5. Nora
Nora
I jolt awake with a gasp, heart slamming against my bruised ribs hard enough to hurt.
In the dream, the men from the snow were bursting through the cabin door, guns raised, faces twisted.
I sit up too fast and the room spins, log walls and firelight swimming together.
Pain flares sharp through my side. My head throbs hard enough that stars dance behind my eyes.
For one terrifying second I don't know where I am.
The blankets feel wrong. The bed is too big.
This isn't my apartment. This isn't safe.
Strong hands catch my shoulders before I can tip off the mattress. “Easy, darlin'. You're safe. I've got you.”
Colt. His voice cuts straight through the panic, rough and low.
His face comes into focus above me, his eyes finding mine in the dying firelight, his beard catching what's left of the glow.
The cabin. The wreck. The murder. It all comes rushing back in a cold wave, and I sink against the pillows with a shaky breath, my ribs reminding me to move slower next time.
“I had a bad dream,” I whisper, my voice small in the space between us. “They were coming. Right through the door.”
He doesn't pull away. He stays right there, one big hand resting on my shoulder like he can hold the fear off with just that. “They're not getting in here. Not tonight. Not ever, if I have anything to say about it.”
The line should sound like something out of one of my own cartoon strips about overprotective mountain men, all bluster and no bite.
Coming from him it just sounds true. I look up at him in the low light and something in my chest pulls tight.
He's still fully dressed, sitting vigil in the chair he'd pulled close to the bed.
The one bed. His bed. I'm in it, wrapped in his blankets and his flannel shirt, and the realization heats my cheeks even with the fear still sitting heavy in my stomach.
“Will you hold me?” The question slips out before I can stop it, my voice cracking. “I'm still so scared. Just until I fall back asleep.”
He doesn't hesitate. He stands, kicks off his boots, and slides into the bed beside me, the mattress dipping under his weight.
He pulls me in careful of my ribs, one arm wrapping around me so my head rests against his chest. He's warm and solid against me, all broad shoulders and slow heartbeat under my ear, and I fit there in a way that should feel strange and instead feels like the safest thing that's happened to me all day.
His hand moves down my back over the blankets, easy and sure.
“Rest now. I'm not going anywhere.”
I close my eyes and let the warmth of him chase off what's left of the nightmare.
His breath goes even above me. The fire settles low in the hearth.
Outside, the wind keeps working at the walls and the snow keeps coming, but in here it's just his arms and the quiet.
I fall asleep like that, tucked against a mountain man who pulled me out of a wreck twelve hours ago and hasn't let the world near me since.
When I wake again, the cabin is brighter, gray daylight mixing with the low glow of the fire.
The spot beside me is empty, but still warm.
I sit up slower this time, ribs protesting but nowhere near as sharp as before.
Colt's at the counter near the fireplace, moving with that quiet, unbothered confidence that makes everything he does look easy.
He's already cooking, the sound of a pan on the stove and a spatula scraping filling the small space.
There's something more alert about him this morning though, something in the set of his shoulders that wasn't there last night, like he's been up longer than he's letting on.
I watch him for a moment, my cartoonist brain already framing the scene into panels.
Tall, bearded marshal at the stove, sleeves rolled up over forearms that look like they were built for chopping wood, not flipping eggs.
It would make a great grumpy hero strip, if my life weren't currently a thriller instead of a romcom.
“How long was I out?” I ask, my voice still rough with sleep.
He turns, and his eyes find mine right away. “Twelve hours. You needed it.”
Twelve hours. The words settle over me like another blanket. The window shows nothing but white, snow swirling hard enough that the storm must still be going strong. “Everything okay out there? You seem, I don't know, extra watchful this morning.”
Something crosses his face, there and gone fast enough that I almost miss it. “Checked the perimeter at first light. Nothing but snow and my own tracks. Just being careful.”
I want to believe that's the whole answer, and something about the way he says it, easy and unhurried, lets me. He plates eggs and some kind of meat, then brings it over on a wooden tray and sets it across my lap.
“Eat your protein,” he says, a growl running under the words that leaves no room for arguing. “You need it to heal those ribs and that hard head of yours.”
I take a bite. It's simple and warm and better than anything I've eaten in days, and the ache in my chest eases a little with every mouthful. “Storm's still that bad?”
He sits on the edge of the bed near my feet. “Raging hard. Even if those men are still hunting for you, they're not making it up this mountain in this. We're snowed in tight.”
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. The fear loosens its grip, just a little. No one's coming through that door today. Not with the mountain throwing everything it has at the world outside these walls.
He watches me eat for a moment, his face unreadable except for something soft around the eyes. “Anyone we should call? Family? A husband, a boyfriend?”
I shake my head, poking at the eggs. “Just me. And a stack of notebooks full of cartoon ideas that won't get finished if those guys ever catch up to me.”
Something flickers across his face at that, quick and hot, gone before I can name it for certain.
I try for light, my overactive brain kicking in even now. “Your wife should probably know you're out here playing hero with a strange woman in your bed.”
He holds my gaze without blinking. “I'm not married.”
The words land warm in my chest. I shouldn't like hearing that as much as I do. I do anyway.
“Girlfriend?” I keep my voice casual, even as my pulse ticks up.
“No one.”
I like that answer even more than I should. Way more. I take another bite of breakfast and let the warmth of the food, and of him, chase away whatever's left of the nightmare.