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“Let’s go,” I tell him.
“We’re not going out in this again.”
“Noah!” I whip around to face him. “He wouldn’t be out there willingly in this. He could be injured or—”
“If you go out there, you’re dead!” he growls. “And then I’m dead, because I’ll have to follow you, and I know almost less than you do about surviving up here! I’m putting my foot down. We wait out the storm.”
He’s right. I know he’s right, but is he serious? I can’t sit here all night. How can he?
I look at the door.
What if a wolf or a bear got to him? What if he’s cold and dying?
A tear spills over as my feet itch to run. What if he died out there months ago, his bones rotting in the snow?
I debate making a run for it.
“Don’t even think about it,” Noah bites out as he takes off his coat and starts the fire in the stove. “I will tie you up, Tiernan. I swear to God.”
And I close my eyes before planting myself at the window for the rest of the night, watching for Kaleb.
I yawn, my eyelids heavy and my arms like ten-ton weights. I put my hand on the anchor over my waist and realize it’s Noah’s arm as he spoons me in one of the beds. I blink the sleep away, nestled into his body and still dressed in my jeans, sweater, and wool socks.
“Hey,” he says in a sleepy voice.
I turn my head. “Is it over? The storm?”
“Yeah.” He tightens his hold on me. “Listen.”
I train my ears, hearing the steady drops hit the windows and tin roof, clanking against the windchime dangling off the front porch. It’s a different sound than snow.
Oh, my God. “It’s raining?”
“Right?” he jokes.
But the wind is gone, as well as the rocks of sleet that hit the small house last night.
Rain. Not snow, which means it’s not as cold.
“Will rain make the snow slippery, though?” I ask.
Noah rises and lets out a loud yawn. “It probably means we didn’t get much snow, actually.”
He leaves the bed and pulls on his shirt, and I sit up, tucking my hair behind my ears. How can he only be in his jeans? The fire helped, but it was still cold in here last night.
He slips on his jacket and tosses me some granola we packed before grabbing a rod. “Stay in bed, eat, and hydrate,” he says. “I’ll go catch some breakfast, and then we’ll head out.”
I stiffen. “We’re not going home.”
He opens the door, looking so tired. “I mean, head out to find him, babe.”
I relax, relieved. “Hey,” I call.
He turns and looks at me.
“Be careful.”
His eyes soften, and he gives me that smile.
