CHAPTER 8
WHITNEY
I woke up in the middle of the night to a dying fire crackling and a man screaming. The noise ripped me from sleep, but the smell of food in the air distracted me. My stomach was growling and my ears were ringing, but one thing I didn’t feel that I should’ve was my ankle.
I tossed the blanket off my legs and saw it was wrapped.
My toes looked like little sausages but there wasn’t any pain. I slung my legs over the couch and tried to stand up, chancing the pain while I gritted my teeth. Even though this guy was an absolute asshole, that screaming wasn’t the sound of an angry man.
It was the sound of a hurting one.
I bypassed the food and made my way down the hallway. I came to its short end and saw one of the doors hanging open. Then, I heard the shower cut on. A dim light came from underneath the door across the hall and, as I peeked my head into the bedroom, I could see how trashed the room was. There was a wet spot on the pillow and the covers were thrown to the ground. The fitted bed sheet was crumbled in the middle and some of the pillows were on the opposite end of the room. I listened to the falling water of the shower and sighed, wondering what in the world could’ve scared a massive man like him in his sleep.
I walked back down the hallway and hopped into the kitchen. Even though my eyes were heavy, my stomach was growling with hunger. There was a massive pot sitting on the stove with a tray of biscuits covered with saran wrap and, immediately, my mouth began to salivate. I peeled back the wrap and snagged a biscuit before my want for sleep took over. I munched on it as I hobbled back to the couch.
It practically melted in my mouth, even though it had been sitting on the stove probably since dinner time.
I sat on the couch and listened to the water from the shower down the hallway while I ate my biscuit. I couldn’t really see the snow outside but I could tell how much had stacked onto the windowsill. I laid back down and propped my foot up as I sighed, wondering how in fuck’s name I was going to get back to the resort on a bum ankle.
But, before I could rack my brain for the possibilities, I fell back asleep.
When my eyes finally fluttered open the next morning, it was clear how bad the storm had gotten during the night. The sun wasn’t even breaking through the clouds, they were so thick, and the snow that had fallen onto the ground was already halfway up the tires of the guy’s truck.
Holy hell, I really needed to learn his name.
This storm was much worse than what that woman from the resort told me. This was probably even worse than what the weathermen were telling people. The snow was still coming down in buckets like it hadn’t given up overnight, and, suddenly, the past few hours came coming back to me.
The man that saved my life had been woken up by a nightmare last night.
Had it not been for him, the snow would’ve covered me up and swallowed me whole. I would’ve passed out against that tree and the cold would’ve ripped the life right from my lungs. Even though the man was surly and a bit of a dick, I owed him my life. Not only did he bring me back here and warm me up, but he took care of my ankle.
I wanted to do something for him that showed my appreciation.
I stumbled off the couch and ran my hip into the side of it. I hissed, feeling tears crest my eyes while the pain in my thigh ricocheted up my side. I had to take a second to catch my breath before I could make my way to the kitchen. I was determined to make the two of us breakfast. The biscuits were already made, but I could whip us up some cheese grits and maybe some eggs. I went over to his pantry, hobbling along as best as I could, and started grabbing things from his stash.
I set out to cook a breakfast he could wake up to while I started humming lightly to myself.
It had been a long time since I’d cooked for anyone other than myself. Most of the time, I just grabbed a salad or a barbecue takeout tray from my favorite restaurant and took it back to my apartment. In fact, I couldn’t really remember the last time I’d actually cooked a meal and I found myself settling back into the rhythm of things.
I cracked eggs and scrambled them in a pan while the grits cooked in a small pot.
“What are you doing?”
At the sound of his voice, I jumped. I didn’t remember it being as low as it was and it took me by surprise. The spoon I was stirring the grits with went flying in the air, actually hitting the ceiling before it landed on the kitchen island behind me.
I turned around and faced the massive man and he seemed to loom over me more than I remembered from the day before.
“What are you doing?” he asked again.
“Uh, cooking breakfast,” I said. “It was the least I could do for you saving my life. I’m Whitney, by the way.”
But instead of offering his name, all he did was stare at the food on the stove.
He was a massive man. Easily six-feet-four and stacked with muscle. The beard on his face was thick, covering up even his lips while his dark brown hair was pushed back onto his head. But his bright blue eyes had me mesmerized.
He was rough around the edges but his blue eyes lent him a charm I was sure he kept covered up underneath his rough and tumble exterior.
“Liam,” he finally said.
He picked the spoon up off the kitchen island before he looked up to the ceiling. The spoon had left behind a dollop of grits that was slowly detaching itself from the ceiling. I drew my bottom lip between my teeth while I watched it fall and land on the kitchen counter.
His blue eyes slowly panned over to me and I tried my best to stifle the giggle rising up my throat.
“I’ll take care of food,” he said.
“Just let me cook for you,” I said. “You know, to show my appreciation.”
“I don’t want you cooking the food,” he said.
“And why not?” I asked.
He stepped in front of me, creating a barrier between myself and the stove while I hobbled on my ankle.
“Because I’m not sure if there’s enough for the both of us here to ride out this storm,” he said.
“Liam, there’s plenty of food—”
“Have you heard the latest weather report?” he asked.
I felt my blood run cold at the sternness of his voice because strung within it was an undertone of worry. And I figured it took a lot for a man his size to become worried.
“No,” I said.
“I’ll take care of the food. You just recuperate.”
I nodded my head and began wobbling away from the kitchen. The only thing I wanted to do was try to make our circumstances better. The fire was dead, the cabin was growing cold, and the only thing I could do was take up space on his couch while I wrapped myself up in his blankets.
“I’m sorry,” I said quietly.
The sigh told me he’d heard my apology.
“I just wanted to make things better since we’re two strangers who are practically locked up with one another,” I said.
