Page 4 of Curvy Girl and the Mountain Man Wolf
Cedar Falls is still at least thirty miles from here by road, and in this weather, no one's getting anywhere tonight. Or tomorrow, most likely.
"I have soup," I say, opening the cabinet where I keep my canned goods. "And tea."
"That sounds amazing," Lois says, and the gratitude in her voice makes something in my chest twist uncomfortably. "Is there anything we can do to help?"
"No." My response is too quick, too harsh. I take a breath, try again. "No, thank you. Just... get warm."
I move around the kitchen, grabbing what I need, always aware of their presence behind me. My ears track their movements. Lois helping Lily out of her wet boots, murmuring soft reassurances, the child's teeth still chattering. My nose catalogs their scents, separating Lois's from Lily's, isolating the notes of fear and exhaustion and something else from Lois. Something floral and distinctly female that's driving my wolf crazy.
I put a pot of water on the stove for tea and another for the soup. Simple tasks I've done thousands of times, but now my hands feel too big, too clumsy. I'm too aware of them watching me.
"Your cabin is really nice," Lois says, clearly trying to break the awkward silence. "Did you build it yourself?"
I grunt an affirmative, not trusting myself with actual words. Yes, I built it myself. Hauled every log, drove every nail, crafted every piece of furniture. It was the only way to ensure I'd have a place far enough from people, a place where my wolf could run free without risk.
And now there are people in it. A woman who smells like spring in the middle of winter. A child who asks questions without fear.
"You've been up here a long time?" Lois asks.
"Eight years." Now the words come out before I can stop them.
"Eight years? All alone?" The shock in her voice is evident, and I can feel her eyes on my back.
I don't respond. Don't tell her that alone is the only way I can be safe. That alone is the only way others can be safe from me.
The water boils, and I pour it over tea bags, then stir the soup. This feels surreal. After so many years of eating solely to sustain myself, with no one to cook for but me.
"Here," I say, turning with two mugs of tea. I place them on the small table near the fire, careful not to get too close. "Soup will be ready soon."
"Thank you," Lois says again, and our fingers brush as she takes the mug. The contact sends a jolt through me that's like touching a live wire. My wolf surges forward with such force that I have to clench my jaw to keep from growling.
I step back quickly, nearly knocking over a chair in my haste. Lois's eyes widen, and I can smell her fear spike again. She thinks I'm dangerous. She's right.
"Sorry," I mutter, retreating to the safety of the kitchen. "Not used to... people."
"It's okay," she says softly. "We're the ones who should be apologizing. We're intruding on your space."
You have no idea, I think, turning back to the soup. You have no idea what you're doing to me. What you're doing to my wolf.
I ladle soup into bowls, focusing on the simple task. Steam rises, carrying the scent of vegetables and herbs. I hear Lily's stomach growl from across the room, and despite everything, my lips twitch in what might almost be a smile.
"Here," I say, bringing them each a bowl. "It's hot."
"It smells delicious," Lois says, helping Lily settle with her bowl. The child digs in immediately, and Lois gives me a tired smile. "Thank you. Really."
I nod, retreating again to the kitchen to get my own bowl. I need the distance. Need to think. What am I going to do with them?
They can't stay here. Not with the way my wolf is reacting to Lois. But they can't leave, either. Not in this storm, which shows no signs of letting up. The temperature is dropping by the hour, and the snow is piling up outside. By morning, there will be at least two feet on the ground.
I eat, standing at the counter, watching them from the corner of my eye. Lily is already looking better, color returning to her cheeks as she eats. Lois eats more slowly, her eyes occasionally darting to me, then away. Assessing the threat. Calculating her options.
"The storm won't let up until tomorrow at the earliest," I say, breaking the silence. "Roads won't be cleared for at least a day after that."
Lois's shoulders slump slightly. "I was afraid of that. We're... we're supposed to be in Cedar Falls. I have a job interview."
"Not in this weather, you don't," I reply, "Nothing's moving on these roads."
"I'll call them in the morning, explain the situation." She reaches for her pocket, then frowns. "Is there a landline I could use? My phone has no service up here."
