Chapter 2
Chapter Two
Wordlessly, the man led Michelle away from the fire.
In what direction she didn’t know. Everything was mixed up in her mind.
Iron Falls was the nearby town, small and seemingly friendly.
Her father’s property was on the outskirts, still considered Iron Falls yet miles from human neighbors.
Elk, bears, wolves, and foxes roamed these wooded acres and open fields.
As her circulation hastened, the pain in her feet intensified to the point that each step was agony. “Please, my feet.”
The man looked down, seeing her bare feet in the snow. With a shake of his head, he scooped Michelle from the ground, cradling her against his chest as if she weighed nothing when she knew that wasn’t the case.
Those childish thoughts she’d entertained back at the site of the blaze returned.
No longer a woman in her late twenties, Michelle was a child, cradled by her dad.
Trauma seized her thoughts. She rested her face against the stranger’s soft hoodie as heat radiated from his chest, and the scent of burning wood filled her senses.
There was no reason to trust this man.
Were there reasons not to trust him?
In his embrace, as if in the eye of a storm, a sense of security soothed the recent trauma.
In his arms, she was carried.
How far did they travel?
How long had they been trekking through the snow?
While in her trance, once again, large snowflakes began to fall, landing on her eyelashes and cheeks. Michelle was on the verge of being lulled to sleep, an escape perhaps, when in the distance, the sound of sirens rang through the cold night air.
“Fuck,” the man growled.
She lifted her head attempting to determine the direction from which the loud wailing came. “Are those fire trucks?” she asked, the first question she’d posed since asking the identity of the man holding her.
“Probably. Sheriff’s cars and ambulances too.”
Michelle shook her head. “My dad doesn’t need an amb…
” Her words trailed away. With tears teetering on her lower lids, she looked at the man’s face.
Even in the dark, she could make out his chiseled jawline with a dark stubble, prominent cheekbones, and strong, pursed lips—the latter filled with determination.
His strength, demonstrated by his ability to continue to carry her, was evident.
Still, she wondered who he was. “Why are you helping me?”
“I won’t be helping you if they follow us.” He stopped walking.
Michelle followed his gaze with hers, soon realizing they were at the shore of Iron Reservoir, the large body of water created by the Iron waterfalls.
This time of year, the falls and reservoir were frozen solid.
Despite the continued snowfall, with the sun now teetering on the horizon, she could make out shadows on the ice.
She’d seen them before, dozens of small huts—fishing houses—out on the vast reservoir surface.
“This wasn’t my plan,” he confessed as he stepped toward the frozen water.
“I need warmth,” Michelle admitted. “I can’t have that on ice.”
“You’d be surprised.”
The strength Michelle had mustered to flee the scene of her father’s murder was depleted.
Currently, to her displeasure, her future was in the hands of this stranger.
Michelle was stubborn about her independence.
Nevertheless, whether she stayed on the shore and froze or was found by Sheriff Perkins or one of his deputies, she was afraid there would be no future.
The man carried her from the shore to the snow-covered ice.
As they approached one of the buildings, Michelle assessed that the wooden hut was too small to hold both Michelle and the man.
However, after he wedged the door open enough for their entry, the dimly illuminated inside was roomier than she’d imagined.
With a tentative gentleness, the man set Michelle on a wooden bench perched on top of a wooden platform and closed the door. Simply being out of the wind made the temperature within the hut seem downright comfortable.
As the man lit a Coleman lantern, the flame flickered within, bringing both illumination to the interior of the hut and the memory of her father’s home ablaze. Without a word, she took in the surroundings.
There was a small section where there wasn’t flooring. It was opened to the ice, with a round hole drilled nearly a foot into the depths. The hole was refrozen over, giving it a clear dark look. The walls of the hut contained shelves filled with provisions including blankets.
The man reached for one of the heavy blankets and handed it to Michelle. “I want to look at your feet. There could be frostbite. First, get warm while I make us some coffee.”
In the light of the lantern, she could more clearly see his face. Her attention was pulled to the depths of his dark eyes. She looked down and thought about what he said.
Coffee.
Really?
Like a date?
She snickered under her breath. Right. Instead of Starbucks, let’s have coffee in a fishing hut on a frozen reservoir. Michelle pushed that thought away. A man like him wouldn’t ask someone like Michelle on a date.
“Do you have a coffee maker I don’t see?” she asked.
He pointed to a small hotplate, one with an attached gas canister.
As the man pulled the stocking cap from his head, he revealed a dark-brown mop of messy hair.
