Page 9 of The Wrong Drive-
Well, okay.I stand over her.Temporary fix for now.
I use my boot to roll her over, and now that she’s unconscious, Ireallysee her. She’s at peace momentarily, and I’m sure if she knew who I was, she’d be wishing I’d extend that peace right into eternity.
“What should we do?” I turn to Gunner, who shivers at a blast of sharp wind. I feel nothing in the cold. I went numb a long,longtime ago, and maybe a stronger man would’ve ended it before it ever went this far—but something keeps me here.
Maybe I just enjoy the misery.
A migraine thumps in my skull, and I sling my rifle back over my shoulder. Bending over, I scoop the woman into my arms. The closeness of her body is strangely warm against mine, even with the outerwear between us… But then again, maybe it’s the fact I haven’t had a living person this close to me in almost a decade.
I swallow the feelings that follow that reminder. I keep my chin up as I trudge through the deepening snow. I pushed it staying out here this long with her. If someone is really on their way, they won’t make it.
But they might call in search and rescue. I’ll have to keep an eye out.
As I carry her back toward the cabin, I glance over my shoulder. I’ve never had someone show up here searching for anyone. I’m so far off the beaten path, I rarely have trespassers.
“Come on, Gunner,” I call back to my dog. “We need to get her settled and then we’ll pay the truck one last visit.” I have no idea what I’m supposed to do with her—or whatgetting her settledreally means. I’ve never taken someone home before.
Fuck, what am I doing?
My eyes cast downward on her face again. She’s kind of pretty. I don’t know that I see people that way anymore, but she fits some sort of standard of beauty, I suppose. I can easily say that her only makeup is the mascara smeared across her cheeks. Her freckles add to her appeal, splattered across her skin like paint on canvas. I stare at her a few moments longer, zoning out on her soft features.
Maybe I just haven’t held a woman in so long, I’m enthralled by the smallest details. However, there was a time in my life when I drank beer, tried to fall in love, laughed for the hell of it, and was…normal.Now, I’m fucking forty years old.
Anddefinitelynot normal.
I kick open the door and enter my cabin, my escape from the real world. The fireplace is blazing, and I stomp the snow off my boots after shutting us all inside. I cross the hardwood floors to the couch and dump her off, taking her in once more.
Maybe I should tie her up? Or get her out of the wet clothes?I drop my neck warmer and rub the stubble on my jaw as I contemplate for a few moments. No answer comes immediately, and so I spin on my heels to head back out into the blizzard to retrieve her things.
Thirty minutes later,I drop her bags by the door, once again eyeing her on the couch. She’s still out, and that’s a little concerning. I brush it off though and lock up the front door. Theelements are worsening, and if someone was out looking for her, I know they aren’t now. It’s too dangerous for search teams to dispatch, and they’d have to travel a hundred miles to even get here. This isn’t a touristy area.
No one is coming for her. For now.
There’s a strange air of excitement with that conclusion, but I don’t know why. I don’t like people. They never last long around me, anyway—even if I want them to. I frown at that, and kick my boots off this time, leaving them by the door. Gunner is somewhere inside, probably snoozing in my room. I strip out of my parka and hang it on the rack by the door, and then slide out of my coveralls as well.
I’m left in my black sweatpants, henley, and wool socks as I creep across the floors to check on the woman invading my space. I clench my jaw as I take in the serene way she’s laying there. I don’t know if she’s just that fucking tired, or if I knocked her out a little too hard. I have things I could give her to keep her out…
That would probably be for the best until I make up my mind.
I mean, I can’t discern the severity of her concussion, and if she just doesn’t wake up, well… That’s out of my hands. She’s the one who trespassed and got stuck. It’s not like I baited her here or something. My gate was shut for fuck’s sake.
And that might be why I’ve left her living.
It’s hard to say if it’s a rare occurrence of sympathy or just some kind of sick intrigue.
My eyes glide down to her denim, and I stare at the dark, still soaked place around her upper thighs to her ankles. A twitch tugs at my upper lip, and I rake my fingers through my hair. I’m not sure why it seems like a mountain of a task, given the life I fully lived up till the age of twenty-nine. But it does.
I spin on my heels and head to the door where I dropped her things, quickly unzipping the top black duffle bag. Much to my relief, there’s a pair of gray sweatpants on top. I pull them out, catching the hint of lavender detergent. I wince at the scent, my stomach furling. I hold them out and away from my body as I return to the woman.
I don’t even know her name. But maybe it’s better that way.
If I know her name, it might make it more scarring when she’s a mound of dead flesh. A sick taste hangs in my mouth, and I shake my head. I don’t have to think about that right now. I’m fine.
I’m fine.Everything is fine.
I toss the sweatpants on the arm of my faded leather couch, and then reach for her, my hands landing on her hips. The warmth of her body sears my calloused palms.Fuck, it has been so long since I touched a woman.Gritting my teeth, I roll her gently onto her back. A light moan slips from her lips, and a thrum of something old and familiar hits my groin.
Ah, good to know that part of me still functions.
