Page 20 of Angel's Smoke

On overly thick fuzzy socks—one of the few pairs thathadn’tgotten snagged in the dryer—she shuffled in a circle, trying to take in her modest living space through the eyes of a perfect stranger. The worn leather couch with the rip in the armrest. The unfinished wooden coffee table mottled with heat rings from her mugs after too many near-misses with coasters. A kitchen sink weighed with cereal bowls and spoons that had yet to make their way into the dishwasher.

Not to mention the mess that was her linen closet/food pantry/place where old makeup went to die.

One didn’t need to look too closely to see the cracks her living situation had carved out since Travis’s departure. The runnels of grief had, over the past several months, eroded any semblance of order she may have enjoyed into gullies of chaos that were now the hallmarks of her life. That was all fine for Anna. She’d figure it out. Always did. But in no way was it fine for anyone else, especially a would-be rescuer who she’d already felt beholden to in some immeasurable way.

Anna’s worries were shrugged off before she’d even had time to voice them as Iron turned from the porch and started to walk back to his truck.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Truck.”

“But I thought you said you were blocked in.”

“Yousaid I was blocked in.”

“And you confirmed it.”

“Yes,” he breathed, rubbing a gloved hand over his beard, which had already accumulated a fair amount of snow. “I did. But not because it should be your problem.” He tossed his thumb at the vehicle. “I’ll be in the truck tonight.”

The absurdity of his words quickly swapped out her worry of hospitality for good old-fashioned humanity. “You arenotsleeping in the truck.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Iron, no!” Anna stepped farther onto the porch, abandoning what little warmth remained in the cabin, and brought her socked foot down with mean old-school marm gravitas. “I have a spare bedroom.”

“Anna, you don’t know me.”

“I know you’re human and stuck on this mountain just like me until the storm stops and the roads are cleared. C’mon. I don’t want to have this conversation out here. I’m beat, and chances are you are, too.”

She let the storm door swing closed behind her but kept the main door open for him to follow. Footsteps didn’t chase hers immediately, which she was okay with. It gave her time to run to the spare bedroom, shove everything she didn’t want seen into the closet, and do a quick sniff check of the sheets. Due to an earlier quilting interest several years prior when her nutrition practice was still growing and time between tele-clients had been longer than she’d liked, she’d worked up a nice accumulation of sort-of-symmetrical quilts. They’d do for tonight. She was just grabbing two out of the closet when she heard the front door close, and a pair of heavy boots hit the floor next to her snow boots where she kept them by the door.

When she returned to her living room, Iron still hadn’t moved from the mat, though his socked feet were a welcome sight, as was the knit hat he’d removed and now twisted in his hands.

“Here.” She set the extra quilts on the armchair next to her. “The cabin’s not too big, so you shouldn’t have a huge problem finding things. The spare room is down the hall, across from mine. You’ll pass the bathroom on your way there. You need anything, you can just knock.”

Iron nodded but still stayed rooted to the spot. What little candlelight remained in the small living room seemed disinclined to illuminate much of anything, especially the shadows that had fallen over Iron like a shroud, lending their concealment for his intentions. With him standing within her cabin, she finally got the sense of just how large he was, and not just physically but his presence as a creature of the earth. Every movement of his body was a considered activity, as if he took no step without first weighing its cost on the floor beneath him.

He was just so . . .much. Far too much for her tiny home to accommodate.

Anna adjusted her glasses to try and conceal just how heavy her thoughts had become.

“I’ll take the couch,” he said.

“Why? I have a bed. It’s a double bed, sure, but it’s still a bed.”

“I know,” he said, smiling slightly and pulling his gloves off before shoving them into his pockets. “Get some sleep. We’ll deal with tomorrow tomorrow.” Then he walked toward her and took the quilts from where she’d placed them on the chair next to her.

“Okay,” she said, not understanding but not having the energy to fight either. “You need anything else?”

“Yes.”

“What’s that?”

He stood silently for a minute, his eyes obscured by shadows she was coming to associate with him, being pulled around him like obedient servants. They brought their own sort of chill, one that spoke of possibilities more than precautions.

But when Iron’s bare hands brushed the edges of the quilt and lingered where her fingers had been just a moment ago, her heartbeat struck a riot against her ribs.

“Never mind.”

---