Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Nora
The higher we climb, the worse the storm gets.
Rain has turned to snow and it slams against the windshield hard enough to blur the road entirely some seconds, and the narrow mountain trail twisting beneath Rhett’s truck barely looks wide enough for one vehicle, let alone safe enough to drive during a storm that feels determined to bury the entire mountain overnight.
“You sure this road actually leads somewhere?” I ask, gripping the door handle tighter as the truck fishtails slightly around another bend.
Rhett doesn’t even blink. “Yeah.”
“That confidence is honestly starting to concern me.”
“It’ll concern you less when we don’t slide off the mountain.”
I glare at him while he drives one-handed through what feels like certain death.
Infuriating man.
The cab smells like cedar, leather, and cold air every time the wind sneaks through the vents. His massive hand rests loose against the steering wheel, steady and controlled while mine are practically white-knuckled against the seat.
“You’re enjoying this,” I accuse.
His mouth twitches slightly. “Watching you panic? Little bit.”
“I’m not panicking.”
“You almost grabbed my arm back there.”
“I was bracing for impact.”
“Sure.”
I cross my arms tightly and look back out the windshield.
Cocky asshole.
The truck finally crests another ridge, and then I see it.
The cabin.
Warm golden light glows through the windows against the snowstorm, tucked deep between thick evergreens high above Devil’s Peak like something out of a survivalist fantasy. Smoke curls from the chimney while snow piles along the porch railings.
Isolated.
Completely isolated.
The realization lands hard in my chest.
No neighbors.
No nearby road.
No help for miles.
Rhett parks beside a woodpile half buried in snow and kills the engine.
Silence settles instantly except for the storm hammering outside.
“That look on your face is interesting,” he says calmly.
I glance toward him. “I’m deciding whether this is romantic or the opening scene of a true crime documentary.”
His low laugh does something dangerous to my stomach.
“You coming?” he asks.
I eye the cabin again. “Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
The answer comes so easily it almost makes me laugh.
Almost.
By the time we get inside, snow’s clinging to my coat and boots, my fingers numb from the cold. Rhett shuts the heavy wooden door behind us, throws the deadbolt immediately, then checks the lock twice before even taking his jacket off.
I notice that.
I notice everything.
The cabin is exactly what I expected somehow.
Masculine.
Rugged.
Dark wood walls. Heavy furniture. A stone fireplace crackling in the center of the room. Hunting knives mounted neatly beside shelves lined with survival manuals, old maps, and military books.
Everything about the place feels controlled.
Like him.
Rhett takes my bag without asking and carries it down a short hallway. “Bedroom’s there.”
I blink. “You only have one bedroom?”
“Yeah.”
“And where exactly are you sleeping?”
“Couch.”
“That seems uncomfortable.”
“I’ve slept worse places.”
Something about the way he says it shifts the air slightly.
Not softer.
Just heavier.
I stand awkwardly in the middle of the cabin, suddenly hyperaware that I’m alone on a mountain with a man built like violence and entirely too attractive for my own peace of mind.
Rhett glances over his shoulder. “You planning on standing there all night?”
“I’m assessing.”
“Me?”
“The murder cabin.”
His mouth curves slightly again. “Spoken like a true crime reporter. You always talk this much when you’re nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You keep lying to yourself like that, sweetheart.”
Heat crawls instantly up my neck.
Sweetheart.
God.
I drop my bag beside the couch and shrug off my coat. “You call all your kidnapped women sweetheart?”
“You’re not kidnapped.”
“You literally told me I wasn’t allowed to leave.”
“You’re allowed.” He pulls two mugs down from a shelf. “You’d just be stupid.”
I stare at him.
He pours coffee calmly like he didn’t just say that.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re still here.”
That shuts me up for a second because annoyingly, he keeps doing that. Keeps saying things that hit harder than they should.
I move toward the fire instead, rubbing my cold hands together while the heat rolls over my skin.
Behind me, cabinets open and close quietly.
Then Rhett says, “Two sugars. Little cream.”
I turn slowly.
