Page 8 of Recipe for a Curse

The wind howled, whipping hard enough that the walls shook. A waft of frigid air seemed to pour into the space and I shivered. Would the walls even hold? Rio moved closer, digging into the blanket nest himself, and leaving us practically on top of the fireplace.

“Haven’t really had money for repairs,” Rio admitted. “Even if there was much of a way to fix it. Was nice back when I first bought it. Walls and a roof. That was all I thought I needed. Well, that and space.” He curled up close, using the wall as a back brace, even though I thought being that close to the wall was like sitting on an ice cube.

“Did it help? Having the space?” I asked, wondering if the comments about his PTSD were true, and if being out here, away from everyone, really helped.

“At first?” He tucked the blankets until they were around us and I sat close enough to him to feel his heat too. He did run warm. A bit like having a personal heater. “I thought being away from everyone was good.”

“It sounds lonely.”

“Sometimes,” he agreed. He reached over and lifted me like I weighed nothing, shifting the blankets around so we both had a big pile. “I hope your boss comes before dark.”

“What happens after dark?”

He was silent for a few minutes before saying, “The cold gets worse.”

“We can keep the fire going. You have lots of firewood.”

“Never lasts. No matter how much I cut, it’s never enough…”

Did that mean he went part of the winter without heat? How was that possible? I frowned at him, but he stared into the flames instead. I closed my eyes and let the heat soothe all my worries. Even if it was only for a few minutes, it was okay. I didn’t think Rio would hurt me, or let anything hurt me. And the storm raising a fuss outside made me want to nap. Since I couldn’t tell from the light coming through the windows what time it was, I figured it didn’t much matter if it was two in the afternoon or seven at night. A nap sounded great.