Chapter 4
CALEB
Maybe she’s not coming back.
Isn’t that what you want? my inner hermit asks. To be alone? Without anyone around to complicate things? Especially beautiful women with sad eyes and a vulnerability that makes it nearly impossible not to want to protect her?
Yes and no.
Alone is what I’m used to. For the last three years, I’ve cultivated a life that requires as little social interaction as possible.
I visit my parents in Florida, of course, but the twice-yearly trips are more out of obligation than for enjoyment.
Which I feel bad about, because I really do love my parents.
But their worry gets suffocating. And by the end of the week-long visits, I’m inevitably exhausted from trying to convince them that I’m really okay.
Aside from dinner at Enzo’s last night, I can’t remember the last time I hung out with a friend just because. Not since I moved to Vermont, and not for months after all the shit went down in Somalia.
It shouldn’t have mattered, having Vienna here.
It was only overnight, after all. And she wasn’t even in my house, but the cabin a quarter-mile from it.
Once I got her settled into the cabin—shaking out the dusty blankets and showing her how to start a fire and making sure the pipes hadn’t frozen—I didn’t hear from her for the rest of the night.
I saw the smoke curling from the chimney, so I knew she had heat. I saw the glow of the lamp in the window wink out just after one. But she didn’t text, though I gave her my number in case she had a problem. She didn’t call, asking for help with the fireplace.
So it shouldn’t feel any different from before.
Except it does. It did.
I couldn’t sleep last night, not from nightmares, but worrying about her. What if she got sick from being out in the cold? What if the chimney clogged, and the cabin filled with carbon monoxide? What if the reason she was sleeping in her car instead of an actual building somehow followed her here?
What if she was scared? In trouble? Hurt? And I wasn’t there to help her?
At least half-dozen times before dawn, I thought about walking over to check on her, but never actually did it. It would freak her out, I reasoned. Knocking on the cabin door in the middle of the night. Poor Vienna might really think a serial killer had come for her.
Her odd fixation on serial killers makes me chuckle.
The sound echoes in my small kitchen, bouncing off the empty countertops and barren walls.
When I bought the house from my parents, I remodeled the seventies-style kitchen for something to do, replacing the mustard-colored cabinets and ancient appliances with butcher block and stainless steel.
But I never got around to decorating, figuring it wasn’t necessary since I’m the only one who sees it.
Leaning over the sink, I look out the window at the cabin in the distance. A good foot of snow surrounds it, save for the path I shoveled from the front door first thing this morning. Unlike last night, the fire in the fireplace is out. Despite the setting winter sun, the windows are still dark.
She hadn’t yet left when I went over to shovel around seven AM. But when I went back over at ten, there were small footsteps on the path and in the snow heading out to the road.
Where did she go? To The Laughing Goat? To Ellicott’s Engines to check on her car? Did she call for a taxi, or did she try to walk the entire way?
I’ve been thinking about it all day, even though I keep trying not to.
But shit. I’m two miles outside town. And that’s if I’m going to The Laughing Goat, which is right in the center of it.
If I’m headed to Max’s shop, it’s another half-mile past that.
Both manageable distances, in normal conditions.
But the roads still aren’t fully cleared.
And if Vienna was walking along the side of the road and someone wasn’t paying attention, like that asshole driver last night…
“Dammit,” I mutter. “I shouldn’t be worrying like this.”
Maybe, if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t be. But dammit, I like her.
She’s brave and stubborn and she’s not afraid to say what she’s thinking. Whatever happened that made her end up sleeping in her car, it hasn’t broken her. She’s determined. Her questions about serial killers make me laugh, which is something that I haven’t done in a very long time.
And she’s pretty. Really pretty. It doesn’t matter since I’m not looking to date her, but she is.
Back in the old days, I probably would have asked her out. But now I’m just standing at my kitchen window, wondering where she is, but not actually doing anything about it.
What I should do is head out to the garage to work on one of my snowmobiles and stop obsessing over a woman I just met. A woman who may or not be coming back to the cabin; a woman I may never end up speaking to again.
Except she works in town. And if I happen to be in the mood for takeout, instead of the subscription delivery service I’ve relied on for years, I could get some from The Laughing Goat. Possibly see Vienna there. Talk to her. See if she wants to grab coffee or a quick drink after—
“No.” I turn away from the window with an irritated huff. “If she isn’t gone already, she will be soon.”
