Page 19 of Ghost

I moved past him, arms hugging my torso as I stepped into Payton’s room. It was surprisingly still warm in there.

I tiptoed quietly to her crib, looked down at her sleeping peacefully, and grinned as I watched her chest rise and fall, slow and steady. Reaching inside, I brushed a thumb across her cheek, soft as a feather. Then sliding my hand behind her head, I felt the back of her neck. She was still nice and warm.

“Little heater, aren't you?” I whispered softly; a small part of the stress coiled in my shoulders rolling off as I straightened.

“Happy now?” Ghost asked, his presence filling the doorway and effectively blocking out the draft.

“Yep.” I shrugged my shoulders, not feeling even remotely guilty as I slipped past him. Payton had been my sole responsibility for weeks and I didn’t take the job lightly.

“At least you’re honest.” He chuckled, following me down the steps.

You don’t have the slightest clue, sweetheart.

Glancing over at the tall windows in the front room, I could see they were frosted over from the other side and snow had drifted up the panes. Guess he wasn’t exaggerating when he said we had gotten a lot overnight.

“Do you know what the temperature is out there?” I asked over my shoulder, as I kneeled down in front of the cold hearth, balled up yesterday's newspaper, and tossed it inside.

His eyes were glued to what my hands were doing in front of me. “Uh, no.” He shook his head.

Right. He’d said the power was out. It wasn’t a far stretch the phones were down too.

“Grab me some of that kindling." It had been a while since I’d started a fire that way, but muscle memory took over.

Holding onto his side, he moved to the bin in the corner and with a grimace on his face he bent to grab the thin slivers of wood that I needed.

“Are you okay?” I asked, as he straightened awkwardly.

“I’ll be fine.”

I nodded in understanding. If he didn’t want me to pry, I’d leave it be.

“Matches?"

“In the drawer by the sink.” I knew where they were.

“Whatever,” I climbed to my feet and brushed past him into the kitchen. I pulled out the matches and closed the drawer with a little more oomph than was needed. Sue me. He was pissing me off.

Heading back into the living room, I dropped back down to my haunches, struck the match, and held it to the kindling. The tiny flame took to the paper, spreading quickly. Blessed heat slowly began to radiate from within.

“Didn't figure you for the survival type,” Ghost said as I stood up. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze, though, wasn’t on the fire. It was dialed in on me.

“Huh, what type did you peg me for?” I asked, mildly curious as I focused on the fire.

"I'm not sure. But not this. You hungry?” I was oddly disappointed he didn’t offer more, but my belly growled agreeing with his mention of food.

“I am.”

Going into the kitchen, I pulled out the two cast iron pans I’d picked up at the secondhand store. Then I grabbed the bacon, eggs, a can of biscuits, and milk from the fridge. “Grab that jar.” I nodded to the canister on the counter that had the flour in it that I’d need to make homemade gravy. It wasn’t anything fancy but would cook up easy over an open flame.

“What are you making?”he asked, following me while trying to hide the labored breathing he had going on. His injuries must be more severe than I realized.

I settled the skillet on the fireplace's edge, then went to work getting the biscuits going before moving on to the strips of bacon.

“Smells good,” he admitted, standing close enough that I could feel the heat from his body. “Are you always this calm in a crisis?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “Survival ain't about losing your head.” I removed the bacon and got to work on the gravy. “It's about making do with what you got.”

He stayed quiet, watching over my shoulder as I finished off the makings of a hearty southern breakfast. “Here ya go.”

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