Lost in Him Page 8

  I hang my head with a groan. “Yeah, yeah. We’re going.”

  Spasms threaten to seize my exhausted muscles, putting me in motion. My fingers curl around the worn handles and I haul the wheelbarrow off its supportive legs. A muffled bellow rips through me and the weight trembles my knees. With a shove, I get the load moving forward to our destination. Rune leaps upright from his sprawled position to join me in the venture.

  Uneven footing makes the three-minute trek take twice as long. The stockpile teeters when I hit a hole in the trail, drawing a curse from between my clenched teeth. She won’t even care about this gesture to mend our divide. Not sure why I bother. There I go again with the babbling nonsense.

  I’m a shameless asshole, but I still have morals. Either way, I refuse to let Penny assume the worst. Maybe that makes me weak or foolish or overly fixated. I’ve already proven to be all of the above where she’s concerned. I’m done giving a shit.

  That’s what motivated my peace offering.

  But I find myself making these impulsive decisions more often as of late. That’s the only explanation I can provide for my erratic, reckless behavior. Sticky sludge dilutes my stoic character as I recall the possessive messages I sent. My mind is officially scrambled thanks to her.

  “We need to cut the cord, Rune.” I glance at him in my peripheral.

  He just trots along as if I hadn’t said anything.

  “She wants to get her own dog. You know that, right?”

  The noise he emits is noncommittal at best.

  “It won’t be long before she finds a decent man to warm her bed too.”

  The reality shouldn’t make my blood boil. The handles creak in my grip as I allow that visual to sink in. She’s not mine. Not even close. That doesn’t mean I want her to be with someone else, though.

  Uninterrupted isolation was what I sought after running from the past. I built my cabin and shop on this three-hundred-acre oasis with that escape in mind. The other three lodges were erected for extra income as needed. I rarely open them for rent since the cost of living isn’t too high. Some strange inkling prodded me to list the Monroe lodge for the season.

  And I continue to fume about that poor choice while bringing her wood that she doesn’t want. The irony isn’t lost on me.

  Remorse creeps in when Penny’s cabin comes into view. Her car isn’t parked in the driveway. In all honesty, I hate that she’s frequently in town without me. It festers into black rot I can’t escape. Soon it will spread until I’m nothing but a deranged beast. My stomach sinks, which only serves to further darken my mood. I can’t depend on her to strike a match when the shadows turn on me. That will leave me in total disrepair. I’ve relied solely on myself long enough to get over this funk.

  My glare swings to the wood stacked on her porch. Then I study the untouched supply in the covered shed. The bundles appear exactly as I placed them before she arrived. Not a single one appears disturbed, but that can’t be right.

  “How the hell does she make a fire without burning logs?” The question is purely rhetorical for my stubborn will to hear.

  Rune takes it upon himself to sniff out the previous delivery. His conclusion matches mine. Go figure.

  Penny wasn’t lying yesterday. There’s plenty left from last week. Maybe even all of it. She really doesn’t need more. But that’s her problem now, I suppose.

  Perplexity aside, I gather the fresh cuts and carry them up the stairs. I repeat the process to unload. Stretch. Secure. Stack. Over and again until the pile is transferred to her porch.

  Perspiration trickles down my temple. I swat at the drops and wrench the rag from my pocket. The dirty fabric does little to mop the sweat, but fuck it. My weary body sags against the nearest post. That’s a wrap.

  Gravel under tires whips my focus to the road. Penny’s red coupe is approaching at a snail’s pace. Shock probably has her foot easing off the accelerator. Either that or Rune’s direct dash toward her. The lovesick hound makes my infatuation look like a tame kindergarten crush.

  I’m transfixed as she throws the car in park and kills the ignition. She pops open the door, but stalls for several seconds before getting out. The brief hesitation does nothing to calm the rushing wind in my ears. Anticipation becomes my nemesis.

  Penny leaves the safety of her vehicle. I watch the distance that separates us shrink with her timid stride. That reluctance is a direct hit to my pride, but it’s my fault. It’s also mine to fix. I can’t let her believe I’m this unstable man hiding in the woods. Although, in all honesty, there’s probably more truth than not in that description.

