Chapter 2
WOLFE
Meghan was sitting on the floor in front of the fire, wrapped in that afghan. I couldn’t stop looking at her.
I’d seen her dozens of times at the roadhouse. Always while surrounded by the crew, always avoiding her eyes when she came to take our order. I’d watch her move between tables, that easy smile on her face, the way she laughed at something a customer said.
She had no idea I existed, and that was fine. That was safer.
But now she was here. Right here, close enough to touch, firelight dancing across her face. And I had no idea what to do with myself.
I stood at the window, pretending to check the storm, but really I was just trying to get my breathing under control.
When the call came in—her name, her address—my heart started racing.
I’d been out the door before anyone could offer to come with me.
Hux had tried to say something over the radio, and I’d shut him down.
I didn’t want company. I didn’t want witnesses to whatever this was.
And now I was stuck here with her, and every word that came out of my mouth sounded wrong.
Protocol. I’d actually said protocol. Like I was reading from some manual instead of standing in front of the woman I’d been thinking about for weeks.
She took a sip of the instant coffee I’d made her over the fire, and I watched her throat move as she swallowed. Then I looked away, disgusted with myself. What was I, some kind of creep? She was just trying to survive a snowstorm, and I was cataloging her every movement like a stalker.
“So,” she said, her voice cutting through the silence, “have you been with the fire department long?”
I should answer. That was how conversation worked. She asked a question, I gave an answer, and we went back and forth like normal people.
“Few weeks,” I said.
She waited, clearly expecting more. When nothing came, she tried again.
“Did you move here from somewhere else?”
“Yeah.”
Another pause. I could feel her frustration even without looking at her. She was trying so hard, and I was giving her nothing. This was exactly why I’d never approached her at the roadhouse. I didn’t know how to do this. I’d never known how to do this.
Growing up, silence had been survival. My father’s moods shifted like the weather—one wrong word and the whole house would explode.
So I learned not to speak unless spoken to.
I learned to fade into the walls, to make myself small and quiet and forgettable.
By the time I figured out that wasn’t normal, the damage was done.
Words didn’t come easy to me. They never had.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and I finally looked at her. “I’m probably talking too much. I do that when I’m nervous. Teddie—that’s my roommate—she’s always telling me I need to learn to be comfortable with silence.”
“You’re fine,” I said. It came out gruffer than I intended.
She pulled the afghan tighter and stared into the fire. I’d made her uncomfortable. No surprise. That was what I did.
I needed to move, to do something with my hands. Sitting still while she looked at me like that was impossible.
“I’m going to check the rest of the house,” I said. “Make sure there aren’t any pipes at risk of freezing.”
It was a legitimate concern, but mostly I just needed to get away from her before I said something even stupider. I grabbed one of the candles from the kitchen and headed down the hallway.
The house was small—two bedrooms, one bathroom, and a little office that had been converted into a sewing room.
I checked each room methodically, holding the candle out in front of me and looking for any signs of trouble.
The bathroom faucet was dripping slightly, which was good.
Moving water was less likely to freeze. I left it alone.
In the guest bedroom, I found where she’d been staying.
The candlelight flickered across a suitcase that sat open on the floor, clothes neatly folded inside.
A laptop and some textbooks were stacked on the nightstand.
I remembered hearing she was taking classes, working toward some kind of degree.
I didn’t know the details. I only knew what I’d overheard at the roadhouse, and I tried not to listen too closely. It felt like cheating somehow.
I stood there longer than I should have, looking at her things. This was her space, temporary as it was. A half-empty water glass on the nightstand. A notebook beside it, the handwriting just visible in the candlelight.
What the hell was wrong with me?
I turned and walked back to the living room. She was still sitting by the fire, but now she had her phone in her hand, the screen casting a blue glow on her face.
“No service,” she said, not looking up. “I keep checking, but nothing.”
“Storm’s too heavy. Might come back once it lets up.”
She nodded and set the phone aside. Then she looked at me—really looked—and I felt it like a physical thing.
Those eyes, brown and warm in the firelight.
I wanted to tell her something. I wanted to explain why I was like this, why I couldn’t seem to string more than a few words together.
But the explanation was too long and too ugly, and she didn’t need to hear it.
“Do you have anyone waiting for you?” she asked. “Family? A girlfriend?”
I shook my head. “Just my dog.”
“You have a dog?”
Something in her voice shifted. Lighter, more animated. I didn’t know why that topic would be any different from the others, but I’d take it.
“Black lab,” I said. “Name’s Midnight.”
“I love that name. Do you have a picture?”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled to my photos.
Midnight was in most of them—lying on the porch, running through the woods, sleeping in a patch of sunlight.
I handed the phone to her without thinking, then immediately regretted it.
What if she scrolled too far? What if she thought I was weird for having nothing but dog pictures?
But she just smiled, her whole face softening as she swiped through the images. “He’s beautiful. Look at that face.”
“She,” I corrected. “Midnight’s a girl.”
“She’s beautiful,” Meghan amended. “How long have you had her?”
“Six years. Got her when she was a puppy. Right after I left the Army.”
The words came easier now. I didn’t know why talking about Midnight was different, but it was. Maybe because Midnight had never expected anything from me. She didn’t need me to be charming or articulate. She just needed me to show up, and I could do that.
“She must be worried about you,” Meghan said, handing the phone back. “Being out in this storm.”
“She’s fine. I left her plenty of food and water. She’s probably sleeping on the heater vent right now, not even thinking about me.”
That got a small laugh out of her, and something in my chest loosened. I’d made her laugh. That was something.
She shifted, tucking her legs underneath her, and the afghan slipped off one shoulder. I saw the curve of her neck, the way her hair fell across her collarbone. I looked away fast, but not fast enough.
When I glanced back, she was watching me.
Our eyes met, and for a long moment, neither of us looked away. The fire crackled between us. The wind howled outside. And I stood there, frozen, knowing she’d caught me staring and having no idea what to do about it.
“I should get more wood,” I said, the words coming out rough. “Fire’s going to need it.”
I was already moving toward my coat before she could respond. I needed the cold. I needed the shock of the wind and the snow to clear my head. Because if I stayed in that room with her looking at me like that, I was going to do something stupid.
Outside, the storm hit me like a wall. I trudged through the drifts to the woodpile, loading my arms with as many logs as I could carry. The cold burned my lungs, but it helped. It reminded me who I was and what I was doing here.
I was here to keep her safe. That was it. That was all.
It didn’t matter that I’d been watching her for weeks. It didn’t matter that I’d started to notice her shifts, that I knew which days she worked and which days she had off. It didn’t matter that when the call came in with her name, my heart had nearly stopped.
None of that mattered, because I wasn’t the kind of man who got the girl. I was the kind of man who watched from a distance, who kept his mouth shut, who stayed invisible.
That was what I knew. That was what was safe.
But as I carried the wood back inside, as I stacked it by the fireplace and felt her eyes on me, I wondered if safe was really what I wanted anymore.
She was still looking at me when I finished. Still watching with those warm brown eyes.
And I let her.