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Martin hadn’t known Nick Waugh long, but he knew him well enough to know his normal reaction was to take issue with everything and to ask questions later—possibly.
He was definitely in shock.
Nick crowded into the bathroom after Martin and dropped the banket to the linoleum flooring. Retrieving the throw, Martin exited before Nick started to remove his sopping pants. Not that he needed a good imagination to envision what was underneath the thin material, but he shouldn’t ogle a likely hypothermic man.
When he heard the clink of the shower curtain being pulled shut, Martin opened the door and set two clean towels on the toilet lid before backing out into the living room again.
“Do I want to know where you came from?” he asked the kitten. All he got in response was a twitch of one ear. Setting the throw blanket down, he pulled one edge of it over the tiny form. The heating pad he’d been teasing Simon about was also sitting out, so Martin plugged it in and eased it underneath the kitten. “There.”
With the kitten ignoring him and Nick in the shower—and to distract himself from a slew of unasked-for images featuring a wet and naked Nick Waugh—Martin decided to check the damage to the other cabin. Pulling on his rain gear, Martin stepped into the tall, bright yellow rubber boots Charley had given him as a joke.
“Don’t move,” he said to the tiny lump on the couch. The lump continued to ignore him.
He spotted his flashlight on the mantle, grabbed it, and headed out into the storm.
The wind howled and roared, doing its best to scare the bejeezus out of anything and everyone. He hadn’t bothered with a hat and good thing, too, or it would’ve been snatched off his head. Waves he couldn’t see smashed and pounded onto the sandy beach so hard that the ground under his feet vibrated. He sensed the storm hadn’t quite reached its peak yet, but it was damn close.
Sticking close to the cabins, he carefully made his way to the end of the row where Cabin Five stood.
Partially stood.
“Holy shit.” Heedless of the rain, he stopped in his tracks and stared, trying to process the damage. His heart pounded frantically against his ribs as he realized just how close Nick had come to death. How had he not been injured?
The fallen tree had to have been approaching sixty feet tall.Thank fuck, it had missed most of the cabin, landing along the gravel drive and taking out a smaller tree with it. Nick could easily have been crushed to death while he slept. The flashlight illuminated the spot where the tree’s lower boughs had caught the edge of the cabin’s roof, pushing it off the walls and smashing one corner.
“Shit, fuck,” Martin muttered, moving again and swinging the flashlight back and forth as he assessed the damage. The rain was coming at him sideways, and trees creaked and swayed. It was probably pretty stupid to be standing out there waiting for another damn tree to fall or for random debris to fly past him and take his head along for the ride.
He hadn’t survived a heart attack just to be killed by a fucking tree.
One last time, Martin directed the flashlight beam across the remains of the cabin, hardly able to believe Nick had survived relatively unscathed—and damn glad he had. He’d sort of hoped to see if there was anything of Nick’s that could be saved tonight, anything he could rescue and return to safety like some sort of slicker-clad, yellow-booted knight in shining armor. And no, he wasn’t going to parse out why that role appealed. Regardless, any salvage work would have to wait until the storm passed.
Minutes later, he was back inside his own house; the shower was still running, and the feline guest still slept. Martin stripped off his sopping weather gear and hung it across one of several boxes he hadn’t unpacked yet. In the kitchen, he checked the clock, which told him it was two-fifteen a.m.
There was a long way to go before daylight.
Grabbing the kettle, he held it under the faucet, and when it was full, he set it on the stove to heat. The shower water turned off while he was digging around in the cupboards, looking for the herbal tea that he knew he had somewhere.
Moving is a pain in the ass.
“Ah-hah!” Martin exclaimed when he finally spotted the orange and black box.
Seconds later, Nick padded into the kitchen. Turning around to face him, Martin took a long look at The State of Nick. The spare sweats and cotton sweater Martin had left for him were rolled up once at his wrists and ankles and—although Martin would never say anything—Nick was just enough smaller than him that, in Martin’s clothing, he really did resemble an almost-drowned cat.
The shocked, almost vacant, expression from earlier had been replaced by his usual scowl. The scowl had Martin wanting to smile. He manfully resisted the temptation; Martin didn’t have a death wish.
“Tea?”
Nick shrugged at the same time that the kettle whistled. The shrill sound was somewhat muffled by a gale doing its best to drown out everything but its own voice. With Nick watching, Martin poured the hot water into two mugs and dropped in the waiting tea bags. Setting the kettle back on the stove, Martin breathed in the scent of orange peel, cinnamon, and clove, then held his breath for a second before releasing it. Martin always found the Market Spice blend comforting, and he figured they both needed comfort right now.
“Are you… sniffing tea?” Nick asked, managing to sound astonished and judgmental at the same time.
Martin didn’t bother to reply. He simply handed Nick one of the mugs.
“Let it steep a few minutes before you drink it.”
Accepting the mug, Nick eyed it skeptically.
“Do you not like tea?” Martin asked. Personally, he only liked herbal tea; black tea hurt his stomach.