  Our gazes clash and hold, pent-up energy throbbing between us. That unsteady pulse hammers against my skull. Her breath wobbles with uneven bursts. I can’t look away and it appears she suffers from a similar plight.

  Suddenly, everything slows. The fading sunlight freezes into crystallized streaks. Branches and leaves cease swaying in the breeze. Rune finds a grass patch to nap on. The ground tilts until I sway, struggling to adjust. Static crackles in the air. Taut tension is almost visible between us, drawing tighter with each strained exhale. My rapid pulse stutters to a near halt. Penny must feel it too. The furious rise and fall of her chest turns sluggish. Her blink is weighted. I take a breath that seems to take an entire minute to heave.

  One.

  Two.

  Three.

  Before the fourth beat drops, the trance thaws as if it never arrived. Our lush surroundings spin on fast-forward to compensate for the temporary lag. We’re yanked from the clutches of this unforeseeable hold. Penny gasps and rips her gaze from mine. That loss is an immediate shock to my system. I blindly grasp at the post to remain upright. There’s something else I need to get a grip on.

  The smile that curls Penny’s lips is staggering. “We really should stop meeting like this.” I feel my nostrils flare with agitation. The next inhale streams fire to my lungs. I’m still stuck in turmoil while she makes jokes.

  Surrender is for those ready to lose or quit. I won’t go down that easily. It’s just taking me longer than expected to gather my bearings. Good thing we’re just getting started.

  With sound logic propelling me forward, I stomp down the steps with my aim trained on the path home. Rune will follow if he chooses. I’m mere feet from a successful getaway when the hurt in her tone blocks my attempt.

  “Are you ever going to talk to me?”

  Little does she realize how increasingly difficult it is to avoid doing just that. A force I can’t explain has me peering over my shoulder. Her hazel depths shimmer with unshed emotions. The sight would obliterate a lesser man. Even as a hardened husk, I feel a fissure crack into the steely layer concealing my jaded soul. Maybe that’s her intention.

  That sparks an awareness I hadn’t previously considered. This might be a challenge for her. A novelty to behold. I’m almost stunned by the realization. The shine might wear off once I give into her.

  The open vulnerability in my expression is snuffed out. A seamless pivot gives her a full-frontal view of my denial. I’m in control, dammit. She won’t sway me more than she has already. Not today.

  All she gets from me is a soundless refusal as I begin backing away into the woods.

  Until we meet again, Darlin’.

  The epic soundtrack from my favorite Netflix binge fades into a muted hum. Icy panic crawls up my throat and tries to suffocate me. Those frozen tendrils dig in until I gasp. A furious boom shakes the walls. The thunder is attacking with ruthless intent. That’s not what has my nerves in an anxious tangle, though.

  I clench my eyes shut as the wind pounds angry fists on the windows. The panes rattle, splashed with torrential showers. This is all too familiar, yet not what I’m used to.

  There’s no sensible explanation for my unhinged behavior. I’m not a stranger to storms. We’re frequent rivals. That doesn’t mean I’m not gripping the blanket with white knuckles. Besides, it’s different bunking down alone.

  The c
atastrophic tropical variety of storms sweeps through Florida more often than not during hurricane season. Those of us in an incoming path seek shelter as needed, prepare for the destruction, and wait for the tail to breeze past. It’s terrifying and doesn’t get easier, no matter how often you evacuate.

  But this feels scary in an entirely different way. The small cabin leaves me little space to hide. That seems much more dangerous in these conditions.

  Terror strikes deep in my belly when another clap of thunder wreaks havoc on the night. The pulsing fear wants my submission. Screw that noise. I flip a middle finger at the roaring rage currently whipping through the woods. But even despite my efforts, the false bravado does nothing to soothe these jagged edges.

  Rumbles quake the ground hard enough to send my heart into severe palpitations. Frames rattle on the walls, preparing for their ultimate crash. The table in front of me quivers. Rain splatters on glass, the wet slap almost seeming to douse my feverish skin.

  Even though it’s barely five o’clock in the evening, the sky is dark and ominous. A warning swirls fast within the dense shadows. The howl from beastly gusts makes me jump.