I didn’t tell Vienna that she had to leave. I might be a grouchy hermit, like Enzo called me, but I’m not an asshole. I wouldn’t kick her out when she has nowhere else to stay. In fact, before I left the cabin last night, I told her to stay as long as she needed.
Will she, though? Or is she uneasy about being here and trying to figure out an alternative as quickly as possible?
Which would be better, really. Simpler. Then I could get back to my regular daily routine of working on snowmobiles and projects around the house instead of worrying about her.
And speaking of snowmobiles, I could head into the garage and get in a few hours right now.
Put the finishing touches on the Suzuki I’m restoring for Pat Quillian so he can have it before his dad’s birthday.
Maybe take a look at the Polaris that just came in, if I have the time for it.
And stop looking out the damned kitchen window like a dog waiting for his owner to come home.
I make it halfway across the kitchen before the siren call of the window comes again. Just one more look, I tell myself. Then I’ll actually get some shit done.
Except this time, instead of seeing an expanse of white, there’s a spot of red moving across it.
The same red as the color of Vienna’s coat.
She’s walking down the driveway towards the path to the cabin, her head down and shoulders hunched against the cold. Her gait is slow and uneven, like she’s limping. Wearing one oversized backpack, she looks a bit like a turtle. Her long hair has escaped her knit cap and it’s whipping in the wind.
Shit.
I’m moving before I can think about it.
To the front door, where I shove on a pair of boots and yank my coat from the hook beside it. I’m still zipping up my coat as I hurry out the door, instinct urging me to move faster.
Why is she limping? I wonder. Where is she coming from?
Is she okay? Has she eaten? I know there wasn’t any food in the cabin, and I was going to offer her some of mine.
Give her some cans of soup, a can opener, a few pots and bowls and silverware.
But she wasn’t there when I went by earlier, so I never ended up doing it.
What if she hasn’t eaten all day?
What if she got hurt at work and had to walk all the way home?
Or.
What if someone hurt her?
What if that’s why she’s been living in her car? Because some asshole ex beat her up, and she’s running from him? And he somehow found her in Bliss, roughed her up, scared her…
My hands tighten into fists as I cross the snow on my way to the cabin. Rather than taking the longer but shoveled route, I choose the direct one, tromping through snow higher than my boots.
The garage and my snowmobiles are forgotten things in my focus to reach Vienna.
I don’t think about why I need to reach her so quickly. It doesn’t matter right now. I just do.
She’s maybe fifteen feet from the cabin by the time I catch up to her, and now that I’m closer, I can see how badly she’s limping. It’s obvious she’s in pain even without seeing her face. It’s in her posture. The drag of her leg. Her pace that’s gotten slower and slower.
“Vienna,” I call as I close the last few feet between us. “Vienna.”
Vienna startles and spins around, fear quickly replaced by recognition. But as she turns, her right leg lands wrong and buckles beneath her. She starts to go down, and I lunge forward, catching her in the nick of time.
Heart pounding from the near fall, I hold her against me for a second, my arms clasped tightly around her. Even with her puffy winter coat and enormous backpack, she feels small. Fragile. Vulnerable.
As she looks up at me, I scan her face. There are no bruises I can see, no signs of injury. In the burnished light of the sunset, her eyes are more gold than green. Her cheeks are pink from the cold. Her lips are slightly parted in surprise. “Caleb,” she breathes. “Oh, crap. You scared me.”
Though I didn’t mean to, I did. And I feel like shit about it. “I’m sorry,” I reply. “I didn’t think. I wasn’t sure if you were coming back. And then I saw you limping…”
So I decided to race across the lawn and scare the shit out of her? Nice.
Her brow furrows. “You said I could stay. Unless… do you want me to leave? I’m sorry. I just thought if I had a couple days to figure out things with my car… but I can try to find somewhere else to go—”
“No, it’s not that.” I’m pissed at myself, so my voice comes out rougher than intended. “I said you could stay as long as you need. But you didn’t say anything. I didn’t know where you went.”
Shut up, my inner voice of reason orders. You’re only making this worse.
Vienna frowns. Her chin juts out. “I went to work. I didn’t think you’d want me to bother you by saying where I was going.”