I hurry across the gravel driveway and pull open the passenger door of my Ford F-150. Bastian, my best friend since grade school, lifts our injured, passed out neighbor into his arms.

“I’ll drive,” I tell him, as he carefully places her in the seat between us and hops in beside her. His hand cradles the back of her neck as though she’s the most delicate thing in the world.

“Okay. Crank up the heat.” He pulls away from her just enough to drag off his winter jacket and takes off his t-shirt too. Covering her with the coat, he rolls up his t-shirt into a ball and presses it onto the gash at the back of the young woman’s head.

I’ve never seen him this protective or concerned for anyone.

But then again, it’s our new neighbor. Bastian’s been watching her for months.

Elle Warner.

We know her name too.

Got it from her property manager when she first moved in.

Ever since she drove past our cabin that afternoon about three months ago, Bastian and I have been curious about her. For several reasons, really.

First, she’s sexy as fuck.

And I’m not just saying that because she’s the only woman I’ve laid eyes on in close to four years since we left it all behind.

Second, most of the time, that cabin stays empty for most of the fall and all winter long. It’s the first time we’ve seen it occupied, and for this long. Tourists usually visit in the summer, and folks that come for skiing typically stay at the ski resort.

Third, the woman has the most religious routine we’ve ever seen. She goes down the mountain to the resort five days a week, shops for groceries on Saturday, and sits at her desk near the fireplace a few hours every night. I know because we’ve often seen her through the same front window that Samuel just saved her from.

Not that we’re stalkers.

Okay well, maybe we’ve watched her from a distance for a while.

Who can blame us? She’s fucking gorgeous. Plus Bastian and I have a lot of time on our hands since we returned from our last tour in Afghanistan. We were both honorably discharged from the US Army Second Infantry Division's Fourth Armored Brigade Combat Team four years ago when an IED took out our team. We were the sole survivors. Barely. But we have the scars to remind us every fucking day of what we lost.

“Why’s she still unconscious?” Bastian barks as he stares down at her face. “That little spill didn’t seem so bad.”

I can only glance over at them briefly. Driving is treacherous in this stormy weather, even though I know every twist, turn and dip along these roads. “I’m sure she’ll be up soon. She hit her head pretty hard back there. Is the gash still bleeding?”

He propped up her head slightly and checks the impromptu rag made of his t-shirt. “Not quite, but it’s just a trickle now. I doubt she’ll need stitches.”

“Good,” I answer. It saves us from being forced to take her to the resort doctor. We haven’t been anywhere near civilization and don’t want to break from that pattern if at all possible. Even for her.

“If I’d just gotten closer sooner—” Bastian starts, his rose tattoo gleaming on his forearm as he runs his free hand through his sandy brown hair.

“No,” I say, cutting him off. “Don’t do this.”

“I could’ve gotten there faster. We were already on the road when the first section of roof collapsed.”

He’s right, but I won’t tell him that. Bastian was at the wheel on our way back from the section of woodlands where we get our firewood every week or so. Once we heard a thunderous sound like an explosion coming from the cabin where Elle lives, he turned our truck around and sped toward her driveway. It turned out to be the roof collapsing. But Bastian was hesitant. He wanted us to sit in the truck from a distance away and wait to see if she’d get the hell out of there on her own. We saw her struggling to open every door of her Chevy, and didn’t act when she fought to go back inside through the front door. When she headed over to the window seeming to want to go back into the disaster area, he agreed we needed to do something and fast.

But I can’t afford to agree with him or let him take responsibility for shit like he always does. Bastian has a way of blaming himself for everything that happens under the sun. He’s got enough guilt as it is, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“She’s alive because of you,” I say instead. “You got to her when you did, and she’ll be fine. That’s the bottom line.”

“But—”

“She’s okay, and that’s all that matters,” I repeat more firmly. “Or do you want to drive back to see the proof again? I can show you. There’s more than a fuck ton of rubble from that part of the roof that fell right where she was standing. You pulled her away in time.”

