Page 44 of Billionaire Lumberjack's Bride

Whiskey bounds ahead, darting between me and the door as I advance toward it. He knows how serious this is. How deadly it could be. The dog is smarter than anyone gives him credit for.

Look how attached he is to her already…

I climb to the porch and manage to turn the knob behind Lyla’s back and nudge open the door with my knee while balancing her in my arms. Her eyelids continue to flutter, but she doesn’t fully open them, and she stopped responding to me before I got the cabin in sight.

Whiskey rushes inside, turning back to watch us, his brows raised, head tilted, while he watches everything unfold.

I kick the door closed behind me and freeze, staring at the empty fireplace.

Fuck.

We spent the entire day outside, and I never stoked the fire. My gaze darts to where the stack of dry firewood should be beside the hearth, knowing full well what I’ll find.

Empty.

Because I wassupposedto bring in more when I stopped working today since I’ve been burning through it faster with her here, keeping it warmer than usual so she’s comfortable.

But it isn’t warm now.

The deep chill permeating the inside of the cabin matches the one settling over my heart despite having come in out of the rain. I can’t warm her up when I’m freezing from being outside for hours searching for her, and there’s no way to light a fire. If I take the time to run outside, grab wood, and get one going, it could be too late.

There’s only one other option to help get her core temp back up—and it isn’t great.

Please fucking work…

I beeline straight for the bathroom. Whiskey trails after, nervously pacing near the door as I kneel next to the steel trough that acts as my tub. I gently set Lyla down on the bath mat, propping her against the counter. The moment I move my hand away, she starts to tip sideways.

“Shit.”

Supporting her head with my left hand, I reach over and crank on the hot water with my right, then add a half turn of the cold handle, too, since putting her into water that’s too hot too fast could fucking kill her.

Irregular heartbeat. Damage to her near-frozen skin. All of it is a real risk.

Dry and warm is best.

But in a pinch, wet and warm is going to have to do.

Please, God, let this work…

If there were any time I wish I believed in someone upstairs, it would be now. When I’m desperate and praying for something I don’t deserve. I’ve failed so many people, and looking at Lyla’s pale skin and slightly blue lips, the very real evidence of my most recent failure is impossible to miss.

“Lyla, come on.” My voice cracks, and I clear my throat. “Wake up.”

She issues a little groan, which at least means she’s conscious, and tilts slightly into my hand. I brush my thumb across her pasty cheek and bring my right hand to the other side, tilting her face up toward mine.

“Lyla”—I shake her gently—“I need you to wake up.”

A strangled sound slips from her lips, like she so badly wants to ignore my command and let sleep claim her again. She tries to wrap her arms around herself, but she’s shaking so badly she can’t control her limbs, and her arms fall back to her sides.

“We have to get you warm.”

She nods a tiny bit, no doubt all she’s capable of in her current condition, and I glance over at the tub starting to fill—but not fast enough for my liking. The tankless water heater I splurged on was a necessity for me up here after a long, hard day of work on the homestead. It could also be what saves her life. If I had to heat water on the stove like many who live up here do, it could be too late.

And I need to get her out of these cold, wet clothes in the meantime.

“Shit.”

Stripping her while she’s barely conscious makes my cold skin crawl, but I reach down with one hand and grab the hem of her shirt. Slowly, I work it off her, maneuvering her limp arms through the sleeves with very little assistance from her.

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