2. Dawson
Chapter two
Dawson
There's a stranger inside my home. It's easy to see with the muddied sneaker and sack at the entrance.
Must've forgotten to lock my cabin in the rush of getting to Emily. Leaving to deal with my little sister's power outage has earned me a burglar in return.
Silently shutting the door behind me and trapping the sounds of the storm outside, I reach behind me out of habit, frowning when I realize my gun isn't on me.
Didn't think I'd need it when Emily called, panicking. Now I'm worried someone else may have found it.
Muttering a curse under my breath as I take off my boots, not wanting to make a sound, I hear the familiar pops of a fire.
What kind of burglar feeds a fire?
I get my answer pretty quickly. Carefully entering my home, searching for any signs of life, I find a ball of a woman curled up on my couch. Not a burglar, but a trespasser.
How can someone help themselves to another person's home so casually, and then fall asleep?
But that's not the biggest issue here. It's the familiar flannel that's covering her top half. Barely her lower half now that my eyes are lingering. Instead of wondering what she's wearing beneath my shirt, her ankle snags my attention.
There's a poorly wrapped bandage around her swollen joint. Loose enough to be more of a problem than a fix.
Gone for two hours, there's no telling what all this woman has gotten her hands on. I should be immediately waking her up and asking her what she thinks she's doing. Obviously, this isn't okay.
The low rumble of distant thunder makes me wonder what this person was doing out there in the first place. Surely, she knew about the storm warnings. Hell, anyone who either lives on the mountain or plans on hiking it always checks the weather.
She appears harmless and not at all what I expected as I awkwardly look around and try to decide what to do.
Feeding the fire and heating up leftovers keeps my hands busy; I'm too distracted to move manually. My hands feel like the movement is automated. Every time I turn, my eyes land on her. On that messy brown hair spilling over the cushion.
I'm pretty sure she used my shower from the smell lingering in the air.
I should scold this woman the moment she wakes up. The list of reasons why is growing by the minute.
What if she'd stumbled inside of the wrong cabin? Just because I'm more laid-back doesn't mean my neighbors are.
It's not until the smell of soup is filling the home that I hear it, the soft pad of feet against the ground.
Preparing myself for this interaction shouldn't be so difficult. It's just a woman.
I turn around, bracing myself to play the part of the gruff, wronged homeowner. I have a whole lecture lined up. Why my cabin? Why touch my things? How can she easily be so trusting?
But the words die in my throat.
She’s leaning against the doorframe of the hallway, looking small and fragile, clutching the oversized hem of my flannel like a shield.
But it’s her eyes that knock the air straight out of my lungs.
They’re wide, a little glassy from sleep, and a startling, forest green that hits me like a physical blow to the chest.
Oh. Oh fuck. She's pretty. Even more so when her cheeks suddenly turn a deep scarlet. Well, there goes my quiet life. My sanity, too, with the way my thoughts fizzle out right then and there.
Seeing me standing and staring has her shifting back just enough to hide behind the arch, but I don't miss the way she limps.
"May as well take a seat. You've already helped yourself enough as it is." The words come out as they should, but they're missing the bite needed.
"I-I can explain." Her voice is soft, wavering with nerves. Maybe fear, too. Hard to tell, but I know I don't like it.
I'm not that scary, am I?
"Do it over some food. Unless you've savaged my fridge while I was gone?"
She shakes her head and hesitantly moves forward. As she walks, she tries not to wince with every step.
"Have you taken any painkillers?" Grabbing a second bowl, I fill it to the brim before setting it in front of her. "Your wrapping skills are terrible."
Shaking her head, she looks at the food longingly before I hear it, the soft rumble of her stomach. "I've never really needed to learn, thank you."
With a surprised bite to her words, I can't help but crack a smile at that.
Disappearing long enough to grab a bottle of pills, I set them down in front of her, fetching her water to drink. Now that her needs are taken care of, my attention moves to her injury.
I drop straight to my knees on the floorboards right in front of her.
"Give it here," I order, my fingers curling in an unspoken demand for her foot.
