I struggle to draw in a breath, both from the exertion and from the altitude and lack of oxygen my body isn’t used to. But he seems completely unaffected.
Because Connor has been here before…
This is by far the highest I’ve ever been on the mountain, and it’s by far the most exercise I’ve ever done in my entire life, so my body is revolting and ensuring I know it doesn’t like it one fucking bit. Almost as much as I don’t like the man who forced me up here for some reason only he understands.
The fact that he just rescued me from falling on my face after I told him not to touch me again only pisses me off more. Having to rely on Connor for anything stings like a slap across the face, and something tells me that up here, I’m going to be doing a lot of that.
I slowly trudge across the clearing toward the shack that looks like somewhere a serial killer would hole up, still glancing over my shoulder at the mysterious structure going up on the other side of the small open patch of land.
A stack of tools partially covered by a blue tarp lies near the logs, and it’s those modern items that makes me confident Connor has spent time here. Maybe a lot of it.
Which is horrifying when I finally reach the shack and step inside it, letting my bags that feel like they weigh a thousand pounds slide to the floor…
A twin bed stands pushed into one far corner, while a small, wood-fire stove occupies the other. Aside from that, the only other furniture inside is a single chair tucked under a tiny table.
Some old wooden crates stacked beside the stove hold dozens of cans and jars of food, and a couple cast-iron pots and pans hang from hooks along the wall.
This shabby cabin isn’t abandoned at all, despite how it appears from the outside.
“What is this place, Connor?”
He glances over his shoulder at me as he squats in front of the stove, shoving in kindling. With a grunt, he returns his focus to his task, strikes a match against the metal, and tosses it in. Almost instantly, it catches, the flames shedding more light on the space that I almost wish it hadn’t before he closes the grate in front of it and contains it.
“It’s an old hunting cabin Killian’s grandfather and father used.”
Damn.
I examine it again, taking in all the details now visible in the glow from the fire that weren’t before—a small window above the bed that lets in some of the growing early dawn light, a few old books stacked on the floor beside the bed, even a bear roughly scratched into the wooden wall, clearly by a child’s hand…
It definitely looks old enough to have been used and built by someone a century ago like Killian’s grandfather. But there are far too many modern things, too.
A solar-powered, rechargeable lantern sitting on the table.
The pillow and blanket on the bed.
The utensils in an old can on top of the stacked crates.
The new cans of food.
Oh, God…
“Is this…where you’ve been coming?”
All those times he disappeared for days at a time without a word…
Connor’s back stiffens, and he doesn’t turn to face me, just digs through one of the crates and pulls out a can of something. He pops off the lid and dumps the contents into one of the cast iron pans before setting it on top of the stove.
He starts to push past me in the tight space to make it for the door, but I grab his arm, forcing him to stop.
We both know he could easily shove off my hold. I’m no match for his size and strength. But he stands stock still, staring out the still open door into the mist and morning light of the mountain.
“Connor, is this where you’ve been?”
His body vibrates, the tense muscles beneath my palm flexing as he shifts and slowly turns his head to meet my gaze. The steely darkness in his eyes almost makes me recoil. “No one would ever look for me up here…”
I release a shaky breath and my hold on him.
We’re so far up that I know he’s right.
