Page 108 of Not Your Average Vixen
Shit! That wasn’t good!
Bridget met his eye, and a fresh surge of adrenaline coursed through his veins.
They couldn’t let him fall asleep. Not until he’d warmed up, and they could assess his condition.
There was no time to get him back to the mountain house. They needed shelter now. He glanced around, shining the beam of light across the front of the cabin, and spied half a dozen logs piled next to the front door.
“We need to get him inside and start a fire,” he said, coming to his feet.
“I don’t think the cabins are open in the winter,” she replied, glancing at the imposing door.
He took off his coat and wrapped it around Cole, then tried the doorknob. Bridget was right. The damn thing wouldn’t budge.
He stepped back and stared at the barrier that separated them from shelter.
It was time to see what two hours a day in the gym pumping iron could do.
He reared back, and with all the force he could muster, he charged the door with his shoulder. His body pounded into the hard wood, the force reverberating through his flesh and bones. But he felt no pain as the creak of metal buckling and the scrape of wood on wood cut through the gusts of icy wind. The hinges whined in protest as the door gave way; no match for his strength and determination. Losing no time, he scooped up as much wood as he could carry.
“Come on. We need to get him out of the cold,” he said, ushering them inside.
Bridget lifted Cole into her arms and hurried inside.
He headed straight for the stone hearth, arranged a trio of logs in the fireplace, and then shined the beam around the space. Sparsely furnished, the simple one-room cabin would be their refuge until they could make sure Cole was okay. He ran his hand along the mantle, then thanked the Pixie Rock fairies when a box of matches slid into his palm.
Bridget grabbed a blanket slung over a chair and wrapped it around the boy as the two sat on the floor a few feet away.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Do you have anything in your pockets that we can use as kindling?”
Bridget cradled Cole in her arms. “No, I don’t think so.”
He set the matches down and pulled his wallet from his back pocket.
“Hold the light,” he said, handing Bridget the flashlight as he opened his billfold and pulled out the cash—the only paper he could think of.
But he wasn’t prepared for what else was tucked away between the bills.
With a red border and a festive stocking printed above three distinct images, the photo strip sat prominently on top. Two images of them, all silly smiles. The final shot captured them kissing—looking as if they were made for each other. He’d forgotten he’d tucked the evidence from their time in the photo both away in his wallet. Clumsily, he slid the strip to the bottom of the pile, but Bridget’s sharp intake of breath signaled her surprise and recognition.
“I remember the sound of the flashbulb,” she whispered, and the vice grip that held his heart captive loosened a fraction.
But this wasn’t the time to unpack the cluster of competing emotions that boiled to the surface at the thought of Bridget Dasher. More than that, he had no time to worry about looking like some sucker who’d saved her picture. Working quickly, he set a few bills on the floor, then returned the picture and the rest of the money to his wallet.
He struck a match, lit the first bill on fire, then held it near the logs. Thank Christ, the covered porch had kept the wood dry. He stared at the flame, dancing in the darkness as the lapping orange glow took hold and the top log began to burn.
His muscles trembling from the frigid temperatures, and the adrenaline tapering off, he sat back as the small fire crackled and took hold in the hearth.
“Mommy said you were rich, Uncle Scooter. But I didn’t know you were so rich that you could light money on fire.”
There was that pint-sized spitfire of a five-year-old.
Lit by the glow of the burning logs, he couldn’t hold back a relieved, grateful grin. “I don’t usually like to burn money, Cole. But this was a unique situation.”
“Here, you’ve got to be cold,” Bridget said, handing him his coat.
He slipped it on. “Did you check Cole? Is anything broken, or are there any signs of frostbite?
She patted the boy’s shoulder. “I’m no doctor but, he looks okay to me. He had on his gloves, and he can still move his fingers and toes.”
