Page 15 of Corey
No time to feel sorry for yourself.She drew her shoulders back and marched down the steps and across the yard to a shed. It would be the perfect place to store firewood and apparently the owner thought so, too, because she found stacks and stacks of neatly-piled logs against the furthest wall. There were also tools, an axe hanging on the wall, a rider mower and a wheelbarrow. After filling the wheelbarrow with wood, she fought her way through the snow and carried the logs into the house, depositing them in the bin by the hearth. By the time she was done, she had worked up a good sweat and was exhausted.
Shrugging off the large coat, she hung it back on the hook by the front door and decided to eat something. After rummaging around in the cupboards, she chose a can of soup, found a pan and warmed it up on the stove. She felt like Goldilocks, but unlike that particular character, Sera planned on giving the man money for using his stuff.
Once the soup was hot, she poured some in a bowl, found a box of crackers and sat down on a stool at the kitchen island. Yeah, she was Goldilocks—eating his food, wearing his coat and about to sleep in his bed. Well, the guest room bed, anyway.
Desperate times called for desperate measures. Hopefully, he’d understand. And, anyway, she was also keeping the house warm and looking after him. She was going to see if he wanted any soup, and maybe introduce herself, but the guy hadn’t so much as moved a muscle since he’d collapsed on the couch earlier.
Chewing her lower lip, she hoped he was alright. Maybe she should investigate, even though that would mean facing thedire wolf. So far, the animal hadn’t bothered her, but he must be hungry. Sliding off the stool, she stored the rest of the soup in the fridge and found some cold cuts. She placed them in the dog bowl, washed the dishes and then turned to go check on her host’s well-being.
When she reached the couch, the wolfdog lifted its head and eyed her. She waved his bowl back and forth. “How about some turkey, Storm?”
She set the bowl down, away from the couch, and when the wolf got up to go eat, she moved closer to the man. The wolf’s head snapped up, watching her warily.
“I’m just checking on him,” she murmured softly.
His breathing appeared normal, his broad chest rising and falling with even breaths beneath a blue flannel button down. The beard made him look older than he probably was, but she couldn’t miss the silver in his thick, dark hair. He had to be in his late forties, and she focused on the lone beauty mark that rested high on his right cheekbone. She could still picture his pale, ice-colored eyes. Even sick as a dog and half his face covered by a beard, the man was extremely attractive.
Pulling in a shaky breath, she took a wobbly step back. “Okay, well, I’m going upstairs now. I’ll be back down in a couple hours to check on you both and add some wood to the fire.”
And now she was talking to the wolf and feeling like Little Red Riding Hood. What a bizarre and frightfully strange twenty-four hours. Turning away, she went up to her room and hoped she wouldn’t find Rumpelstiltskin hiding under the bed.
???
After taking a shower, Sera put her pajamas on and fell asleep on the comfy bed. She planned to keep the small lamp on the nightstand turned on all night because, well, the darkness wasn’t her friend.
The unsettling sounds of a man in pain woke her a few hours later, and she jerked upright, completely disoriented. Loki lay with her, also sleeping, and outside the window, it was dark. Everything came rushing back in a flash. Seeing Joel shoot Jeremy, going on the run from bad guys, careening off the road, finding a mountain man passed out in the snow, making dinner for a wolf and crashing at the lumberjack’s cabin.
How had her life gone from boring to dangerous so quickly?
Sliding out of bed, she slipped into the hallway, softly closing the door behind her so Loki wouldn’t escape. She tilted her head, listening carefully and looking down the dark corridor. Downstairs, she heard a groan followed by…talking? Who was he talking to? Was someone else there?
Heart beating hard, she hurried over to the stairs and peered down, getting a clear view of the entire downstairs. But no one else was there. Just the man and his wolf, and the poor guy was thrashing around on the couch as though caught in a bad dream.
Realizing he was talking in his sleep, she hurried down the stairs and over to him. The wolfdog whined softly.
“Yeah, I get them, too,” she murmured, referring to the nightmares that never seemed to go away no matter how much time passed. The ones that still woke her up in a cold sweat, tears soaking her pillow.
She couldn’t just stand there and let him keep running from—or, in his case, probably fighting—the demons. Gently shaking his arm, she said, “Wake up.”
Even through the flannel shirt, she could feel how hot his skin was, and she jerked her hand away and settled it on his forehead. Oh, Jesus, he was burning up. Twisting away from her touch, he made an anguished sound that turned her soul cold. She needed to cool him off. Fast.
Wrapping her hand around his thick wrist, she tugged. “Get up.”
His gorgeous eyes opened and focused on her. “I’m sorry, Cassidy. So damn sorry.”
She had no idea what he was talking about. Was he delusional from the fever? Or reliving some version of his own personal hell in his mind? Either way, she needed to act quickly.
“We need to get you into the bathroom. C’mon!”
She heaved with all her might and he came up off the couch with a grunt. “I don’t feel so good,” he mumbled, draping an arm over her shoulders.
“Yeah, you don’t look too good, either.”
Guiding him down the hall and into the master bedroom, she skirted around the bed and led him straight into the en suite bathroom. “Into the tub,” she ordered. She had to break his fever, and other than depositing him back on a snow mound outside, this would be the quickest way.
He dutifully stepped over the edge and sank down while she turned the cold water on. After adjusting the water so it wasn’t freezing, she grabbed a washcloth, dipped it beneath the faucet then laid it across his forehead. As she moved her hand away, hecaught her wrist. Their eyes locked, and in his, she saw an ice-blue hell. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you,” he rasped. “I tried. I’m so goddamn sorry.”
She had no idea what he was talking about, but in that moment, she recognized infinite pain. Maybe a kindred spirit? A fellow tortured soul?
