We work hard, make a living by working with nature. Not many women are cut out to live this life.
Hell, our entire town is proof this is a man’s world.
Maybe she’s charming. Maybe she’s funny. But that doesn’t mean she’s sticking around. If she’s smart, she’ll be out of here the second her car’s fixed, back to wherever she came from— back where she belongs.
I glance at the old ceiling that creaks like it’s falling apart, debating whether to go upstairs as well to see what’s got Todd so damn entertained. The idea lingers, like an itch I can’t quite reach, but my feet stay rooted to the floor. I don’t trust myself to see her again, not after noticing what I already have. Not after thinking about how that lean, sinuous body would look underneath those clothes.
Hell, no.
The floor above creaks faintly, and I focus on my hands, clenching and unclenching them like that’ll do anything to ease the tightness in my chest. It’s not just her. It’s Todd, too.
He’s going to get his hopes up. He always does. Sees the best in everyone, even when there’s no reason to. And when it doesn’t work out—when she leaves, because of course she’s going to leave—I’m the one who’ll have to pick up the pieces. Again.
The thought twists in my gut, sharp and bitter. The last thing either of us needs is more disappointment, but Todd never learns. He’s always reaching for something, while I’m the one pulling him back when it slips through his fingers.
The stairs creak. I glance up, tension coiling tight, but it’s not her. It’s Mel. She pops her head around the kitchen archway. She’s a good woman.
“I’m going.” She grabs her coat from the coatrack. “Call me if anything happens or changes.”
I nod. “Will do. Say hi to Gordon for me.”
She gives a small smile. “Will do.” And just like that, she’s gone, and the door clicks shut behind her.
The house falls silent for a moment, and briefly, I let myself hope that’s the end of it, that maybe the woman upstairs is simply catching her breath and won’t be around long enough to stir any trouble.
But then Todd’s laugh cuts through the quiet, rich and full and so damn exhilarated it makes my jaw clench.
No, no, no.
I can’t do this. Not again.