Chapter 22
The last couple miles, Trey walked ahead, tense and cautious. I realized far too slowly that we were being funneled into a single path by snowdrifts, thick brush, and deadfall. Trey stopped a couple hundred yards away from the building and quietly pointed out a cleverly hidden trip line.
“I thought this was a trading post,” I whispered, staring at the trap.
“It is,” Trey answered. “But the mercantile survived this long for a reason. Take off your snowshoes.”
I did as he instructed, then watched, my stomach in knots, as Trey carefully triggered the trip line.
A metallic chime rang, clear and loud, and echoed through the trees.
We stood still for a few seconds before continuing.
Trey didn’t draw his gun, but he kept one hand on it.
He was carefully scanning the trees surrounding the building and missed the second trip line.
More metallic chimes rang, even louder now.
We both froze again, and I squinted in the dim light but couldn’t make out any movement near the mercantile.
Trey continued even more slowly, dropping his hand away from his gun.
We got about fifty yards from the two-story building when a gruff voice cut through the silent night air.
“That’s far enough.”
It was followed by a metallic click, the ominous sound of a rifle bolt engaging.
Trey raised both hands, and I did the same. “Don’t shoot,” he called, voice steady. “We’re friendly. Lookin’ for a room for the night.”
“There more of you?” the voice asked.
I scanned the trees and the building, but I couldn’t see where the voice was coming from.
“Just the two of us,” Trey responded. “Name’s Flint. This is my wife Sara.”
My wife.
Silence, then, “Come on up to the porch.”
As we drew nearer, the patchwork building came into sharper focus.
It appeared to be originally made of brick, but it was reinforced with layers of wooden panels, old metal signs, and sheets of corrugated steel.
Nothing lined up, but all of it was bolted down solid.
The door was made of thick timbers cross-braced with steel, the metal handle worn smooth from years of use.
A handpainted sign read “Plum Creek Mercantile.”
When we reached the porch, a huge form shifted into view from the shadows, and my breath stopped.
The light of the lantern fell across glassy eyes, black fur, and gleaming fangs.
Trey’s hand dropped toward his gun, and my muscles tensed for flight, but the creature stepped farther into the light and we stared at the human face beneath the bear’s.
It was a giant man wearing a bear pelt like a cloak.
Trey let out a slow exhale and his shoulders relaxed.
The man’s bushy brows drew together as he studied us, rifle still held ready, the muzzle pointing at the ground. “Howdy,” he said. “Awful late for you folks to be out.”
“We’re just passin’ through,” Trey said. “You have an open room we could rent for the night?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I do. Not many people passing through in the winter.”
“We like it that way.” Trey smiled, all calm confidence. “Nice and quiet.”
I tried to mimic Trey’s ease, but my hands trembled at my sides. The man’s dark eyes moved to me, and after a breath, his fierce expression softened a little.
“Nice and quiet, huh? Well, come inside. Welcome to Plum Creek.”
We stomped our boots on the porch, trying to knock off some of the snow before following him in, and watching as he locked the front door behind us with a thick iron bolt.
The shadowy shape of shelves filled the room, which smelled like leather and dried herbs and woodsmoke.
A potbelly stove radiated heat in the corner.
“I’m Zeke,” the man said as he leaned the rifle against the counter and shrugged off the bear pelt. “You looking for one bed or two?”
“One,” Trey said without hesitation.
Butterflies erupted in my stomach as I remembered what he’d said last night. I want you in a place that’s warm so I can see every beautiful inch of you without worryin’ about you getting frostbite.
I managed to smile when Zeke’s eyes landed on me, my heart pounding.
Zeke surprised me by smiling back. “I got just the room for you.” He turned and grabbed a key off the wall behind him. “Number 3. Normally we charge extra if you want hot water, but I’ll throw it in for free tonight.”
The surprise on Trey’s face matched my own.
“Thank you. That’s very generous,” I said, hoping he understood how much of a gift he’d given us.
His smile warmed, the expression at odds with his stature. “My pleasure, miss. You folks need anything else?”
When we said no, he pointed to the stairs on the other side of the room and wished us a good night. We climbed up the squeaky staircase and made our way down the hall to the door with a large number three painted on it.
