Relief hits me like a punch. My knees wobble.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
He shakes his head like this is the single worst decision he has made in years, then turns and walks into the cabin.
I clutch my tin, drag my suitcase over the threshold, and cannot help noticing three things at once.
One, his back muscles move in ways that should require a warning label.
Two, he still has not bothered with a shirt which is an intimate choice for someone who just threatened me with the truth.
Three, I am following a shirtless axe man into a secluded cabin during a blizzard.
"Great survival instincts, Nikki," I mutter under my breath as I drag my suitcase in after him. "This is how horror movies start."
Warmth wraps around me the moment I step inside. My body sighs in relief. I set the tin on the nearest table before I drop it again.
The door shuts behind me with a firm, final sound.
And now I am alone in a cabin with the grumpiest man I have ever seen.
Chapter 2
Ryder
Thedoorshutsbehindher with a thud that settles in my bones. Snow howls against the windows, the fire pops, and for a long moment I just stand there, staring at the tiny blonde disaster dripping on my floor.
This is not how my night was supposed to go.
I was supposed to finish splitting the last stack of wood.
Eat something simple.
Ignore my brother’s call.
Turn down his latest attempt to drag me to Frankie’s Grill and Grits so I can sit with his firefighter crew while they drink cocoa and pretend Christmas is pure magic.
He knows damn well I can’t stand this holiday. He keeps asking anyway.
Pretend Christmas Eve is nothing but another night I need to get through.
Instead, I’ve got a soaked little stranger in my cabin, clutching a dented cookie tin like it’s a life preserver.
Her damp hair curls around her face. Her coat is too big. Her cheeks are flushed from the cold. She looks like trouble disguised as a snow fairy.
And I hate that my body reacts before my brain catches up.
I turn away from her, mostly so I do not stare like a damn fool. I grab the axe from where I set it by the door and put it against the wall near the firewood basket. Not that I think she will attack me with it. She just looked at it like it might come alive and lunge.
When I turn back, she is standing in the middle of the room, holding the cookie tin against her stomach, lips parted like she forgot how to speak.
She looks small.
Young. Twenty-two, maybe twenty-three.
Lost.
Heartbroken.
