Chapter Six
Martina
“Put that fucking thing away!” he yells.
“The hell with that.” I grip it tighter. “You were mauling me.”
He hops out of bed looking mortified and steps as far away from me as he can. Shaking his head, he bends over and rests his hands on his knees. “Jesus, I was having a dream.”
I rehome the knife. “It must have been a doozy.”
He straightens. “Yeah. Sorry.”
It’s just beginning to get light outside. I check my phone. Still no bars. I go to the window and my heart sinks. There’s twice as much snow on his truck as there was last night. When I open the front door, a powdery drift falls inside and instantly starts melting on the floor near my feet.
Feeling defeated, I close the door and shuffle toward the bathroom. Dallas must have the same idea because we almost crash into each other. I hop back and motion to the door. “Go ahead.”
“It’s okay, you go.”
I chuckle. “I guess you’re not used to having a woman around. We tend to take our time in the bathroom. I’ll wait my turn.”
He doesn’t find my joke funny. In fact he looks upset by it. J eez—touchy much?
“I’ll only be a minute. Then I’m going to head out to fix the cell tower.”
The door shuts. I hear the lid of the toilet echo as it hits the back of the commode. Then I hear him pee. There is definitely not much privacy here in this small cabin. The two-inch gap under the bathroom door ensures anyone out here knows exactly what anyone in there is doing. I make a mental note to be sure he’s gathering wood when I need to do certain things.
He brushes his teeth, and I hear the faucet running for a while. He must be getting a drink of water. When the water shuts off, I hear him mumble, but I can’t quite tell what he says.
A moment later, the door opens.
I snort. “Not one for showers?”
He sits on the couch, pulls on heavy boots, and laces them. “Marti, I’m about to climb a tower and chisel off any built-up ice from the antennas. Believe me, I’ll need a shower when I return. No need to waste hot water.”
He grabs his coat and is headed for the front door when I look down at my phone, surprised at what I see.
“Yes!” I scream, holding up my phone like it’s a winning lottery ticket. “I have bars!”
He drops his head in relief, pivots, and sinks back down onto the couch. “That’s definitely a good thing. Because after getting so little sleep, I probably shouldn’t be climbing anything .”
He didn’t sleep? Because I’m here? I guess if you’re a hermit living in the middle of nowhere, having another person around can really throw you off your game. Or maybe he has social anxiety and can’t function well around others. That and a million other questions about this mysterious mountain man lurk in my head. But I push them all aside, because I have to make a call.
“I need to call my son,” I say.
Dallas’s face pales. He stands, pinches the bridge of his nose, then puts his coat on and goes for the door. “I’ll give you some privacy then. And I’ll call for a tow.”
“Thanks.”
First things first, I think as soon as he’s outside. I need to talk to Charlie and Anita, but my bladder is screaming to be emptied. I spin around and go into the bathroom, making quick work of using the toilet and washing my hands. Seeing his toothbrush reminds me that I don’t have one. I don’t have anything. All my stuff is in the trunk of my car. But with any luck, the car will get towed shortly and I’ll be on my way to Charlie.
I squirt some toothpaste onto my finger and rub it over my teeth then rinse. Looking in the mirror, I realize I desperately need a shower. I drove all through that first night, so it’s been a minute since my last one. My gaze shifts to a shelf where there are lots of amazing hair products. My stomach flutters just thinking about him running his hands through his hair. I’ve never been a big fan of men with long hair, so why I’m having this visceral reaction is quite confusing.
My phone makes pinging noise after pinging noise. Texts and voicemails are finally coming through. Most are from my brother. Asher has been worried about me as I didn’t arrive at Anita’s, nor did I check in. One is from Bug, telling me her dad is freaking the fuck out.
I won’t tell him his twelve-year-old used the word fuck. She’s at that awkward tween stage where she’s more than a kid but not quite an adult, and when I think about our relationship, she’s more like a sister than a niece.
I scroll through my contacts and find Anita’s number. I sigh. What she must be going through. I’m devastated over Charles’s death. He was my best friend and my son’s father. But Anita was his wife. When we last talked, early yesterday, she barely had a voice left after all the crying. Selfishly, I’ve wondered if she’s even been able to console Charlie.
I press her number and she answers quickly. “Marti! Where are you? Everyone has been worried sick.”
“Sorry about that. I’m okay. But my car isn’t. It’s wrapped around a tree. There was a storm and cell service was down and this guy found me and let me crash at his cabin and—”
“Wait, what? Slow down. You got in an accident? What guy?”
“I’ll explain it all when I get there. We have a tow truck on the way. I should be there later tonight. More importantly, how are you? And how’s Charlie?”
