Chapter 10
KIRA
Out front, I get my first look at the exterior of their handsome home, and it matches the interior well, with its dark timber frame, heavy beams, and rugged stone wainscoting. The steep gable roof peaks out beneath a heavy layer of snow.
There’s a big, black pickup truck in the driveway, and a snowmobile off to the side.
The three of us start down a path that branches off from the driveway.
Though I can’t see the ground under the snow, banks along the sides of the path show that it’s wide enough for vehicles.
Two sets of snowmobile tracks were made since the last flurries fell.
Pine trees are all around us, their branches heavy with powder. Beyond them, the sky is a brilliant, deep blue. Though the air is cold, breathing it into my lungs is like a gift.
“Let us know if we’re going too fast,” Atlas says.
I’m touched by his consideration. I’m sure they’re already walking at a much slower pace than they usually would.
Grizz looks down at me, his brows lifted. “Warm enough?”
I give him a smile. “Plenty.”
A minute later, he points at a small outbuilding. “That’s my workshop.”
“Can I look inside?”
He seems surprised by my request, and, if I’m reading him correctly, suddenly shy, when he dips his head and pivots toward the building.
From the outside, it’s simple. Metal siding, wide double doors, nothing fancy.
But when he pushes the doors open, I inhale sharply.
Shelves and walls are filled with neatly arranged tools and heavy-duty equipment.
A massive work table is covered with various projects that seem to be in different stages of assembly or repair.
I recognize what appear to be deadbolt locks and window latches. A welding mask sits nearby. “Did you make these?” I gesture to multiple items.
Grizz lowers the zipper on his jacket and pulls his hat off, ruffling his thick brown hair. “Most of it. Built the workbench, too.”
“What all do you build?”
“It would be quicker for him to tell you what he doesn’t build,” Atlas says. “He made most of what’s in the house, like the dining table and the benches. He designs hardware and gear for the business, too.”
I look up at Grizz. “You made the dining room table?”
He nods, clearly uncomfortable with the attention.
“Why is it so big … for just the three of you?”
His eyes meet mine for a second before he puts his focus on the tools laid out on his table. “Seemed like a waste to make something that couldn’t handle company.”
It hits me then that two things can be true at once. They could choose isolation, living up here in the wild, and still be lonely.
“I fix things, too,” Grizz says, breaking into my thoughts. “When Viper breaks something, it ends up in here.”
Atlas huffs. “Viper doesn’t break things. He wears them down.”
Straightening a few metal objects on the table, Grizz shrugs. “Semantics.”
I enjoy their teasing, but I’m preoccupied with what surrounds us. Everything in this workshop radiates capability and competence. It’s the hands-on side of their work, reinforcement behind all the high-tech stuff they do in their operations center.
Between them, these men can build anything, find out anything, and fix anything.
Survive anything.
For as powerful as my ex seemed to think he was, when my car got a flat tire, he told me to call a towing company, and when the faucet in his fancy townhouse started leaking, he called a plumber.
Following my gaze around his workshop, Grizz says, “It looks like a mess, but Viper says this place is operational chaos, which I take as a compliment.”
“It’s not a mess. It’s impressive.”
The tips of his ears turn a little pink. “Thanks.”
Atlas rests a hand at the small of my back. “Let’s go see the cameras.”
Back outside, the three of us continue along a narrower path, the men matching their pace to mine, and stepping closer to me whenever the ground looks uneven.
Atlas stops, pointing up into a tree. “See that?”
After a few moments, I find what he’s looking at. “The birdhouse?”
“It’s a camera,” Grizz says.
Further down the path, they point out another one that’s disguised with strategically-placed branches and pinecones. “Viper monitors them constantly,” Atlas says. “He’ll know if so much as a squirrel gives us attitude.”
Speak of the devil, Viper’s voice suddenly crackles from a radio I didn’t realize Atlas was carrying. “Heard that.”
Atlas smirks, his steel blue eyes twinkling. “Copy. You behaving?”
“Define behaving.”
Grizz shakes his head. “He’s always watching.”
A few weeks ago, that would have unsettled me. Now, it’s reassuring.
On a different path that leads back toward the house, I get too close to a low-hanging branch and am dusted with snow.
Grizz leaps into action, brushing the powder off me with his big hands. “Hold still. Gotta keep it from going down your collar.”
Atlas wipes some of the snow from my sleeve himself, but says, “Boyd, she’s wearing a coat.”
“Snow melts, and melting snow is cold,” Grizz says, finishing the job he started. “I’m preventing hypothermia.”
“Pretty sure I’m not dying of snow.” I tease him gently, mostly to distract myself from how good it feels to have their hands on me, even through all the layers of warm clothing.
“Not while I’m around.” He squares his broad shoulders in a show of pride, joining in on the joke, but something flickers across his eyes. Does he feel something, too?
All three of us are quiet for the next couple of minutes, just boots crunching on snow, a few sniffles, and distant sounds in the forest like birds and snow falling from branches.
A couple of other buildings are visible through the trees. “Are those part of your property, too?”
Atlas nods. “There’s a garage and some storage buildings. Further out, there’s a training field and shooting range, but they’re pretty much useless until the thaw.”
“There’s a small greenhouse beyond the workshop,” Grizz says. “The carrots we ate were grown in there, along with a few other things.”
“Wow, really?” It’s another surprising aspect of these men who are complicated yet straightforward.
Everything they show me and tell me reinforces the same message: We’re capable. We know what we’re doing. You’re safe here.
I’m starting to believe it.
As we walk on, Atlas speaks up suddenly, remembering something. “There’s an old cabin down the forest trail, too. Came with the property. We can make the trip when you’re even stronger.”
His choice of words doesn’t go unnoticed. Even though these men saved me and the baby from freezing to death, and even though they’re taking care of me as I recover, they don’t treat me like I’m weak or helpless.
Grizz tugs gently on a lock of my hair, like a schoolyard taunt, only tender. “Give it another week, our snow queen will be running circles around us old men.”
Heat floods my chest that’s so intense it nearly steals my breath.
I imagine, briefly, them not only helping me and protecting me, but wanting me to stay with them.
In some future where I’m not running.
I cut the thought off before it fully takes shape. That isn’t what this is about.
Preston’s shadow looms large over my life, and running from one relationship straight into another doesn’t seem wise. Especially when I’m carrying a child.
Maybe my feelings for these older men are only based on the fact that they saved my life.
But the idea of something more lingers like the afterglow of a struck match.
These men, so rugged and capable, are becoming the center of my world faster than I can process. And for the first time since finding out my fiancé was a monster, something that feels an awful lot like hope is stirring inside me.
I loosen my scarf because my throat has suddenly gone tight.
Mom, are you watching?
It’s easier to think that someone who’s watching over me guided me here than to believe in sheer coincidence and dumb luck.
Atlas gives me a questioning look. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Getting cold, I guess.” That’s one way to explain the tears prickling behind my eyes.
“Let’s get you inside.” Grizz wraps an arm around my shoulder, pulling me against him and rubbing his hand up and down my arm to generate heat. It has the intended effect, maybe in more ways than he planned.
They guide me back to the house, help me with my outerwear and boots in the mudroom, then lead me into the living room so I can warm up in front of the fire.
Warmth is blooming inside me long before Atlas pokes at the logs in the fireplace to stoke the flames.
Hope isn’t just stirring. It’s starting to take root here, under the snow. With them.
And I don’t think I want to stop it.