Maddox's eyes narrowed, and Hannah felt his inspection as his gaze ran over her. She was still wearing her parka, because the heat had barely made a dent in the Arctic temperature in the house. Maddox had offered to set a fire, but she hadn't wanted one going right before she went to bed. She desperately needed sleep, and she didn't want to have to stay up to watch a fire.

She stiffened, waiting for his response, for him to declare she had to go to Lissa's. If he did, she wasn't sure she had the strength to refuse, even though she knew Ava needed to set down some roots and find her new place.

His gaze settled on her face again, assessing. She gave up trying to appear strong, and wiped the back of her hand over her cheeks, to try to clear the tear streaks. She shrugged. "The toughness is all a facade. Don't tell Ava."

"Tell her what? That you're fierce and strong? I think she knows."

She sighed, too tired to fight. "I'm neither, and I think we both know it." She waved wearily at the back porch. "I can't thank you enough for the wood. Truly. You'll never know how much it matters to me."

Maddox watched her for another moment, then shook his head. "I've watched people die of broken souls because they weren't strong enough. You have a fire inside you that you won't let die. I see it."

There was something so intense about his words that she stood a little taller, suddenly wishing she was actually the woman he saw in her. "I'm not—"

"Just say thanks."

There was an edge to his voice that caught her attention. Pain. Grief. Wariness. The argument inside her died, and she simply inclined her head. "Thanks."

He nodded. "I have to go. The storm's getting pretty fierce."

Fear flickered through her, a sudden intense feeling of vulnerability at the thought of him leaving. Don't leave. The plea shot through her mind, silent, hidden, unacknowledged. She didn't need him to stay and take care of her. She could handle it, and she needed to show Ava exactly how capable two badass females could be. So, she nodded. "Yes, I can feel it shaking the house. How long is your drive?"

"About six hours, without snow. Tonight, it'll probably take twice that, depending on how far south the storm is stretching right now."

Guilt flashed over her. "I'm sorry you had to stay—"

"My choice. I don't regret it." He studied her face again, his gaze so intense that she felt it burning over her. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Fine. Just tired." She pushed herself off the counter. "I have all the perishables put away, so I'll head to bed when you leave."

He still didn't move from the doorway. "How much stuff is still in the trailer?"

"I got everything we need for now. The rest can wait."

He still didn't move, and suddenly, the old kitchen seemed to shrink, and she became aware that they were alone, only a couple yards apart. The brim of his cowboy hat was lined with snow, and white fluff was piled up on his shoulders and arms. He looked solid and strong, undeterred by the last hour of hauling firewood through a blizzard. He seemed to be all the strength that she didn't seem to have.

He finally levered himself off the door and walked toward her. She stiffened, drawing herself up to her full height as he neared, but she still had to crane her neck to keep eye contact. He came to a stop directly in front of her, his heated gaze burning through her. "You're shivering."

She nodded. "It's cold."

"It's not so cold in here anymore." He lifted his hand and set it against her cheek. His hand felt so cool that she almost sighed. Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she leaned into his touch, suddenly too tired to hold her head up. Just for one moment, one tiny moment, she let herself lean into him.

He swore under his breath, and set his other hand on her forehead. The cool touch felt so good. "Your skin's on fire."

His voice startled her, jerking her awake. Belatedly, she realized she'd started to doze off into his hand. Embarrassed, she tried to pull back, but her back was against the counter, and there was nowhere to go. "What?"

"You're sick. You have a fever."

A fever. Damn. That explained a lot. She was usually good at ignoring exhaustion, and the physical demands of emotional overload, but she had started feeling so horrible in the last hour. A fever made sense. "I didn't realize that." She tried to think. "I know I have ibuprofen somewhere." She closed her eyes, trying to think of where she'd seen it, but her mind felt too weary to think.

Maddox, however, didn't appear to be burdened by the same lack of mental clarity. He swore again, this time not under his breath, using choice invectives that she hadn't heard used in quite that order before. "Why aren't you in bed?"

She laughed at his outrage, a delirious, exhausted laugh. "Why am I not in bed when I'm sick? Because I'm a mom." After six months, it still felt unnatural to call herself a mom. She wasn't a mom. She was an inadequate substitute for the mother a little girl had lost, but she was all Ava had, and she was doing her best. "Who's going to take care of Ava if I sprawl out in my bed for the next week?"

He narrowed his eyes. "You still need to take care of yourself."

The burden of six months of trying to succeed in a role she had no idea how to do, in the midst of grief, fear, and stress, suddenly took over. She suddenly couldn't pretend to be okay, or polite, or nice anymore. "I do take care of myself," she snapped. "But I also take care of a little girl, and I work. I do everything I can, so don't get on my case just because I'm not lazing about in bed just because I have a slight fever." She tried to shove past him, but just as she was making her grand exit, a wave of dizziness hit her, and she stumbled.

