Another picture of Colter’s brothers, taken not long before that final mission. Laughing and smiling, relaxed at the base. None of them knowing they had only a few hours left to live.
The memory sobered him, and images of Kensie changing out of her clothes into something more appropriate for the weather fled. But thoughts of Kensie herself stuck. Having her here didn’t feel strange. It felt natural. And that made him nervous.
He had no room for anyone else in his life, especially not a woman whose time in Alaska had an expiration date. Because even though he missed his parents—and there were days he desperately wished he’d followed their dreams for him instead of his own, so he wouldn’t know this pain now—he couldn’t imagine ever returning to Idaho. Or going anywhere else, for that matter.
In the past year, Alaska had become his home. This cabin calmed him. The wide open spaces and cold, unforgiving weather relaxed him, helped reduce his panic. One day, maybe this place would even heal him, get him partway back to whole again.
The door to his bedroom opened and Kensie lumbered out.
Colter couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. After talking to Derrick, she’d wanted to immediately try and track Henry Rollings. But he’d insisted on bringing her back to the main part of Desparre to get clothes more appropriate for Alaska’s coming weather.
Instead of dropping her at her hotel, he’d brought her here to change, because he’d wanted to stop off for a different kind of gear himself.
In early October, Desparre might hit twenty-five degrees midday if you were lucky. Lows regularly got down to two degrees. It wasn’t really that bad, once you got used to it. But the problem was that Desparre wasn’t a city like Chicago, filled with easy places to stop in and warm up if your car broke down or the wind chill got to be too much. October was also the snowiest month of the year and there was no guarantee when the snow would start—or stop. In a few weeks they could be so snowed in that no one was getting out until spring.
Keeping Kensie here until the flowers poked up in the valley below wasn’t a half-bad idea. Even how she was dressed now, in boots appropriate for the mountains, snow pants and a jacket that would actually keep her warm if they got stuck out in the cold somewhere, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She took big, exaggerated steps out of his room, as though she was weighed down by all the gear he’d made her get. But he shook his head, not buying it. Everything he’d picked for her was relatively lightweight.
“I feel like a snow monster,” Kensie complained.
“You look cute.” He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, and her eyes widened. Hoping she wouldn’t take that the wrong way, he added, “This is going to be much better if we get stranded somewhere.”
“Why would we get stranded?”
“Well, hopefully we won’t,” Colter said, even though the idea of being stranded anywhere with Kensie didn’t sound bad at all. “But weather here can be unpredictable. We get surprised by a blizzard or trapped on the hill by an avalanche and you’re going to want real winter gear.”
She looked nervous for a second, but then her expression shifted and her thoughts were broadcasted on her face. She’d definitely looked at the pictures in his room, and they’d made her think of his words earlier, about avoiding his rightful fate alongside his brothers. The look on her face now was one of uncertainty, as if she wanted to bring it up again but wasn’t sure how. And mixed with that was pity. If there was anything he hated, it was pity.
“Stop staring at me like I’m damaged.”
She looked startled. “I’m not.”
Rebel lifted her head from the spot she’d claimed near the hearth, her head swiveling between them, ears perked.
He took a few steps toward Kensie. “Yeah, you are.” He didn’t know why he cared. They both knew it was true, so why did it matter if he could see it on her face? Was it better that she thought it, but kept it hidden?
Still, the idea of her thinking that he was less made tension build up inside him. Suddenly he couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to prove he was whole. Or, at least, whole enough.
He was still walking toward her. He hadn’t intended to, but the closer he got, the better an idea it seemed. The closer he got, the more her eyes widened and her lips parted.
As he stared at the fullness of her lips, the rapidly increasing rise and fall of her chest, the past seemed to fall away. He reached out, letting his fingers drift over the puffiness of her coat, down to her bare hands. Somehow, with Kensie so covered up, the act of sliding his fingers between hers was intensified. The softness of her skin, the delicate strength in her fingers, calloused from playing violin. Pleasure shot up from the point where their skin met, and he tugged her toward him.
Instead of pulling back like she probably should have, she fell into him. He smiled at how huge her coat suddenly seemed, putting unnatural distance between them. But instead of unzipping it, he just wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tighter.
Her hands made a slow, jerky ascent up his chest, and with her head tucked close to his shoulder, he wasn’t sure if it was desire or uncertainty putting the hitch in her movements. But then she lifted up on tiptoe so they were lined up perfectly, her beautiful eyes staring back at him.
Her lips were only inches away, her breath puffing against his mouth, but he froze, captivated by the pure toffee brown of her eyes, by the mix of emotions in her gaze. Raw desire, yes. But also something softer, more intimate.
If only that metal hadn’t torn through his leg. If only those
