Page 53 of Mountain Hero

Shit. Why would Winter want the books on a shelf here when she probably wants them at her house instead?

“I love it.” She puts the book back in the box and gets up, then sits down on my lap, straddling me. “I love it. I love them. It’s… this is the best gift.”

Her hands frame my face and she kisses me. Her eyes are bright with tears. “I love this, Enzo. So much. And I would love to see them on a shelf in the office. Then when I’m working I can look over and see them. And maybe we could put out some of your baseball cards on display on another shelf, and…”

Trailing off, color rises in her cheeks. “Well,” she amends. “You don’t have to put out the cards. It was just an idea.”

“I love the idea.” And I do. Winter’s books, my baseball cards, and maybe some photos of her family and mine…

Shit. What am I thinking?

I’m making plans like it’s a given we’re going to be together. Not just for a few weeks or months, but much longer than that.

Still. When I think about that shelf with all our things blended together, I like it. A lot.

“I think it’s a great idea, hun. I’ll get to work on that bookshelf tomorrow.”

The alarm isn’t loud, but it wakes me instantly.

But after decades in the Army, I don’t need blaring sirens and flashing lights. Even in sleep, my body is still alert, picking up on the smallest change in my surroundings.

The incessant buzzing of my phone and the flashing message on the screen are more than enough to thrust me into battle mode.

Winter is still wrapped in my arms, her head pillowed on my chest, and it’s with a sharp jab of regret that I gently jostle her awake. As I rub her shoulder, I pitch my voice so it’s low and urgent. “Winter. Wake up. It’s time.”

Her eyes fly open and she jerks her head up, nearly bashing me in the nose. In the dimness of the living room—we fell asleep on the couch and hours later, the TV has gone dormant—her face is in shadow, but the whites of her eyes are visible.

“Enzo.” It’s a strained whisper. “He’s here?”

“Yes.” I lift her off me and get up from the couch. Reaching my hand out to her, I say, “The perimeter alarm was triggered. We need to move.”

Winter blinks, and I can tell she’s trying to force away the last dredges of sleep. “Okay.” She takes my outstretched hand, her fingers trembling as they wrap around mine.

We’ve gone over this, so she follows my lead without question. The two of us move like shadows through the darkened house, quickly heading into the kitchen and over to the pantry door.

When we get there, I open the door and urge Winter inside. She hesitates for a moment, her hand convulsing around mine. “Enzo. Please.” The wobble in her voice tears at me. “Be careful.”

There’s a small nightlight in the pantry, just bright enough to cast a faint glow across her fear-stricken face. She bites her lip, chin jutting out, and her chest is rising and falling much too quickly.

Shit. I hate this.

I hate leaving Winter in here, scared and alone.

I wish I could reassure her; hug her and kiss her and promise that everything is going to be okay. I wish I could hold her until she stops shaking and the terrified look in her eyes goes away.

But I can’t. We’re in it now, and there’s no going back.

“It’s going to be okay.” Palming her cheek, I hold her gaze. “Lock the door behind me. Stay in here. No matter what. Do not come out until I get back.”

“Okay.” Her voice is so tiny. “I won’t.”

I shouldn’t take the time, but it’s impossible not to. Just before I close the door, I press a hard and fast kiss to her lips. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

But her expression still haunts me. The terror and worry etched in the lines of her face, the ghost-like pallor of her skin, how dark and frightened her gaze was as she silently pleaded with me to be careful.

This isn’t how I wanted it—leaving Winter in the pantry we converted into a safe room while I’m outside going after Thomas. Even though I know she’s safe in there, with the reinforced door that only locks from inside, the weapons Winter’s been trained to use, fire extinguishers and comm devices and a hidden egress to the basement.

It’s still not enough to completely quell my irrational worries.

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