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She presses her forehead against the glass, her fingers coming up along her cheek to touch the window too. “I’ve never seen snow like this before. A few inches here or there and some flurries, but nothing like this. There has to be a few feet of it out there right now.” Her voice is almost in awe as she stares across the empty white expanse behind the house.
A few hundred feet beyond is a sheer drop-off with an incredible view, but it’s impossible to see with the snow cover. I toss the remote on the couch and join her at the window. “The weather predicts another couple of feet by the time the blizzard passes in a few days.”
“Where are we?”
I clear my throat, not wanting to lie, so I give her the best answer I can. “In another city, in the mountains, we are safe.”
Her eyes go round, her face a little pale. “Were we not before? Safe, I mean?”
I remember I didn’t explain why I’d been away or about any of the trouble with the council. It’s not a quick story to sum up, but I try to be brief. “It’s complicated, but I got on the council’s radar, and Adrian suggested we get out of town for a while, at least until everything blows over.”
Her eyes scan my features as if she’s searching for the truth between the barest explanation I’ve provided. “Are we safe here?”
I nod. “No one knows about this place. The property belongs to my family. No one ever uses it, so we can stay here as long as we need to.”
The awestruck look enters her eyes again, and she turns to watch the snow. “It’s so beautiful.”
To be honest, I’m surprised she’s being so reasonable about all of this. Maybe it’s the medication talking, or perhaps, she needs a change of scenery just as bad as I do. “Do you want to see the house?”
I wave behind her, and she spins to face the living room. Her gaze rakes over the wood beams, the kitchen to the right, the upper level with the bedrooms, and then the other rooms off the lower level. “Okay.”
It takes a moment to shift around the furniture, and I lead her to the bathroom on the main floor, give the kitchen a vague wave, and then show her the way to the garage where both the vehicles and the weapons are stored. When I show her how to get to the weapons, something closes off in her face. “If I have to fight anyone, we are probably already dead.”
Her statement sparks hot anger in my chest. “That’s not acceptable. We don’t give up, no matter what. Am I clear?”
Something darker enters her eyes. A knowledge I wish so dearly she hadn’t been burdened with. The scent of her lavender soap wafts around me as she eases past to go back into the house without a word. Instead of arguing, I grab her bag by the door and show her the bedroom. It’s a suite with a balcony, giving even more amazing mountain views. The bathroom has an in-ground tub and a waterfall shower, but she barely notices because she’s still mesmerized by the snow.
It could be so easy like this. If we stay here, no one will find us, and we could both spend the rest of our lives in peace.
Needing to peel my mind away from the idea, I step up beside her and stare out at the snowy mountains. “We are here all alone, so we’ll be responsible for our own cooking and cleaning.”
She nods, not looking at me. “That’s fine. I don’t mind cooking or cleaning for myself.”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tease her about her apartment—our apartment—but maybe she’s right. I never gave her the chance to cook or clean for herself while she was there. From day one, she’s had a keeper from the doctors to Parker.
“I’m not great at cooking myself, but I’ll do my best.” I’m not sure why I say it. She doesn’t care if I can cook, and saying I’m unable to sounds a little too close to admitting weakness for me.
A lock of her hair falls down to graze the side of her neck. Before I think about it, I reach and sweep it behind her ear. She flinches hard, almost falling forward against the window with the effect.
With my hand still hovering in the air between us, I study her profile. No longer is she relaxed. Her entire body is coiled tight as if she’s waiting for me to strike out at her. An ache in my chest builds until I have to step away. Even if she thought I’d hit her, all she did was brace for it and wait to take the blow. She didn’t slap my hand away, or leave, or move, none of it.
I swallow hard, bile building in my throat. “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything,” I manage and slip out the door before I say something that will truly anger her. Or shake her awake so I can see the spark in her eyes enough that she shoves me or hits me back. Anything but the woman standing there waiting for me to vent my anger on her body. Not when I’ve never given her a reason to think of me as that kind of man.
Needing something to do, I slip on one of the oversized coats hanging by the door, change my dress shoes for boots, drop my suit jacket, and go outside to find the woodpile. I stay there, splitting wood with an axe until a small pile grows beside the chopping stump.
After a while, I strip off my jacket, yank on my loosened tie, and unbutton my dress shirt to pull it out of my pants. Any other day, I can face down an enemy, fight, and do whatever needs doing in my typical uniform, but right now, it feels constricting, like the expensive fabric is cutting off circulation to places I desperately need blood and oxygen.
My heartbeat sounds loud in my ears, and my hands ache from the tight grip of the axe. I’ve used the manual labor to focus my anger away until it becomes more, sapping me of the anger and my energy at the same time.
I’m tired. So tired of the fighting and the violence. Of people assuming I’m the monster waiting in the dark to take them. All at Adrian’s bidding, of course.
I shove the thoughts away and gather the wood in a snow-crusted basket to carry inside.
The heat hits me first, and then the scent of soup. Something spicy. I try to single out the smells, and underneath the heat of the spices, I catch the scent of biscuits baking. She’s been just as busy while I’ve been outside working. It takes a moment to load the wood up and then hang up my coat. Once I wash my hands, face, and change into something more comfortable, I join her in the kitchen, keeping my distance.
She’s working quietly, not a sound in the house except the snow outside battering against the windows. “I didn’t know you could cook.”
There’s a moment in the silence, heavy, holding its breath. She takes so long to answer that I don’t think she’s going to. “You don’t know anything about me. Yet you’ve always pictured this spoiled princess incapable of doing things on her own. I’m not the one who hired Parker. You did.”
