Page 23 of Mountain Hero

Winter’s a petite woman—she’s probably half my weight and her head barely comes to my shoulder—but right now she looks so small and vulnerable I’m seized by an unexpected desire to pull her into my arms and reassure her everything’s going to be okay.

“Enzo?” She peers up at me, her brows arching up in confusion. “Is something wrong?”

Yes. “No. Nothing’s wrong.”

Winter takes a step back from the doorway. Her brow creases. “Do you want to come in?”

“If it’s okay.” I suddenly realize that while Winter may seem small and fragile to me, I may come off as big and intimidating, which is the last thing I want. So I shove my hands in my pockets and say, “I just wanted to see how you’re doing. But if it’s not a good time…”

Winter lets out a short laugh, and just for a second, her face lights up with it. Lips quirking, she says, “Enzo. I’ve been sitting in this room for the last five hours, trying to convince myself there’s no way Thomas can sneak past the officer outside and get in here. The only shows I can get on the TV are police procedurals and true crime docuseries, which I really don’t want to watch right now. Seeing you is the highlight of my night.”

A second later, her cheeks flush bright red. “Forget I said that. I must sound so ungrateful. Of course I’m glad to be somewhere safe and the police are watching out for me and?—”

“Winter.” I touch her hand, squeezing her fingers gently. “You do not sound ungrateful. At all. It sounds like you’ve been stressed and I bet you still have a headache and—” I look around the room, searching for some evidence of food, but there’s nothing beside a few bottles of water and some packages of crackers. “Have you eaten? An actual meal?”

She stares at me for a few moments, then sags as she says, “No. Officer Wilkes got these”—she gestures at the water and crackers—“from the vending machine.”

Turning back to the door, I lock and deadbolt it, then guide Winter over to the bed. When I sit on the mattress, still holding her hand, she sinks down beside me and looks at me with a questioning gaze.

“You didn’t have dinner?” I ask. “I’m sure the police would have arranged something if you’d asked.”

“I didn’t think about it until later. And then…” Her gaze skitters away. “I didn’t want to ask. Because then they’d have to pay attention to figuring out food instead of… and then I thought I could call for delivery, but I don’t have my wallet. Or cash. Thomas took everything…”

Shit.

I clamp my jaw together so hard it sends shooting pains down my neck.

That piece of garbage…

“Sorry,” Winter adds quietly. “I shouldn’t be complaining. I’m just glad I’m safe. And thanks for coming to check on me. I really appreciate it.”

“Winter.” Even though rage is burning inside me, I keep my voice low and soothing. “Are you doing okay? Really? I don’t want to push. But I’m worried about you.”

After a long pause, she gives me an unconvincing smile. “I’m okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“But I am worried.”

“Why?”

Here we are, at the crux of it. Why am I so worried? If it was some stranger I found in my office, would I have gone to the hospital? Come here tonight?

Shifting on the mattress so I’m facing her, our knees almost touching, I tell her the truth. “Because I liked you, back when you came into my store. Before all this. I still do. And there’s just something… I keep thinking about you. Worrying if you’re okay. Wishing I could help. I know it probably sounds strange, but?—”

“I liked you, too.” It’s a soft admission. “Back then. And—” She stops. “Well. I keep thinking about you, too. I wish… things had been different.”

As I look at Winter, trying to figure out how to respond, I’m reminded of something one of my teammates told me. It was about a year ago, after Finn got together with Hanna, and he was telling me how it was when he first met her.

“It was crazy,” he said, “how I felt like I’d known her forever. From the first day, the first hour, I just knew there was something different about her. Even when I wanted to deny it, tried to deny it, it was impossible to stop thinking about her.”

Back then, I just smiled and nodded at him while thinking it sounded a bit unrealistic.

But now? I’m not so sure.

Unrealistic or not, I’m definitely not happy about the situation Winter is in. Maybe she won’t stay at my house, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help. It’s too late to go to the grocery store now, but I can make up some sandwiches for her to have tonight. Keep her company for a while. And tomorrow, I can stock up on things Winter can prepare using the tiny fridge and microwave tucked away in the corner.

Maybe I can even talk to Patrick about finding a better place for Winter to stay. There has to be something nicer than this. I can offer to pay the difference if the police don’t have the money.

I’m just trying to decide how to bring up my plan when the phone rings, a loud, old-fashioned jangling sound. Winter yelps and her fingers dig into my hand.

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