Page 6 of Out of the Cold

Chapter Two

As soon as the doorshut behind Gabriel, Lucy sank to the floor and let her head fall back against the wall. Her righteous anger drained away, leaving nothing but the fear that had taken up residence since Mark moved out.

Hilde came over and nuzzled her.

“He’s right,” she whispered to the dog. “I don’t know what I’m doing. Maybe I should have gone home.”

She still could. She could drive right back down the mountain and head east. Her parents would cry and hug her. Her mom would cook incredible meals, and her brothers would drop by and gently tease her. All of them would do everything they could to help her.

But she didn’t want to go home. She’d waited so long to get out of Florida. All her old friends—most of whom had faded away after she got sick—had moved out of their hometown to go to school or take jobs. They’d traveled, driving across the country with friends and going to Europe for the summer. She’d followed them on Instagram and Twitter, wishing she could head off into the world, too. Which was why when Mark asked her to move to California with him six months after they met, she said yes.

Going back now would be an admission of defeat, and who knew how long it would take for her to leave again?

Heaving herself to her feet, she wandered around the cabin, examining the bedrooms. It was too much house for her, really. It was made for a family, for games in front of the fire and drinking hot cocoa together after a day of skiing. She’d imagined a small, snug cabin, not a home that made her more aware of how alone she was. She knew nothing about this place, this town, or these mountains. And the only human being within miles was judgmental and obnoxious.

The bedroom at the back of the house had a sleigh bed and pretty green curtains in the window, so she took that one for herself. For the next couple of hours, she focused on unpacking and finding the exact right spot for her things. She had to rest and catch her breath constantly, which made it slow going, but she wasn’t exactly pressed for time. The entire fall and winter stretched out before her.

In the kitchen, a cappuccino machine sat next to a high-end coffeemaker. The cabinets above the counter held dishes and serving ware, those below pans and cookware of every conceivable type, including a waffle maker and crepe pan. Everything was first-rate and shiny, meant for a house full of people.

She’d never made waffles, but she could learn. Someone in the history of waffles must have made them from scratch for themselves.

She hadn’t brought anything from her former kitchen except some dry goods and the last few things in her fridge. She took these from a cooler and stashed them in the fridge alongside condiments and a box of baking soda left by Len’s family. She’d have to go grocery shopping tomorrow.

With the most pressing items put away, she pulled out her laptop and notebooks and set them on one side of the long kitchen table—which appeared to be made from a single enormous tree. From there, she had a view through the windows. Perfect for writing, or for staring while she was thinking. She spent a lot of time staring into space, nearly as much as she did actually writing.

But she was too full of restless energy to work, so she poked around the house a bit more, opening every cabinet and closet to see what was inside. She had just discovered the laundry room on the other side of the house when a noise made her jump.

Thud.

Another thud, then a pause. Thud. Pause. Over and over, like something mechanical.

It was coming from outside, somewhere behind the cabin. Back in the bedroom she’d chosen for herself, she knelt on the bed and peered through the windows.

Gabriel was outside his cabin. As she watched, he set a log on a tree stump, then swung an ax overhead and straight down, splitting the wood neatly in two. The pieces fell to the ground, and he picked them up and tossed them on a nearby pile before setting another log on the stump.

The man had muscles on muscles, and with his height he looked every inch a man of the mountain. Despite her dislike of him, she couldn’t stop looking. He’d taken off his flannel and was wearing a short-sleeved shirt that clung to his biceps and chest. Even from where she sat, she could see his muscles bunch and release as he swung the ax.

Good lord. They didn’t make them like that where she came from. Too bad he was so far away. It would have been a great pic for Cara.

Pushing away from the window, she headed back into the kitchen and sat at her computer. She had a book to finish, and if she couldn’t do it up here in the middle of nowhere, she had no business calling herself a writer.

When she looked up again, the sun had gone down and her own reflection looked back at her from the window. Hilde whined at the door and Lucy let her out, standing on the front step as the dog sniffed her way across the lawn. The house sat in a clearing of about half an acre, but beyond that, the forest took over.

Normally Hilde was quick, but several minutes later she was still snuffing along the patches of grass and pine needles, a black and tawny blur in the darkening yard.

“Hilde,” she called, impatient. It was chilly now that the sun was down. “Do your business.”

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