Page 3 of Loud Unspoken Memories

“Mister! Get me the fuck out of here!”

“Not until I find your child.”

Everything begins to make sense as I put myself in his position. The empty car seat in the back. The hole in the windshield. I look at the heavy branch that settled into the passenger seat, happy no one was there to be impaled by it.

“He’s not with me.”

The man stills, takes the biggest breath I’ve ever seen anyone inhale, and walks back over to me. “Jesus Christ, why didn’t you say so?”

“Me?” I furrow my brows, taking offense. “You’re the one out there going all batshit crazy while I’m trapped inside my car. Now… do you mind? And maybe call 911 or a tow truck or something in the meantime. I can’t find my phone.”

In the ten minutes I’ve been stuck here, snow has started piling up on what’s left of the windshield, some of it coming in through the broken glass and coating the dash.

The guy seems to totally ignore my request. Either that, or he doesn’t have a phone on him.Who doesn’t carry a phone?

“Can you open your door from the inside?” he asks.

“Do you think I’d still be sitting here if I could?”

I think he rolls his eyes. I can’t be sure, however, as chunks of his longish hair have come out from under his hat, concealing the upper part of his face.

He goes around to the passenger side and that door opens easily. “Are your legs injured?” he asks. “Can you crawl over?”

Without calling the man stupid, I look between him and the large branch now occupying the passenger seat.

He doesn’t call me out on my sarcastic eye movements. Instead, he says, “Let me see if I can get this out of here.”

He tugs and pulls and twists, but the branch doesn’t budge. He steps back and removes his outerwear—a light rain jacket and hoodie—leaving him in a skin-tight, long-sleeved T-shirt.

My eyes trace the outline of his muscles when he reaches back inside and manipulates the branch until he can lift and push it back through the windshield.

Damn. This guy is strong. Lumberjack strong.

And now, instead of being worried he’s a serial killer, I’m having thoughts of him being an eccentric recluse who lives in the woods, cuts logs, and, I don’t know, reads and sips wine every night just waiting for his soulmate to show up at his door.

Stop it,I tell myself. How can I think of such things after Charles just died?

Because it’s been years since you’ve been with a man, my subconscious reminds me.

And this man—wow—I can’t think of a finer specimen.

Sweat dotting his brow, he removes his wool beanie, and I swear to God I forget all about the pain in my wrist and my mouth actually waters. His dark-blond hair falls down to meet his shoulders. It has body most women would kill for. Not curly, not straight, but the perfect combination of both. His chocolate brown eyes are striking, but they aren’t even his best facialfeature. That would be his chiseled jawline. Or his full lips. Or his five o’clock shadow that looks like it’s been through a dozen five o’clocks.

If only I wasn’t in a hurry to get to my son, I could stay here and live out a full-on romance novel. I can see it now: woman gets into accident, is rescued by gorgeous hermit who whisks her off to his secluded cabin where they laugh and cook all day and make love all night. Throw in an accidental pregnancy and I’m thinking it could be a NYT best seller.

“Lady?”

I shake my head, realizing I’ve been staring—maybe even a bit obsessively.

Ouch!The sharp head movement triggers a pounding near my left temple. I reach up and feel something sticky. I look from my blood-covered fingers to the stranger, fear in my eyes.

“I don’t think it’s bad,” he says, reading my expression. “From the looks of it, you might have banged your head on the window. Can you crawl over now?”

“My wrist hurts, but I can try.” I go to unhook the seat belt, but it doesn’t release. I keep pushing the button. “It isn’t coming off.”

He reaches around his back and swivels around something that looks like a cross between a fanny pack and what a handyman carries on his belt. Fishing through it, he comes out with a knife sheathed in a leather casing. My eyes widen and I gulp down my breath.Holy shit!Is this hot, reclusive, lumberjack actually some psycho murderer dude who’s going to stab me right here? Or maybe he’s just salivating at the chance to lure me back to his lair.

My heart beats a million times a minute, all kinds of horrible scenarios playing out in my head.

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