Page 5 of Fear of Flames
While in her trance, once again, large snowflakes began to fall, landing on her eyelashes and cheeks. Michelle was on the verge of being lulled to sleep, an escape perhaps, when in the distance, the sound of sirens rang through the cold night air.
“Fuck,” the man growled.
She lifted her head attempting to determine the direction from which the loud wailing came. “Are those fire trucks?” she asked, the first question she’d posed since asking the identity of the man holding her.
“Probably. Sheriff’s cars and ambulances too.”
Michelle shook her head. “My dad doesn’t need an amb…” Her words trailed away. With tears teetering on her lower lids, she looked at the man’s face. Even in the dark, she could make out his chiseled jawline with a dark stubble, prominent cheekbones, and strong, pursed lips—the latter filled with determination. His strength, demonstrated by his ability to continue to carry her, was evident. Still, she wondered who he was. “Why are you helping me?”
“I won’t be helping you if they follow us.” He stopped walking.
Michelle followed his gaze with hers, soon realizing they were at the shore of Iron Reservoir, the large body of water created by the Iron waterfalls. This time of year, the falls and reservoir were frozen solid. Despite the continued snowfall, with the sun now teetering on the horizon, she could make out shadows on the ice. She’d seen them before, dozens of small huts—fishing houses—out on the vast reservoir surface.
“This wasn’t my plan,” he confessed as he stepped toward the frozen water.
“I need warmth,” Michelle admitted. “I can’t have that on ice.”
“You’d be surprised.”
The strength Michelle had mustered to flee the scene of her father’s murder was depleted. Currently, to her displeasure, her future was in the hands of this stranger. Michelle was stubborn about her independence. Nevertheless, whether she stayed on the shore and froze or was found by Sheriff Perkins or one of his deputies, she was afraid there would be no future.
The man carried her from the shore to the snow-covered ice. As they approached one of the buildings, Michelle assessed that the wooden hut was too small to hold both Michelle and the man. However, after he wedged the door open enough for their entry, the dimly illuminated inside was roomier than she’d imagined.
With a tentative gentleness, the man set Michelle on a wooden bench perched on top of a wooden platform and closed the door. Simply being out of the wind made the temperature within the hut seem downright comfortable.
As the man lit a Coleman lantern, the flame flickered within, bringing both illumination to the interior of the hut and the memory of her father’s home ablaze. Without a word, she took in the surroundings.
There was a small section where there wasn’t flooring. It was opened to the ice, with a round hole drilled nearly a foot into the depths. The hole was refrozen over, giving it a clear dark look. The walls of the hut contained shelves filled with provisions including blankets.
The man reached for one of the heavy blankets and handed it to Michelle. “I want to look at your feet. There could be frostbite. First, get warm while I make us some coffee.”
In the light of the lantern, she could more clearly see his face. Her attention was pulled to the depths of his dark eyes. She looked down and thought about what he said.
Coffee.
Really?
Like a date?
She snickered under her breath. Right. Instead of Starbucks, let’s have coffee in a fishing hut on a frozen reservoir. Michelle pushed that thought away. A man like him wouldn’t ask someone like Michelle on a date.
“Do you have a coffee maker I don’t see?” she asked.
He pointed to a small hotplate, one with an attached gas canister.
As the man pulled the stocking cap from his head, he revealed a dark-brown mop of messy hair. The next to go were his gloves, exposing strong hands with tattoos gracing his fingers. Each piece of clothing found a peg on the wall to hang and dry. He ran his long fingers through his tangled tresses, the length reaching his shoulders.
Staring in his direction within the dimly lit fishing hut, Michelle was certain she’d never met this man before. If she had, she’d remember. He could be on the cover of a romance book or starring in the latest Hallmark movie. He’d be the lumberjack in a small-town who helped the New York executive. The movie would end with her leaving her busy life and them settling in a cabin in the woods.
Michelle’s profession of writing fiction had a way of seeping into her everyday thoughts. The coming to life of the nerves in her feet let her know this wasn’t a holiday movie, and the ending was unwritten.
Curling her legs beside her, Michelle secured the blanket around her waist and legs. While its texture was scratchy, the added warmth made it worth it. Within minutes, between their body heat and the lantern, the temperature inside the small fishing hut grew. The circulation in her feet and lower legs felt as if something was nipping and biting at her flesh. The jolts were as painful as bee stings. Pushing the blanket away, she began rubbing her skin.
“Let me look at those,” the man said, his tone less harsh than earlier.
Michelle pulled her feet back under the blanket and met his gaze. “My name is Michelle. I think you know that.”
He nodded as he hunched down near her knees.
