Page 4 of Collision of Winters (Hillcroft Group #4)

Kayden Winters

I sat right up in bed when I heard Wade curse outside the bedroom.

This wasn’t going to work.

He hadn’t reacted the way I’d anticipated about the bedroom situation. He’d simply moved his shit out to the living room and let me sleep in the bed, which just made me come off as an asshole.

The fucker was killing me with kindness—in that arena anyway.

It’d been three days of reluctantly getting crap done to prepare for the mother of all winter storms.

I was dragging my feet, doing the bare minimum.

He was up at five every morning to take the dogs out with the four-wheeler, and he didn’t return until a few hours later.

Then he made breakfast. Always scrambled eggs, oatmeal, and some kind of meat, usually caribou or rabbit.

And after that…he got started. He was reinforcing the exterior of the boathouse, he was building a new shed behind the cabin, he was cleaning his guns, he was making traps for hunting small game, and he was collecting water.

The water in the stream was, in his words, cleaner than the water we had at home, but he filtered it to be safe. Out here, you didn’t wanna get sick.

He hadn’t given me many chores outside of tidying up, making sure the firewood crate stayed full, and occasionally feeding the dogs.

Today, he was going to inspect the insulation in the dog shed.

I was going to struggle with my guilt, I guessed…

The fucker knew what he was doing to me.

Yesterday, I had watched him with the dogs. We’d had a conversation free from awkwardness and tension when he told me how he’d adopted them, their names, and his initial worry for letting them sleep outside.

“They’re workin’ dogs—they’re supposed to be outdoors—and the locals make fun of me when I fuss over them.”

“There are locals here?”

Spoiler alert: there were no locals. But there was a wilderness retreat an hour south, where we’d landed with the outdated bush plane.

Wade apparently headed down there sometimes for a bite to eat, some social interaction, and trading stuff.

Like dead birds in exchange for a bottle of whiskey or caribou meat in exchange for vegetables.

Wade liked it up here. That much was clear.

“You don’t get lonely?”

“Sometimes, but it passes. Besides, I have them.” He nodded at the dogs and smiled.

The alpha dog, Atlas, was munching on a fish.

Like, an actual fish. Wade threw frozen fish in there every day.

Kibble was like a small side dish here. They received meat, fish, and their by-products, and fat mixed with homemade bone broth.

The only girl dog, ironically named Cat, was the one Wade spoiled occasionally. She liked apple slices soaked in duck fat—when the season allowed it.

Sounded delicious.

I heard the telltale sounds of Wade filling his thermos and a water bottle, which meant he was on his way out the door.

I waited until he had left before I crawled out of bed to start my day.

My guilt couldn’t handle any more laziness and defiance, no matter how badly I wanted to get out of here.

Had it been Chris up here, I would’ve let my anger run wild for longer. He and I had more of a brotherly relationship, with the usual ribbing and whatnot. Wade was different.

When I’d been released from jail, Chris had been there to hug me tightly, smack me upside the head, and say that the whole ordeal was over and done with.

Wade had spent the past three days asking questions about my time in lockup.

Mostly to see if I had any trauma from it.

But I couldn’t say that I did. I’d kind of expected nightmares and reacting to new sounds and structures, but I just hadn’t spent enough time behind bars.

This new prison in Alaska didn’t have bars. That was something!

I wanted to talk to Dad, though. At least I’d been able to do that in jail. He’d demanded a daily check-in. Perhaps I could ask Wade if I could reach out somehow.

First things first, a repeat from yesterday—a freakishly cold scrub-down in the stream. Because that was what Wade had pointed to, with a smirk, when I’d asked how to get clean.

Jackass.

He’d recommended washing off in the evenings instead, but one, I was used to my morning shower, and two, showering in the evening only made sense if you’d been useful during the day.

I headed out with a towel, the bar of soap he’d laid out, and my best attitude. I was only wearing a pair of sweats, so this was gonna be quick and painful.

If a bear attacked me now, I wouldn’t even put up a fight.

It took me a whole hour to warm up.

Fuck this fucking nonsense.

I was rethinking being nice to Wade, but…

Dealing with the aftershocks of my dick-shrinking dip, I moved my stuff to the living room in between shivers and curses.

The couch was a sectional, so I made one end my bed, the one that was against the wall, because then I wouldn’t have to remove the bedding every day.

Wade could sit on the other half. He read a lot…

I just missed my cartoons and comic books. I’d only brought one comic book, thinking I was gonna be too busy catching up with my brothers.

