Page 12 of Shielded Hearts

She pulled up her notes in her phone again to locate the keycode for entrance. But when she looked at the door, there wasn’t an electronic keypad, only an old tumbler lock.

Colt, far too close behind her, issued a low chuckle. “Can’t get more rustic than a combination lock.”

“Stop! I’m sure it’s much better inside.”

She entered the numbers and pulled the lock free, hoping that the door could also be locked from the inside. In case it couldn’t, she took the old metal lock with her and hurried inside.

“I’ll grab the bags.” Colt turned for the truck again.

The bags. Plural.Didhe intend to sleep here with her?

She slammed the door and heard a sliding noise followed by a lowthump.

“What the hell is that?” She whipped the door open and stared at the huge amount of snow now covering the saggy steps.

Ugh. Colt was right about this place.

She couldn’t find a light switch and finally used the flashlight on her phone to light the interior.

Her stomach bottomed out. Just when she thought it couldn’t sink lower.

The place was a mess even in this dim lighting.

Behind her, Colt stomped his boots to dislodge the fallen snow from them before he entered the cabin behind her. One look at the inside had his hard lips twitching.

He closed the door and dropped their bags on the floor. She shuddered to think of the dirt that might be on that floor, but a second later she saw it for herself when Colt struck a match and held it to the wick of a candle.

“Rustic!”

She hoped it was light enough for him to see her glaring.

They turned at the same time toward the big, bulky black potbelly stove.

“Guess this is the woodburning stove.” He rapped it with his knuckles, creating a hollow sound. “My bet is it must be real old. 1800s at the latest.”

“You’re not helping.”

No. Nothing could help now.

Her gaze fell on the purported “soaker tub,” which appeared to be a horse watering trough next to the stove with a big metal pot to heat the water for it.

Colt hooked his thumb in his jeans pocket, silently eyeing the tub.

“Don’t say a word,” she almost pleaded. “At least there’s an outdoor shower.”

“Let’s go take a look.”

They crossed the small space to a back door that didn’t fit well in its frame. Cold wind blew in through several large cracks. Surely this outdoor shower would bejustwhat she needed to soothe her frazzled nerves from the day. Plenty of hot spring water heated by natural gas or a propane tank on the property—

Colt shined his cell phone flashlight over a tree not three steps from the back door…and an old water hose looped over a low-hanging branch.

Oh god. The blows just keep coming.

“I’m going back inside.” Dejected and exhausted, she turned.

“I’ll grab some firewood. It’s going to be a cold night unless we get that stove going.”

She had no response. There weren’t words.

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