Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“Okay,” I mumble, rubbing my arms. “Okay, don’t be dramatic. It’s gonna be fine.”
But when I lean back in the driver’s seat and pull the blanket up over my knees, I know instantly—it’s not enough. Not tonight. The cold is creeping in too fast. If the temperature dips even a few degrees lower, I’m going to freeze.
I grab my phone again and check the weather app.
Frost Advisory in Effect. Temperatures may fall into low 30s in higher elevations.
I close my eyes.
“Great.”
The heavier sleeping bag—my winter-grade cocoon of warmth—is back at the cabin. Rolled up in the hall closet. The one I didn’t pack because the stupid app said mild temps.
And the thought of spending the night here with this flimsy blanket haunts me. Hypothermia is not the way I want to leave this world.
I blow out a long breath.
I need it.
And I can get it. I should get it. My guest isn’t arriving until eight at the earliest. There’s no car in the driveway. No activity on the doorbell camera.
The doorbell camera.
I yank the app open quickly. The live view loads in a heartbeat.
Front porch: empty. Driveway: empty. Pathway lights flickering on their timer. The trees swaying gently.
No car. No truck. No guest.
Which means…
“I can run up,” I whisper giving myself permission to go. “Grab the sleeping bag. Be out before he even gets there.”
My heart kicks hard at the thought of being at the cabin when a stranger arrives, but I squash that down. I don’t have to see him. I’ll be in and out. Four minutes max including driving back down the driveway. Grab the sleeping bag, maybe toss an extra pair of socks in my duffel, and go.
I put the car in drive before I can talk myself out of it.
The mountain road is darker now, the pine trees towering like tall shadows on either side. My headlights cut through the gloom in a narrow cone. The deeper I go, the colder the air feels, as if winter is waiting at the top just for me.
As I turn down the road toward my cabin, that familiar ache hits low in my chest. The porch lights glow warm and welcoming in the distance, and for half a second it looks like a real home. My home.
And then I remember I don’t get to sleep there tonight.
I swallow hard.
I pull into the driveway, headlights sweeping over the steps, the wreath on the door, the little porch railing I painted last spring.
The driveway is empty—just like the camera showed.
Good.
I park as close to the door as I can, jump out, and hurry up the steps, cold air slicing at my face. My breath fogs as I fumble my keys out of my pocket and let myself inside.
The warmth hits immediately, even with the thermostat set low. The wood smells familiar. Safe. Like belonging.
I shove the feeling away before it can get a foothold.
“Sleeping bag, sleeping bag,” I mutter, hurrying down the hall.
I yank open the closet, reach up, and snag the thick roll of insulated fabric. It’s heavier than I remember. I drag it down, wrestling it into my arms.
My car is still running. Good. Faster getaway.
I hurry back into the living room—
Then I hear it.
A low rumble.
Deep. Mechanical. Distinct.
My blood chills.
A motorcycle.
A Harley-Davidson to be exact. One thing about my dad, he loved a Harley. He always said slow down, Holley, listen to the tick and you will recognize a Harley over any other brand. H
And not just passing by—coming up the gravel drive. Every crunch of stone under tires vibrates through the floorboards.
“No no no no—” I rush for the door, heart pounding. I’ve got seconds at best.
I yank the door open and step out onto the porch just as the headlight cuts through the trees—
And the rider pulls into my driveway.
My guest has arrived.
Early.
Not terribly early, but given they requested a late check in I truly didn’t think he would be here now. Figures this would be my luck. While I don’t think this is some horrible thing to be here when they arrive, I have never wanted to cross paths with one of my guests before. This isn’t a bed and breakfast where I’m serving them some kind of service package. I supply my home and only my home. Not person to person hospitality.
A man climbs off the bike., the engine rumbling to a stop beneath him.
Black leather jacket covering broad shoulders. His presence rolls across the yard in a wave—solid, confident, deeply masculine.
He removes his helmet slowly, revealing a strong, weathered face and piercing blue eyes that lock onto me instantly. He doesn’t look surprised to see someone standing outside. I take him in. The silver hair short on his head and almost white with a goatee that only adds more edge to his chiseled jaw line. While clearly not some twenty-something man child, this man is far from senior citizen, but a man who has lived a full life. He stretches, his black t-shirt sliding up revealing the edges of his jeans with those clear cut hip bones that create a masterpiece to a fit man’s stomach and groin that can dampen any woman’s panties.