Page 49 of Baby and the Beast

He walked back into the cabin and started talking before Nash did. “I have to go shut up the cave. The snow’s not bad at the moment, so I should go now.”

Nash turned from stirring something on the stove, but Casimir didn’t give him the chance to reply as he walked into the bedroom and started donning layers. He came back out just as Nash appeared. Nash was standing very close in the small bedroom. Too close. “Sorry, that’s my fault. You’ve been nothingbut kind and I’m causing all sorts of problems. I never even said—”

Without thinking, Casimir raised his hand and pressed a finger to Nash’s lips just to silence him. Nash’s eyes widened in shock. Cursing silently, Casimir let his hand fall. Nash didn’t say anything else and for a moment they just stared at each other. “I’ll be back before nightfall. Stay inside.” He grunted, then turned and left, pulled on his boots and stomped outside.

Casimir headed down the hill, wishing he'd never caught Nash in the cave. It wasn't true, though. If he hadn't found him, both Nash and Copper would be dead, buried under the snow until spring. The thought made his chest tight.

The cold helped clear his head. Touching Nash like that—that casual intimacy—wasn't something he should be doing. Nash was vulnerable, had nowhere else to go. Casimir wouldn't take advantage. He'd been alone so long that having someone else around—someone who needed him—felt dangerous. Like stepping out onto thin ice.

The hike to the cave took longer than usual. Wind had sculpted the snow into drifts, making his usual path impassable in places. By the time he arrived, the hares were gone—taken by scavengers—but the cave entrance remained clear.

Casimir worked methodically, setting up the barriers he'd prepared years ago. Heavy logs, wire mesh, stones. His hands worked automatically while his mind kept drifting back to the cabin.

To Nash's smile when he'd fed Copper this morning. To the way Nash's hair caught the light when he stood by the window. To the quiet way Nash had said, "It suits you."

Casimir grunted and shoved a particularly stubborn log into place. What was wrong with him? Nash would be gone soon. Back to his pack or wherever he planned to go. That was for the best. He paused to catch his breath, surveying his work. The caveentrance was secured. It wouldn't stop a determined predator, but it would discourage most. He'd come back in spring to check it.

Snow began falling again as he started back, fat flakes swirling around him. The temperature was dropping. He quickened his pace, ignoring the ache in his shoulders from the morning's labor.

Halfway there, he stopped suddenly. Smoke. Too much smoke coming from the direction of the cabin.

Casimir broke into a run, heart hammering. Had Nash tried to cook something? Build up the fire? Had something caught? He cursed himself for not leaving clearer instructions.

But as he crested the ridge, he saw the cabin was fine. The chimney was putting out normal smoke. It was just the angle of the wind and the way the snow was falling that had made it look worse. Casimir slowed, feeling foolish. He'd been gone less than four hours and was already imagining disaster. Nash was capable. He'd crossed mountains to save his child.

When he reached the cabin, he stomped his boots clean and opened the door.

The smell hit him first. Something baking. Sweet. Then warmth. And there was Nash, sitting in the chair with Copper, looking up with a smile that made Casimir's chest hurt.

"You're back early," Nash said. "I was worried when the snow started again."

Casimir hung his coat, not trusting himself to speak yet. He bent to unlace his boots.

"I hope you don't mind, but I found some apples in your root cellar and made a little something." He gestured toward the oven.

Casimir stood and looked at him, then at the stove, then back at him.

"It's not much," Nash added quickly. "Just a way to say thanks."

Casimir nodded and went to wash his hands at the sink. The simple domesticity of the scene—Nash with the baby, something baking in the oven, the cabin warm against the cold outside—made his throat burn.

"Cave's secure?" Nash asked.

"Yes." Casimir dried his hands. "We've got more snow coming. Might last a few days."

Nash nodded, a flash of worry crossing his features. "I'm sorry we're taking up so much of your space."

"You're not." The words came out more firmly than Casimir intended. He softened his tone. "It's fine."

Nash studied him for a moment, then shifted in the chair as Copper began to fuss. He adjusted his shirt to feed her, movements already becoming practiced. Casimir busied himself checking the firewood.

The timer on the stove beeped, saving Casimir from having to say anymore. He grabbed a towel and opened the oven. The smell intensified—warm apples and cinnamon.

"It's just a simple cobbler," Nash explained. "I wasn't sure what you'd like."

Casimir set the dish on the counter. "Smells good." He paused. "Thank you."

They ate dinner—more of the vegetable stew Casimir had made that morning—with the cobbler for dessert. As night fell and the snow continued, Casimir found himself relaxing. Nash was easy company, asking occasional questions but not pushing when Casimir kept his answers short.

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