The soup grew cold in the bowl beside her but she didn’t have the energy to get up and reheat it. She didn’t want toleave her cocoon of blankets and firelight. Instead she let her mind drift, thinking about the archives, and about her ancestor who’d delivered babies and then disappeared from the records. About Victor’s great-grandfather writing about guardians and protection. About bloodlines and connection and the strange sense that she was meant to be here. In this town. In this moment. Even alone in a cabin during a blizzard.
The baby kicked and she smiled despite herself. “You’re right, little bean. I’m not totally alone.”
She must have dozed because the knock on the door made her jump—three sharp raps loud enough to hear over the wind. Her heart skipped a beat as she pushed herself off the couch. Who on earth would be out in this storm? Had someone from town come to check on her?
She crossed over to the door and peered out through the small window. A tall, broad-shouldered figure stood on her porch, covered in snow. A very familiar figure.Victor.
She fumbled with the lock, nearly dropping the candle in her haste. The door swung open and snow blew in along with an icy wind that stole her breath. He stood on her porch looking half-frozen, snow caked his coat and hair. His face was red from the cold, and the green fire burned in his eyes.
“Chloe,” he said roughly. “Are you—” He broke off, looking her over with the intensity of a medical examination. “Are you all right?”
She should be angry. She should demand to know what he was doing here after a week of silence. Instead she pulled the door open wider.
“Get inside before you freeze.”
He didn’t move. “I just came to check on you and make sure you were safe. I can go if?—”
“Victor, it’s a blizzard. Get. Inside.”
He stepped over the threshold and she pushed the door closed against the wind. The sudden absence of howling made her ears ring. They stood in the candlelit room staring at each other as the snow melted off his shoulders.
He looked terrible. Exhausted and half-frozen and wound so tight she thought he might shatter. He looked beautiful.
“You came,” she said.
“I had to.” His hands clenched at his sides. “Flora said there was a storm and you were out here alone and I tried to tell myself you’d be fine but I couldn’t—” He stopped, his jaw working. “I couldn’t stay away.”
Her throat tightened. “The power’s out.”
“I noticed.”
“I was going to wait until morning to start the generator.”
“That’s a good idea.” His gaze hadn’t left her face. “Are you warm enough? The baby—is everything okay?”
“We’re fine.” She curved her hand over her stomach. “Just a little lonely.”
Something cracked in his expression. “Chloe, I’m?—”
“Cold.” She cut him off gently. “You’re freezing. Take off that coat before you get hypothermia.”
He obeyed mechanically, shrugging out of the snow-covered coat. His sweater underneath was damp. His hands shook—from cold or emotion, she couldn’t tell.
“There are towels in the bathroom,” she said. “And I found a few old flannel shirts in the closet when I moved in. You should change.”
“I don’t want to impose.”
“Victor.” She waited until he met her eyes. “You drove through a blizzard to check on me. The least I can do is make sure you don’t get frostbite.”
He nodded stiffly and moved toward the bathroom. She watched him go, heart doing complicated things in her chest.
He’d come. She’d told herself she was fine alone, that she didn’t need rescuing, but he’d come anyway. The medical bag he’d dropped by the door made it clear that he’d come prepared for emergencies, but she was sure it was more than that.
He came because he couldn’t stay away.
She moved to the kitchen and reheated soup, grateful that the old-fashioned gas stove didn’t require electricity.
He emerged from the bathroom wearing a flannel that was slightly too small, stretched tight across his chest. His hair stuck up in damp spikes, and his feet were bare. He looked young. Vulnerable. Nothing like the controlled doctor who’d told her goodbye.