We stepped into the prettiest room I’d ever seen.
Old faded floral wallpaper covered the walls, and a thick green rug lay over the wood floors.
In the corner stood a metal radiator, then a large four-poster bed and a small dresser.
Trey locked the door behind us, and I kicked off my boots before peering into the small bathroom, complete with a working toilet and a large clawfoot tub.
I looked at Trey in astonishment. “This is incredible.”
He grinned. “I’m glad you like it. I wish we could stay longer, but it’s a little too close to the hold for comfort.”
I grinned back, warmth sparking through me. “We’ll have to make the most of it, then.”
His gaze sharpened, but he didn’t move. “You sure you don’t want to get some sleep? Or a bath?” he asked carefully.
Gods, this man. I loved him. I loved him so much that my heart ached with the beauty of it.
“I just want you.”
The emotion that flooded his face made my eyes burn.
He crossed the short distance between us in a few strides, and then he kissed me so fiercely I realized how much he’d been holding himself back before.
I ran my fingers through his hair again, exploring what made him groan against my mouth or made his breath hitch.
He trailed burning kisses down my neck, his tongue dipping into my collarbone as he worked my jacket off my shoulders at the same time.
As soon as it hit the floor, I did the same to his, taking the opportunity to splay my hands across his broad chest. My head tipped back, knocking against the wall as he continued to torment my neck.
Already my breath came in short pants and my skin buzzed in anticipation.
He gripped the hem of my shirt and caught my eyes, silently checking.
I raised my hands, holding his gaze and hoping he could see the desperate want that roared through me.
He gave me a truly sinful smirk and slowly pulled my shirt up and off, letting it drop to the floor.
He stilled, eyes drifting across my chest, and while I still felt flickers of insecurity about the awful brand on my chest, they were easier to ignore when he gazed at me with so much blatant hunger.
I slid my hands under his shirt, searching until I felt the small raised scar on his stomach. That desperate moment when I’d pressed my hands against the bloody wound seemed like a lifetime ago.
“That’s my favorite scar,” he said, his voice low in a way that did something pleasant to my insides.
I rucked his shirt up, but he was too tall for me to undress him.
He grinned and pulled it the rest of the way off, and I let my eyes drift across his naked chest, admiring the lean muscle.
His breathing quickened as my hands trailed up, tracing the same path my eyes had taken, across his chest and shoulders and then down his arm until my fingers brushed the faint scar in the shape of my teeth from where I’d bitten him.
“Not this one?” I purred, a sly grin crossing my face.
His answering look was downright dangerous.
He caught my hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing down to the middle of my forearm.
“I could give you a matching one if you want.” He sank his teeth into my forearm hard enough that I let out a little gasp.
Then he swirled his tongue over the mark, warm and soothing, his eyes still locked on mine.
Gods, I felt drunk, intoxicated by him. “I can think of better places for you to put your mouth.”
He made a strangled noise, surprise mixing with the blazing heat of his eyes, and then he kissed me again. His hips shoved into mine, pushing me back into the wall. He wasn’t holding any of it back now, pouring all of his emotion and need into how he touched me and kissed me.
Let go, I reminded myself. Let him in.
“I lied to you earlier,” I breathed. “My favorite color is the color of your eyes.”
His voice picked up that familiar pleased note. “Brown?”
“Yes,” I gasped as his fingers brushed over my nipples. “I’ve never wanted to get lost in someone’s eyes before I met you.”
“I understand the feeling,” he said hoarsely, watching my face, “because I’ve never seen eyes as beautiful as yours.”
“Green like glass bottles,” I teased, arching toward him.
“You saw right through that, didn’t you?” His smile turned sheepish.
“You’re not very good at hiding how you feel,” I murmured with a smile, reaching up to brush his hair from his eyes. “You live everything you believe out loud.”
He chuckled, then dipped his head and caught one of my nipples in his mouth, and I moaned.
The next few minutes were lost to the sensations of his tongue and teeth and hands on my breasts.
He slowed as he moved upward, pressing his lips to the brand on my chest like he had last night.
I leaned my head back against the wall, emotion swelling at how reverently he kissed the part of my body I thought no one would ever look at with anything but disgust.