Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Stormi
“Have you seen my sister?” I ask Winnie after my many failed attempts to get Erin to answer her lodge room door.
After the way I left things with Dash this morning, so unfinished, I need to talk to her.
Watching him stand at the edge of the trail to the landing pad, arms folded and Blaze at his side, as I flew away felt wrong in more ways than it could ever feel right.
Erin will know what to do. She always knows what to do.
I know she told us she didn’t want to be bothered until tomorrow morning, but I was really hoping she’d make an exception for her sister. What I didn’t expect was for her to be gone. Because her door should’ve flown open when I announced I quit my job.
“She’s out, actually,” Winnie says, a chipper smile on her face.
“Really? Where did she—”
“You don’t need to follow me,” a woman calls to a man behind her, yanking a backpack out of his hands at the sliding entrance doors. My cousin Gabby looks a little haggard, but also a little…glowy. What is that about?
“You okay?” I ask her when she stomps past the front desk. I catch a glimpse of the man turning away at the sliding doors and do a double take. “Is that…Tucker?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Gabby and I grew up in the same small town, just two blocks from one another.
Because of the age difference, we’ve never been close.
But she’s also been supportive of me being whoever the hell I wanted to be—her words.
She and Tucker have a complicated history.
But until this moment, I had no idea he was in Cinnamon Creek.
“Did you sleep outside or something?” I ask, noticing her shirt is ripped at the collar, and there’s a twig in her messy ponytail.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Did something happen? Are you hurt?”
“It’s only wounded prided. And before you ask, no I did not bury any bodies.” She glances back at the sliding doors, her eyes narrowing. “Even though I certainly thought about it.”
“Gabby—”
“What’s the glow about?” Her question is all curious accusation with a sprinkle of redirection. “Where were you last night?”
A blush instantly heats my cheeks, giving me away as it always does.
Sometimes I really hate wearing my emotions out in the open like this.
I reach into my pocket for the amethyst and squeeze it, wondering if Dash found the sunstone I left on his pillow.
The one meant to bring him joy. Will he even know it’s from me or will he toss it over the side of the balcony not realizing it’s a gift?
“Stormi Winters, did you get laid?”
“No,” I quickly fire back, well aware that Winnie, despite busying herself with the brochure wall, is within earshot.
I lower my voice. “Not exactly.” Though I had the orgasm of a lifetime last night—one I’ll never be able to replicate no matter how much I try—I am a little remiss that there was no penetration.
But when Dash stood at the edge of the bed and dropped those pesky sweatpants this morning, I couldn’t stop staring at his cock. And suddenly, I had to suck it. As though his penis cast a spell on me, and I was compelled to take him into my mouth.
Never in my life have I enjoyed doing that to a man.
But with Dash, it was addicting. I loved it. I loved watching him watch me. I loved making him make those groans of approval. I loved him calling me baby girl. I especially loved tasting him in the back of my throat.
“Maybe you need to finish what you started,” Gabby says, patting me on the shoulder. “I’m going to go take a shower and wash the forest out of my hair.”
I pull the twig free from her tangled ponytail—the look hints of freshly fucked, despite the overwhelming evidence to the contrary—and hand it over.
“Thanks,” she mumbles, a glimpse of a smile forming as she stares at the tiny evergreen branch.
“Did you enjoy your time at the fire watch tower?” Winnie asks when we’re alone again.
“Yeah, I did. Well, except for that part about Brutus.”
“I keep telling Dash if he’d just leave a cupcake as offering, Brutus wouldn’t bother him. But he doesn’t seem to believe me.”
I recall Dash yelling at Brutus about cupcakes and shake my head, trying desperately to ignore the pang of sadness that hits me square in the chest. “He’s sure protective over those cupcakes.”
“He’s a protective man,” Winnie adds. “A good man, too. It’s just too bad he doesn’t seem to see that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ever since that fire, he’s not been the same.”
“What fire?” I ask a little too eager for the answer.
But Winnie, bless her heart, doesn’t even flinch.
Maybe she’s baiting me. But honestly, I don’t even care.
I’m never going to see Dash Sullivan again.
He made that pretty clear when he refused to so much as give me a hug once that chopper showed up.
There were no goodbye embraces. No passionate kiss meant to hold us both over until we both finally moved on.
Just that cold grumpiness he was sporting so well when I first arrived at the lookout tower.
“Six years ago, a fire got really close to Cinnamon Creek. If you drive that way a few miles,” she says, pointing toward the brochure wall, “You’ll see hundreds of acres of charred trees.”
“That’s terrible. Was anyone hurt?”
“Thankfully, no,” Winnie says. “But we did lose a few homes. One of them was Dash’s childhood home.
His mom lost everything—all their photos, mementos, and family heirlooms. Dash hasn’t been the same since.
” Winnie leans over the counter, looking around before lowering her voice.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this. He’d be annoyed at me for sharing, but he blames himself. ”
“Why would he blame himself?”
“Because he wasn’t there to help fight the fire.”
“Where was he?”
“That’s his story to tell, I’m afraid.”
“Guess I’ll never know then,” I say, letting out a sigh.
Unless I move to Cinnamon Creek and wait out the fire watch season until Dash is back in town.
It’s only a couple of weeks from wrapping up.
Though the thought tempts me, I quickly squash it down.
Dash might be mortified to see his overnight fling walking down the street weeks from now. Stalker much?
“You could try calling him,” Winnie suggests.
“Maybe. But Brutus stepped on my phone.”
“Oh, dear.”
“Yeah.” I release a heavy exhale, contemplating whether I’m going to get out and explore this little town—maybe hunt down my sister—or if it would be better just to crawl into my own bed until our flight leaves tomorrow.
“There is one other way,” Winnie says.
“I’m not really up for hiking nine point six miles. I’m pretty sure Brutus has it out for me, anyway.”
“I can get you a ride,” Winnie says. “Via helicopter.”
“I thought there weren’t any more flights until next week.
” At least that’s what Dash told me when I floated the idea of staying one more night as I was getting dressed this morning.
It’s the flash of temptation I saw dance in his eyes that makes me feel just a little less crazy contemplating Winnie’s offer now.
“Fred owes me a favor.”
“Fred, as in the same Fred who picked us up from the airport in a shuttle van?”
“Fred has many talents,” Winnie says, a hint of a blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Why don’t you go freshen up, and I’ll arrange for your flight?”
“What if Dash isn’t happy to see me?”
“Then no harm, no foul. Fred will bring you right back.”
Is this crazy? Probably. But the only time I’ve ever been known to do anything practical in my entire life, I ended up hating every minute of it. I squeeze the amethyst in my pocket for some good vibes and grounding energy.
This feels right.
“Sign me up, Winnie.”