Chapter 4
Chapter
Four
ALLIE
Shadows stretch long across the room. Floorboards squeak, and soft country music plays in another room. Pine sap and smoke fill the air as my senses return to me.
I gasp, eyes popping open. I’m in a strange man’s house. In a strange man’s bed, and I just slept for God knows how long.
What in the hell is wrong with me?
Another smell fills the air, too. Something savory and herbal—oregano, basil, garlic, tomatoes.
I rise, stretching before smoothing the blankets. “Stealing a man’s bed without even asking, Allie.”
Bile rises in my throat as I play everything back through my mind. The argument in the bathroom. The bruises Austin saw. The concern that flickered behind his eyes, like recrimination or judgment.
Just like my grandpa.
But nobody understands. Just me and Trevor.
I grab my cell phone, searching text messages as my heart sinks. Nothing. He could still be in the snow freezing. Or maybe behind bars.
All my fault. Hell to pay.
Low, rich tones drift softly with the next song that comes on. Not a bad voice at all. Apparently, Austin is a cowboy in every way—even the crooning part.
But all I feel is rage for the man who put me in this situation. And for what? Some kind of savior thing?
When I shuffle into the living room, hugging myself, the big man stands in the kitchen shredding fresh parmesan. I note the red flannel half-apron he wears. Every bit a frontier cook, too.
“Sleep well?” he asks like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“About that…”
He stops.
“I stole your bed.” I grimace. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
“You needed sleep.” He grabs an oven mitt and leans down to pull a tray from the oven.
“Is that lasagna?” My stomach lurches, mouth watering. No breakfast or lunch today.
He nods. “You okay with that?”
“More than okay,” I reply too quickly. My eyes cast to the side, heat blooming across my face. Trevor would have something snarky to say about my enthusiasm. Too fat. Too ravenous. Insatiable.
But the cowboy chooses silence. Again. He sets the steaming, bubbling casserole dish down on the countertop. Garlic, oregano, and basil waft toward me.
“Smells amazing.”
He grunts, face satisfied.
All of this warmth, this caring makes me feel uncomfortable. Especially after scrubbing his knuckles raw. Like I could wash away what happened, the way I did Trevor’s blood.
My body trembles, panicked. As if a part of me would rather flee out into the snow than stand here soaking up his unearned kindness.
“You shouldn’t have cooked for me,” I say suddenly. “Honestly, I need to go.”
“Go?” His deep laugh booms through the cabin. “In that?” he asks, eyeing the white-washed window.
“Yes, I haven’t heard anything from Trevor yet, and…” My shoulders droop forward, head bowing as tears fill my eyes. “You don’t need to be anymore involved in this than you already are.”
“Don’t worry about me.”
I turn, hugging myself and staring out through thick, lacy veils of snow, drifts already piled above the windowsill. The treeline is invisible, so are the distant mountains, a whitewash.
Floorboards creak until I feel a wall of heat behind me. Pine sap and smoke curl around me as I take a deep breath. My body relaxes, openly rebelling against me.
“Still coming down hard out there,” he grumbles.
“That’s why I need to go.” My voice creaks.
But he and I both know that’s off the table now.
Austin heads for the kitchen, and I sniffle, watching the thick, icy pall descending on the cabin.
“Mack says he’s been booked.”
“Trevor? Really?”
He shifts uneasily, jaw tightening. “Really.”
No judgment.
Still, shame rushes through me in waves. He doesn’t understand. He doesn’t get Trevor and me. But some tiny part of me, doesn’t believe the lie. Maybe I never truly did.
“Drink?” he asks again from the kitchen.
“What do you have?” Resignation threads my voice. I can fight this all I want, but I’m stuck here.
“Tea, hot chocolate, coffee, wine…”
“Wine,” I say flatly.
Surprise flickers behind his eyes.
“Not a fan of hard liquor. But I could use something to take the edge off.” Something to make me stop shaking. And thinking.
He nods. No commentary.
“Can I help with setting the table?” I ask, following the hunky cowboy with my eyes. Broad shoulders and back tapering down to the waist, thick thighs and an ass—
My eyes dart away.
Heat climbs his neck. He nods once.
Caught red-handed.
My cheeks glow as I cross the distance, searching cupboards and drawers for plates and silverware. “You have forks?” I quip, more to myself than him.
He arches a thick, black eyebrow.
“I thought cowboys ate all their grub with spoons out of cans.” Sarcasm drips from the statement.
He shrugs.
“All grunts and shrugs. That your native language?”
He answers with silence.
Thank God for the background music, or I’d lose my mind in this interminable silence. How does someone live like this?
My stomach growls. Legit rumbles loud enough for both of us to hear.
Trevor would have something snide to say. But if Austin hears it, he never lets on.
At the table, I shift nervously, eyeing plates of lasagna, glasses of wine, sparkling silverware. “All we need are candles,” I joke, trying to cut through some of the tension.
The creases in his forehead deepen.
Metal clinks—forks on plates—are the only bridge of silence as we eat.
I can’t take it.
“This day,” I say, shaking my head and surveying the rustic cabin. “Still can’t believe any of it.”
“Can’t believe?” he asks, eyes darting to the bruises on my wrist again.
I pull down my sweater sleeve, trying to erase the mark. Along with the fear and pain.
Impossible…
Maybe unnecessary now.
I stare across the table at Austin. The opposite of Trevor in every way. Quiet where Trevor is loud. Thoughtful where he’s cruel. Steady where chaos used to live.
I thought what Trevor and I had was love. The butterflies in the stomach. The drama. The fighting.
Almost like a proof of devotion through pain.
Maybe that’s how I thought all men work.
But Austin’s different. He gives me space without asking whether I need it—like he’s already decided not to take up more room than he’s been given.
He catches me staring. I bring my glass quickly to my lips, like an alibi, then look away.
“There a problem?”
“No,” I answer, clearing my throat. Working hard to steady my voice. “Just lots on my mind.”