Chapter 4
Nick
Nick moved through the hotel, inspecting the boarded-up windows and the structure of their temporary shelter.
The building had good bones despite decades of neglect—solid timber framing, a stone foundation that had endured countless Wyoming winters, and a roof that held against the battering wind outside.
A few nails securing the boards on the window openings were loose, the glass long gone. He’d wondered about the condition of the windows when they were gathering their gear and had grabbed a hammer from his toolkit, just in case.
“How’s it looking?” Gina asked, appearing beside him as he examined the main windows facing the storm.
“Solid enough,” he said, appreciating how she naturally fell into step with his assessment process.
“Some of the windows aren’t as secure as I’d like, but they should be fine.
We’ll still get some snow inside.” He gestured toward some of the wider cracks, the build up already evident.
“Won’t be too bad. No roof leaks I can see, so that’s good. ”
She nodded, already thinking ahead. “We should set up our sleeping area away from the windows. That back corner by the fireplace would be the warmest and most protected since there aren’t any windows, though I don’t think we should light a fire.
The chimney probably has a bird nest in it or something. ”
“Agreed.” Nick met her eyes. “You’re good at this. Staying calm, thinking ahead. Most people would be panicking right now.”
A slight smile tugged at her lips. “Most people don’t work in an ER. You learn to problem-solve under pressure.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” The words came out more honest than he’d intended, but he didn’t take them back. “The portable camp stove will work safely indoors. We can set up a cooking area near the fireplace.”
They worked in comfortable silence for a few minutes, falling into an easy rhythm. Nick handed her items; she arranged them. When their hands brushed over a water bottle, both of them paused.
Gina pulled back first. “So, how long have you been doing construction work?”
“Since I was sixteen. Used to pick up work from a neighbor. He told others about me, and I managed to turn it into a career.” He connected the camp stove’s fuel line. “Fourteen years of swinging hammers teaches you a lot.”
“What made you leave?”
Nick’s hands stilled. “Complications. The kind that make staying in one place . . . difficult.”
She didn’t push, just nodded like she understood about complications. “Well, their loss is our gain today. We’d be in rough shape without you.”
“Just glad I can help.”
“Brooke won’t want to come into the room. She’ll insist on staying in the hallway.”
He shook his head. His cousin was an odd duck sometimes, and today was definitely one of those times. The weird way she was about not wanting to stop the hike, and now insisting on the building being haunted. “What’s up with her?”
Gina stepped closer, close enough that her perfume—subtle and sweet—wrapped around him. The soft scent, mixed with her nearness, sent a jolt straight through him, quick and unexpected. And for a moment, the storm outside didn’t matter. He drew in a slow breath, trying to steady himself.
“We were up here a couple of years ago with a few friends,” she whispered. “We came into this building, and while we were inside, all the doors blew shut at the same time, making an awful racket.”
“Okay? Wind?”
“You’d think, but not that day. It was completely calm. She ran out. Our friends and I stayed inside, but—here’s the weird thing—all the doors were open when we checked them.”
“Wow,” he said, wondering exactly what could have caused the door-slamming noise.
“Yeah. The mistake we made was telling Brooke about the doors being open. She’d probably have been okay, thinking it had simply happened, but when we told her what we found, she freaked.”
He wasn’t really surprised. Brooke had always been hyper focused on things.
He knew just the idea of the building being haunted would unnerve her, whether it was true or not, and Nick leaned heavily toward not.
But Brooke wanted things a certain way, and if that way differed in the slightest, she didn’t handle it well.
Take her training plan. She didn’t like to deviate from the program she had in writing.
Once it was set, as far as she was concerned, that was it.
Rain or shine, even a blizzard, she would do what the day called for.
He knew that Brooke’s focus was an asset as far as being a successful business owner, but it was sometimes a hindrance for her mental health.
He hoped she realized that the storm wouldn’t be an issue in the long run for her completing the Moose Range Run 100. What did a mile or two matter?
He continued to think about Brooke as he and Gina worked together naturally; she organized their food supplies while he sorted through his camping gear.
She had a systematic approach that spoke of experience managing logistics, either from her job or life experiences.
One of Brooke’s friends had started the running group, but both Brooke and Gina played pivotal roles in the club.
He’d heard enough about Gina from his cousin to know Gina often organized group runs and coordinated with other runners.
“You’ve done this before,” he observed, watching her create an efficient camp kitchen from their combined supplies.
“Group camping, mostly. Trail running trips where we end up staying overnight in remote areas.” She glanced at his setup. “You clearly have too.”
Nick felt heat creep up his neck. He shouldn’t be embarrassed about his housing situation, but he couldn’t help it. “I’ve been camping a lot lately. Since I’ve been between places.”
The words came out more defensively than he’d intended, and he saw something flicker across her face. Not judgment exactly, but a kind of careful evaluation that made him feel like he was being measured and found wanting.
“Between places,” she repeated neutrally.
