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Melinda’s beautiful face was empty. She was lucid but the fatigue, fear, and physical intensity of the storm were taking their toll. Grant’s jaw clenched. The revolver had been the only thing he could think of to make her feel in control. He was pretty sure Paul had said Melisa didn’t let him keep it loaded, but hell, maybe he’d get lucky and Melinda’d shoot him dead. Then he wouldn’t have to face this sickening guilt. He just hoped she did so in the morning, so he could help her survive the night.
Who the hell ignores a terrified woman pleading with him to stop? Fuck!His conscience was outraged, and with good reason. Murderers and rapists, that’s who. He slowly approached her. Snowflakes were melting in her hair.
“Melinda, we need to close the door,” he said, gently but firmly. She didn’t answer but turned and walked farther into Paul’s dark cabin. Her scent trailed behind her like a lifeline. Grant gritted his teeth. “I’m going to shut the door behind me, then I’m going past you to the right, into the kitchen,” he told her. “And then I’m going to turn on a light. Follow me and keep me in sight. I’m going to Paul’s bedroom and I’m going to turn on the heat for you. Stay in the kitchen. I need to text Paul before we lose Wi-Fi.”
She stiffened at the word “bedroom” but didn’t pull the trigger, so that counted as a win. Grant did as promised and removed his phone from his jacket pocket in the stark kitchen light. He brought up Paul’s messages and replied, rapid-fire.
What the hell? This lady looks just like Melisa and she walked right to my car. What are the damned odds?
I’ll put her in your room and take the couch. We’re going to lose power so I won’t have Wi-Fi.
It’s pretty bad up here. We’ll have to melt snow and keep a fire going constantly.
We’ll be ready for whatever when you guys come, including the cops. Bring one of my rigs with a plow.
It’ll be two days before you can reach us. Get Bryan to cover my routes and let my dad know I’m back in town.
Her name is Melinda.
Grant closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders. It felt important to tell Paul that the woman they’d stolen had a name. A name and probably a loving family and a boyfriend or husband. Dammit! He was such an ass.
“Okay.” He straightened. “That’s done.”
Grant switched on Paul’s bedside light and cranked the thermostat as high as possible, willing the vents to produce heat. Pausing in the doorway, he caught Melinda’s eye and saw stale fear. Shame twisted in his gut.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” He watched her face for any sign of awareness. “I know you can’t believe me. I get it. But I’m not going to attack you. You can point that at me if you need to.” He nodded at the gun in her hand. Her chin trembled as she followed his gesture and saw the revolver. “You don’t have to,” he added quickly. “Just keep holding it like you’re doing. You’re doing a great job.” He waited for the trembling to stop and rubbed a hand across his face.
“What is it?” Melinda asked. She was present enough to be sensitive to his stress, and Grant felt a twinge of pride.
He grimaced. “We’re going to lose power tonight. I’m surprised we haven’t already. I want this place as warm as possible before the heat shuts off. I’ll build a fire, but that’s in the den. We need to load you up with blankets in here, but if you get too cold, you need to wake me up and sleep in front of the fire. I’ll take the floor. It’s no problem. You can keep the gun handy.”
“When will they get the power back on?” she asked, her voice small, and Grant’s chest constricted.
“Could be a couple days.” He watched her face fall. Might as well get the bad news over with. “Also, Paul’s on a well out here, so we’ll have to get creative with water and the bathroom. The good news is that if we could find anything to cook, the stove is propane and there are matches. Before I start a fire, I’m going to fill up all the pots with water so we have something to drink. I’ll melt snow for flushing water.” He tried a smile. She stared at the floor. He let the smile drop.
“Can I use your phone?”
Hell again.
“Of course. Sorry, I didn’t think of that. You need to call your boyfriend?” Was it possible for his mind to shake its head in disgust? Possibly. Phone outstretched, he stepped toward her and the house went dark.
Grant froze. “Shit. Shit, shit, shit.” What now, Samson? The house is barely one degree warmer than that blizzard.
“Flashlights,” he answered himself. “Melinda, I’m going to walk toward you now. You can stand in that corner back there, by the coffee maker, with the island between us.”
“Okay,” she said quietly. Then even more quietly, “It’s fine. I’ve got no one to call, really.” The emptiness in her voice gutted him.
Where had Paul kept the camping lanterns when they’d lost power during the thunderstorm last July? The closet by the front door. With the batteries and snack bars. Grant jerked into motion and winced at Melinda’s swift intake of breath. He stopped as quickly as he’d started.
“Sorry. Sorry. I remembered where Paul keeps the flashlights. They’re in the closet where we got the gun. Want to walk with me, or stay here while I go get them?”
“I’ll go.” Her voice wasn’t angry, wasn’t scared. It wasn’t even irritated. It was dull. Lifeless. And it hit Grant like a fist. She’s shutting down as I fuck around. Get it together!
They shuffled in blind tandem from the kitchen to the closet. He patted at the shoulders of coats, found the shelf, then hunted among the boxes for the plastic hulls of Paul’s LED lanterns.
“Found them,” he said, relief and victory puffing his chest. He clicked on a lantern, washing their surroundings in eerie bluish-white. Grant’s eyes went straight to her face. Exhaustion deepened her eyes in their sockets, strain hunching her shoulders. Dammit. He grabbed a second and third lantern by their square plastic handles.