Maddox caught her arm, steadying her with effortless strength as she fell into him. Her legs started to shake, and she started to slide to the floor. "I just need to sit down for a second, and I'll be good," she muttered, completely irritated that her body had chosen that moment to disprove her claim of awesomeness.

"Just a second, eh?" Giving her a skeptical look, Maddox helped her ease to the floor.

She sighed as she leaned back against the cabinet, pulled her knees up, and, draped her arms over her knees. "God, this feels good. Standing takes so much effort sometimes, you know?"

"Yeah, I know." Maddox crouched in front of her, his green gaze intense.

"Do you? I doubt standing has ever been a supreme effort for you." She looked at him, and again, that little voice cried out, don't leave. She bunched her fists, refusing to give in to the urge to be weak. But he just looked so capable, crouching there, his forearms resting on his thighs. Did the man ever falter in his strength? God, if she could feel like that for one day, she'd take on the world. She eyed him. "How are you so capable? Do you drink some magic Wyoming potion?"

His brows shot up, and the corner of his mouth curved. "Potion?"

"Yes, like some special coffee or extract of wildflower that makes you an unstoppable physical machine of awesome? I want some."

His smile widened. "Sorry, no potion. It's just because I'm such a complete bastard that weakness and fatigue are too scared to come near me."

"Bummer. I knew it wasn't that easy. I could use easy right now." She leaned her head back against the cabinet and closed her eyes. The wind was howling more fiercely now, rattling the shutters and making hissing sounds as it whipped around the house. "You do realize that you really need to leave, right? I know you're like this glorious cauldron of capability, but at some point, nature wins, even against you."

He ignored her statement. "Want me to carry you to bed?"

She couldn't suppress the small laugh as she opened her eyes and looked at him. "What kind of question is that? Of course I do. What woman wouldn't want you to carry her to her bed? To any bed, actually. You're one of those guys, the ones that women fantasize over, aren't you?"

His brows knit. "You're delirious."

"No, I'm not. I'm just trying to summon a sense of humor. Clearly, if you think I'm delirious when I'm trying to be funny, it's one of those epic fail moments." She sighed, studying him. His face was angular and hard, and there were more than a few scars visible, little white lines that told of a dark past. She wanted to touch them, to chase away the moments that had caused them, the way she'd wanted to chase away her mother's pain, and Katie's bruises.

She hadn't been able to help either of them, leaving her with a sense of helplessness that had haunted her every minute of her life. And now, for some reason, Maddox was awakening that same need in her, that same longing to take away the darkness. Why? Why him? Why now, when she had nothing to offer, when she was living on fumes, pouring all she had into the little girl who wouldn't talk? Instinctively, not really making the decision to do it, she reached out and brushed her finger over a tiny white scar on his jaw, barely visible through his whiskers.

He went still, his eyes snapping to hers. Tension suddenly crackled between them, silence leaping between them as they stared at each other. The only movement was the slide of her fingers over the scar. "I want to erase whatever caused your scars," she whispered.

Maddox's hand closed around hers, and he drew her hand down, away from his face, but he didn't let go. "Nothing will ever erase that," he said, his voice rough. "It would be a mistake to try."

"Why?"

He pressed a kiss to her knuckles, one at a time. "Because sometimes it's important to remember the darkness, so that it never gets a chance to surface again."

She frowned at the remark that was so similar to the one he made before. "You're not evil, Maddox—"

"Ah, Hannah," he said gently, interrupting her. "If only I could be what you see me as, but I can't. Which means that as much as I want to stay and help you guys out, that's just not an option for me." He turned her hand over, and pressed a kiss to her palm. "I'll have one of my brothers check on you as soon as the storm is over. They all have chains for their trucks, so they'll be able to get over here as soon as the storm dies down. I'm sure Lissa will want to come, and bring you enough casseroles to last you for a month."

Something tightened in her chest at his words, at the notion that there would be somebody out there looking out for her. She'd had that once, a long time ago, after she and Katie had been orphaned. She'd taken Katie to live on the streets to avoid being split up in foster homes. She remembered so clearly the day she'd met the two boys who had become their protectors.

Brody and Keegan Hart had found her and Katie living in an alley, freezing cold. They'd brought them home to a mismatched gang of homeless kids who were living under a bridge, living together as the tight-knit family none of them had. The nine kids had all taken the last name of Hart, as if that could protect them from being torn apart.

Without the Harts, she and Katie never would have made it. But even then, with her makeshift family, there'd been that constant fear that someone would find them, drag them all back to foster homes, and tear them apart. So there had been safety, but also a terrible, constant, very real terror. But with that fear, the Harts had also made her and Katie a part of a community, the kind she had come here to find. And with Maddox's words, how his brothers would check on her, and Lissa would bring her food, it made her want to cry. It was what she wanted, to find a way to give Ava a community that would hold her up if her last remaining family member died.

