Chapter 9
Thomas ducked back into the hollow with his final load of wood—hopefully. This third load came from a deadfall he’d found wedged against the rocks upstream.
Frost clung to his eyelashes, turning his vision crystalline at the edges, and his fingers had gone past aching into the dangerous numbness that meant frostbite wasn’t far behind.
He blinked hard to clear his sight and get his bearings in the cave.
Kate had already wiped the snow from the last two loads he’d brought, and those branches stood like a wall around the fire, drying. Nice that she’d done that without him asking.
She sat huddled near the fire and started to stand as he dropped his load, but he motioned for her to stay put. “I’ve already knocked most of the ice off these.”
Her gaze turned hesitant. She watched him another moment, then settled back to her former position—knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped around them. The firelight caught the exhaustion in her face, the way her shoulders curved inward.
“Thought you’d gotten lost out there.” Her voice carried the edge he was beginning to recognize as her defense.
“Missed me, did you?” He dropped the wood near the fire and crouched to feed the flames. “I’m touched.”
She didn’t take the bait. Just watched him as he knelt by the fire and shucked his wet gloves so his hands could feel the heat.
He focused on the fire—if he only fed a log at a time, this should be enough for the flame to burn slow and steady through the night.
The night. The word sat heavy in his chest.
He glanced around the cave. Stone walls. Stone floor. Ice on one side, casting everything in that eerie blue-white glow.
The fire helped, pushing back the worst of the cold, but the chill still seeped from the ground like water through a cracked dam.
They’d need to sleep eventually. And there was exactly one spot in this whole frozen hollow that offered any protection from the wind feeding around the edges of the waterfall and the cold radiating through the rock—the narrow strip of floor between the fire and the back wall.
One spot. Two people.
He flexed his fingers closer to the flames, their color shifting from white to mottled red as sensation crept back in painful increments. The tingling burned worse than the cold had—like a thousand needles working their way from bone to surface.
He needed to address the sleeping arrangements. Ignoring the problem wouldn’t make it disappear, no matter how much he preferred to pretend they could both hover near the fire all night without collapsing from exhaustion.
He shrugged out of his coat and fought to keep from huddling against the icy breeze as he spread the garment on the flattest section of stone near the fire. The wool still held dampness from the snow, but also a bit of warmth from his body. It wasn’t much, but better than bare rock.
“Here.” He gestured at the makeshift bed. “You should try to sleep. I’ll keep the fire going.”
Kate’s eyes narrowed. “And where will you sleep?”
“I’ll manage.” He moved to the cave wall and sank down, fighting hard against a grimace. Once he settled, he pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them. The stone pressed cold and hard against his back. “Done it plenty of times out with the herds. A man learns to sleep anywhere.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She didn’t move toward the coat. “You’ll freeze.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’ll be dead by morning, and then I’ll have to explain to your brothers how I let their youngest sibling turn into an icicle out of some misplaced sense of chivalry.”
Despite everything, a laugh escaped him. “Misplaced chivalry? I think you mean common decency.”
“I’m calling it foolishness.” She pushed to her feet and swayed slightly—exhaustion or cold pulling at her. “I’m not taking the only warm spot while you sit there and freeze. That’s not how this works.”
“Then how does it work?” He kept his voice light, but something in his chest had gone tight. “Because from where I’m sitting, our options are limited.”
The silence stretched between them, filled only by the crackle and hiss of the fire. Kate stood with her arms crossed, chin lifted in that stubborn way he was beginning to recognize. The firelight caught the gold in her hair, the determined set of her jaw.
She was going to fight him on this. Of course she was. Kate McKinney would rather freeze than accept help she hadn’t asked for.
“We share it.” Her words came out flat, matter-of-fact. “The space. It’s the only practical solution.”
Thomas blinked. Of all the arguments he’d expected, that wasn’t one of them.
“You’re sure?” He kept his voice even. “I don’t want you to feel—”
“I feel cold.” She cut him off, already moving toward the coat. “And tired. And if we’re going to survive this night, we need to be practical. Body heat is the most efficient way to stay warm. It’s simple fact.”
Simple fact. Right. Because that’s all this was—a matter of practicality and survival. Nothing complicated about sharing warmth with a woman who was making his pulse jump.
