Chapter 4
DARBY
You can sleep over with one of us.
His words echo in my head, tantalizing and ominous at the same time.
For one thing, I know nothing about this guy.
Let alone who else might live here. He seems nice enough but smooth-talking, charming men are an immediate pass for me—especially when they’re gorgeous too.
In the dark, I can’t make out much beneath all the winter clothing, but he’s got chiseled cheekbones for days.
His smug, cocky smile makes me want to punch him in the nuts and run.
Run where, though? Snow piles higher by the minute, and though this area is sheltered from the blowing winds, just remembering the freeway’s shimmering glitter of ice beneath the streams of snow makes me shiver.
The car’s still running with the heater on full blast, but my fingers and the tip of my nose are still cold. I can’t sit here running the car all night, and as soon as the engine’s off, I’ll risk freezing to death. I’m not built like Skadi. I’m already half an ice cube.
He must sense my willpower wobbling. “Look, I know it’s not ideal. You don’t know me from Adam. But there’s nothing else for miles in either direction. I promise a nice warm fire, hot food, all the coffee you can drink, and a comfortable guest bed when you’re ready to sleep.”
My stomach rumbles and Skadi screeches at the mention of her second favorite thing, food. His lips twitch with amusement though he doesn’t say anything else. “How far?”
“The closest cabin is just up the road about a mile. Do you wanna tow your car out now or wait until tomorrow?”
I bite my bottom lip, trying to decide which is safer. I don’t like not having a way to escape, but it’s also cold as balls out here. It’s pitch dark other than our headlights. It doesn’t seem smart to attempt such a maneuver right now, when we could wait until daylight.
Usually I’d talk it out with Skadi, but I don’t want to look like an insane woman in front of a stranger. Though we have a close enough bond that she reaches over and nudges my cheek with her nose in encouragement. “Do you have cell service at the cabin? Or at least reliable Wi-Fi?”
I don’t understand the twinkle in his eyes or the widening curve of his lips. “We’ve got the best damn Internet in the Rockies.”
So I’d be able to message Kirstin and let her know my location. I could even work remotely if needed, though I certainly didn’t plan to log in the rest of this week.
“One of my friends is a former cop if that makes you feel any better.”
I huff out a derisive laugh. “Hardly. How many people live here?”
His grin widens to flash a charming dimple in his right cheek. “Didn’t you see the sign? Mooseville has five permanent residents including me.”
I scowl at him but that doesn’t dampen his smile. “Including the former cop?”
“Yep. Leland was a detective in Chicago before he moved out here. What can I grab for you?”
At least I’d been smart enough to pack a small overnight bag for any hotel stops along the way separate from my larger Vegas suitcase.
In a matter of minutes, I’m sitting high up inside his snowplow with Skadi between us, panting with excitement.
Just wading through snow to my knees the short distance between our vehicles turned my feet into blocks of ice.
With the heater on full blast, the snow melts quickly, dampening my leggings above my boots.
At least they’re fleece lined but I need to let them dry out before heading outside again.
“I’ve never ridden in a snowplow before,” I say to break the silence before it becomes awkward.
“Big Bertha’s been clearing I-70 for years now.”
My lips quirk. “You named the plow?”
“She named herself,” he replies lightly. “I’m Ren, by the way. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Darby, and this is Skadi.” She yips at her name, a happy little bark.
“She’s enjoying the adventure.”
“Some adventure,” I grumble. “We’re stuck in a blizzard in a town no one’s ever heard of.”
He laughs. “Mooseville’s named after our high school mascot. It was a joke to piss off Henrik but it stuck.”
“He’s one of the five permanent residents and another friend, I take it?”
“We’re all friends. We grew up together. Well, the four of us. Alyssa is Doyle’s eighteen-year-old daughter. She’s in Colorado Springs for uni so Mooseville is down to only four inhabitants until she comes home for the summer.”
That makes me feel a little better. Surely an axe murderer wouldn’t have a young daughter, right? “Are you all from this area?”
“Nope. We grew up in Minnesota. Doyle’s residency was at UCHealth in Colorado Springs, and then he worked at Presbyterian a while too. Henrik bought the land and built the first cabin, and then one by one, the rest of us ended up moving out here too.”
“So like it’s a commune?”
Ren let out a sheepish laugh. “I suppose so. All of us had reasons to retreat from the outside world and return to our brotherhood.”
So Doyle’s a doctor, and Leland a former detective. “What did you do before you retreated here?”
“I’ve done a little of everything.” He reaches up to the dash and hits a button. Music fills the cab.
Well then. I guess he’s done talking for now.