Maddox's comment about his brothers made her hope that she'd found what she wanted, but at the same time, doubt crept in. With the exception of her brief time with the Harts, she didn't know how to be a part of a community, of a family, to accept help from strangers like that. It made her uncomfortable, at the same time it created a deep yearning inside her. She wanted to say no, to tell Maddox not to bother asking his brothers to check on her, but the little girl sleeping in the other room kept her from protesting. Just as how she had gone with the two Hart boys that night so long ago to protect her little sister, who was shivering and hungry, she knew that she needed to accept help this time as well. She needed to create a Hart family for Ava, in case anything ever happened to Hannah.

She knew well enough by now that things happened, leaving little girls alone in life, so she had to do whatever it took to give Ava a safety net. She had to find a way to accept help, and be grateful that someone cared. "Thanks," she said. "That would relieve a lot of my worry. Just until I get a phone that works."

Maddox nodded, and her gaze fell to their hands, where he was still holding hers. Her hand looked so small in his, almost fragile, but the way he held it so gently didn't make her feel weak. It made her feel safe. "I need to go," he said.

She looked back up at him, and her heart tightened when she saw the reluctance in his gaze. "Yes, you do."

He sighed, and stood up, then held out a hand to her. She accepted his offer, sliding her hand into his. He pulled gently, drawing her to her feet. She brushed against his thigh as she stood, the brief contact sending sparks igniting through her.

For another long moment, they stood there, inches apart, tension coiling. His eyes were dark, loaded with turbulence. She wanted to touch him. To hug him. To lean into him. To use his strength, and offer him comfort.

But she didn't move, and after a moment, he stepped back. "Go to bed, Hannah. You don't do Ava any favors if you can't take care of yourself." There was an edge to his voice that caught her attention, and she studied him.

"Who do you know who didn't take care of themselves?" she asked softly.

For a long moment, he just stared at her, then he shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Just promise me."

She owed him no promise. The only one she owed anything to was herself, Ava, and Katie. But for some reason, she found herself nodding. Maybe it was because he was the only rock in this quicksand trying to consume her, or maybe it was because deep down inside, she knew he was correct. She did need to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her head, and stop trying so hard.

He nodded, and raised his hand, cupping her face with his palm. He said nothing for a moment, then he lowered his head, and she knew he was going to kiss her. Instinct told her to run, to hide, to do anything but let him get close to her. Instead, however, she felt herself wrap her fingers around his wrist, holding his hand to her cheek and lifting her face to his.

His lips brushed over hers, in a kiss so gentle and tender that her heart ached. His fingers tightened ever so slightly on her cheek, and she instinctively wrapped her fingers more tightly around his wrist. Again and again, he kissed her, a dozen butterfly kisses so light they were like whispers on her skin, wisps of intimacy that made her belly flutter and her breath catch.

After a long moment, he pulled back, searching her face. "You make me want to be soft again," he said.

"Is that bad?"

"For me? Yeah." He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip, then dropped his hand. "Stay safe, Hannah."

She nodded, unable to stop the tightening in her heart as he turned away and headed toward her front door. When he reached it, he looked back at her as he set his hand on the knob. She wanted to tell him to wait, but the words stuck in her throat. He nodded once, tipping his hat to her, then he pulled open the door and stepped outside into the raging storm.

The wind blistered through the house, sending snowflakes dancing like angel dust across the small living room, and the bitter air knifed through her parka and jeans. Then he shut the door behind him, and all the chaos stopped. The snowflakes settled, the books on the coffee table stopped fluttering, and the wind stopped biting at her legs.

It was peace...and loneliness. She took a deep breath and looked around the small family room, scanning the faded, worn out furnishings, until her gaze settled on the wood stacked so neatly next to the stove. The door to the wood stove was open, and she could see that he had built a fire for her, ready for lighting. On top of the stove set a large box of matches, matches that hadn't been there when they had walked in, matches that she had not brought with her.

Something about seeing those matches there, matches that Maddox had left her, made hope flutter through her. Despite his claims to the contrary, he was a good man. Maybe he was leaving town, maybe she wouldn't see him again, but in that brief moment, he had shown her a ray of hope, a glistening of possibility. Maybe there was sunlight in the darkness that seemed to follow her everywhere. At least a chance of it, maybe.

She took a deep breath, and hugged herself. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe, just maybe, the next year here would give her and Ava all the healing that they had come for.

She wanted to feel hope, she really did. But when she heard Maddox's truck engine roar to life, she was hit with the gut-wrenching reminder of the fact that she was alone, in a dilapidated house, with a Wyoming blizzard descending upon them, with a life unfolding that was nothing like anything she had ever dreamed of.