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We don’t talk for a while. The path leads higher until we reach a flat area that winnows down to a wide path between twin mountain cliffs. My stomach freezes as I realize where we must be. When Clint died, they’d said he’d been trampled when a herd of cattle stampeded through a narrow opening between two mountains. I look up at the solid gray walls on either side and a shudder moves down my spine.
“Did you want to ask something?”
I turn and he’s taken off his hat. His dark hair is tousled by the wind. His hat rests in his hand, on his thigh. His winter-blue eyes are washed out until his pupils are two black dots againstice. There’s a hardness to his face that scares me, like he’s thinking about something that conjures loathing in him.
It hits me right then that I’m alone with him.
Completely isolated.
The wind whistles through the opening. It smells like winter and on it I catch his scent. An odd sensation follows, a feeling like I’ve known him before this. In another life, a long, long time ago.
The hair on the back of my neck raises.
There are secrets like ghosts on his ranch. I have a feeling Gerard knows where each one is buried, because he put them six feet under.
“How far are we from the cabin?” I ask, my mouth dry.
Shadow moves up beside me and we fall into step together. Gerard’s jaw works grimly.
“Not far,” he says.
We move silently between the cliffs and the landscape opens up. The further we go from the mountain pass, the better I feel. When it’s just a smudge in the distance behind us, I look up and see the cabin at the top of the mountain. It’s barely peeking from the trees, but I can see it’s simple, but comfortable. There’s a small barn beside it with a paddock big enough for several horses.
“We built this ten years ago,” he says. “That way if we have to be on the far side of the property, we’ve got a place to spend the night. And it makes a good hunting cabin.”
“Do you hunt a lot?”
He shakes his head. “Maybe once, twice a year. All the meat on the ranch is from the cattle. But a couple times a season we bring in elk and deer. Do you hunt?”
I shake my head. “I’ve always been too busy on the ranch.”
His eyes linger on me as we climb the hill, but he doesn’t speak. I know he’s thinking of my life before him—I see it inthe grim line of his jaw. I know he disapproves of the way Clint treated me and that look in his eyes reminds me of the one I saw at the mountain pass. For the first time, a horrible, dark thought creeps into my mind.
No, Gerard might be intimidating, but he’s not a murderer.
A chill moves down my spine and even Bluebell feels it and prances to the side. Gerard leans in and catches her right rein, steadying her. His brows crease in an unspoken question, but I’m speechless. He hated Clint, that’s obvious, but…no, I should be ashamed of entertaining such a thought.
And yet…it was so convenient that Clint died the day after Gerard met me.
I shake my head hard. My husband was killed in an accident. That was verified by the coroner.
The coroner who’s close friends with Gerard.
Damn it.
We pause outside the cabin and barn. He swings down from Shadow and the sound of his boots hitting frozen ground jerks me back to reality. Gerard isn’t evil. He’s rough, obsessive, and maybe a little controlling in some areas, but he’s not that twisted.
He looks up at me, his dark lashes and brows making his pale eyes stand out like the sky against snow. My mouth goes dry. He moves close to me and lifts me down and I feel his hands on me for a fleeting moment. Strong, warm, safe. The first time I’ve felt safe since my father died.
My body wouldn’t feel safe with a murderer. The wilderness is making my mind go down dark paths. Perhaps it was seeing the place where Clint died that triggered it.
I make the conscious choice to stop these thoughts in their tracks.
He takes both horses by the reins and walks between them to the barn. We brush them down and put them in their stalls withgrain and water. Then he leads the way to the cabin and unlocks the door.
It’s all one room inside except for the lofted bedroom upstairs. He taps the thermostat and the heat kicks in. Then he crosses the living area and crouches by the fireplace to stack logs and kindling inside.
I peel off my coat and flannel and let them drop to the ground. The clock above the stove shows it’s almost six. I know he’s probably hungry and for the first time in a while, I actually want to cook something. I pull off my boots and pad into the kitchen in my socks and start going through the cabinets.
