Page 49 of Snowed In with her Mountain Men
Pulling my gear off, I ran as fast as I could…
… straight into the flames.
NOOOOO!
“Jaxon…”
I was dizzy. Spinning. Following the screams.
Burning…
“JAXON!”
The hand on my face turned my head downward, away from the wreckage. And then just as suddenly, the Chinook was gone. The smoke, the heat, the fire — all of it just abruptly disappeared, leaving me staring down at a beautiful, freckled face.
“Jaxon, it’s me. It’s Camryn.”
“Camryn,” I murmured. “No.”
“Yes.”
“But—”
“Shhhhh…” she murmured, her soft hand gently caressing my cheek. “You’re alright now. Everything’s going to be okay.”
I blinked a few times, and finally got my bearings. I was in a hallway. The hallway at the top of the stairs. Camryn wasstanding beside me, her T-shirt dancing around the tops of those smooth, supple thighs.
“You were dreaming again,” she said gently. “And sleepwalking.”
“I—I was?”
“Yes,” she smiled. “But it’s okay, now. I got you.”
My first thoughts were of embarrassment, then anger at myself for having lost control. But those emotions were fleeting, this time. I’d only run to them because they were familiar.
Right now, this beautiful woman had me in her embrace. She had both arms wrapped around me. I felt her compassion. Her empathy. Her understanding.
Slowly, deliberately, she guided me back to my room.
I was sitting beside her on the bed, staring at her for a long time, before I finally felt like myself again. She leaned in gently, and kissed my forehead.
“Feeling better?”
I squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. All memory of the crash faded into the background. The crash always faded, but it generally took a while. It happened much more rapidly with her here though, than ever before.
For several moments we just sat in the moonlit bedroom, absorbing the silence. I couldn’t stop myself from staring at her. I grew fixated on those long lashes, hiding the beautiful blue irises beneath.
“You know how weird it is,” I sighed, “talking to someone for the very last time?”
Camryn’s head dipped a little, as if delving into her own memories. She nodded.
“I mean, you’re talking such nonsense usually. The conversations are always so stupid, so inconsequential.”
“I know.”
“Like, you would’ve said something so much more important, so much heavier, if you knew that was the last time you’d ever speak to that person. But instead, you’re talking about nothing,” I went on, “or nodding your head. Or not even listening.”
“You lost someone like that?” she prodded gently.
