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No, a man like him wouldn’t ask someone like Michelle on a date.
“Do you have a coffee maker I don’t see?” she asked.
He pointed to a small hotplate, one with an attached gas canister.
As the man pulled the stocking cap from his head, he revealed a dark-brown mop of messy hair. The next to go were his gloves, revealing strong hands with tattoos gracing his fingers. Each piece of clothing found a peg in the wall to hang and dry. The man ran his long fingers through his tangled tresses. The length reached his shoulders.
Within the light of the lantern, Michelle was certain she’d never met him. If she had, she’d remember.
After curling her legs beside her, Michelle secured the blanket around her waist and legs. Its texture was scratchy, yet the added heat made it worth it. Within minutes, warmth grew, nipping and biting at her flesh. Instead of soothing, the jolts were painful as if bees were stinging. Pushing the blanket away, she began rubbing her toes.
“Let me look at that,” the man said, his tone less harsh than at the fire.
Michelle met his gaze. “My name is Michelle. I think you know that.”
He nodded.
“And you are?” she asked for the third or fourth time.
“People call me Fletch.”
She let that name bounce through her thoughts. There was something vaguely familiar about it, yet out of reach. “Fletch, why did you help me—are you helping me?”
He lifted his chin. “First, let me see your feet.”
Raising the blanket, Michelle slowly pushed her feet from the warm covering. As she did, Fletch reached for his cellphone and hit the flashlight app. The bright illumination put her feet in the spotlight as he tenderly reached for her heel and inspected her skin.
“Superficial frostbite, I’d say.”
“Are you a doctor?”
His dark eyes sparkled as he met her stare. “No, I’m not a doctor. I’ve seen my share of injuries, some man-made, others unintended. You couldn’t grab shoes?”
“There was the gunshot and then by the time I went downstairs, I saw Dad—” New tears clogged her throat. “The fire was already running up the walls. I didn’t think I’d be able to go upstairs and make it down again.”
Fletch nodded. “I suppose a little frostnip is worth the payoff of saving your life.”
Michelle reached for Fletch’s hand. Unlike in the snow and wind, there weren’t gloves separating them. For a moment, her gaze lingered on the place they touched. Slowly, she looked up, wondering if he was feeling the same electricity.
She cleared her throat. “You saved me. I would have frozen out there.”
“If you were lucky.” He retrieved his hand. “I was more worried about what would happen if Ralph found you.”
Ralph.
Ralph Perkins.
Michelle remembered her father using his first name from time to time. “Why did he kill Dad? What does he want with me?”
Fletch handed Michelle his large gloves. “Put these over your toes. We want the skin to warm but not too quickly.”
Taking the gloves, she slid her feet inside. They only covered to her mid foot, but the fur within was still warm from Fletch’s hands. Next, she covered her feet again with the blanket. When she looked up, he was lighting the small hotplate.
Another flame.
Closing her eyes, she saw the flames in her father’s house. The speed at which they climbed the interior walls, incinerating the curtains and furniture. She barely had time to check for her father’s pulse. There was none.
Oh God, she hoped there wasn’t.
