Chapter Ten
Martina
I take the fastest cold shower in the history of mankind, washing only the most important areas. I figure I can stretch it a few more days before I have to shampoo my hair. Hopefully, it won’t be too long, and I’ll be out of here and able to take a warm bath. Not to mention give Charlie a big hug. I smile at the thought.
Still wrapped in the large fluffy towel, I race out into the other room and warm myself by the fire. I rotate, letting the heat hit every part of me.
It’s strange being alone here. On one hand, I’m scared of being in the middle of nowhere during a snowstorm. On the other, I’m not sure I could be in more capable hands than the man who just left to check on his elderly neighbor.
It makes me wonder if Dallas will still be here when he’s Abe’s age. And more—why is he even here in the first place? It’s a question I’ve been dying to get to the bottom of, but every time I see an opening, he changes the subject.
Warm enough now, I shed the towel and get dressed. Pulling my one-and-only hoodie over my head has me thinking—when the propane runs out, I won’t be able to use the washing machine. Hand washing laundry is on the same list as flying. I hate it.
Going off the assumption that I may end up here for another day or two, I eye his stackable washer/dryer unit off to the far side of the kitchen. How much propane would it take for one load? Maybe if I do a quick wash cycle, then hang my clothes near the fireplace to dry, it won’t use too much.
Remembering the laundry hamper in the bathroom, I collect Dallas’s dirty clothes, along with my damp towel, and head to the washing machine. It’s just big enough to fit everything. I’m not sure what comes over me when I pull one of his shirts to my nose and inhale. I almost don’t want to wash it. It smells heavenly—a mixture of the body wash I just used along with a sharp outdoorsy scent of wood, smoke, and citrus that evokes a visceral reaction in the center of my body.
I quickly stuff the shirt into the machine knowing it’s pointless to lust after a guy who is only around me because he’s forced to be. One who will be rid of me as soon as he’s able. And one who, for all I know, is gay.
He’s not.
Something in the back of my mind tells me it’s not possible. That if he were gay, we wouldn’t banter like we have been. Nor would he look at me the way he does when he thinks I’m not aware.
I remove my hoodie and stuff it in on top of the load then add soap and start the machine, hoping he won’t be mad that I used up a little propane. But I only have so many pairs of underwear.
Being an unexpected visitor, I try to be a good houseguest and clean up whatever I can. I sweep the floor. Wipe the counters. Organize his cupboards. But I can’t help looking at the door next to the bathroom. He said it’s a hobby room. He never explicitly said I couldn’t go in there. But somehow I get the feeling it’s not something he’d be too keen on. Still, it calls out to me, preying on my curious nature.
To pass the time, if not distract myself from the other room, I peruse his book collection. The books he has are not ones I would generally read. Mostly autobiographies, finance books, mysteries, and thrillers. I pick one up, recognizing the title, then quickly put it away, deciding I do not, in fact, need to be reading a Stephen King novel about being trapped with a psychopath in a remote location during a blizzard.
I decide on the Matthew Perry autobiography as I’ve always been a fan of Friends .
A while later, I’m startled awake by a loud noise. I must have drifted off while reading. I hop out of bed to investigate, hoping it’s Dallas coming back. Sadly, it’s not. A tree branch snapped under the weight of the snow, only missing the front of his truck by mere inches.
This does nothing to tamp down my nervousness over all the things that could go wrong with Dallas being out in the storm. This is one time I hate being right. Branches can fall and kill you.
Instead of dwelling on all the ways he could be injured, I empty the washer and drape the clothes over the makeshift laundry line I strung from the side of his refrigerator to the bathroom door. I can rotate the clothes periodically, so they all get equal time by the warm fireplace.
When I put a pair of his boxer briefs on the line, another tingle shoots through me. Choosing not to ignore the intense feeling this time, I grab a pair of my panties and hang them right next to his boxers so they’re just touching, figuring it’s the closest I’ll ever get to being in his underwear. I back away, admiring the proximity of our respective undies, and laugh at my adolescent antics.
A sound in the distance has my heart beating wildly. This time it has to be him. I dart to the window and peer out, but the falling snow prevents me from seeing beyond his truck.
I hear it again—the distinct sound of a bark. Oh, God . Is it a wolf? Or a coyote? Do wolves and coyotes bark? For a moment, I picture myself stuck inside this cabin, a pack of hungry animals standing guard outside just waiting for their next meal to emerge.
Then I see movement. Dallas comes into view carrying something that looks heavy on his shoulder, and there’s a dog by his side. My chest heaves in deep relief.
I hurry to the door, throwing it open, knowing the smile on my face tells him just how pleased I am that he’s back. But his face doesn’t reflect my bliss. In fact, his expression is sullen and distant as he climbs the stairs to the cabin.
The dog sees me and trots ahead of him. I squat and am rewarded with a cold nose against mine. “Hey, buddy. Were you lost?” I look up at Dallas. “Did you find him in the woods?”
Dallas shakes his head and I just know what he says next isn’t going to be good.
He walks past me, shuts the door, and drops a forty-pound bag of dog food on the floor, stretching his arms out over his head.
