Page 13 of Snowbound

“It wasyou,” I whisper, testing my voice again now that I’m warmer.

“What hurts?” he asks, spinning around with that fierce glint in his eyes, like he’d destroy anything that’s caused me pain.

“My fingers,” I say softly. “My hands. They’re tingling.”

“Aye, that’ll happen,” he says with a nod.

I want to sass him, snap back something sarcastic. But I’m too tired. I’m just so damn tired.

That was so damn close.

Tooclose.

But at least now I’m warm. My limbs thaw as the pain dulls. I sink back into the couch, letting my eyes drift shut.

Because for the first time in a long, long time… I feel safe. I feel held. And even though I don’t have answers yet, Owen is here. And with Owen, I’ve always been safe.

“You were the one who stocked the fridge,” I murmur.

“Aye,” he replies, now fumbling around near the stove.

I hear the scratch of a match, then the soft roar of flames as the kettle starts to heat.

He always said that a good cup of tea could cure anything.

“You shouldn’t have gone out there alone,” he says in a low voice.

“Of course not,” I reply, exasperated. “I didn’t know the damn door would lock behind me. I was out there for two minutes. Just trying to hang some ornaments.”

He mutters under his breath again, frustration and worry all twisted up.

“Have you been watching me?” I ask suddenly. “What the hell are you doing here, Owen?”

I’m huddled under the blankets, not sure if I want the answer. Part of me is relieved he found me. Saved me. The other part? The part that still aches from before? It’s terrified.

“You put the food here? The water? The firewood?”

“Aye. I did,” he says simply.

“I saw it was you coming. Made sure it was ready.”

“Do you… own this place?” I ask cautiously.

He just shrugs.

That answer, or lack of one, says too much and not enough. I don’t know what it means, and I’m too drained to dig deeper.

I should be angry. I should be confused. But more than anything, right now, I’m grateful. I’malive.

I remember how I felt about him—not just some schoolgirl crush, not some fleeting obsession. I was inlovewith Owen Callahan. Madly. Deeply.

Now, here he is, in front of me… in the middle of the woods.

And we’re alone.

“What the fuck?” I whisper.

He sits beside me on the couch, handing me a steaming mug.