Page 4 of Guarded from Havoc

Before I can change my mind, I turn off the oven, then hurry to throw together a few sandwiches. I pack up a large container of the pasta salad, a bag of chips, some cut carrots and a bottle of ranch dressing, and tuck everything into an insulated bag.

Leaving the kitchen, I make a quick circuit of the house collecting supplies before I head to the coat closet and pull on my waterproof jacket and rain boots. I grab my car keys and click the button to unlock it; an unnecessary holdover from back when I used to live in Albany.

From the front door it’s a mad dash to the car, my feet squishing through the sodden grass and squinting my eyes against the blowing rain. I dive into the driver’s seat and yank the door closed behind me, sighing with relief to be out of the storm.

Though Erik’s cabin is within sight, it takes me almost ten minutes to make my way there, down the muddy driveway and along the darkened country road. As I turn onto his driveway, I chuckle ruefully at myself. It’ll be just my luck to arrive at his doorstep just as the power comes back on.

But it doesn’t.

The house is still engulfed in darkness by the time I get to his front door.

As I stand there, my fist poised to knock, a shiver takes hold of me. From the chill of the storm? Or my nerves?

Is this silly? The height of stupidity? Am I acting like one of those too-stupid-to-live women in the movies; the ones you yell at to stop before they get themselves killed?

Am I seriously about to knock on a complete stranger’s door, in the dark, during a storm, no less?

Although Erik’s not acompletestranger…

But any chance of changing my mind disappears when the door opens.

In the doorway, Erik stands there, a tall figure encased in shadows. The flashlight he’s holding hits the angles of his face, turning him into one of those carved sculptures I learned about the semester I took art history. Behind him, a trio of candles flicker on the coffee table, but that’s the only other source of light in the room.

“Tatum?” His voice hits me square in the belly. “What are you doing here?”

“Um. I brought some stuff for you.” I thrust the two bags I’m holding at him—one with the food, the other containing the rest of the supplies. “Since I noticed your power was out.”

“Oh?” One brow arches up.

Heat suffuses my cheeks.Great. I just made myself sound like a stalker.

“Not like that,” I hurry to explain, although it kind ofdoesfeel like that, now that I’m thinking about it. “I was cooking, and the window in the kitchen looks out at your cabin, and I saw the lights go out… So I was worried.”

“Worried?”

“About you. Not having power. And since I take care of this place, I know there’s not a lot in the way of flashlights. Or lanterns. And if you wanted to cook… I have a generator over there”—I angle my head back towards my house—“so it’s not bad for me when the power goes out. But I just thought…”

Thought what? That he might be on the verge of a PTSD-related panic attack? Which he very clearly is not?

A flash of white teeth gleam. “Tatum. That’s really nice of you.” He steps back and gestures for me to follow. “Do you want to come in? To dry off, at least?”

When I don’t immediately move, he grimaces. “Shit. Of course you don’t want to come inside. You barely know me. Forget I asked.”

Though I should be relieved he’s giving me an out—walking inside a strange man’s house is definitely of the too-stupid-to-live criteria—an immediate pang of loss hits me.

I don’t want to leave yet.

I want to go inside and spend a little more time with him, even if I know darn well it can’t go anywhere.

If I had to explain, I’m not sure I could. There’s just this inexplicable draw I feel towards him. And a certainty, deep in my heart, that if I turn around and leave right now, I’ll regret it.

“No,” I reply. “I’d like to come in. I mean, just for a few minutes. I can show you what I brought, at least. And I can show you how to use the butane cooking stove, in case you’ve never used one yourself.”

A beat later, I realize the lunacy of what I just said. Erik was Special Forces. I may not know much about what they do, but do I know it’s dangerous and spent in lots of less-than-ideal locations. Places where he’d probably have to camp out and use a stove just like the one I brought.

My cheeks go hot again. “I mean, you probably already know. Of course. With your experience and everything.”

Erik gives me a kind smile. “I’ve used travel stoves before, but they’re all different. So I’m sure it would be helpful to see a demonstration.”

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