“Okay fine. We don’t need to go back.”

“Good.”

The truck goes over a deep pothole in the road and causes Bastian’s winter jacket to slide off of Elle’s body. For a second, both our eyes are fixed on her soaked, near nakedness. Every curve is defined, every contour visible through the already sheer silky fabric of her nightgown, almost see-through now that it’s wet. I start to harden at the sight of the imprint of her nipples and small, firm breasts pressing against the fabric, and have to force myself to tear my gaze away so I can focus on the road. The last thing we need tonight is a car accident on top of all the action we’ve already had while rescuing Elle. I can admire her some other time. Preferably when she’s conscious.

Bastian takes another few seconds to adjust the coat, and covers more of Elle’s tiny, shivering frame. His coat eclipses almost all of her torso and much of her legs due to their difference in size.

“And you’re sure it’s a good idea to take her home?” he asks me.

“Of course,” I tell him. “What else are we gonna do with her at this time of night?”

“There’s always old man Joe Green. He and his wife can easily tend to her.”

“Is that what you want to do?” I only ask because I know he won’t do that. I can already see a bit of possessiveness in his eyes. He cradles her body as though it’s the most delicate rose. Bastian’s been watching Elle from afar from the moment she moved in next door. I didn’t pressure him when he refused to welcome her to our neck of the woods. And I didn’t break with tradition by going to see her by myself.

Bastian and I do everything together.

Including sharing one woman.

We have for years.

Or had, until the unthinkable happened and led to our leaving life as we knew it in our rearview mirror.

But this is different. Now, Elle’s here. She’s within reach, in our grasp, pressed between us and in need of our help. No way is he going to turn her away. I’m sure he won’t miss this one convenient chance to get closer to her. He’s got to be ready for us to find out everything there is to know about her that we haven’t figured out ourselves through observing her from a distance.

“We can take her over to Joe Green’s place, if you want,” I say, but I’m bluffing. I even go so far as to stop the truck as we get to the entrance of our gravel driveway. “We can turn around. I don’t mind. I’m sure he’ll wake up if we knock hard enough, and he and his wife will be more than happy to nurse their tenant back to health to void being sued or something. That’s probably for the best.”

“No,” he says gruffly. “We’ll do it. No sense waking him up in the middle of the night.”

I turn onto our driveway and park outside our cabin, smiling inwardly at his reply. I wasn’t about to let her out of my sight, but I’m glad he’s on board too.

Bastian carries her up the steps of our front porch, and I hurry ahead to open the door for him.

“I’ll grab some blankets,” I tell him as he carries her into his room.

Returning within minutes, I find Bastian sitting on one edge of the bed, looking down at Elle, who’s tucked under his covers. We turn her onto her side and tend to the cut at the back of her head, then we change her out of her wet clothes. We do our best not to take advantage of her vulnerable state although, it’s fucking hard not to want to touch and taste this sweet flower right now. Soon, though, we slip her arms into one of Bastian’s plaid flannel shirts and button it up to cover her bare naked beauty.

I can admit to myself that I’m a little jealous. He gets to keep her in his room. In his bed. Her sweet feminine scent can infuse into his bedsheets and not mine. But some of that sweetness can hopefully linger all through our mancave while we have her as our guest.

“We should unload the firewood before all that snow and ice make it useless,” Bastian whispers but doesn’t move from her side.

“Yes. We should.” I put stress on ‘we.’ I don’t want to leave her either.

Eventually, with a nod, he gets up, and I follow him outside to do what has to be done. After stacking the entire load in the storage shelf near the living room fireplace, we return to Bastian’s room to check on Elle.

As we take a seat at each side of her on the bed, she stirs.

True to form, Bastian bolts from the bed and runs off as her eyelids slowly start to open. He doesn’t like showing his face to people anymore.

“Where…where am I?” she asks when eyes scan the room then focus on me. “And who are you? Is there someone else here? I could’ve sworn I saw two of you.”