“Yeah.” He focused on connecting the camp stove, not wanting to see whatever expression was on her face. “It’s temporary. I’m figuring things out.”
But even as he said it, Nick knew how it sounded. A year of couch surfing and living out of his SUV wasn’t “temporary” anymore; it was a lifestyle. And not the kind of lifestyle that inspired confidence in someone as put together as Gina clearly was.
Outside, the wind howled with increasing intensity, and the temperature inside the old hotel was dropping noticeably despite their body heat and the shelter of the walls.
“Storm’s getting worse,” Joe called from his position near the front windows, peering between the boards. He’d been quiet since they brought things inside, clearly exhausted from the trek down and still struggling with the altitude. “I can’t even see my truck anymore.”
Nick moved to check the view between the wooden window slats and confirmed Joe’s assessment.
Snow was accumulating at an alarming rate.
Visibility had dropped to near zero, and the wind was driving snow horizontally across the ghost town.
This wasn’t just a passing mountain storm anymore; this was a serious weather event that could last for hours. Days, even.
“What do you think about the road conditions?” Gina asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.
“No way anyone’s driving out of here until this passes,” Nick replied. “And even then, we’ll need to wait for the river to drop.”
He saw Gina process that information with the same calmness she’d shown all day. No panic, no complaints, just acceptance of their situation and mental adjustment to the new timeline.
It made him acutely aware of his own mixed feelings about being trapped here with her. Part of him was relieved to have more time in her company, to continue the easy partnership that had developed during their crisis management.
But a larger part of him knew this forced proximity would only make it harder to maintain realistic expectations about what he could offer someone like her.
“So, we’re here until tomorrow at least,” Brooke said from her position in the doorway, her voice tight with frustration, and her stance suggesting she was ready to bolt at any second. “This completely destroys my training schedule. I had back-to-back long runs planned for this weekend.”
“Your training schedule can survive one disruption,” Gina said gently. “Elite athletes deal with weather delays all the time.”
“Elite athletes don’t have my history of failure,” Brooke snapped, then immediately looked stricken. “Sorry. I know this isn’t anyone’s fault. I’m just stressed about the race.”
Nick exchanged a glance with Gina, both of them clearly concerned about his cousin’s mental state. Brooke’s fixation with things had always been intense, but this level of desperation was troubling. It was almost like an addiction.
Kelsey continued her nervous patrol of the windows, checking and rechecking the limited view outside.
Her anxiety seemed disproportionate to their situation, and Nick wondered what had her so on edge.
She didn’t seem to care about stopping the run early, like Brooke did, but there was something else.
Maybe the idea of being stuck in the ghost town of Bearwater was the issue for her as it was for Brooke.
“We should do an inventory,” Gina suggested, clearly trying to give everyone something productive to focus on. “Food, water, emergency supplies . . . figure out exactly what we’re working with.”
They spread everything out systematically—his camping supplies, the gear each person had in their packs, their combined food and water. It was enough to keep five people alive for several days, if necessary, though Nick hoped they wouldn’t be here that long.
“This is great,” Gina said as she surveyed everything. “We’re actually in pretty good shape.”
“Thanks to Nick’s stuff,” Joe added, still looking pale and tired. “Good thing someone was prepared for the apocalypse.”
Nick felt that familiar defensive tension. “Just prepared for camping,” he said mildly, though he knew Joe was right. His supplies were excessive.
Gina was quiet, but he could see her putting pieces together. His extensive supplies, everything organized for mobility . . . it painted a clear picture.
The temperature kept falling as the storm gathered strength. They had a little time yet, but nightfall would force their hands. Even with the old building for shelter, staying warm through what promised to be a long, bitter night was going to take some planning.
“We should stay closer together,” Nick said. “I’ve got a small tent we could set up. It won’t fit everyone, but it’d give us a smaller pocket of space. Maybe we can drag some things in here and block off a section so there’s less area. Maybe our body heat would keep it somewhat warm.”
Gina nodded, a smile tugging at her lips. “Good thinking. You’re right. We could take turns napping in the tent. And something warm to eat will help keep our energy up.”
Brooke shook her head, then looked toward the exterior door. She dropped her shoulders. “I suppose I’d better. I don’t like it, though. This place is creepy.”
“You’re not wrong,” Gina agreed. “But with us all together, it’s a little less creepy.”
“I guess.” Brooke sighed and moved toward them.
Setting up the tent took only a few minutes. The two-man backpacking tent was small, but it did provide a private area and helped compact the space.
“There’re chairs strewn throughout the building,” Gina said. “We could move them in here and use the emergency blankets to make a fort.”
“Great idea.” Nick couldn’t help but smile at her. “That’ll especially help during the night.”
Working side by side, Nick felt the pull toward her intensify. The way she made him feel included and needed, the way they moved together without needing to discuss every step—it felt right in a way that scared him, like they clicked on so many levels.
But she deserved someone whose life wasn’t built out of borrowed spaces. Someone who wasn’t still pretending that “between places” was just a phase.