Total pages in book: 194
Estimated words: 187754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 939(@200wpm)___ 751(@250wpm)___ 626(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 187754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 939(@200wpm)___ 751(@250wpm)___ 626(@300wpm)
I hesitate a moment—debating the prudence of stripping naked in a stranger’s home—before shedding my peasant dress. It’s ridiculously impractical for this climate, but it’s not as if my stylist knew I’d be heading for Canada when she dressed me or that my plane would crash onto a snowy mountain.
Standing with my arms wrapped around my half-naked body, I spot a blanket thrown over the back of the leather sofa, so I take it and wrap it around me.
Looking around the cavernous space, I soak up as many details as I can. The small loft. The antler chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The crude workmanship tells me it’s homemade. There aren’t any picture frames to give me a clue about the occupants, but there are enough odds and ends to tell me someone had made this place home.
I look for a woman’s touch, and my stomach twists with discomfort when I see none.
Maybe a kindly old widower lives here with his sons.
Yeah, I like that better than whatever scary version my mind can conjure. Why else would three grown men hole up in a cabin all the way out in the middle of nowhere? Nothing good, that’s for sure.
Three tin cups rest among scattered bullets and oil-stained cloths on the low table, and a gasp escapes me when I see steam curling over the rim.
They were just here.
The men who lived in this cabin must have left mere moments before I appeared, and judging by the abandoned food, they’d left in a hurry.
Why?
The memory of snow—a huge fucking mass of it—rushing downhill toward Tyler and me flashes in my mind before I block it out.
Had the men who lived here felt the avalanche? Seen it?
Tyler and I hadn’t been far away when it happened, but I don’t know if it’s possible.
Reaching for the closest cup, I lift it from the table and tentatively sip the fresh coffee. Warmth instantly floods my veins and thaws my bones, but I make a face when my taste buds register the sugar.
Too sweet.
Setting it down, I reach for the next.
The cinnamon aroma soothes my sore nose before I take a sip, only to realize it’s weaker than I like and a little colder than the first.
Grabbing the last cup, I drink from it and hum happily at my first taste of the hot—nearly scalding—brew.
It’s not too sweet, tepid, or light.
It’s just right.
Before I know it, the cup is empty, and I don’t feel so close to death. My stomach rumbles, and I don’t bother counting the hours since I last ate. I fall to my knees again and devour the half-eaten sandwich. I don’t allow myself to wonder what the gamey-tasting meat is as it fills my belly.
The cabin quakes again as if telling me to hurry. I don’t have much time before I’m caught trespassing.
I’m not ready to leave, so I chalk it up to paranoia and move closer to the fire once I’ve eaten all three sandwiches. I only need a few minutes, but as I sit and stare into the flames with the blanket around my shoulders, the minutes tick by without my realizing.
I don’t even feel my eyes growing heavy until I nod off.
When it happens a third time, I accept that I’m safe for now and stand.
No one is going to walk through that door and find me anytime soon. My dress, still damp in places, is mostly dry and warm now from lying in front of the fire, so I put it back on. Harrison’s coat, however, is thicker, so I leave it and Cassie’s scarf in a pile on the floor.
I walk to the bank of windows below the loft, and the view I’m greeted with is…I hate it.
The cabin is built on the edge of a cliff. I know instantly why the mountain men chose this cliff. I can see all of the wilds from here, every terrifying inch and endless angles. From this vantage, it looks deceptively small, but I know all too well how easy it is to get lost in it. The valley and most of the foothills below are mostly hidden by thick, white mist, but I can see the tallest of the trees that rise above it and the outline of the smaller mountains in the distance.
I was in that.
I survived that.
It was terrifying at the time, but all I can think now is how much I want to burn it all down.
Forcing myself away from the windows before the thought can take root, I explore the rest of the house.
The kitchen is tucked away behind the dining room, but I find it easy enough. As I pass the dining table, I run my index finger over the unfinished wood. There’s a deep gouge in the sanded oak that makes me pause.