Page 23 of Her Property

Jake went from guilty to furious with himself.

“Please let me help you,” he said as he leaned over and undid her seatbelt.

She looked at him, and this time, her expression held a note of worry.

He’d seen that look before. It was the look of someone who needed help but didn’t like to ask for it. Someone who was about to make a bad decision instead of the right one.

“I just want to fix your bandage and get your temperature stabilized. Then I’ll go, okay? I promise.”

Please don’t push me away.

She sat there for a second, still shuddering, then nodded. “O-k-k-ay.”

She’d barely finished the word before he picked her up, thrusting an arm under her back and the other under her legs. Kicking the door shut behind him, he carried her to the house like his bride.

That thought sent a strange jab to his guts, which he punched back at.

Get your head on straight.

He draped her arm over his shoulder as they stepped inside. “I’m going to need you to tell me where the bathtub is,” he said.

“Up—” she began, and he swung her up into his arms again. She was considerably smaller than him, but not a waif. Still, she felt like nothing compared to the weight of guilt and anger saddling his shoulders.

The bathroom was big and luxurious, its walls lined with elaborate Moroccan tile and a giant soaker tub in the middle of the room.

“You are not g-g-iving me a b-b-bath,” she said as he set her down on her feet. Her indignant tone was clear even as her voice wobbled with cold.

Jake almost laughed. “I’m just going to run the water for you.”

Cranking on the faucet, he ran his hand under the tap, letting it get to lukewarm. It was important not to shock her body with water that was too hot.

“Are you okay to get in?”

“I’m f-f-fine, thank you,” she said.

He hesitated, not wanting to leave her there. “I’ll get a fire going downstairs before I go. Promise me you’ll get dressed in some warm clothes and hunker down beside it until you’re fully warm?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “R-r-really.”

Downstairs, he crammed the wood stove with kindling and rolled up wads of newspaper stacked nearby.

He didn’t want to leave Catherine here. Mostly, he was worried about her. Even leaving her upstairs in the bath on her own worried him, given she was probably close to hypothermia.

But also, he didn’t want to go. He didn’t want the day to end.

He could never in a million years have predicted the day would go like this. If someone had told him he’d be spending the day with Alfred Jones’s protégé and not wanting it to end, he’d have laughed long and hard. All he’d planned on doing today was finishing his work on Cabin Six—painting, shingling the roof, and re-affixing the door. The stop work order didn’t prevent him from rehabbing anything. The next day, he’d move to the following cabin. He was continuing all of this work as if he wasn’t getting sued—as if this stupid dream of his still had legs.

And thenshehad happened.

Jake lit a match from the kit next to the stove and tossed it inside. The paper caught immediately; the stove flaring with brilliant orange flames.

In the space of an afternoon, Catherine Jones had burst into his life and replaced all his plans with her gorgeous, vibrant, stubborn self. She’d ignited his entire body and mind just like the blazing hot light of the fire before him.

He’d throw everything away to keep this feeling.

He remembered his thought earlier.

Fuck the camp. Fuck Alfred Jones.

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