Chapter 5
EVAN
“Stop looking at me like that.”
Blue sits in front of me, her eyes wide and bright, and the tags hanging from her collar. I’m trying to enjoy my food, and she won’t stop staring at me.
But she’s not begging. She knows better than that.
Instead, I know she’s judging me. For the way I closed the door in that woman’s face, and for the fact that I’m sitting here now, even knowing she doesn’t stand a chance of getting back down the mountain.
“It’s not my problem,” I insist again to my dog. “She came up here. She can find her way back down.”
It’s not true. Well, she might find her way down in a different way.
I pause with a bite of chili halfway to my mouth, indecision pounding through me. On one hand, my food is almost finished, the cabin is cozy, and I’ve been working my ass off all day. If someone is out driving in this, it’s their fault.
Doubly so because of who she is and who she works for. The fact that she thought she could come up here and offer me some measly sum of money for the land—like McKay Capital Management has been doing for nearly a year now—and I’d happily take it.
Why? I said no to the countless guys they sent, so next comes a gorgeous woman?
Yeah, maybe she has a pretty mix of green, brown, and gold in her eyes.
And my eyes caught the snow in her hair, the red at the tip of her nose, and I wanted to warm her up, invite her inside. Give her the benefit of the doubt.
Maybe something pulled in the center of my chest at the sight of her there, on my front porch in her white coat, like an angel arriving in the middle of the storm.
But I’m not an idiot, or a sucker. And I’m not going to sell my land just because a beautiful stranger shows up in the middle of a snowstorm and asks me to. And if McKay Capital Management thought it was a good idea to send her up here, they can bail her out when she ends up stuck in a snowdrift.
It’s not my problem.
On the other hand, Gramps didn’t raise me to turn away from someone in need. And my gut tells me that anyone driving on the mountain in a storm like this is going to be in need very soon.
“Aw, hell,” I mutter, giving the corn bread—which is still steaming, resting against the ridge of my bowl—one last longing look before I heave myself up from the table, turning and stomping toward my bedroom to get my outside clothes on again.
Blue follows me to the door, her head cocked, and when I realize she wants to come along, I sit down, pulling on her booties and her vest, thinking she might actually be helpful if we need to track this person down.
“All right,” I grumble, sighing before I reach for the doorknob. Blue looks up at me, her head tilted, one of her floppy ears falling to the side as she waits for me to open the door. As I do, I say, “After this, we’re both getting a treat.”
I grab my keys from their little hook and open the front door, only to stop mid-stride when I realize her little vehicle is still parked behind mine, now buried in at least two inches of snow. It’s off, and when I walk around to the driver’s seat, she doesn’t seem to be inside.
“What the…” I mutter, but Blue yanks suddenly and fiercely on the leash, letting out a low whine that startles me.
She never acts like this, but right now, she’s tugging against the leash, practically pulling me through the yard and away from the car, down the road in the opposite direction from town.
The last time I saw her acting like this, there was a family broken down halfway down the pass, their car’s brakes having gone out.
“Blue—” I start, trying to admonish her, but then I see it—a little pinprick in the snow, shining through the flurries, like a fallen star.
And when I get closer, I realize it’s the flashlight from a phone, now partially buried by the snow, which clings to my boots and pants, making it even harder to clomp along the road.
When I get to the little fallen flashlight, I try to remember her name—what did she introduce herself as? Did she get a chance to introduce herself before I shut the door in her face?
A ripple of guilt pushes through me.
“Hello?” I call, but the effort is pointless, because Blue takes off so quickly, darting away, that her leash slips right through my gloved hand. “Blue!”
A scream erupts from down at the bottom of the slope, and I follow the noise until I find something pinned under what looks like a fallen tree.
It doesn’t make any sense. I follow the line of the tree, brow furrowing when I realize it’s stretching up and onto the road. I was just out checking this road yesterday. And I would have noticed if one of these trees was rotting or ready to come down.
“Oh, my God!”
I’m shaken out of my thoughts by the sound of a garbled, high-pitched voice, along with the wet, slapping sound of Blue licking something, and I remember what we’re doing out here.
“Blue,” I say when I get to the bottom of the slope, my calves disappearing in the snow. “Come. Now.”
To her credit, Blue listens immediately, pulling back. My headlamp shines out and onto the tree, under which is trapped a woman-shaped object in a white coat and black slacks.
“Hello?” I call again. “Are you hurt?”
After a moment, she responds, “No. Only my pride.”
To my surprise, I let out a snort of laughter. “Hold on. I’ll get you out.”
What follows is two full minutes of me having to put my hands on her body, helping her maneuver out from under the tree. Her skin is cold to the touch, her nose freezing, her fancy coat doing little to help with the snow, which seeps through it and renders it wet and heavy.
“Th–thanks,” she says when she’s on her feet, which I notice are red—and surely icy, in only flats like that. “I was trying to be quiet. I th–thought she was a wolf.”
I glance at Blue, who sits happily in the snow, her dark eyes shining in the light from my headlamp. The woman beside me shifts almost imperceptibly, but I get the sense that she’s trying to get closer to me, seeking some sort of warmth as she shivers violently.
“Come on,” I say, reminding myself firmly that she is the enemy, that I’ll do the bare minimum and nothing more. “Let’s get you inside.”
Twenty minutes later, she’s sitting in front of the fire, wrapped in a towel and blanket, her wet hair loose around her shoulders, her eyes intent on me as I move through the kitchen, making her a mug of hot tea.
“Thank you,” she says quietly when I hand it to her.
Instead of saying anything, I grunt in response. The moment stretches awkwardly, and I say, “I’m going to change.”
Maybe her cheeks go pink. Maybe they were already that way from the snow and the cold.
When I come back from my bedroom, shirking my wet clothes and putting on a new pair of thick flannel pants and a sleep shirt, the woman is staring halfway into the distance, her mug of tea held up in front of her face, the steam curling up around her nose and chin.
“What’s your name?”
She looks up when I speak, not startled, but clearly having been deep in thought about something else. “I’m Amy Callaghan,” she says, clearing her throat and sitting up straighter, as though the question about her name reminded her who she is, and what she’s here for. “I’m here with—”
I hold my hand up, shaking my head, “No. I brought you in here so you don’t freeze to death out there.” I jerk my thumb toward the front door. “But I don’t want to hear it.”
She stares up at me, then shrugs one shoulder, like it doesn’t matter to her anyway. “How did you know where to find me?”
“Blue found you,” I say, though I did see her phone in the snow. Hearing her name, the dog shifts a bit, rolling on her side so she’s touching Amy’s foot. Amy stares down at her with affection, and a little bolt of something warm moves right through the center of me.
“So she’s a good dog,” Amy says, and when she meets my eyes, I just nod in response.
I don’t want to talk to her, and I’m definitely not answering any questions. I’ve dealt with these people before, and the last thing I need is some sneaky woman getting me to say something I don’t mean.
For all I know, this entire thing could be a hoax, her pretending to be stuck in the hopes that I would come help her.
She might be beautiful and seem harmless, still shivering occasionally with one of my quilts wrapped around her shoulders, but I know better than to let my guard down.