Page 4 of A Snowstorm & A Stronghorn

He nods once. “Bram,” he says, then turns back to the table.

I watch as he gathers some supplies—bandages and what looks like a homemade salve. When he returns, I tense involuntarily.

“Your injuries need tending,” he says, his voice gentle despite its depth. “May I?”

I nod, though my heart races as he kneels beside the couch. On his knees, he’s roughly my height when I’m standing. Though he’s on the floor, and my butt is on the couch, he’s still taller than me even in this position. His movements are slow and deliberate as he begins to clean and dress a nasty scrape on my arm I hadn’t even noticed. Despite his size, his touch is surprisingly gentle.

“What happened?” I ask, trying to distract myself from the discomfort—both physical and from his proximity.

“Found your car wrapped around a tree,” he says, focused on his task. “Followed your tracks through the snow. You’re lucky. That storm was fierce and unexpected.”

I shudder, remembering the biting cold and disorientation. “It sure wasn’t in the forecast, or I wouldn’t have been driving. I just... I needed to get away.”

Bram pauses, those amber eyes flickering up to meet mine. There’s understanding there, and something else I can’t quite place. “Sometimes, running is all we can do,” he says softly.

I look away, blinking back sudden tears. “Yeah,” I whisper. “I guess so.”

We lapse into silence as he continues tending my injuries. I study him surreptitiously, trying to make sense of this strange, gentle giant. Despite his size, there’s nothing threatening about him. If anything, he seems almost shy, keeping his face hidden, and his words few.

“So,” I say eventually, unable to bear the quiet any longer, “You live out here alone?”

Bram nods, applying the salve to a bruise on my shoulder. The coolness is a relief against my skin. “Prefer the solitude.”

“Must get lonely.”

He shrugs those massive shoulders. “Used to it.”

I study Bram as he tends to my injuries, curiosity getting the better of me. His gentle touch contrasts sharply with his imposing size. More questions swirl in my mind, demanding answers.

“Why were you out there in that storm? It seems awfully convenient that you found me.” There’s a note of accusation in my voice that makes me wince, but the observation is truthful. Him discovering me in that squall seems...unlikely.

He stops for a moment before lifting my shirt to expose my aching ribs. His fingers are efficient, but they’re awfully hairy. Looking closer, I see he only has two fingers and a thumb and look away quickly. I don’t want him to think I’m staring at his deformity.

“Grizelda told me to look for you.”

I blink and frown with confusion. “Grizelda? Who’s that?”

He sighs, a deep rumble that seems to vibrate through the air. “It’s a long story. One you’re probably not ready to hear.”

His evasiveness only fuels my determination. “Try me. I think I deserve some answers after nearly freezing to death out there.”

Bram shakes his head, turning away to gather more supplies, though he can’t possibly need anything more than the small mountain already on the cushion beside me. “Not now. You need rest.”

Frustration bubbles up inside me. I’ve never been good at letting things go, and this mystery is too intriguing to ignore. Without thinking, I reach out, grasping the edge of his hood. “What are you hiding under there?”

It happens in an instant. I tug, he jerks back, and suddenly, the hood falls away. The scarf comes with it, revealing a face that sends shock coursing through my system.

Where I expect to see a human face, I’m confronted with the features of a bull—a snout, large nostrils, and most alarmingly, two sharp horns protruding from his forehead, surrounded by a main of luxurious dark brown hair. His eyes, those warm amber orbs that had seemed so gentle before, now appear alien and terrifying.

A scream tears from my throat as I scramble backward, nearly falling off the couch in my haste. My mind reels, unable to process what I’m seeing. This can’t be real. It has to be a hallucination, a fever dream brought on by hypothermia, or maybe a latent concussion. I did bump my head.

“Stay back,” I shout, my voice shrill with panic. I look wildly around the cabin, searching for an escape route. The door seems miles away, and my legs shake as I force myself to stand.

Bram raises his hands, palms out in a placating gesture. Both hands have only three digits, and the wild thought crosses my mind that maybe it isn’t a deformity. Maybe whatever he is only has three fingers. “Fiona, please. I won’t hurt you. You’re safe here.”

His words barely register as I make a dash for the door. My injuries protest as a sharp pain lances through my ribs, but adrenaline propels me forward. I grasp the handle, yanking itopen only to be met with a wall of swirling snow. The storm still rages outside, a howling void of white.

Before I can even consider braving the blizzard, Bram is there. He doesn’t grab me and doesn’t force me back inside. He simply stands between me and the doorway, his massive frame blocking any hope of escape.

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