Page 6 of Wren's Winter

“Face me.”

“You’re bossy.” She sulked but turned to face me, anyway. On the stool, she came up to my chin. Glancing down, I saw her feet were no longer on the ground.

“Look up.” A swell of something swirled in my stomach as she followed my commands. Stepping between her legs, I peered down at her, looking at the injury and trying my damndest to ignore the soft heat coming from her body. At this angle, I could see the white bow of her bra between her breasts, but I wasn’t going to look. Couldn’t. Much.

Her skin was soft as I gently cleaned the scratch with a wipe. A sparking sensation traveled down my arm that I ignored as dried the area with a tissue. As gently as I could, I smoothed the bandage over the cut. Her jaw tensed, but she didn’t make a sound. Once I was happy the bandage was on tight, I should have stepped back, but I didn’t. My fingers moved from the spot on her hairline over to her temple. Her hairline was a riot of short loose curls, wild from her hat being removed. My hand twitched, wanting to touch one of those curls. Her eyes met mine, and I could have sworn I saw something dark behind her gaze that echoed my own feelings.

“Do you have a ringing in your ears, vomiting, confusion, headache?” I peered down at her, checking her pupils. Two warm amber eyes stared back at me, pupils of the same size.

“This whole day has been a headache,” she grumbled. When I didn’t ask for more, she shook her head. “No. Aside from the bump, I feel fine.”

I didn’t know this girl. Woman. Clearing my throat, I stepped out from between her legs.

I shouldn’t be crowding her. Straightening, I crossed my arms against my chest and glanced around the room.

Why did I feel so responsible for this woman? I didn’t know her. I had no ties to her. She was obviously capable of taking care of herself—but there was a funny tightening in my gut at the idea of her being here alone. “There’s the wood stove there. Everything you need for a fire should be here.”

“A wood fire?” she asked as she followed me to the stove. “Like matches and kindles?”

With a purse of my lips, I surveyed her. Okay, maybe not entirely capable. “Kindling, and yes.”

With a furrow of her brow, she stared down at the cold stove. “Right. Can’t be too hard. I’ve lit things on fire before.”

I stood back, watching as she took a piece of wood in her hand, shoved it into the stove, lit a match, then dropped it onto the dry wood. The match burned down to the end and went out.

She lit another match—this time, holding it to the log. The fire burned down to her fingers, and she dropped it with a curse.

“Careful.” I bent down beside her, taking her hand in mine to examine the burn. Her thumb had a small red spot. Turning her hand over inspected her further. No other damage.

“It’s fine. I’ve burned my arm worse on a straightening iron.” Her voice was soft as her eyes met mine.

I realized I had been holding her hand and dropped it quickly, standing up. “Could I—” I motioned to the fire. “I don’t want to tell you what to do, but if you want help…”

“Please,” she huffed out a relieved sigh. “I’m too cold and too tired for my pride to get in the way right now.”

I waved for her to crouch beside me as I explained all the steps to building a good fire in this stove. She nodded along to my instruction, following them all until the fire caught on the newspaper and the log blackened. Her smile as she looked over at me stunned me. It was more than lips, teeth, and cheeks. It was an illumination. “Wow, I did that.”

“Yeah.” The breath in my lungs felt shaky as I tried to find the words. My tongue heavy at her smile. I cleared my throat. “It’s easy enough if you learn how.”

“I’ve never done that before. My parents have a pellet stove and then my apartment is all electric heat. There’s no way a fire could be started by…” Her smile faded, and she glanced away, staring at the orange-and-white flames. “Anyway, thank you for teaching me.”

“That’s my job.”

“Fire starter?”

I shook my head. “Teacher. High school English. Anyone can learn. You have to break it down into steps.”

As I adjusted the logs over the kindling, she sucked in a breath. “Don’t burn yourself.”

“I’ve been building fires like this since I was in the single digits. Don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t—I just…” She frowned. “I’m not used to being around someone who knows what they’re doing.”

I filed the odd comments away. She was a stranger. I didn’t have a right to learn what that could mean.

“Right, I should get going. My dog must have heard my truck and is probably nervous that I haven’t come in to feed her.”

“Oh, you have a dog? What kind—no wait, let me guess. Golden retriever, German shepherd?”

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