Page 28 of Snowbound with the Santas

As I check it over, my mind dwells on Rayne.

She’s… impossible.

A beautiful, gentle hiccup in my otherwise simple struggle for survival. Seeing her in the snow haunts me almost as much as my life before this, and my concern for her comes from a place of desperation.

That doesn’t make me a dick, does it?

Playing back the conversation and our interaction the night before, I can’t decide. I’ve never been one to beat about the bush about things, and I excel at keeping people at arm’s length.

Yet, I find myself wanting Rayne to look at me the soft way she looked at Frankie. I want to see those eyes lock on me with the same twinkle she has when she looks at Nick.

But I haven’t helped her. I haven’t patched her up or tended her wound. I dug her out of the snow, but she was unconscious and it hardly counts. How fucked up is it to crave gratitude from a stranger when such acts are supposed to be selfish?

Anger at myself suddenly pulses through my arms, hot and tight, so I focus on setting the generator to run hotter over the next two days and trudge back to the house.

Inside, Nick organizes the tents while Frankie packs the food. The pipes aren’t clunking, so Rayne must be out of the shower.

I head for my room and rummage through the old hiking gear I’ve collected over the years until I find a smaller set I purchased one year when Nick made the suggestion of inviting his ex-wife here one Christmas.

That never happened, thankfully. I’m sure I would have ended up on a hit list because of her for the shit she’s put Nick through, but I bought her gear just in case.

It should fit Rayne.

Clothes in hand, I grab one of my old support bandages and head to Rayne’s room. However, my thoughts are so jumbled about what to say to her that I stride into her room without thinking.

“Rayne,” I bark. “I brought you some?—”

“Archer!” Rayne spins to face me, and she slams her hands over her torso, trying to hide her almost-naked body from view. She stands in her underwear with red flushing over her cheeks and her eyes wide.

“Shit.” I immediately spin on the spot, turning my back to her. “I’m sorry. I thought you would have been dressed.”

“Don’t you knock?” Rayne gasps.

“It’s my cabin, and I don’t usually have naked women here.”

“Oh.” Rayne pauses and then she laughs softly. “You’re telling me there aren’t secret mountain women skulking around out there? Like Nymphs or something?”

“Fairy tales.”

“Hmm. Every fairy tale is based on reality. Like Santa.”

I stare hard at the wall, willing myself to drop the gear and stride from the room. I wait for her demands for me to do exactly that to spur me into action, but to my surprise, she doesn’t.

“You can turn around,” Rayne says. “You all pulled me from the snow, have patched me up more times than I can count. I’m not exactly shy.”

Slowly, I turn to face her and avert my eyes the second I see that she’s still in her underwear. Black lace panties and a black bra that stands out stark against her golden skin.

I shouldn’t stare, but out of the corner of my eye, I can’t help but admire her. Her abdomen has some bruising, and her full breasts draw my attention each time she takes a breath. She places one hand on her hip and flashes me a smile.

“Are those for me?”

I glance down at the pile in my arms and then nod, quickly dumping them on the bed. “Should be more your size.”

“You have women's clothes here but no women?”

“They were for Nick’s ex, but the bitch never showed.”

“Bitch, huh?” Rayne lifts one brow. “Good to know. Is this your way of saying sorry?”

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