  I curl into a tighter ball, as if my ability to be compact will change the weather. Sweat clings to my forehead as a chill tickles me. The contrasting energies heighten my awareness. I blink from the stupor. I need a distraction. That’s why I turned on a show in the first place. With that driving force, I train my sharp gaze on the glowing screen.

  Almost immediately, my mind drifts again. Anthony and Kate blur into obscure blobs on my iPad screen. Not even Bridgerton can hold my attention.

  I bang my forehead on the armrest, which doesn’t satisfy the brewing frustration in the slightest. This sitting duck situation isn’t doing it for me. But limited options plaster my butt to the cushions. Driving isn’t happening. I can always phone a friend. Elouise will understand my fretting. We’ll pass approximately five minutes before boredom sets in. Aggravation streams from my flared nostrils.

  And that’s when the power zaps off.

  “No, no, no,” I groan. I dart off the sofa for the nearest switch. The lights stay off no matter how fast I flick it up and down. It’s a blessing this happened during daylight, but I can’t see beyond the frantic pressure in my chest.

  What happens once it’s dark? That’s a question to cause true panic. My teeth chatter for no reason at all. Perhaps I’m anticipating the incoming chill that’s bound to draft in at any second. The threat of frostbite and hypothermia only belongs in winter. Maybe. This isn’t stuff I researched.

  One thing is certain—or more like two.

  The dark won’t hurt me. It’s spooky, but harmless. But without electricity, I don’t have heat.

  I’m not bred for cold temperatures. The fireplace sits unused. Built from sturdy stone and brick, the hearth is massively intimidating. There are matchboxes stacked on top. The long kind, for hard-to-reach candles, or a fire within the safety of a pit. All I have to do is strike one, toss it on the logs, and the fire burns. Right? That doesn’t seem right. An insistent throbbing kicks at my temples. I could Google how to get flames roiling, but there’s not much time for experimenting. My city girl roots are showing, and they’re fiercely inadequate.

  I can drive to town, but then what? There’s no motel. Lydia might have a spare bed or pillow. That possibility doesn’t settle my worry. We’ve been friends for two-point-five seconds. Talk about an imposition.

  It’s totally fine. I’ve got this.

  My shoulders slump when my mood shows no signs of improvement. No amount of positivity will scare off this fright. That allows more worry to assault me. My bare feet smack against the cool floor. I pace the length of the cabin while scrounging up courage.

  Nash is my only practical option. I’ll arrive on his doorstep and beg for shelter. That’s not desperate or anything. Maybe I should text first—what, so he can deny me easier? Scratch that.

  How we left things the other day leaves much to be desired. He doesn’t want to see me. I shouldn’t want to see him either. This stupid outage is a choice thief.

  But I’ll be honest.

  The thought of being holed up with Nash Hudson doesn’t sound too shabby. There’s just something about him I can’t escape, and it’s not from our close proximity. No, our neighboring cabins aren’t responsible for this yearning in my heart. The ache is for him, but that pang doesn’t emit pity. Compassion, maybe. I feel like we could be kindred spirits if given the chance.

  After what feels like hours, the fury just beyond the walls has calmed. Meanwhile, I’ve managed to wrap myself into a hissy fit. There’s still no power. A peek outside reveals that the torrential downpour has slowed to a steady drizzle. I can walk in this, accompanied by my umbrella. That gives me pause. Lightning hasn’t struck yet, but it would be my luck if it did while I’m hoofing it next door. Maybe I shouldn’t risk it.

  My jacket with a hood will suffice. Knee-high boots too. I pocket my phone and other necessities. A glance in the mirror is comical. I look like a pissed-off kitty forced to endure a bath. He won’t turn me away. My middle and index fingers cross over themselves as I vacate the non-comfort of my temporary home.

  Crisp freshness dangles in the air, but that’s the only pleasantness I’m afforded. A damp chill burrows into my flesh, invading the lingering heat from what the sun left me with earlier. This terrain is a freaking slop fest. I nearly fall on my ass seven times in the first few feet. Thankfully, the trees provide coverage, so the trail isn’t complete sludge.

