Chapter 4
Chapter Four
“Almost there! Stay with me.” Sheriff Callahan’s voice was barely audible over the howl of the wind. His grip tightened around her hand, and Lily stumbled after the narrow beam of his flashlight.
She had never been so cold in her life. Her eyelashes were crusted with ice, each blink a scrape of frozen needles.
Her breath hitched in uneven puffs, and her legs—numb under the sheriff’s huge jacket—felt like they didn’t belong to her.
Every step was a battle, her makeshift boots sinking into the drifts and threatening to keep her there.
She clung to her mantra, then fragments of half-remembered meditations, until finally she resorted to a simple prayer. Please, God, let us make it to the cabin.
Guilt twisted her stomach when she glanced at him. He was hunched over, shoulders caked in white, making a path in the snow for her to follow. Without his coat and only a baseball hat pulled low for protection, she couldn’t imagine how much colder and more miserable he must be.
Everything had happened so fast. He had her out of the truck and following him blindly before she could think, and the sheriff wasn’t exactly the kind of man you disagreed with.
But she regretted taking his coat and hat now.
They could have at least shared the gloves.
She would find a way to make it up to him.
The thought pushed her forward, clinging harder to his hand when she stumbled.
Her knees hit the snow with a crunch, and she stayed there, too tired to move.
Truthfully, she wasn’t even cold anymore.
Maybe she could just take a quick rest, and he could come back for her, she thought sleepily. She sank lower in the snow.
“Goddammit, Lily, get up,” the sheriff shouted.
That was rude. She frowned and listed to the left, feeling his hard hands hauling her upright.
He might be insanely sexy, but he wasn’t very nice.
He needed an energy cleanse. The thought made her giggle.
Suddenly, her feet dangled in the air and her head hung low, directly in front of the sheriff’s tight ass.
She squinted through the icicles on her eyelashes. Those buns were criminal. Hard and sculpted, filling out his jeans in the best way. Bitable.
“Ow! Christ, woman,” he jerked and hollered again when she giggled. She wasn’t cold anymore, just sleepy. Now all the blood was rushing to her head, making her all floaty, and her laughter turned to a soft hum of contentment.
Just as a cozy darkness blurred the edges of her vision, he dumped her unceremoniously onto her feet. Sheriff Callahan propped her against something solid and dug out his keys from his pocket, his broad back shielding her from the wind.
They had made it, at last, to the cabin.
The door burst open, and they stumbled inside. He staggered forward and slammed the door closed, his breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps. The flick of a light switch, and then a savage, “Fuck!” when nothing happened.
“W-we m-made it,” she chattered through half-frozen lips, sinking to the floor. Nap time.
“Come on.” He hauled her up. “We’ve got to get warm.”
The world tilted violently when he swept her into his arms again.
Lily gasped, clutching his shoulders. The sudden motion made her head spin, though she wasn’t sure if it was the cold, her adrenaline, or the man carrying her like she weighed nothing.
His grip was firm under her back and knees, and protective as he carried her farther into the cabin.
Inside, the cabin was dim except for the beam of his flashlight.
She caught impressions—the glint of a metal woodstove, the shadow of a small kitchen along one wall.
The sheriff shouldered open a door, set her down on the closed toilet lid, then crouched to set the flashlight on the floor beside them.
“What are you doing?” she croaked.
Her lips were so frozen they barely moved, but he must have gotten the gist. “The power’s out,” he answered curtly. He stripped her gloves off and started chafing her hands roughly between his own. “We have to warm up before the hot-water tank gets cold.”
He moved to her feet, unwinding the frozen layers of the satin dress methodically. His face was white and pinched, yet his hands were gentle while he unwrapped one and then the other foot. She nodded numbly, her teeth chattering uncontrollably.
“Get out of this dress. Do you need help?” Snow had frozen on his eyebrows and was melting into his eyes. He wiped the water off impatiently onto the shoulder of his flannel. “Lily,” he said sharply. “Do you understand?”
Lily felt herself nodding automatically at the authority in his voice then frowned. He’s rude and bossy. His chakras are definitely off.
Too frozen still to move, she let him shrug off his heavy coat and hat, which he tossed outside the bathroom, then he turned back to study the front of her dress with a scowl. She wanted to laugh at the look on his face, but her lips wouldn’t cooperate either.
He stood up, slid the glass door of the shower stall open, and twisted to turn the shower on full spray.
The bathroom was small, with what looked like dark paneling on the walls. The only light came from the flashlight, which cast an eerie halo of light on the ceiling. He kneeled in front of her again and grasped her shoulders, frowning as he looked over the front of her torn dress.
His features in the shadows looked menacing. A twinge of nervousness pierced her stupor. Rude, bossy, but, she hoped, not a psycho. He was the upstanding sheriff of Northfield, but you never could tell who was a killer. Wasn’t that how Ted Bundy tricked all those women?
“How does this thing come off?”
She blinked, pulling her thoughts back, and decided to trust him. He was friends with her brother-in-law, Theo, who was practically a saint in her eyes to put up with Amber. One time—
“Lily!” he barked again, and she jumped to attention.
“What?”
“How does your dress come off?”
“B-b-buttons,” she chattered automatically. “B-b-back.” She was so damn cold, sitting on the icy porcelain toilet, she didn’t even care if the sheriff took her dress off. She was past the point of caring about anything besides getting warm again. Was that even a possibility at this point?
He stood up, pulling her into his body as he searched for the line of tiny buttons along her back. Lily let her head fall forward to rest on his stomach, grateful for the heat from his body.
Very solid. Warm. Nice. Hmm.
She rested silently, feeling the tensing and shifting of rock-hard stomach muscles as he wrestled with the dress. Excellent core strength, she thought dimly.
Finally, with a grunt, the dress tore, and the tiny buttons pinged in all directions, filling the bathroom. He guided her to her feet and, in one quick motion, stripped her of the wet, heavy dress. She felt almost weightless with the sudden change.
“What the fuck is this?” He froze, his gaze locking on the lacy white merry widow she wore underneath.
The corset-style lingerie hugged her curves, cinching her waist with delicate boning, the lace cups lifting her breasts almost indecently. Sheer panels skimmed over her ribs, leading down to tiny satin bows and garter straps that clipped to thigh-high stockings.
Oops. She had forgotten about the silly bit of lingerie. A hint of pink warmed her icy cheeks.
Without waiting for an answer, he lifted her again and set her in the shower under the hot spray. Tiny pinpricks of pain covered her body where the water pounded her like knives, and Lily moaned.
“Sorry,” he muttered from outside the stall before she heard the click of it closing.
“S’okay,” she said, leaning against the wall and closing her eyes in relief. Finally, she could relax and thaw out in peace.
The shower door clicked open, and she gasped in shock, her eyes flying open.
“What are you—?”
“Move over. I’m coming in,” Rush said from outside the stall.