He holds out a mug toward me.
Exactly how I drink coffee.
My brows pull together. “How do you know that?”
“That’s how most people drink their coffee, unless you like it black.”
“I’m not a savage.”
“I am.” He pours his own mug, his eyes intent on me the entire time.
That should not affect me the way it does.
I take the mug carefully, our fingers brushing briefly, and the contact sparks harder than it should. His gaze drops to my mouth for half a second before lifting again.
Dangerous.
Very dangerous.
“You stare a lot,” I murmur.
“You notice a lot.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
His eyes hold mine over the rim of his coffee mug. “Didn’t say it was.”
The tension settles thick between us instantly.
Sharp.
Aware.
I look away first and hate myself a little for it.
The storm rattles the windows hard enough to shake the cabin slightly.
Rhett’s attention shifts immediately.
His entire body stills.
Listening.
Watching.
I notice the rifle leaning beside the front door then. Loaded. Ready.
“You expecting trouble?” I ask quietly.
“Always.”
That answer shouldn’t feel real.
But it does.
He crosses toward the windows next, checking each lock methodically before pulling the curtains tighter closed.
“You do this every night?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“Because of me?”
“Because I live on a mountain.”
Something tells me that’s only half true.
I watch him move around the cabin for another minute, checking the back door, scanning outside through a narrow gap in the curtains, every movement controlled and practiced.
Military.
Protective.
Paranoid.
And somehow all three make him hotter.
Which honestly feels like a personal attack.
“You can relax, you know,” I say finally.
His gaze cuts toward me immediately. “Can I?”
“You’re acting like somebody’s about to break in.”
“They already did once tonight.”
Fair point.
I hate that he keeps making those.
The fire cracks softly between us while snow pounds harder outside.
“You really think he followed me here?” I ask.
Rhett leans one shoulder against the wall near the door, arms folding across his chest. “Yeah.”
No hesitation.
No false reassurance.
Just truth.
My stomach tightens.
“You don’t sugarcoat things much.”
“No point.”
“And the intense staring thing? Is that part of your ranger training?”
His gaze drags slowly over me again, deliberate enough that my pulse stutters.
“No,” he says quietly. “That part’s just you.”
Heat floods straight through me.
God.
I tighten my grip on the mug. “You flirt like a threat.”
“Maybe it is.”
The room suddenly feels much smaller.
Warmer.
His eyes stay locked on mine while the firelight flickers across the sharp angles of his face, catching the scar near his jaw I hadn’t noticed earlier.
I shouldn’t want to move closer.
I do anyway.
Just slightly.
Enough to notice.
Enough that his eyes darken immediately.
“You do realize you’re impossible to intimidate properly?” he asks.
“I’m from Seattle.”
“That explains the attitude.”
I laugh despite myself.
Actual laughter.
The sound surprises both of us.
Rhett studies me for a second longer than necessary before pushing away from the wall.
“Take your boots off.”
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“The ordering.”
“You’re tracking snow through my cabin.”
I glance down.
Okay, fair.
I kick my boots off near the fire while he disappears briefly down the hallway. When he returns, he tosses something toward me.
Thick wool socks.
Dry.
Warm from the fire.
“You keep emergency women’s socks around?” I ask suspiciously.
“No.” He sits on the couch finally. “Those are mine.”
I stare at the massive socks in my hand.
Then at him.
“You’re giving me your socks.”
“You gonna cry about it?”
“You’re weirdly domestic for a man who looks like he fights bears recreationally.”
“Only fought one.”
My eyes widen.
A grin flashes briefly across his face.
“Relax, city girl.”
I point accusingly. “You enjoyed that.”
“Little bit.”
I slide the socks on anyway, and the warmth immediately sinks into my freezing skin.
Rhett watches me the entire time.
Not subtle.
Not apologetic.
Just openly watching.
“You really notice everything, don’t you?” I murmur before I can stop myself.
Something shifts in his expression then.
Sharper.
More focused.
“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I do.”
And somehow that answer feels a lot more dangerous than the storm outside.