Page 7 of Out of the Cold

But Hilde wasn’t done. One moment she was at the tree line, the next she was in the shadows of the trees, and then she was gone.

“Hilde,” she called, heart racing. She ran down the steps and into the woods. She could hear the dog moving, hear her breath huffing out. “Hilde, come,” she snapped.

Finally the dog emerged, nose speckled with dirt, and looked at her with great sorrow, as if disappointed by her lack of trust.

Back inside, she quickly drew the curtains on all the windows. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t anyone around to peer in. Lord knew Gabriel wasn’t curious enough to so much as glance her way.

That done, her mind turned to the woodstove, which sat in the middle of the wall connecting the kitchen and living room. In literary terms, Gabriel was her nemesis, but the hulking black object in the room was giving him a run for his money.

She shouldn’t have pretended she knew how to work this monstrosity. It wasn’t like her to lie, but his attitude had put her on the defensive.

Now she was going to pay for it.

She stood looking at the black iron, hoping the secret of its inner workings would reveal itself. When that didn’t work, she grabbed the handle on top and opened the little door.

It was like looking into the bowels of hell.

Heat and smoke surged up, and the glowing embers burned brighter in the charred wood.

She let the door fall shut with a clang that sent the dog running out of the room.

She was such a fool. Gabriel was probably a perfectly reasonable person. Anyone could have a bad day, after all, and he’d been nice to her when she almost fainted. Surely Len wouldn’t have hired him if he were really awful? She’d make him some brownies or invite him over for coffee. She’d win him over, and then it would all be fine.

None of which helped her now. She picked up a log from a wooden crate along one side of the woodstove and took a deep breath. She could do this. Holding her breath, she opened the top hatch again and inserted the log. Sparks flew up as it landed, scaring her so badly she let the door fall shut with another echoing clang.

She couldn’t do this. She’d use electric heat and pay whatever she needed to pay.

A great plan, except for the fact that she was surviving on quarterly royalty payments from her first book and part-time freelance editing. It was enough to get by on while living for free, but there was nothing left to spare.

She was sweating now, and her breathing had turned shallow again. She had no idea how much wood she was supposed to add, but she didn’t have the stomach for much more of this. Taking a deep breath, she added one more log. At least this time she was prepared for the heat and sparks, and she let the door down gently.

“I did it!”

Her elation lasted only until she remembered she was going to have to do the same thing every day for months.

She wouldn’t think about it. She was having trouble thinking straight, anyway.

Maybe it was the drive, or the stress and anxiety of the day. Maybe it was simply not getting enough oxygen, but she could barely keep herself upright.

She brushed her teeth in the bathroom closest to her bedroom and changed into pajamas before falling into bed.

But as exhausted as she was, it took her forever to fall asleep. The unfamiliar room—with its strange shadows on the wall and new noises—unsettled her. Over and over she jerked awake, her heart pounding at nothing. Finally, somewhere around eleven, she drifted off, her mind too worn out to be frightened.

She woke in the pitch black to a woman screaming.

Every hair on her body stood on end as she bolted upright, the sound ringing in her ears. She didn’t understand where it came from or whether it was only part of a dream until it came again, screams tearing through the air in rapid succession, quick as the thrust of a knife.

Outside, but not far.

A woman in trouble, in pain. Someone was hurting her.

Hilde growled low in her throat and paced along the floor. Lucy groped for the lamp, nearly tipping it over. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her breath came in shallow pants. Sweat prickled along her scalp and under her arms.

They were in the middle of nowhere. Who could be out there?

She pictured a woman with terrified eyes, leaves caught in long dark hair as someone dragged her by the arm.

Her cell phone wasn’t on the nightstand like it usually was. She always put it there, but last night she’d been so exhausted.

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