Julia’s shoulders slumped. “How long do you think the storm will last?”
“Hard to say. Could be a few hours, could be a day or two.” I shifted in my chair, stretching my leg out carefully. “We’ve got plenty of firewood and food, though. You’re welcome to wait it out here.”
“Thank you,” she said, genuine gratitude in her voice. “I promise I won’t be any trouble.”
Lana caught my eye, and I could read the silent question there: Do we trust her?
I gave a small, almost barely visible shrug. For now, we had no choice. She was here, and we couldn’t exactly throw her back into the blizzard. But that didn’t mean we had to let our guard down.
“I’ll make some tea,” Lana said, standing up. “Something hot will help warm you from the inside.”
“I’ll help,” I offered, reaching for my crutches. My leg was throbbing now, the day’s exertion and the recent excitement pushing it past its limit.
Chapter 8
Lana
The gas stove clicked several times before the flame caught. And when it did, I exhaled the breath I’d been holding until the familiar blue fire appeared beneath the kettle. One blessing of gas appliances during power outages.
“What do you think?” I whispered, leaning against the counter to face Caleb. His face was drawn with pain, the lines around his mouth deeper than they’d been this morning.
“About our unexpected guest?” He kept his voice low, glancing toward the living room where Julia huddled by the fire. “I’m not sure yet.”
I pulled three mugs from the cabinet and set them on the counter with more force than necessary. “Convenient timing, isn’t it? Right after we find a box of potential treasure maps?”
“Very.” Caleb shifted his weight, wincing slightly. “But her hypothermia isn’t fake. No one could manufacture those symptoms.”
“True.” I opened the tea canister, selecting chamomile for Julia to calm her and Earl Grey for Caleb and me. We needed to stay alert. “But that doesn’t mean someone couldn’t have pushed her car off the road, knowing she’d seek shelter here.”
Caleb’s eyebrows rose, a hint of admiration in his eyes. “Actually, that’s not something I’d considered. You’d make a decent operative.”
“I watch a lot of crime shows.” The lie slipped out easily. I wasn’t ready to share why I could think like someone who’d set up an elaborate trap. Some stories were better left untold.
The kettle began to whistle, and I lifted it off the flame. Steam rose between us as I poured hot water over the tea bags, the familiar scent of Bergamot filling the kitchen.
“We keep the ammunition box hidden,” Caleb said decisively. “And we take shifts sleeping tonight. I don’t care how innocent she seems.”
I nodded, adding honey to Julia’s tea. “I’ll take first watch. You need to rest that leg.”
“Lana—”
“Don’t argue.” I fixed him with a firm stare. “You pushed it too hard today. I can see it in your face.” I walked over to the fridge and took the bottle of pain meds down. “As a matter of fact, take two of these, now,” I said, handing them to him.
He opened his mouth as if to protest, then closed it again, conceding with a slight nod, and held out his hand. “But when I go to bed, wake me in four hours. No heroics.” He popped the pills into his mouth and swallowed them dry.
“No heroics,” I agreed, though I had every intention of letting him sleep longer. His body needed rest to heal, and I’d gone without sleep plenty of times before.
I arranged the mugs on a tray, adding a plate of cookies I’d found in the pantry. “Ready to play gracious hosts to our maybe-not-so-random guest?”
Caleb’s mouth quirked into a half-smile that did strange things to my pulse. “After you.”
Back in the living room, Julia had curled into the corner of the couch, her eyes drooping with exhaustion, with Scout curled to her side. She straightened when she saw us, attempting a smile that didn’t quite hide her discomfort. “He’s a sweet boy,” she nodded towards the dog that didn’t move an inch.
“He really is. Tea,” I announced, setting the tray on the coffee table. “And cookies. They’re store-bought, but they’ll do in a pinch.”
“Thank you,” Julia said, reaching for the mug I offered her. Her hands still trembled slightly as she wrapped them around the warm ceramic. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am.”
I sat in the armchair opposite her, studying her over the rim of my own mug. She seemed genuine—the fear in her eyes when we’d found her, the way her body still occasionally shuddered with residual cold. But then the best liars were those who believed their own stories.
