Page 7 of Echoes in the Night

“Why’d your Gramps build this?”

“One summer there was a group of troublemakers passing through. They were hitting a lot of the cabins stealing what they could and being destructive. They pistol whipped an old guy who tried to run them off.

“It was before Grams died and he wanted to make sure she was protected if he was gone. He did a lot of the search and rescue back in those days and would sometimes be away for days. It was before cell and satellite phones.

“Of which we have both and they’re worthless with this storm knocking everything out.”

Next, he shows me where the spare phone is hidden with a gun and an ugly looking knife.

“Do you know how to use a weapon?”

I step back. “Ah, no. City girl, remember.”

He grins. “I’m not sure our little burg qualifies as a city, but I understand. I’ll teach you the basics so you can defend yourself.”

My heart races. What if the man comes back? I don’t want be here alone. Be anywhere alone, right now. “Why? Are you leaving me?”

“No. But I want you to feel safe. I’ll have to clear the trail at some point, and it’ll take hours.”

After he shows me the mudroom with a washer and explains how he collects rainwater for it. Next he points out the real back door in the same area. “We’re solar and generator operated. But the place is solid. As you saw this afternoon the fireplace keeps everything warm, and chopping wood keeps me in shape.” He winks.

Wow, is he in shape. Towering over me and broad, he makes me feel small. The way his muscles ripple and stretch his shirt I can only imagine how they’d feel against me. My hand itches to reach out and touch his abs to see how hard those ridges are. I also want to draw him. All of him. I love his short-cropped hair that leaves a little soft for the touch, his beard is tapered along his jaw and with his mustache it frames his full lips. His delectable looking lips.

“So, you want to help with lunch?” he asks, pulling me from my little fantasy. “I should warn you I’m a pretty basic cook.Nothing fancy. But I did stock up a few days ago, so the pantry and freezer are full.”

I wince. “I like to cook, well bake, but I’m mostly self-taught. However, I have no clue how to work on that wood stove you were using this morning. But I’m willing to try anything.”

There’s heat in the smile he gives me before snapping his gaze away. My insides go a little gooey.

“During bad storms I conserve the oil and use the wood stove for most of my cooking. How do you feel about hamburgers with pan fried potatoes? I even have buns, fresh tomatoes and onion for a change. You can watch me do it to get a feel for how it’s done. Could slice the potatoes for me, while I stoke the fire and get everything ready?”

“That sounds perfect. I don’t mind doing prep work.”

“Go through the pantry to see if there’s anything else you want.”

Working in the kitchen with him is surprisingly easy. Not that I’ve had any experience except watching my father interrogating the cook. Now that I think about it, I’ve really had only one good male role model, my grandfather. But he was busy taking care of Grandma. My uncles were never around and when they were they fought with my father. The two guys I dated—hand-picked by my father from his friends’ children were equally arrogant and demanding.

Jax seems confident and easy going. But by the quantity he’s cooking it does seem he requires massive amounts of food. He had me peel and slice eight potatoes assuring me nothing would go to waste.

“How tall are you?” I ask, finishing with my assigned tasks.

He flips one of four burgers. “Six-five, two hundred twenty pounds. I bench press two-fifty on an easy day, babe.”

He said it again. I don’t think he even notices that when he’s relaxed and we’re just talking or together he calls me babe. I like it. I like him. Oddly, given the situation, I trust him.

Once we sit down to eat, my father’s training takes over. I cut my burger in half and push part of it aside and only take half a scoop of potatoes.

Jax inhales one burger and is well into his second when his gaze meets mine. “Who told you to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Only take half a sandwich. Who made you feel you couldn’t eat? I’d really like to have a long talk with them. Because they’re wrong. Food is fuel. The body needs it to function properly.”

“I’m not that hungry.”

“I know what you ate today. I’ve got a good idea of what you went through the last two days. Your body needs fuel to heal.”

“I’m too?—”

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