Chapter 3 #2
“Vienna.” He cuts me off. “I don’t think that’s the important issue here.
I’m more concerned with you sleeping in the back of your car.
In a snowstorm. With the damn windshield cracked and wind blowing in and—” His jaw clenches.
“It’s twenty degrees out, Vienna. Sleeping in a car is dangerous enough when it’s in one piece.
But like this? Do you want to freeze to death? ”
Irritation flares hot. How easy for him to pass judgment when he doesn’t understand. When he has a fully functioning car and most likely a house to go back to. “Yes,” I retort dryly. “That was my goal. Freezing to death. I thought it might add a nice finish to an already crappy night.”
For a moment, it looks like he’s about to snap back at me. Then the angry lines in his features smooth out, and his mouth twitches. “Point taken. But, Vienna.” He casts a quick look around the interior of my car. “This isn’t safe. You know it isn’t.”
“I researched it. Camping in a car in the winter, I mean. There are lots of people who do it. That’s where I got the idea for the quilt, and the pillows…”
“The windshield is cracked,” he points out. The whole front of the car is smashed in. This isn’t the same thing.”
I want to argue with him. Insist that I know exactly what I’m doing. That everything is completely under control.
But I don’t. And it’s not.
“Vienna.” His tone softens. “I know we’re basically strangers. But I don’t want something bad happening to you.” Another sharp burst of wind comes through the open door. “It’s too cold for you to be out here. Not like this.”
For a few seconds, I hesitate.
Caleb’s right; we are basically strangers.
But he’s also proven himself to be kind. Chivalrous. Trustworthy. And he went out of his way to find me when he had no reason to.
“How did you find me here?” I ask.
“I called the station,” he replies. “And I talked to Officer Nelson. Convinced her to tell me where she dropped you off. Then I called the owners of the B and B, and they said you never checked in—”
“They told you that? Isn’t that information confidential?”
A sheepish expression flashes across Caleb’s face. “I grew up here,” he says. “And the Millers are friends with my parents. So they’ve known me since I was a baby. They trust me.”
So he is a local. “But I wasn’t there,” I point out.
“No. And you weren’t at the motel, either. Without your car, your purse, your wallet…” He grimaces. “I came here on a hunch. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
Oh.
That darn lump in my throat comes back.
Tears burn my eyes.
None of my so-called friends back in Troy cared that I was effectively homeless. My mother certainly never cared about me. But this man I met only hours before was worried enough to go searching for me. Is worried enough to still be here right now.
“This is all I can afford,” I blurt before I can stop myself. “I was waiting to get my first paycheck to find an apartment. I thought I could camp in my car until then. Until…” I gesture at the wool blanket covering the windshield. “Until this.”
“The shelter,” he starts.
“My job is here. I won’t be able to keep it if I’m staying in Montpelier. And without a working car, no less.”
“The insurance company will cover a rental.”
“Not for a few days, at least. Assuming they cover it at all.”
Caleb looks at me. Then he glances over his shoulder at the storm that’s still showing no signs of slowing before turning back to me again. A mix of emotions play across his face—worry, irritation, sympathy, and finally, resignation. “You can stay at my place,” he says.
“What?” I blink at him. “At your house?”
“Not my house,” he corrects. “On my property. There’s a little cabin that was meant to be a guest house. I never use it, but I’ve kept it up. It has some furniture and a working fireplace. Once we get the fire going, it should be plenty warm in there.”
“You want me to stay there?”
“I’m offering. There’s a deadbolt on the inside, so you don’t have to worry about me… Well. I wouldn’t. Do anything. But you don’t know me. So it might make you feel better.”
It’s a solution far better than anything I’ve come up with.
But to stay in his guest house after only meeting a few hours ago…
Before tonight, the very thought of it would have sounded crazy.
But that was before I met Caleb. Before my car was destroyed.
Before he trekked through a snowstorm to find me.
Though it could be a tremendously foolish mistake, I want to say yes.
“You’re not a serial killer, right?” I ask. A beat later, heat flushes my cheeks. “Crap. Um.”
Caleb stares at me. Then he laughs. “I’m not.
I swear.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet.
Then he leans into the backseat and opens it so I can look.
On one side is his license, which tells me his full name is Caleb James Davidson, he’s forty-two years-old, and six-foot-one with blue eyes.
On the other side of the wallet is a veteran ID card that states he used to serve in the Marines. “I don’t know if this helps.”
I stare at the little photo of him on the license. He looks sad in it. Almost lost.
Then my gaze moves to meet his. Behind his guarded expression, there’s something that says I can trust him.
“I’ve never built a fire,” I admit. “I’m not sure I can.”
A tiny smile tugs at Caleb’s lips. “I can show you. It’s easy.”
As I debate with myself, he adds, “If you don’t want to, I can drive you to the station. Maybe they can help. Or I can pay for you to stay at the Bliss B and B for the night.”
“No,” I reply quickly. Paying for me to stay at the bed and breakfast feels too much like charity.
“No, you don’t want to stay at my cabin? Or go to the station? Or the B and B?”
For a moment, I’m torn.
Do I insist on staying here, reason be damned? Do I go to the station and hope they let me sleep there? Or do I accept Caleb’s offer of a place to stay?
“I won’t hurt you,” he says; his gaze dark and intense as it holds mine. “Ever. That’s a promise.”
Maybe it’s foolish. But I believe him. Which is why I say, “I’ll go to your cabin. If you’re sure it’s okay.”
He looks at me for a long moment before lifting his chin. “I’m sure.”