I stand upright, stare at the food and look at the dog. “Don’t tell me your neighbor fled from the storm and abandoned his dog. Because I will hunt him down and—”
“He didn’t abandon him.” He pulls out a chair, its legs scraping on the hardwood floor. He rubs a hand across his scruff and sits. “Marti, Abe is dead.”
A hand flies to my mouth. “Oh my god! What happened?”
I don’t know this Abe. Heck, I just found out about him hours ago, but the thought of anyone dying is exponentially sad. The dog stands next to me and nudges my leg. I sink to the floor and pull him into my arms—which isn’t easy to do considering he’s a Husky.
“He likes you,” Dallas says. “His name is Bex.”
“Spelled B-E-X? Or B-E-C-K-S?”
His brows sling low. “What does it matter?”
I shrug. “I just don’t want to get it wrong.”
“Well, I have no idea.”
I look into the dog’s eyes. His big, icy-blue, sad eyes. “I think you’re Bex with an X. It has more character. And I think you have a lot of character.”
“Bex with an X it is,” Dallas says.
“So what happened to Abe?”
“Best as I can tell, heart attack. And I’m pretty sure it instantly killed him. His whittling knife and a piece of wood he was working on were on the ground under the snow, and his glasses were still perched on his nose.”
“Did you try and resuscitate him?” I say, having trouble getting out the words because I know all too well how horrible it is to be the one to find someone, or someones , after they have passed.
His face carves into tormented lines. “He’d obviously been there for some time. A snow drift was halfway up his legs. He was basically covered in snow except for—" he stops talking and looks away, emotion having clogged his words.
“Except for what?”
Dallas swallows hard and can barely speak. “There was a melted spot on his thigh in the shape of Bex’s head. The dog must have been sitting there for… I don’t know, days even, just waiting for Abe to wake up.”
Tears spill down my cheeks and I hug Bex tighter. “We have a lot in common, you and me,” I say. I run my hand along his gorgeous dark coat. He leans into me as if he needs someone as much as I do. I rub his white underbelly as I tell Dallas, “I’m the one who found my, um… dad. No one else was home. I did exactly what Bex did. I wrapped myself around my dad and prayed for him to wake up. Even at twelve years old, I knew he wasn’t going to, but I stayed by his side for hours, wishing it to be true anyway.”
He closes his eyes. “Damn. That’s messed up.”
He has no idea just how much . “You’re telling me. It took more than fifteen years of therapy for me to figure my shit out.”
He cocks his head. “So you’re older than twenty-seven? I’d have guessed you’re younger.”
“I’m twenty-four.”
“But you said your dad died when you were twelve. That doesn’t add up—” He stops talking and nods slowly. “Oh, got it. Still broken.”
Broken . Yeah, that’s me. I stare up at Dallas, wondering if it takes one to know one.
“Not all therapy is as easy as snuggling a good dog,” I mumble into Bex’s lavish coat. “You’re the bestest boy.” I turn to Dallas. “Will you keep him?”
“Hadn’t really thought about it. But I wasn’t going to leave him there.” He shrugs his backpack off. “I brought some bones and chew toys.”
“You should keep him. I’ll bet he’s great company. So I guess you really need to fix that tower now. You’ll want to tell the authorities about Abe.”
“They’d be in no hurry to recover the body of a deceased elderly man, Marti.”
“But, what if the snow stops and he… thaws.” I barely get the word out as it’s a horrifying notion.
His face pales a bit, mirroring my emotions. “I moved him inside. Animals won’t be able to get to him. I turned off his heater so it’ll stay cold and better preserve him until they can get up here and take his body.”
“Did he have anyone? I mean besides Bex?”
“I don’t really know. It’s not like we talked a lot.”
“Right. Because you mountain men all come up here to get away from that sort of thing.”
“You said your mom died when you were little,” he says, completely dodging my musing. “Does that mean you and your brother went into foster care after your dad passed?”
“Asher raised me.”
Dallas looks almost as curious about that as I am about his past. “Really?”
“He’s fifteen years older than I am. My parents were on the older side when I was born. I was an oopsie . My mom was diagnosed with cervical cancer when she was pregnant with me. She could have been treated, but she’d have lost the pregnancy. She chose me over her own life. I don’t remember anything about her, but Asher does. He tells me stories about her a lot and that makes me feel closer to her.”
He nods. I can tell he wants to ask more, but he doesn’t. He’s not one to pry. And somehow that makes me think he’s also not one to be pried. So I don’t even try.
Belatedly, he looks over my head, scrunches his brow, and asks, “Um, Marti, what are your panties and my boxer briefs doing hanging on fishing line?”
I laugh and get up to rotate them around, my heart frolicking slightly when I touch his boxers. “I hope you don’t mind I did a load. I wanted to make sure we had clean clothes before the power went out.”
His eyes graze over the Yale sweatshirt I forgot I was wearing. “Is that why you’re wearing my hoodie?”
Heat erupts from my chest to my face.
“Yeah. Sorry. Mine was in the wash. I got cold.”
I start to remove it, but he stops me. “Leave it on. It’s only going to get colder in here.”
