Page 15 of Willow Embers
Every instinct is bellowing at me to go to her, but right now, my instincts are about as smart as a screen door on a submarine. My instincts told me to kiss her, to pick her up, to drive into her like a feral animal.
Look where that got me.
She scans the cabin with an unreadable look on her face. “There’s no bathroom in here, is there?”
I rub my lips together. “There’s an outhouse around the side, over there.” I point to the east wall of the cabin.
Nixie nods. “Of course there is.” She glares down at her bare feet, then over at her clothes scattered on the rough wooden floor.
I want to do something to help. Anything. But I’m pretty sure anything I say or do will just drive the wedge she’s holding onto further between us. So, I do the only thing I can think of. I turn my back and head to the kitchen area to find water. There’s usually at least a couple of five-gallon containers stored in these cabins.
The first cabinet door I open, I find them. Two big blue rectangular jugs. They’re never full, just in case they freeze, and the water is guaranteed to taste stale. But it’s better than nothing.
I hear Nixie slip on her shoes as I dig a pot out of another cabinet. The cabin door opens and closes quietly, and I count down from twenty while I fill the pot.
When I reach zero, I step outside and wait with the cabin door cracked open half an inch. She might be stubborn and shutting me out, and the outhouse might be right around the corner, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let her venture out in the dark alone.
Cold wind sprays across my bare chest. I had enough sense to button my jeans at some point, but my belt is still hanging loose. And I was so focused on getting out here without her knowing that I didn’t even remember to put on shoes.
It’s fine. I’ve been through worse.
I shove my hands in my damp pockets. The darkness up here is a living thing. I didn’t notice how eerie it was earlier when I was getting wood, but my head was in a different place then. Now, I’m listening, watching, waiting… and trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.
It took me years to finally let Nixie go. I worked so fucking hard to block her out of my thoughts, but her memory didn’t want to fade.
And now?
I shake my head.
I don’t know what comes next, but I’m not the kind of guy who can just sit and wait.
Wait for her to say something. To soften. To look at me like I’m not the biggest mistake she’s ever made.
The outhouse door creaks open, and I duck back inside before Nixie sees me. I count to twenty again, using the time tograb a match off the holder on the wall and light the burner on the stove.
I make it to three in my head by the time the door opens and she slips inside. Even in my periphery, I can see her shivering again, her bare legs peeking out from the tattered blanket.
“I’m warming up some water,” I say, trying to find a neutral tone.
She mutters something that sounds like thanks and starts gathering up her clothes while fighting to hold the blanket around her shoulders.
“I’ll take care of those.” Dammit. I meant for that to come out softer, but I’m used to dealing with a crew of hotshot firefighters, not a defensive woman who would probably rather slap me than listen to anything I have to say.
“I’m not helpless, Beauden,” she says, exhaustion lacing every word.
I never said she was. Never thought she was. Still, I bite my tongue. It’s safer for both of us if I keep my mouth shut.
Once she’s got her clothes draped over the kitchen chairs to dry, she heads over to Tiberius and lays down beside him.
A pang of protectiveness twists the blade that’s been digging into my chest since the moment I saw her at the bar.
Why didn’t I think of dragging one of the mattresses from the bunk beds over there earlier? Or move the couch closer to the fireplace? At least then she wouldn’t be curled up on the hard floor. I stare down into the dark pot and debate whether doing it now is worth the fight it will inevitably trigger.
Probably not.
Leaning back against the counter, I let out a heavy breath. It’s been ages since I’ve felt this off-kilter. Every word is like a tripwire. Every move is like I’m navigating a minefield.
And if what she whispered to Tiberius is true, if she’s really planning on leaving Black Timber tomorrow, then I should befocusing on how I’m going to survive letting her go again, not worrying about her comfort.