“I’ll bring your plate to you when breakfast is finished,” he said.
I leaned back into the couch, resigning myself to the lack of conversation while my eyes scanned the cabin. It really was beautiful, but I could tell it was only meant for one person. The fireplace was in front of me and there was no television in sight. There were pictures on the mantle above the only place of warmth in this cabin.
I got up from the couch with the blanket wrapped around me. My eyes took in the few pictures up on the mantelpiece and I caught a glimpse of the man I was sharing a space with. There was a picture of him with another guy, the two of them smiling brightly and holding up beers. There was another one of him next to his truck, his arms outstretched wide. He was much younger in that picture. Probably no more than twenty or so years old. It made me smile, seeing his blue eyes sparkling in that picture.
Then I rolled over to the last one.
It was a group of men. Many of them, in fact. Liam was off to the side with his arm around the same guy from the other picture. They were all wearing blue and gray camouflage uniforms, with boots that were laced up and hats that bore their last names.
“Canter” was on his hat and, in an instant, I found out a little more about him.
Liam had been in the military. If I had to guess from the uniform, he was in the Navy. I studied the picture, noticing the differences between him then and him now. There was no beard, obviously, and he was a bit smaller in stature. Not as much muscle, but he had that same determined stare. His eyes were sparkling in this picture, like they had been in the other two, and I started wondering why that might’ve been.
Did it have anything to do with the nightmare he’d had last night?
“Breakfast,” he said.
I turned around at the sound of his voice and saw him standing at the couch with a plate. Suddenly, all these questions rattled around in my head and I wanted to ask them all at once. How long had he served? Who was the other guy in the photo? Was he retired from the military now? I wanted to ask him about the nightmare to see if he was okay. I wanted to tell him how beautiful his eyes were, even now with the stern gaze he was giving me. It was as if his brow was permanently wrinkled in staunch realism and, as I hobbled toward him, I decided to put all my questions aside right now.
None of them were appropriate for the moment.
“Thanks,” I said.
I reached out and took the plate from him before I sat down. It was warm in my hand. I immediately started scarfing down the food. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until I started eating and I spooned the cheesy grits into my face. Liam sat quietly beside me, eating from his bowl, his eyes on me, but I didn’t care what he was thinking.
All I cared about was filling my stomach.
I ended up eating two plates of food before he took my dirty dishes from me. He was quiet and reserved, which was something I wasn’t used to. The only person I ever spent my time around was as loud and boisterous as they came. It wasn’t that the silence made me nervous but I was beginning to wonder about the man whose space I had invaded.
So, I decided to go out on a limb and ask a question.
“Those are Navy uniforms, right?” I asked.
I heard him stop moving behind me but he didn’t offer an answer to my question.
“The picture on the far right. The one of you and all those other guys. That’s the Navy camouflage uniform?”
And still, I got nothing.
“How long did you serve?” I asked.
The silence was deafening. I heard him doing something in the kitchen, possibly washing the dishes. For a brief moment, I wasn’t sure that he’d heard me. I wondered if maybe I needed to repeat my question.
“Don’t cook any more of the food,” he said.
I turned my body toward him, locking onto his massive form as he tucked the last plate away.
“I’ll take care of the rations,” he said.
There was something in his eyes. Something foreign. It wasn’t fear and it wasn’t anger. It wasn’t annoyance and it wasn’t curiosity. I couldn’t place what was raging behind his light blue eyes but when he turned to face me, he took my breath away. He rolled his shoulders back and started for the hallway, pausing just before he left to take one last look at me. His eyes studied my body intently and then he turned to make his way toward me.
I settled back onto the couch, watching him approach me before he sat on the coffee table in front of me.
He held out his hand and I knew what he was asking for, without ever speaking or even motioning with his fingers. I picked up my ankle and put it in his hands. They were massive, but soft. He must’ve not lived out here long. Not long enough to build up the callouses that came with chopping the firewood we used last night and not long enough to build up a tolerance to the wounded.
Unless that was somehow part of his training in the military.
His hands dwarfed the whole of my ankle. He unraveled the ace bandage and quickly peeled the gauze from my foot. Slowly, he began to roll my ankle. I winced and hissed in pain, trying my best not to look like a total wimp. But what he was doing hurt and I had a feeling it was going to hurt for a while.
He kept fingering around the joint of my ankle, almost like he was searching for something. His eyes were stern and concentrated, his lips pulled into a thin line that touched his mustache to his beard. I really got a chance to study him in that moment. I took in the muscular slope of his shoulders and the raw strength of his forearms. Veins were bulging in places I didn’t even know they could exist and a heat graced my cheeks while his fingers continued to roam my skin.
“No tendons or ligaments seem to be ruptured,” he said.
“That’s good.”
“How’s the pain?” he asked.
“Could be better.”
“Scale of one to ten?”
I stared at him in wonder while his eyes slowly lifted toward mine. That was what he did in the military. He had been a medic. I’d only ever heard that phrase from my doctors when they were trying to figure out the type of pain I was in. I felt my eyes widening while his blue eyes studied mine and, for a split second, that look rushed behind his eyes again.
It was almost as if he was hesitant and I really wasn’t sure why.
“Six,” I said breathlessly.
He nodded at my answer and proceeded to rub that soothing gel on my foot again. The warmth immediately kicked in and I groaned, leaning my back against the couch. I had no idea what this stuff was but I needed some of it. I could put it on my neck and shoulders when they ached after sleeping wrong on my pathetic air mattress all night.
I sighed and closed my eyes while he placed fresh gauze on top of the salve. He wrapped my ankle back up, making sure it was stable and secure before he placed my foot down. I opened my eyes and watched him retreat, walking down the hallway without looking back this time.