The next to go were his gloves, exposing strong hands with tattoos gracing his fingers.
Each piece of clothing found a peg on the wall to hang and dry.
He ran his long fingers through his tangled tresses, the length reaching his shoulders.
Staring in his direction within the dimly lit fishing hut, Michelle was certain she’d never met this man before.
If she had, she’d remember. He could be on the cover of a romance book or starring in the latest Hallmark movie.
He’d be the lumberjack in a small-town who helped the New York executive.
The movie would end with her leaving her busy life and them settling in a cabin in the woods.
Michelle’s profession of writing fiction had a way of seeping into her everyday thoughts. The coming to life of the nerves in her feet let her know this wasn’t a holiday movie, and the ending was unwritten.
Curling her legs beside her, Michelle secured the blanket around her waist and legs.
While its texture was scratchy, the added warmth made it worth it.
Within minutes, between their body heat and the lantern, the temperature inside the small fishing hut grew.
The circulation in her feet and lower legs felt as if something was nipping and biting at her flesh.
The jolts were as painful as bee stings.
Pushing the blanket away, she began rubbing her skin.
“Let me look at those,” the man said, his tone less harsh than earlier.
Michelle pulled her feet back under the blanket and met his gaze. “My name is Michelle. I think you know that.”
He nodded as he hunched down near her knees.
“And you are?” she asked for the third or fourth time.
He appeared to consider his answer before replying, “Fletch.”
The name bounced through her thoughts, vaguely familiar. “Fletch, why did you help me—are you helping me?”
He lifted his chin. “First, let me see your feet.”
Raising the blanket, Michelle slowly pushed her feet from the warm covering. As she did, Fletch lifted his cellphone and hit the flashlight app. The bright illumination put her feet in the spotlight as he tenderly lifted her heel and inspected her reddened skin.
“First-degree frostbite, I’d say.”
“Are you a doctor?”
His dark eyes sparkled as he met her stare. “No, I’m not a doctor. I’ve seen my share of injuries, some man-made, others unintended. You couldn’t grab shoes?”
“No,” she answered matter-of-factly. When Fletch didn’t respond, she went on. “There was the gunshot, and I went downstairs, I saw Dad…” New tears clogged her throat. “The fire was already running up the walls. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to go upstairs and make it down again.”
Fletch nodded. “Good decision. I’m not sure what accelerant was used. The house went up fast. I suppose a little frostnip is worth the payoff of saving your life.”
Michelle reached for Fletch’s hand. Unlike in the snow and wind, there were no longer gloves separating them.
For a moment, her gaze lingered on the place they touched.
She felt the tingle of energy coming from him.
He had the hands of a working man, strong and calloused.
Slowly, she looked up, wondering if he was feeling the same electricity.
She cleared her throat. “You saved me. I would have frozen out there.”
“If you were lucky.” He retrieved his hand. “I was more concerned about what would happen if Ralph found you.”
Ralph.
Ralph Perkins.
The sheriff.
“I think he’s the one who killed Dad.” She shook her head at the gravity and implausibility of her statement. Her gaze met Fletch’s. “I didn’t see it happen. It’s a feeling. He was there so quick.” She let out a sigh. “I don’t understand. Why did he kill Dad? What does he want with me?”
Fletch handed Michelle his large gloves. “Put these over your toes. Don’t rub them. That can cause more damage if the frostbite is severer than I assessed.” He exhaled. “The goal is for the skin to warm but not too quickly.”
Taking the gloves, she slid her feet inside. While they only covered up to her mid foot, the fur within was still warm from Fletch’s hands. Next, she covered her feet again with the blanket. When she looked up, he was lighting the small hotplate.
Another flame.
Closing her eyes, she saw the fire consuming her father’s house. With the speed at which the flames climbed the interior walls, incinerating the curtains and furniture, she barely had time to check for her father’s pulse. There was none.
Oh God, she hoped there wasn’t.
What if she missed it?
It wasn’t that she wanted him dead.
She didn’t want him to die by fire.
What a horrible death.
A single bullet would be better.
Fletch removed a large cooler hidden under the bench where Michelle was seated. Within were gallon jugs of water. For a moment, she considered asking why they couldn’t use snow or ice, but the idea that a cooler kept the water from freezing was enough to fill her scrambled mind.
“Is this fishing hut yours?”
He shook his head.
“Then how do you know where everything is?”
“Because people are predictable. All you need to do is open your eyes and look around.” After adding the coffee grounds and water, Fletch turned away from the old-school coffee pot and crossed his arms over his wide chest. “Tell me about Tracy’s death.”