Chapter 8 Lissa #2
Cam nodded. “In those days, there were only about fifty families of permanent residents. Now we have over five hundred.” He cocked his head. “Do you live alone in this giant house?”
Lissa hesitated. Unsure if she could yet trust him. He was still a stranger. Of course, she was the one with a weapon, and he was injured. What the hell. While she could reinvent herself, she preferred to be honest.
“Just myself and my cats. We left a refugee center in Denver six years ago. We’ve been here for the last five.”
“Aren’t you lonely?” His gaze seemed to see inside her, peeling away the walls she’d erected long ago.
One shoulder rose of its own volition in a partial shrug.
Until five minutes ago, she’d have said, “No.” Now she said, “Sometimes.” She took a breath.
“Do you want me to examine your ankle?” She hesitated.
“I was an ER nurse practitioner before.” She seldom thought of the days prior to the asteroid, but certain skills remained part of her identity, and she’d missed taking care of others.
“Yes, please. I can’t tell if it’s broken or sprained.”
She tossed another chunk of wood into the fireplace and swung a large pot of water over the blaze to heat. Cam also needed a wash. She returned the shotgun to its corner, and then she unwrapped his foot, crouching beside him.
His ankle and foot were a mottled dark purple and greenish mess. Despite the grotesque swelling and discoloration, his foot and leg seemed properly aligned, so a full break was unlikely.
To confirm her observations, she said, “Can you put weight on it?”
He shook his head. “Not without a fuck-ton of pain.”
“My guess is, it’s fractured. You need to stay off it for at least six weeks.
” She caught her lower lip between her teeth.
“Perhaps longer if the pain persists and there’s a full break.
” A stone-like lump formed in her stomach.
He would likely have to stay in the area.
The thought created a chaotic mix of emotions.
“I hoped to go home before winter hit,” he said, dashing her fledgling hope.
What neither of them said was that it might already be too late. Even though it was only October, this was a winter storm.
“Do you have family who will worry when you don’t return?” Her cheeks flamed. Would he think she was hitting on him?
“My brothers will notice eventually.” He met her gaze. “No wife or children.” He paused, then said, “This house is gigantic. Would you help me fix up a room while I recuperate?”
“The other fireplaces are gas and don’t work,” she said. “You’d freeze.”
“My candle lantern provided enough heat for the small office where I slept.” He pointed to her fire, where the large pot steamed. “I was on the other side of that wall. If it doesn’t get much colder, I can stay there again.”
Lissa nodded. “I can share my water.”
“Thank you.”
She rewrapped his tensor bandage, making sure it wouldn’t be too tight.
Her fingers were deft and sure, despite her boiling emotions.
She stepped back, feeling the need for more space.
Up close, his potent masculinity was overwhelming—even scruffy and unwashed.
“I have some slightly expired Tylenol if you want something for the pain.”
He nodded. “Thank you.”
“Have you been icing your ankle?” Asking medical questions about his condition helped her focus on what to say.
“Nothing except dragging it through the deep snow when I came the distance between the front door and your back door.”
Her shoulder blades twitched while she collected two tablets from her stash. He must be watching her. She wasn’t used to having someone in her space and found it unnerving.
He took them immediately, washing them down with the last of his water.
She refilled the mug and set it within his reach. “I’ll make an icepack.”
He nodded. “Thank you. That would be kind.”
Lissa slipped into her jacket and stomped into her boots.
“I’ll be right back.” She took the shotgun and her largest bowl.
She hurried through the cold kitchen and her wood porch.
Stooping at the top step, Cam’s boot prints had already almost disappeared, erased by the wind.
She kept her face down to avoid flying pellets of ice.
The world remained white and the house isolated, as if the outside world didn’t exist.
She scooped the bowl into the deep snowdrift by the wall and returned inside. Though she didn’t have anything waterproof on hand, a tea towel would protect him from prolonged contact with the snow and would absorb much of the water as the snow melted.
Returning to her room, Cam hadn’t moved.
She returned the gun to its customary position, feeling foolish for not leaving him alone with her gun.
He didn’t comment. Perhaps he understood trust was difficult to bestow, even if he seemed okay.
She packed the collected snow into an icy lump, wrapped it in doubled tea towels, and clipped the ends together with a clothes peg.
She slid a folded towel under his foot on the second chair.
“Try that.” She glanced at his unlit candle lantern. He must have been near freezing with only that as a source of heat. “It must be considerably warmer here. You can hang out for a while.”
He nodded. “Thank you. I wasn’t looking forward to heading back into the storm.”
Maybe she should let him stay with her. Her stomach churned. He could sleep on the couch. It would be easier to monitor his foot and to share her water if they were in the same place. After the storm, they could figure out a different arrangement.
Before she changed her mind, she blurted, “Would you like to stay here to wait out the storm?” Once again, her face heated. She wasn’t used to talking to people.
“Are you sure? It seems like I make you uncomfortable.” He read her like a book.
She appreciated his direct way of speaking. That helped. “Like I said, I’m just not used to anyone being around.” She swallowed. “You’re the first person I’ve spoken to since I found the house.”
“The first in five years,” said Cam, his eyebrow raised. “I’m honored.”
“You need to keep off your foot, and it will be easier if you stay here for now. When the storm is over, I can move a water jug to your room.”
His mouth twitched. “Any chance some of that hot water is for washing?” He ran a hand over his scruff. He’d been almost clean-shaven the first time she’d seen him. “I’d love to shave.”
“The hot water is for you. I was hoping you’d offer,” she said. “You stink.”
He threw back his head and laughed. Her heart skipped. “I appreciate your forthright manner. We’re going to get along just fine.”