Chapter 4 - Cole
Dawn breaks, but I've been awake for hours.
Sleep was a losing battle from the moment I closed my eyes on this too-small couch, my body tense and my cock harder than it's been in years. The thin blanket I threw over myself did nothing to hide the evidence of what that woman—Ruby—has done to me without even trying.
I fought it at first. Stared at the ceiling. Counted my breaths. Recited equipment maintenance protocols in my head. Anything to distract from the knowledge that she was sleeping just feet away, her curves wrapped in my sheets, her scent sinking into my pillow.
Nothing worked.
Around 2 AM, I gave in to the inevitable, wrapping my hand around my aching shaft, gritting my teeth against the shame that flooded me alongside the pleasure.
I told myself it was just physical release—a biological response to having a woman in my space after so long alone.
Nothing personal. Nothing that meant anything.
But as I stroked myself beneath the blanket, it was her face I saw. Those wide green eyes. That flush on her cheeks when our fingers touched. The soft curve of her hip when she limped to the bedroom.
I came harder than I have in years, biting my forearm to keep silent, disgusted with myself even as the relief washed through me.
Now, in the pale morning light filtering through the windows, I can't even look at the closed bedroom door. What kind of man jerks off thinking about an injured woman who sought shelter in his home? A woman half his age who's completely dependent on him right now?
The kind of man who left civilization because he couldn't trust himself around people. That's who.
I pull on my heavy coat and boots, needing to escape the suddenly stifling cabin.
Outside, the storm still rages, snow piling up against the walls of the cabin and obscuring the path to the woodshed.
The thermometer by the door reads 12 degrees.
The wind makes it feel much colder, biting at my face as I step off the porch.
Good. I need the cold. Need something to shock my system back to reality.
I trudge through the snow toward the shed where I keep extra firewood, my breath clouding in front of me.
The physical exertion of breaking trail through knee-deep snow helps clear my head.
By the time I've loaded my arms with logs and started back, I've convinced myself I can handle this situation like an adult.
She'll be gone soon. Just one more day, maybe two at most, and then my life returns to normal.
The isolation I've chosen. The silence I've earned.
I pause at the porch steps, looking out at the landscape transformed by snow. It's beautiful in its desolation. Clean. Unforgiving. Honest. Everything the world of people is not.
Yet for the first time in years, I feel a pang of something like doubt. Is this really better? Living like a ghost, touching no one, being touched by no one?
I shake the thought away and kick the snow from my boots before opening the door. The warmth of the cabin wraps around me, along with the scent of coffee. My head snaps up to see Ruby standing in the kitchen area, supporting herself against the counter, my coffee pot in her hand.
"I hope you don't mind," she says quickly. "I wanted to do something useful, and coffee seemed safe enough."
She's wearing one of my old shirts, an old Army PT shirt that hangs to her thighs, and nothing else that I can see.
Her dark hair is tousled from sleep, her cheeks pink from the cabin's warmth.
The sight of her there, in my kitchen, looking so soft and rumpled, sends blood rushing south again despite the cold I just subjected myself to.
"It's fine," I manage, my voice rougher than usual. I dump the firewood in the rack by the hearth, keeping my back to her as I remove my coat and boots. "How's the ankle?"
"Better, I think. Still hurts, but the swelling's gone down."
I nod, still not looking directly at her as I cross to the thermostat to check the cabin's temperature. "Storm's not letting up. We're looking at another day at least before the roads will be clear enough to get you back to town."
When I finally turn to face her, she's biting her lower lip, her eyes worried. "I'm so sorry to impose like this. I feel terrible taking your bed and—"
"It's fine," I repeat, cutting her off. I can't handle her apologies. Not when she has no idea what I was doing while thinking about her last night. "Coffee smells good."
She brightens at that, turning to pour a cup. The movement causes the t-shirt to ride up slightly, giving me a glimpse of the curve where her thigh meets her ass, covered by simple white panties. I jerk my eyes away, my cock instantly hardening again.
Fuck. I'm not going to survive another day of this.
She holds out the mug, and I take it slowly, ensuring our fingers don't touch this time. The coffee is exactly how I like it: black and strong. I raise an eyebrow in surprise.
"I noticed how you had your supplies arranged," she explains with a small shrug. "No sugar or milk anywhere near the coffee."
Her observation skills are better than I gave her credit for. "You're right."
I take a long drink, using the mug as a shield between us. She pours herself a cup as well but adds a generous amount of sugar from the container on the counter.
"I checked the weather on your radio," she says, gesturing toward the ancient emergency radio I keep in the kitchen. "Sounds like we're in for another day at least, just like you said."
The "we" catches me off guard. There hasn't been a "we" in this cabin... ever. It's always been just me.
"You should stay off that ankle," I say, nodding toward her injured foot. "The couch is more comfortable than standing."
She nods and begins to make her way back to the living area. I instinctively step forward to help her, then stop myself. Touching her right now would be dangerous.
But she stumbles slightly, wincing in pain, and my body moves before my brain can object. I'm at her side in two long strides, my hand at her elbow to steady her.
"Thanks," she murmurs, looking up at me with those green eyes. This close, I can see golden flecks in them, like sunlight through forest leaves.
I grunt in response, helping her to the couch before quickly stepping away. "You hungry?"
"A little. But please don't go to any trouble. You've done so much already."
"Need to eat anyway." I move to the kitchen, grateful for something to do with my hands that doesn't involve touching her. "Eggs okay?"
"Perfect."
I busy myself with breakfast preparation, aware of her presence on the couch behind me. For eight years, my routine has been mine alone. No one to cook for. No one to make coffee for. No one watching me with curious eyes as I move around my own space.
"So what do you normally do all day up here?" she asks, breaking the silence. "When you're not rescuing lost hikers, I mean."
I crack the eggs into a bowl. "Depends on the season. Hunting. Fishing. Cutting firewood. Maintaining the cabin. Reading."
"What do you like to read?"
The personal questions make me tense, but I find myself answering anyway. "History. Some philosophy. Survival manuals. Whatever Jim brings from the trading post."
"Jim?"
"Guy who runs the store about twenty miles down the mountain. Only person I see regularly."
I glance over my shoulder to find her watching me intently, like I'm some puzzle she's trying to figure out. It makes me uncomfortable in a way I can't quite define. Not bad, exactly. Just... exposed.
"Must get lonely," she says softly.
I turn back to the stove, focusing on not burning the eggs. "Told you yesterday. I prefer it."
"Nobody prefers complete isolation, Cole." My name on her lips stiffens my cock. "Humans are social creatures. Even introverts need some connection."
"Maybe I'm not human then," I mutter.
Her laugh catches me off guard. "The evidence suggests otherwise."
I serve up the eggs and carry two plates to the living area, handing her one before taking a seat in the chair across from her. I keep my eyes on my food, afraid of what she might see if I look at her directly.
"The storm," I say after a few minutes of silence. "Will anyone be looking for you? Family or friends?"
She shakes her head, pushing eggs around on her plate. "Not really. I was supposed to check in with a friend once I got back to Denver, but that's not for another three days."
The information both relieves and troubles me. No immediate search parties to deal with, but also no one looking out for her. No one who would miss her if something happened.
If I were something that happened.
I push that thought away hard.
"What about you?" she asks. "Does Jim know you have a guest up here?"
"No. I only go to the trading post once a month. Not due for another two weeks."
"So, it's just us then." There's something in her tone I can't quite read. "Completely cut off from the world."
My eyes lift to meet hers, and the look on her face makes my mouth go dry. There's caution there, yes—she's not stupid—but something else too. Something that looks dangerously like interest.
She has no idea what she's playing with.