Chapter Three
Maggie
I might be out of my mind, running up the hill to see where the shots went off. What if this person is going to shoot me? What if I get hurt in the process? Who the hell do I think I am?
A knot tightens in my chest as I approach the path to my grandfather’s cabin.
Less than half a mile away, the cabin stands barely upright beneath the snow, with boards that sag and warp.
The cabin wasn’t much when my grandpa was alive, but it looked better than it does now.
We only used it during the hunting season.
He would take me out here on the weekends to learn how to track and shoot.
My grandpa even taught me how to move silently through the woods so animals wouldn’t hear me.
A skill I’m about to utilize. I park in the middle of some trees and turn off the engine.
Grabbing my rifle, I take off toward the cabin.
Smoke comes from the chimney, which means someone is inside. No one should be in there.
Should I call for help? Maybe call the police to assist me?
I sigh, knowing they take an hour to get anywhere near me, and I don’t have time to wait for them.
The snow crunches under my boots as I make my way up the path.
I’m attempting to be as quiet as possible, but the snow is not helping my case.
Another gunshot rings out, echoing through the trees. I rush forward, boots slipping on the icy wooden steps, and Brutus is stuck to my side like glue, barking. A hint of smoke and old, musty, damp wood wafts to my nose. My heart pounds wildly in my chest.
I grip my gun with the barrel aimed straight at the open door. I learned from one of the best hunters in town, my grandfather. His voice whispers to me, as if he were right behind me: Hold still, Mags. Remember, the Bennetts never miss when we aim.
I swallow the lump in my throat, hoping I won’t have to test that tonight. I've never killed anyone before, but if I have to, I will.
The scene inside nearly stops my heart. A man stands there, shirt torn and clinging to him. Blood drips down his forearm. His arm trembles as he swings his gun at me, his eyes burning with fury but also pain.
Brutus growls, his teeth showing. He's in a standoff with the stranger who is pointing his gun at me.
My hands tremble, holding tightly to my weapon. I keep my eyes locked on him and try to squash the panic bubbling in my gut.
Out of nowhere, his knees give out, causing him to crumple to the ground. The gun slips from his grasp and crashes to the floor. His body hits the floor with a thud.
I stand frozen, staring at this stranger with blood seeping from his side.
In an instant, I forget about my safety, and my nurse's instincts kick in. I lower my rifle to my side as I approach the stranger. He’s flat on his back, breathing shallow while his chest rises unevenly.
I drop to my knees, pressing firmly with my fingers against his neck. A faint, thready pulse vibrates under my fingertips. I let out a relieved breath.
“Brutus!” I command, pointing toward the door. “Go get Mama's box.” He hesitates at first, looking past me toward the guy on the ground. I stroke his head, rubbing behind his ears. “Momma’s okay. Go!”
He bolts outside. I press harder on the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. My hands grow sticky, covered in his blood.
Brutus runs in, carrying the handle of the emergency box in his mouth. I pat his head. “Good boy,” I tell him as I grab it from his mouth. I flip it open, rummaging around for the scissors and gauze.
Taking the scissors, I cut my sleeve off my arm, and fold it over a few times until it's thick, then press it against the wound. I wrap gauze around his abdomen tightly, then tape it, sealing it as best as I can.
My hand lightly touches his torso, and he lets out a soft moan. A sudden chill floods my body as I watch his stomach rise and fall with each shallow breath. The way his abs glisten from a sheen of sweat. I pull myself from staring at this man’s naked torso and shake my head.
“Hold on, big guy,” I mutter.
It’s clearly been too long since I’ve been with a man.
I scan the old, rundown cabin for something to help move him out the door.
Out of the corner of my eye, on top of the refrigerator, I spot a rolled-up white linen.
Reaching on tiptoes, I pull it down and nearly sneeze when a pile of dust hits me in the face.
Wiping myself off, I rush over to the man’s side and lay the blanket on the floor.
Outside, the wind howls, and the snow falls heavily.
“Okay, this is going to hurt,” I say. I slide his front half onto the blanket, then move the bottom half last. I grunt and inhale a deep breath. This man is built solid and is dead weight.
I run down the stairs, taking a step into the front seat of my side-by-side, shifting it into reverse, and moving it close to the steps. Removing the old snowboard I keep in the back for hauling fallen logs on the land, I place it on the top step and rush back inside.
I grip the edge of the sheet with both hands, then tug him inch by inch towards the door. Every muscle in my body screams with pain, dragging his dead weight. To the gym I go; I’ve turned into a weak duckling.
By the time I reach the front porch, my body is hot and sweaty, and I’m out of breath. I drop the sheet, flexing my fingers to shake out the burn from the fabric. Just a few seconds.
Brutus takes a bite of the sheet and starts pulling, trying to help.
I smile and whisper, "You're such a helpful boy. Let’s try this together.”
Together, we bring him to the top of the stairs. I stop, hands on my knees, and take a shaky breath. I survey the icy snow steps, then the snowboard.
Think, Maggie... think.
The temperature has dropped significantly, and the wind also. I can’t afford to waste too much time thinking of the best option. We need to go home, so I can examine his wounds more closely.
Carefully, I roll him onto the board.
I take a deep breath, steadying my legs on the porch. “Alright. Let's do this,” I murmur.
The board slides on the icy steps. I push it but my feet slide against the slippery slush.
I shove the board, and it slides inch by inch. My boots dig into the slick porch, and I sway, slipping more. Several minutes go by, and I finally give it one hard push, ramming the board onto the back.
I shut the tailgate, and glance around, finding Brutus already in the middle of the seat, shaking snow from his coat.
The storm thickens, and the air grows colder by the second.
I look at the man bleeding on the snowboard, with a face pale.
Am I doing the right thing? I have no cell phone service deep out in the woods, so I can’t call anyone.
Not that someone would or could come in this weather.
But somehow my gut is telling me I’m safe.
I take another look at the half-frozen, bleeding man before turning and hitting the gas heading home.
I continue gazing at him. It’s hard to tell his age with the snow covering his body like a blanket, but something about him fascinates me.
Faint creases in his brow and strong broad jaw, add to his attractiveness. Even though he is unconscious, he’s sexy.
I shake those thoughts away. Focus, Maggie.