He rose from the wall and helped her arrange the space.
The arrangement felt awkward—the kind of necessary intimacy that came with survival—but still made his heartbeat kick harder than the cold warranted.
Kate settled onto his coat first, her movements careful as she positioned herself on her side facing the fire. Her spine stayed rigid, every line of her body radiating awareness of the space he would occupy behind her.
He lowered himself onto the makeshift bed, his ribs screaming protest at the movement. The coat beneath them did little to cushion the stone, but it blocked some of the cold seeping from the ground. He lay on his back, leaving a careful few inches between them.
The gap felt both too much and not enough.
He pulled her cloak over them both, the fabric settling over her and reaching to cover part of his chest. The wool still carried dampness but also held the heat from the fire. Better than nothing.
Her breathing had gone shallow. He could hear it even over the fire’s crackle. Her shoulders stayed tense, drawn up almost to her ears.
“You can relax.” He kept his voice low. “Tension makes you colder.”
“I’m perfectly relaxed.”
The lie was so obvious he almost laughed. Almost. But the situation felt too precarious for humor, balanced as they were between necessity and something he didn’t want to examine.
“Kate.” He waited until she turned her head slightly, enough that he could see the line of her jaw in the firelight. “I’m not going to…I won’t do anything you don’t want.” The words caught in his throat. What was he even trying to say? That he was honorable? That she could trust him?
The silence stretched long enough that it seemed maybe she wouldn’t respond at all. Then her shoulders lowered, not much, but enough to see the shift.
“I know.” Her admission came out barely above a whisper. “If I thought otherwise, I wouldn’t be here.”
Something in his chest loosened. She trusted him—not fully, maybe not even mostly—but she’d made a calculation and decided he wasn’t a threat. Given everything that had happened, given the way his family had lied to bring her sister here, that small concession felt like more than he deserved.
He let the quiet blanket the space. Tried to force his own body to relax.
The stone was still cold, even through the coat. Kate’s teeth chattered despite her attempts to hide it. The fire crackled, but its warmth only reached so far.
He forced himself to focus on the blaze. The flames had settled into a steady burn now, fed by the wood he’d gathered. If he was careful, it would last through the night. He’d need to add another log soon though. Maybe in an hour.
“This isn’t working.” Kate’s voice came out tight. “It’s still too cold.”
She was right. The gap between them might as well have been a canyon, letting the chill pour through.
Thomas stared at the ice curtain, watching the firelight dance across its surface. Would she allow him to…? The only way to find out was to ask.
“I’m going to...” He motioned between them. “I’ll block the cold from behind.”
A pause. “All right.”
He inched closer, then curled around her, not quite touching but close enough that her warmth seeped through their clothes. His arm hovered for a moment before resting on her waist—the most natural position, the one that would share the most heat.
Kate went rigid. Every muscle in her body seemed to lock up, and for a moment it felt like she’d pull away, demand he move, remind him exactly how little she trusted him.
Then, slowly, she exhaled. Her shoulders dropped. She let herself lean back, just slightly, into the warmth he offered.
“Better?” His voice came out rough, and she could probably feel his breath on her ear.
“Better.” Barely a whisper.
The fire popped and calmed. Wind howled somewhere beyond their shelter, muffled by ice and stone but still audible—a reminder of the storm that had trapped them here.
He focused on keeping his breathing steady, on not noticing how perfectly she fit against him, on not thinking about the fact that this was the closest he’d been to a woman in longer than he could remember.
“I hate this.” Kate’s voice broke the silence, so quiet he almost missed it.
He tensed. Being so near to him? He should pull back. But maybe he should make sure of her meaning. “The cold?”
“The helplessness.” She shifted a tiny bit, and he felt the tension still coiled in her frame. “Clara is out there somewhere, and I can’t do anything. I can’t protect her. I can’t even get to her.”
The raw edge in her voice cut through the distance he’d kept between them. He’d heard her sharp and defensive, seen her angry and suspicious. But this—this was something else.
Something true.
“James will take care of her.” He kept his voice low. “He’s the most responsible man I know. Probably already has her warm and fed at that farmhouse up the trail.”
“You don’t understand.” Her body tensed even more, as tight as her voice. “Clara is all I have. She’s the only one who’s ever...”