Page 34 of Slay Ride

I take the honey to the hearth and set the jar near the fire. “You mind turning this every few minutes? It needs to warm up if I want to cook with it.”

“You’re cooking more food?” She wraps the quilt around her shoulders and shuffles to the fire. “I always get so hungry when I drink. That’s why I wanted the alcohol. My appetite is pretty shit.”

She settles down beside the hearth and touches the jar, then pulls her fingers back with a wince.

“It’s the temperature fluctuation,” I say. “Your fingertips will be more sensitive for a while. Maybe forever.”

Her gaze moves to her hands. “I won’t lose my fingers, will I?”

“It’s possible.” I step away from the fireplace and head toward the kitchen again. Her fingers won’t fall off, but life is more fun if she thinks they will.

“Why aren’t your hands as bad off as mine? You’re touching everything, and you don’t have any pain.”

I shrug. “I had good gear. Yours looks like you picked it out of a bargain bin.”

“I did.”

That wasn’t what I expected her to say, and I don’t like this game. Instead of lobbing the ball back to me, she aimed it right at my chest.

“I, uh, I need to cut more wood for the stove. Will you be okay in here for a few minutes?”

She tips the whiskey bottle against her lips and turns the jar a few inches, but she doesn’t answer me.

“If you need the company, I can bring the logs inside and cut them,” I say. “I might put some gouges in the floor, but Jim can replace the boards with his pocket change.”

She still doesn’t say anything, which is enough of an answer for me. Her pride won’t let her speak her truth. She doesn’t want to be alone.

If I’m just running out to grab the logs and the ax, there’s no need to put on all my gear. Hell, I could probably make the runto the woodshed in my boots and underwear. I pull my warm socks from the hearth and put them on, then slide my feet into my boots. The thought of the winter wind hitting my chest gives me pause, but I won’t be out there for longer than a minute.

Still, I take another pull from the whiskey bottle to give me a little extra warmth. I have a mild buzz going, which also helps with the poor decision making.

“I’ll be right back,” I say. “Don’t forget to keep turning the bottle.”

She gives me a drunken salute, then returns her focus to the honey.

After fastening the headlamp on my head once more, I grip the doorknob, take a deep breath, and race into the cold.

Chapter Fourteen

Cat

Locking him outside in the cold would be mean, especially after all he’s done for me, but I’m fighting the urge to do just that. Even if it’s only for a few seconds, seeing his terrified, freezing face filling that tiny window would be hilarious.

I clutch the quilt around my shoulders and hurry to the door, though the hurry is more of a stumble as the ground sways. I should probably cut back on the alcohol. Probably should...but probably won’t. It’s the only thing getting me through this time with Bennett.

Standing on my tiptoes, I can just see outside. His headlamp light bobs in the distance, but it’s coming closer. He’s already headed back to the house. And he appears to be running.

With a giggle, I lower myself to flat feet and lock the door. I can’t wait to tell Kindra about this. She’ll regret that she wasn’t here to witness it.

The quilt scrapes my back as I lean against the door and wait for the knob to jiggle. A premature laugh creeps out of me atthe thought of his frantic knocking. Payback is a bitch, Bennett Carter.

But the knocks don’t come. Neither do the footsteps on the stairs or the jingling of the doorknob. I stand on my tiptoes again and peer out the window, but I don’t see him. His light has disappeared.

Oh, shit. What if he fell? What if he landed on the ax and now he’s lying in the snow, bleeding out?

I hurry to the hearth and nearly topple over as I stuff my feet into the warm socks. I reach over and give the honey a quick turn, not wanting to shirk my duty while in rescue mode. My brain hasn’t even begun formulating a plan for what I’ll do if I find him injured.

The front door flies open as I’m punching my arms into what I’m pretty sure is not my sweater, and Bennett charges into the room.

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