Joke was on me.

After moving his stuff back into the bedroom, I was getting really hungry, and I’d played with the idea of baking something yesterday. I had one recipe from Yaya that I knew by heart because I’d made it so much, and maybe Wade would appreciate bread with his eggs later?

I found all the ingredients. Flour, dry yeast, oil, olives, spices, and water. So this was happening. I had no idea how the oven thing worked in the woodstove, but I could let the dough rest until he came back, and then he could show me.

The counter was big enough that I didn’t need a bowl, so after soaking the yeast, I put the dough together on the wooden top, and I started humming to myself. Because it was nuts to go without music!

Maybe I danced a little too.

I felt good, okay? This was fun. And it wasn’t like I was gonna tell Wade I was enjoying myself.

I felt way warmer now too, so I shed my hoodie. Sweats and tees worked for me.

Once the dough was ready for resting, I covered it with a dish towel, washed my hands, and then chopped the leftover olives from yesterday. I’d add them before the loaf went into the oven.

Then I heard a thump coming from behind the cabin, and I froze.

Bear? Is that you?

Oh my fuck. It better not be. It couldn’t be Wade, though. When he’d described his morning routine, he’d spoken as if it was written in stone. This was his time with the dogs.

The sounds continued, both thumps and loud rustling, like someone was digging for something back there.

I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid, I’m not afraid.

Could it be a thief? Did thieves exist out here?

I swallowed my nerves, or tried, and went for the shotgun by the door.

At least Dad and Chris had taught me how to shoot.

My aim was…decent.

I checked to make sure all I had to do was pull the trigger, and then I sucked in a breath and opened the front door.

“Who’s back there?” I yelled. “My brother’s mad strong, and I’m scrappy as fuck!”

Two dogs suddenly barked, and I snapped my stare toward the dog yard. Holy fuck, they were here. All four of them.

“Take it easy, scrappy,” Wade called. “It’s just me.”

Oh thank God.

He came around the cabin with an armful of twigs for kindling, and I blew out a breath and returned the shotgun to its spot just inside the door.

“You fucking scared me,” I accused.

He chuckled and dumped the kindling on the porch. “Sorry. Storm’s coming in faster than I thought, and its direction has shifted. It’ll hit us head on, so we better get ready.”

“Oh. How do you know? Do you have Wi-Fi at the boathouse too?”

He smirked and removed his beanie. “I have a satphone and a radio. No Instagram or SnapTok.”

I spluttered a laugh and followed him inside. “It’s Snapchat and TikTok.”

“Ban them both,” was his reply. “They’ll rot your brain.”

Sometimes, he was so old.

But hey, I should definitely be able to call Dad if Wade had a phone that worked.

I closed the door and?—

“Would you look at that. You’ve been busy.” He was looking at the couch and the kitchen counter. He sent me a smile that made me feel a little too good. “You makin’ Yaya’s farm bread?”

“Yessir.” I smiled back and scratched my elbow absently. I loved the look of approval in his hazel-green eyes. When Wade was happy, every feature of him screamed warmth. Our hair color was the same brown, but his stayed sun-kissed a while longer than mine did.

“Attaboy.” He ruffled my hair, and I gave him a shove that made him chuckle. “Looks like the sweet baby brother of the family finally poked his head out.”

“Shut up.”

Don’t shut up . Even though we weren’t related, or even technically foster brothers, I felt included when those terms were used. Yaya had called us brothers from the moment I’d joined the family.

Wade grinned but said nothing, and he glanced back at the couch. “I don’t mind sleeping out here, though.”

I shook my head. “You got that old hip of yours.”

That earned me a scowl. “It sounds cooler when you at least mention the shrapnel.”

There was nothing cool about that. I’d lost my shit the day we’d found out he had been injured in battle. Thankfully, his last tour. Once he’d rotated home, he’d left the service to go back to pursue his goals in the medical field.

A sharp wind trying to push through the cabin caught our focus, and we peered up at the ceiling.

“We’re safe here, right?” I had to ask.

“Without a doubt,” he said firmly. “But we’ll let the dogs sleep inside tonight. I can’t guarantee the shed and the carport won’t get damaged. I’ll secure the vehicles closer to the cabin too.”

For the rest of that day, I helped Wade with storm preparations and desperately wished I had some music to drown out the warnings going off in my head.

Don’t get too close.

You remember the last time you let your guard down. You ended up moving to Dallas.

Don’t fucking act like a sub around him.

Stupid, stupid!