  Stray droplets drip from overhead, adding to the persistent sprinkle. I blink the moisture from my lashes with a muttered curse. Any hope of staying dry has been officially dashed. Soaked denim clings to my legs. Goosebumps cover me from head to toe. My soles squish in the mud when puddles are unavoidable. Slow and steady is my best bet. It’s not ideal, but I’m making my way.

  At a bend in the trail, the burden on my lungs whooshes from me in a choppy exhale. I’ve never been so relieved to see a smoking chimney. That billowing plume is a beacon that I’m desperate to reach. I can only hope who I stumble upon is welcoming.

  Nerves skitter down my spine and I shiver. I spotted what’s sure to be Nash’s house last week on our botched hike. Those suspicions are confirmed when I spot a familiar wheelbarrow out front. He abandoned the rust bucket in my yard after his last great escape. That reminds me of the conflict I’m walking into. My pace resembles a snail while I inch forward. Then the wind picks up steam and shoves me onward. Hint received.

  I lift my fist to knock, but the door swings open before I can. A very naked chest greets me. Masculine pride ripples off the smooth flesh filling my vision. The angular contours and sculpted definition put chiseled marble to shame. I knew Nash was fit, but the evidence is damning—mostly to my decorum and proper brain functioning. The air is sucked from my lungs. Any trace of saliva in my mouth is sucked dry.

  He crosses stocky arms over the hard planes of his pecs. His ropey veins are on full display, and I might just faint. I’ve always been a sucker for arm porn. But that’s not all. The deep grooves cutting into his abdomen flex under my salacious perusal. I very well might’ve been struck by lightning, and this is a very pleasant dream. Maybe he suddenly developed an allergy to cotton and shirts. What a shame.

  His growly displeasure snaps me out of my leering. Yep, this is actually happening. I realize far too late that I’m just lurking on his stoop like a dumbfounded loiterer. My closed hand is still hovering in mid-air. With extreme caution—so he doesn’t spook—I lower my frozen limb. His glare is ready and waiting when I peek up at him.

  I’m skirting dangerously close to perverted territory. He’s never going to let me inside at this rate. Can’t say I blame him. I smack my lips and force my eyes to the ground.

  The sand in my throat is laced with hot embarrassment. “Um, hi.”

  Nash doesn’t respond or acknowledge me. Go figure.

  “The power is out in my cabin. O
n one minute, and poof the next. Not sure what to do about that. Figured you could help me. I’m not in the market for freezing my butt off.” The nervous babbling is a terrible habit I have yet to kick.

  He just stares, his expression blank without an ounce of concern for my discomfort. That’s probably because I was unabashedly gawking at his naked torso moments ago. Drool is most likely stuck to my chin.

  “Did yours blow too?”

  Nothing for several beats, then he nods. Progress.

  “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  His jaw ticks forward.

  “Do you, uh, mind if I stay here until the storm passes?”

  Conflict tightens his features into a scowl. I almost retract the request. Almost. But my scant options keep me rooted on his porch. He can accept that or not.

  The pause that pairs with his deliberation is painful at best. I almost wither under his shrewd scrutiny, but my newfound backbone makes an appearance and keeps me standing straight. Another second might wreck me.

  Thankfully, it doesn’t come to that. Nash grants me entry with a forward sweep from his muscular arm.

  My stiff posture deflates with a heavy sigh. “Thank you.”

  The warm interior quickly envelops me. I shudder from the unexpected onslaught. Seems the cold penetrated deeper than I thought. My jacket is soggy, water sluicing off onto the spotless floor. The rapidly forming puddle might as well be a permanent stain. Ingrained politeness has me shuffling sideways to the large mat meant for dirty shoes.

  Turns out Nash is watching me through thinly veiled disgust. It’s been ten seconds and I’m already making a mess. I wince while slowly unzipping the drenched garment. It lands on the rubber surface with a splat.

  “Sorry,” I whisper. “Do you have a towel? I’ll mop that up.”

  He just shakes his head.

  “Okay,” I drag the word out with my discomfort.

  Rune pops up out of thin air, his sleek and agile run barreling straight for me. I barely have time to brace before he’s making a lunge for it. My knees hit the floor at the same moment his body collides with mine. He wiggles with glee on my lap, lavishing me with his signature sloppy kisses. I’m grateful for the save from further ridicule.