“Charlie’s okay. He knows something’s up because I’m not my usual self, but I didn’t think it was my place to tell him. My parents and cousins have been keeping him busy.”
“And you? How are you holding up?”
After a long moment of silence, she blows a breath into the phone. “Everyone is asking me all kinds of questions about the funeral arrangements. Marti, I have no idea what to do.”
“Are you asking my advice?”
“Yes. Please. You knew him better than anyone.”
There is no jealousy in her voice when she says it. She knew our history. She also knew Charles loved her way more than he ever loved me—in the romantic sense anyway.
“He wouldn’t want a funeral at all, Anita. Or a gravesite where people feel obligated to visit. He wanted to be cremated. And he wanted a party to celebrate his life rather than a reception to mourn his death.”
“That’s what we’ll do then. Will you help me plan it?”
“Of course. Anything you need.”
“Marti?”
I can tell by her tone that what she’s going to say next is monumental. “Yeah?”
“I’m going to move back here. There’s nothing for me in Florida now. I mean, I’ll miss Charlie, but I have to be around family, you know?”
Suddenly, it hits me like a ton of bricks. I’m not sure why the thought hadn’t occurred to me before. I’m going to be a full-time mom.
Charles and I were co-parenting. Charlie lived half the time with him. I’ve always been a part-time parent. We separated before Charlie was born. From the moment he arrived, we split custody fifty-fifty. It was the right thing to do. Charlie has been loved beyond belief and has thrived being raised this way.
But now—oh my gosh—he’s going to be with me one hundred percent of the time.
I love my son, and I’m happy he’ll be with me, but it’s going to be a huge adjustment for both of us. How am I going to tell him?
“It’s the right decision,” I tell her. “You need to be around family. And you’ll always be welcome to visit.”
“Are you ready to talk to Charlie?”
“Yes. So he knows nothing? Where does he think Charles is?”
“I’m not sure. We just change the subject or redirect his attention when he asks.”
“Okay. Put him on.”
“It’s Mommy,” I hear Anita say.
When I hear Charlie’s happy squeal, my heart clenches. Is his world about to be destroyed, or is he young enough to adapt and recover without long term damage?
“Mommy!”
“Hey, buddy. Miss me?”
“Miss you lots and lots. Gwammy Jane has a pool. But it’s too cold. And Nita’s sister has a dog. I want a dog.”
Oh, the mind of a three-year-old. “How are you, Charlie? Are you being a good boy for Nita?”
“Yes. The dog is called Joe. Isn’t that a funny name? Mommy, where is Daddy?”
Oh, boy . “Did you see all the snow outside? It’s why Mommy didn’t get there yesterday. Lots of people are having a hard time getting where they need to be because of the snow.”
“It’s pwetty,” he says. “Will you make snowballs with me?”
“Yeah, buddy, we can make snowballs. I’m going to see you very soon, okay?”
“Okay, bye.”
Anita gets back on the line. “I don’t envy you having to tell him.”
“I guess I have a little more time to think about it. I’ll call you when I’m on the road again. Hopefully it won’t be too long. Stay strong, okay?”
“Okay.”
The next call I make is to my brother.
“Where in the ever-loving hell are you, Martina?”
“Well hello to you too.”
“I’ve been going fucking crazy. Did you fall off the face of the earth? Because if not, there is no reason you couldn’t at least respond to my goddamn texts—all twenty of them.”
I don’t tell him he’s being over-protective again. Asher is more than just my brother. After Dad died when I was twelve, he became my guardian. I swear most days he thinks he still is.
“Calm down. I’d have texted if I could. Cell service was out here.”
“Where is here? Because I know you’re not with Charlie.”
“No. But I will be soon.”
I explain everything that happened over the past day. It does nothing to tamp down his big-brother worries. “Who in the hell is this guy, and what do you know about him? Jesus, Martina, you spent the night with a stranger in the woods?”
“What would you have me do, Ash, freeze to death in my car?”
“What’s his name again?”
“Dallas. Dallas Montana.”
Asher is quiet for a moment. Then he says, “Holy shit. As in Dallas Montana of Montana Winery?”
I eye all the wine bottles on the wall. They make much more sense now. I laugh as I pull one from the rack and read the label. “I suppose that would be the one.”
“The guy’s a billionaire. Or at least his parents are.”
I gaze around the meager cabin. “Seriously?”
The front door opens and Dallas walks through, looking pensive and not at all happy.
“Listen, I have to go. I’ll keep you updated. There’s a tow truck on the way, and I’ll rent a car in the nearest town and be at Anita’s parents’ place by dinner.”
“Stay safe, little sister.”
I hang up and turn to Dallas. “So? When will it get here?”
He shakes his head. “There isn’t going to be a tow truck. Not today anyway.”