She sputters, a beautiful flush creeping up her throat, but she doesn't pull away. Slowly, she lifts her leg and rests her ankle against my thigh.
My calloused hands look massive against her pale skin, entirely too rough for something so delicate. But the moment my fingers brush her skin, goosebumps prickle up my arm.
An instant, stubborn urge to protect her takes root, so deep it catches me off guard.
I don't just want to fix the wrap; I want an excuse to keep my hands on her.
"It's going to loosen to the point of being a tripping hazard. Don't be stubborn, little trespasser." Looking up, I catch her staring down at me incredulously.
"Lucia," she corrects, scoffing at my nickname. She looks at her ankle and grimaces at its swollen state. "It hurts, so be careful."
"You're quite bossy, Lucia." Saying her name just to feel it against my tongue, I put my focus on her ankle instead of her flush.
Carefully cradling the joint, I frown at the heat radiating off her skin.
Brushing her toes with my thumb, they twitch in return.
Not broken or bruised, so that's good. "Want to tell me why you were traveling in the middle of a storm? "
Lifting my gaze, I watch her frown. "I was trying to prove a point."
"If it was against nature, I think I can see who won." Carefully unwrapping her work, I smile at her scoff. Redoing the wrap, I have to tighten it enough for support, which earns me a groan from her. "Are you a hiker?"
"Hardly." Sighing under her breath, her toes curl each time I brush the underside of her foot. "More of a camper."
I don't need another growl of thunder to answer for me, but I still shake my head. "Kind of dangerous to plan on sleeping out in this mess. If you're some kind of risk-taker—"
"I was trying to prove a point," she says, repeating her words. "My friends placed a bet that I couldn't do it, that's all."
Seriously?
"You risked your life for some money?" Maybe if it were a large amount, that would be one thing, but still—
"Fifty bucks was not worth all of this." Grumbling the words, she finally takes a bite of the soup and sighs. "Tomorrow, I'm going to figure out how to get off this mountain. I'll never come back."
A sharp spike of refusal hits my chest before I can even process it. Walk away? No. Not happening.
I don't know what upsets me more—the fact that she risked her safety for pocket change, or the casual way she talks about walking out of my life before she’s even truly entered it.
She has no business being out in those woods alone.
If she needed fifty bucks that badly, I would have given it to her myself just to keep her safe inside.
"Uh, sorry to break it to you, but you're not leaving tomorrow.
" Hitting her with the truth, I notice the look of fear in her eyes in return.
"Fuck, no. That came out wrong. That storm out there?
It's not stopping until the end of the weekend.
No one is going to risk driving out there with the chance of fallen trees and the rock slides. "
She blinks, confused. "I'm stuck here?"
I can tell her it doesn't have to be here, but the words won't come out. "Yeah. For a night or two. Maybe three, depending on if the storm ends early."
I should be annoyed. I should be wondering how an uninvited guest will ruin my quiet, isolated routine. But as I look up at her from the floor, watching her shovel another spoonful of soup into her mouth, all I can feel is a twisted, breathless gratitude toward the storm outside.
I have a limited amount of time to prove to her that the mountain isn't so bad. Prove to her that staying is better than leaving.
Finishing my work, I'm soon settled across from her. I don't miss the way her brows pinch together.
"Aren't you going to yell at me?" Her question breaks the silence between us. "I kind of broke into your place, you know."
I wouldn't be able to raise my voice without choking on my words, so she's got nothing to fear.
"No point," I say, my voice dropping an octave. "The mountain decided we're stuck together, and I don't feel like fighting fate."
I reach across the small space dividing us, extending my hand. It’s a demand masquerading as an introduction. She hesitates for a fraction of a second before wrapping her small, warm fingers around mine.
"Dawson," I supply.
I don't give her hand back. Instead, I slowly drag my thumb across her knuckles, watching her chest heave as her breath catches. Yeah, if the dark flush on her cheeks is any indication, she feels it too.
She thinks she's just a temporary guest waiting out a storm. She has no idea. I'm not just keeping her safe for a few days—I'm going to keep her forever.