I listen to the music, trying to place it.
It’s haunting and lyrical—but then the chorus turns into something closer to hard metal complete with a hoarse, roaring blegh.
The pounding drums and screaming guitar rise to a crescendo, and then the soft, gentle crooning of the male singer returns.
Beautiful tones, really. It makes me miss high school choir.
That was a whole lifetime ago. A different set of dreams. Before reality crushed me.
He turns the volume down a little. “What do you think?”
“Head-banging metal isn’t really my taste but combined with the softer ballad style, I have to say I kinda like it. Who’s the band?”
“Just a group I follow on YouTube.”
He turns to the left up a narrow, winding road with sharp switchbacks that has me grabbing at Skadi to keep her from hitting the dash. Engine roaring to haul us the last steep incline, we finally pause in a clearing with the promised cabin.
Though cabin isn’t really the right word.
Cabin made me think of a one-room lumberjack shack in the woods with an outhouse and no running water.
This fully realized log house has a huge, wraparound porch and an upper level.
The windows are all dark except a reddish glow in the front downstairs window promising a fireplace. It’s rustic—but polished.
“Damn, it looks like Henrik’s out. Go on inside and warm up while I find him. He’s probably out back cutting wood anyway.”
“Are you sure he won’t mind?”
“Not at all. We’ll be just a few minutes. Leave your bags if you want. I can bring them.”
“I’ll just grab my laptop bag since it belongs to the Evil Day Job.”
He laughs. “There’s no one else around for miles but sure. The cold probably isn’t good for electronics anyway.”
Carefully, I slide out of the seat to the running board and then hop out into the deep snow.
Skadi scrambles down beside me, eager to explore, but she’s too well trained to jerk on her leash, even though she’s salivating at all the fresh, unmarked snow.
He waits until I make it to the porch before starting around the house toward the back.
A rocking chair sits on one side of the door with a small side table, perfect for a cup of coffee or a book in the morning.
Though not in this weather. It feels wrong to push open the door without knocking but it’s not locked.
The interior is dark except for the warm glow of banked coals from a large stone fireplace.
“Hello?” I call out just to be safe as I step deeper inside. No one answers as I pull off all my outer layers and remove my boots. I don’t want to track wet puddles throughout the house.
The front room has a large, deep leather sofa with the worn yet cushy look of a bomber jacket.
There’s no artwork on the walls, but a pair of hockey sticks are crossed over the fireplace mantle.
The fire is low, making me think the owner’s been gone for hours.
There’s a basket of kindling and logs on the hearth but stoking the fire seems even more presumptuous than entering the stranger’s house uninvited.
The kitchen is open to the living room with an island bar.
It looks handmade with a curvy live edge slab of wood on top.
All the walls are rounded logs, and the floor is dark and smooth tiles.
Maybe slate? Overall very nice, rustic and masculine, which makes sense for a guy living in the middle of nowhere.
No soft pillows, flowers, plants, or artwork other than the hockey sticks.
I don’t really want to let Skadi have free roam until I meet Henrik. He may not appreciate having a dog in the house—let alone one sniffing around, hopping on his furniture, and generally getting hair on everything. She’s probably thirsty, but I don’t see any pet bowls out in the open.
Sitting down on the sofa—which seems to suck me down into luxurious leather and cushions—I open my backpack.
I always carry some bottled water and a small pop-up bowl for situations just like this.
She drinks an entire bowl, and I take a couple of long pulls from the water bottle myself.
My stomach rumbles, so if I’m hungry, she’s probably hungry too.
I’ve got two cans of her wet food in the bag, but I didn’t bring a can opener.
Damn. Her kibble is still in the snowplow.
Rubbing her ears, I look into her eyes and explain like she’s a person. “As soon as Ren or his friend come back, I’ll feed you, alright? I didn’t bring your kibble inside yet.”
She whines softly as if she understands and hops up beside me before I can stop her. Not everyone allows dogs on their furniture—Neanderthals! But she curls up against me, and she’s so warm and comforting I don’t have the heart to make her get down.
It’s so nice to be out of the car, even though we didn’t make it nearly as far away from Denver as I hoped before we stopped for the night.
The strain of holding on to the wheel and intently staring at the road slowly eases, un-winching my shoulders.
A dull headache threatens, and my eyes burn, threatening tears again.
“Ridiculous,” I mutter out loud, swiping away moisture. “We’re safe. We didn’t crash. The car’s fine. You’re fine. Skadi’s fine.”
She talks back with short little growls.
“Right.” Smiling, I hug her close and let my eyes drift closed to rest just for a moment.