“Rest now. I'm not going anywhere.”
I close my eyes and let the warmth of him chase off what's left of the nightmare. His breath goes even above me. The fire settles low in the hearth. Outside, the wind keeps working at the walls and the snow keeps coming, but in here it's just his arms and the quiet. I fall asleep like that, tucked against a mountain manwho pulled me out of a wreck twelve hours ago and hasn't let the world near me since.
When I wake again, the cabin is brighter, gray daylight mixing with the low glow of the fire. The spot beside me is empty, but still warm. I sit up slower this time, ribs protesting but nowhere near as sharp as before. Colt's at the counter near the fireplace, moving with that quiet, unbothered confidence that makes everything he does look easy. He's already cooking, the sound of a pan on the stove and a spatula scraping filling the small space. There's something more alert about him this morning though, something in the set of his shoulders that wasn't there last night, like he's been up longer than he's letting on.
I watch him for a moment, my cartoonist brain already framing the scene into panels. Tall, bearded marshal at the stove, sleeves rolled up over forearms that look like they were built for chopping wood, not flipping eggs. It would make a great grumpy hero strip, if my life weren't currently a thriller instead of a romcom.
“How long was I out?” I ask, my voice still rough with sleep.
He turns, and his eyes find mine right away. “Twelve hours. You needed it.”
Twelve hours. The words settle over me like another blanket. The window shows nothing but white, snow swirling hard enough that the storm must still be going strong. “Everything okay out there? You seem, I don't know, extra watchful this morning.”
Something crosses his face, there and gone fast enough that I almost miss it. “Checked the perimeter at first light. Nothing but snow and my own tracks. Just being careful.”
I want to believe that's the whole answer, and something about the way he says it, easy and unhurried, lets me. He plates eggs and some kind of meat, then brings it over on a wooden tray and sets it across my lap.
“Eat your protein,” he says, a growl running under the words that leaves no room for arguing. “You need it to heal those ribs and that hard head of yours.”
I take a bite. It's simple and warm and better than anything I've eaten in days, and the ache in my chest eases a little with every mouthful. “Storm's still that bad?”
He sits on the edge of the bed near my feet. “Raging hard. Even if those men are still hunting for you, they're not making it up this mountain in this. We're snowed in tight.”
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. The fear loosens its grip, just a little. No one's coming through that door today. Not with the mountain throwing everything it has at the world outside these walls.
He watches me eat for a moment, his face unreadable except for something soft around the eyes. “Anyone we should call? Family? A husband, a boyfriend?”
I shake my head, poking at the eggs. “Just me. And a stack of notebooks full of cartoon ideas that won't get finished if those guys ever catch up to me.”
Something flickers across his face at that, quick and hot, gone before I can name it for certain.
I try for light, my overactive brain kicking in even now. “Your wife should probably know you're out here playing hero with a strange woman in your bed.”
He holds my gaze without blinking. “I'm not married.”
The words land warm in my chest. I shouldn't like hearing that as much as I do. I do anyway.
“Girlfriend?” I keep my voice casual, even as my pulse ticks up.
“No one.”
I like that answer even more than I should. Way more. I take another bite of breakfast and let the warmth of the food, and of him, chase away whatever's left of the nightmare.
6
Colt
I watch her from across the cabin, propped up against the pillows with the blankets pooled at her waist, her eyes on the fire like she is still working through everything that happened in the woods yesterday. Color has come back into her face after the long sleep. She looks small in my shirt and the layers of wool I piled on her, and something about that pulls at me harder than it probably should. Vulnerable. Mine to keep whole. The thought has been sitting in my chest since I carried her out of that wreck, and it only gets louder the longer she stays under my roof.
This cabin used to be quiet in a way I never questioned. Now every sound she makes fills it differently, and I am starting to notice how much space that quiet used to take up.
I cross to the bed, boots soft on the floorboards. “You need anything, darlin'?”
She blinks up at me, still shaking off sleep. “Do you have a notebook I could borrow? Something to draw in. It helps me think. Helps me feel like myself again.”
I do not hesitate. There is a spare notebook on the shelf by the door, the one I use for trap line notes and supply lists when it is just me out here. I grab it along with a pencil stub worn down to almost nothing and carry them over. “Here. Use it for whatever you need.”
She takes it with a small smile that lands somewhere behind my ribs and stays there. Her fingers brush mine for half a second, soft against skin that has not been soft in years. She settles back against the pillows, opens the notebook across her lap, and I sit down on the edge of the bed beside her, close enough to feel the warmth coming off her but not close enough to crowd. She starts drawing right away, her hand moving fast and sure across the page like the pencil already knows where it is going.