“About that. Can we use Abe’s propane?”
“I had the same thought. But he was almost out as well. I assume we’re on the same delivery schedule.” He stands and goes for the door.
“You’re leaving again?”
“I’m going to chop some more wood.”
“I’ve seen the pile, Dallas. You have enough to last weeks, I’d say.”
“You can never have too much. Besides, I saw the tree branch that almost hit the truck. I need to use the chainsaw to cut it and move it out of the way for when the weather clears.”
“And exactly when do you think that might happen?”
“I don’t know. But it’s not looking too good.” He opens the door and pauses. “Good thinking about the laundry. See you later.”
He says it like he’s not going to see me for a while. Considering he was just outside for hours, it stings a bit to know he’s choosing to go out in the weather again versus being stuck inside with me. Maybe I was reading too much into those ‘looks’ I thought he was giving me. I guess going as long as I have without dating has made me seriously question my ability to read men.
Through the window, Bex and I watch Dallas diligently chainsaw through the massive tree limb, then cut it up into small pieces, adding it to his ever-growing pile.
I get the idea he uses chopping wood as exercise.
Or an escape. But an escape from what, exactly?
My eyes fall upon the door of his hobby room, and I wonder if all the answers lie behind that old, wood plank door.
I’m not sure how long I sit on the couch and gaze out the window. I lose all track of time and become entranced watching Dallas as Bex lies contently next to me, his head on my thigh as he’s a most happy recipient of all my petting attention.
Dallas stands straight up, stretches his back, and wipes sweat from his brow. He looks over, catching me staring at him. Our eyes meet. He’s at least thirty feet away, but he might as well be right in front of me with how our gazes seem to connect. I don’t blink. I don’t move. I don’t breathe. Something passes between us. Something profound. It’s like desperation, sorrow, and… passion. An odd combination. But nothing about this situation has been normal, why should the way we look at each other be?
He turns away sharply, as if remembering something, and goes back to chopping wood.
“Come on, Bex,” I say, patting his head. “Let’s make dinner.”
~ ~ ~
Ninety minutes later, I’m putting away the last of the clean dishes.
We ate in relative silence, the only sounds being the hum of the generator and the occasional grunt from Bex as he implored us to drop scraps off the table.
Maybe Dallas was worn out from all the hiking and wood chopping. Maybe he was thinking about Abe, or what he’s going to do with Bex. Or maybe he was wondering how long he’s going to be stuck with me.
By the time darkness falls, I’ve convinced myself that nothing passed between us earlier and I was reading far too much into what was probably only a few-second glance and not some deep connection between our souls.
Bex is staring at the front door. I pull on the coat Dallas loaned me earlier. “I’m going to take him out.”
Dallas looks up from his laptop. “I’ll do it.”
“You’ve been outside all day. I don’t mind, really.”
“Don’t go far.”
His eyes hold mine for a moment and the feeling from earlier comes rushing back. I wasn’t imagining things. There is something passing between us.
Then suddenly, he averts his eyes, slams the lid to his laptop, and walks across the room, hand on the doorknob to his hobby room. “Don’t wait up,” he says, then he disappears behind the door.
“What was that?” I ask Bex.
He doesn’t answer. He just nudges my hand with his snout.
“Okay, boy. Let’s go.”
Hours later, I feel Dallas get into bed. I keep my eyes closed and try not to move. The urge to look at him is strong, though I don’t know how much I’d be able to see by the dim light of the fire. I lay still and pretend I’m sleeping until I don’t feel any movement or hear any rustling of covers.
How long has it been? Five minutes? Ten?
When I open my eyes, my breath hitches. Dallas is lying three feet away, his head on his pillow, and he’s staring directly at me. Flames from the fire dance in his eyes. Warmth spreads throughout my entire body as if it were ninety degrees in here instead of sixty.
If circumstances were different, and we weren’t being forced to be together in this small cabin and in this sole bed, I might scoot over and snuggle into him. Let him know I was open to whatever seems to be happening between us. But we aren’t here by choice, only by necessity. And that changes things.
Maybe he can’t tell I’m awake. The fire is behind me. It’s possible he can’t see me staring back at him.
I’m frozen, lost in his eyes. His sad, sexy, dark, intriguing eyes.
Those eyes move away from my face and focus on my chest. Last night I slept in all my clothes. But it was far from comfortable. Tonight, being more confident that I’m not going to be murdered, I put on my normal sleep pants and cami and snuggled under his thick blankets. Those blankets must have fallen away, my shoulders and neck now exposed to the cool cabin air.
The bed creaks slightly as the mattress shifts and Bex appears. I guess the floor was getting cold. He walks in a circle in the large gap between Dallas and me, then settles in next to me. When I reach out to put an arm around him, Dallas’s eyes slam shut. I swear I see him utter the word ‘fuck,’ but it’s dark, so I can’t be sure.
What I am sure of is that he turns his back to me, not giving me another look for the rest of the night. And the reason I know this, is because for most of the night, I’m staring at the back of his head, snuggling a large furry dog, when I know I’d much rather be in the arms of the mercurial man three feet away.