Chapter 3 #2
“Come on, Gunner,” I call back to my dog. “We need to get her settled and then we’ll pay the truck one last visit.” I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with her—or what getting her settled really means. I’ve never taken someone home before.
Fuck, what am I doing?
My eyes cast downward on her face again.
She’s kind of pretty. I don’t know that I see people that way anymore, but she fits some sort of standard of beauty, I suppose.
I can easily say that her only makeup is the mascara smeared across her cheeks.
Her freckles add to her appeal, splattered across her skin like paint on canvas.
I stare at her a few moments longer, zoning out on her soft features.
Maybe I just haven’t held a woman in so long, I’m enthralled by the smallest details. However, there was a time in my life when I drank beer, tried to fall in love, laughed for the hell of it, and was…normal. Now, I’m fucking forty years old.
And definitely not normal.
I kick open the door and enter my cabin, my escape from the real world. The fireplace is blazing, and I stomp the snow off my boots after shutting us all inside. I cross the hardwood floors to the couch and dump her off, taking her in once more.
Maybe I should tie her up? Or get her out of the wet clothes? I drop my neck warmer and rub the stubble on my jaw as I contemplate for a few moments. No answer comes immediately, and so I spin on my heels to head back out into the blizzard to retrieve her things.
Thirty minutes later, I drop her bags by the door, once again eyeing her on the couch.
She’s still out, and that’s a little concerning.
I brush it off though and lock up the front door.
The elements are worsening, and if someone was out looking for her, I know they aren’t now.
It’s too dangerous for search teams to dispatch, and they’d have to travel a hundred miles to even get here. This isn’t a touristy area.
No one is coming for her. For now.
There’s a strange air of excitement with that conclusion, but I don’t know why.
I don’t like people. They never last long around me, anyway—even if I want them to.
I frown at that, and kick my boots off this time, leaving them by the door.
Gunner is somewhere inside, probably snoozing in my room.
I strip out of my parka and hang it on the rack by the door, and then slide out of my coveralls as well.
I’m left in my black sweatpants, henley, and wool socks as I creep across the floors to check on the woman invading my space.
I clench my jaw as I take in the serene way she’s laying there.
I don’t know if she’s just that fucking tired, or if I knocked her out a little too hard.
I have things I could give her to keep her out…
That would probably be for the best until I make up my mind.
I mean, I can’t discern the severity of her concussion, and if she just doesn’t wake up, well… That’s out of my hands. She’s the one who trespassed and got stuck. It’s not like I baited her here or something. My gate was shut for fuck’s sake.
And that might be why I’ve left her living.
It’s hard to say if it’s a rare occurrence of sympathy or just some kind of sick intrigue.
My eyes glide down to her denim, and I stare at the dark, still soaked place around her upper thighs to her ankles.
A twitch tugs at my upper lip, and I rake my fingers through my hair.
I’m not sure why it seems like a mountain of a task, given the life I fully lived up till the age of twenty-nine. But it does.
I spin on my heels and head to the door where I dropped her things, quickly unzipping the top black duffle bag.
Much to my relief, there’s a pair of gray sweatpants on top.
I pull them out, catching the hint of lavender detergent.
I wince at the scent, my stomach furling.
I hold them out and away from my body as I return to the woman.
I don’t even know her name. But maybe it’s better that way.
If I know her name, it might make it more scarring when she’s a mound of dead flesh. A sick taste hangs in my mouth, and I shake my head. I don’t have to think about that right now. I’m fine.
I’m fine. Everything is fine.
I toss the sweatpants on the arm of my faded leather couch, and then reach for her, my hands landing on her hips.
The warmth of her body sears my calloused palms. Fuck, it has been so long since I touched a woman.
Gritting my teeth, I roll her gently onto her back.
A light moan slips from her lips, and a thrum of something old and familiar hits my groin.
Ah, good to know that part of me still functions.
Pushing it aside, I stick to the task at hand, removing her shoes and then unsnapping her jeans.
As I tug them over her hips, I’m met with the sight of her skin, glistening under the glow of the fireplace.
Freckles dot the pale skin in places, and I try to ignore the way her black satin underwear are like a magnet for my gaze.
My knuckles brush her bare skin, and my heart throbs in my temple.
Could I make her feel good if she wanted me to? It would only be fair since I know her ending. Maybe it’d make it less painful if she had something pleasurable to go with it. I chuckle to myself, knowing good and well, I’d just scar her more. Or myself.
So, I push it away, pulling the jeans the rest of the way off her and tossing them toward the warm floor in front of the fire. I swallow the knot in my throat as see her stretched out in front of me. Primal urges tug at me.
But I don’t listen. I have self-control. In that way.
I retrieve the sweats and work her into them, letting out a sigh of relief when she’s fully covered again. I’m still a gentleman, despite being fucked in the head.
My monsters are of an entirely different kind.