“Yes, but here’s hoping the chimney is clear.” He crouched down and peeked up the chute. “I see a bit of debris, but there is daylight. Hand me the broom.”
She opened her mouth to ask what broom when she saw it by the door. Rather than argue that he was ordering her around, she handed it over.
Lawrence shoved it up the chimney, and debris fell. Leaves and branches, other stuff that might be the detritus of a nest.
“That should do it. And good news, this will give us some quick flare. But we’ll need wood to keep it going.” He glanced around, and before he could ask, she’d grabbed a log from the rough crate by the door.
“Will this work?”
“Yes, but I’ll need to find more, or we won’t make it through the night.”
There was an old lighter sitting on the hearth that sparked when he struck it. Unfortunately, it didn’t do much more than that.
Rather than declare defeat, he pried apart the lighter and used a loose stone from the fireplace to strike what had to be the flint, sparking it over and over into the dried leaves that had fallen. It took a patience she wouldn’t have managed herself until it finally caught, a tiny flame with its even bigger curl of smoke.
It grew quickly, licking at the wood, soon crackling as it fed hungrily. She couldn’t help but draw close, holding out her hands to the heat. “Oh, that’s nice.”
“Enjoy it while you can. Given how dry that wood is, it won’t last long.” He stood and headed for the door.
“Where are you going?”
He cast her a glance over his shoulder as he opened the door and let in a swirl of cold air. “I’m going to see what I can forage.”
“What about me?”
“I wouldn’t recommend going out of sight of the shack.” He left without waiting for a reply.
Left her shivering and suddenly very afraid again. A feeling exacerbated as she peeked outside and saw the gray skies dropping fluffy snowflakes. Already an inch on the ground and falling fast, which had the benefit of quickly hiding his tracks. A gust swirled flakes into her face, and she recoiled, slamming the door shut. It didn’t remove all the chill but did block the windy draft. Meanwhile the fire crackled in the fireplace, already throwing out warmth to chase the chill. She wanted to snuggle close to it.
Glancing around, she didn’t see many options to get comfortable. The blankets on the bed were crusty. The mattress would probably fall apart if she tried to drag it close. Under the table with the bowl sink, dishes and pots sat precariously stacked on a shelf.
There was a cabinet still upright on another wall. Three open shelves at the top with more clutter but a closed door shuttered the bottom.
It took a mighty heavy to get it open, the latch on it grimed with age, but inside she found treasure. A pillow and a sleeping bag, plus a patchwork blanket. Musty smelling but protected from the mice and other occupants over the years. She even found some unopened cans. The labels fell off when she grabbed them. Probably expired, but given how her tummy growled, so long as the contents didn’t show signs of fuzz or movement when she opened the can, she would have to take a chance.
But not yet. Not in the filth around her.
The broom he’d used for the chimney leaned close by. The stiff bristles snapped off in a few places as she swept the dirt away from the area in front of the hearth. Foolish, as if cleaning would help. Still, she felt better once she’d cleared a spot. Only then did she unzip the sleeping bag and lay it out in front of the fire. The pillow acted as a cushion for her butt. The blanket remained folded for the moment, as the fire had warmed the hut considerably.
It made the brutal blast of cold air all the more startling when the door suddenly opened. Lawrence stood framed in it for a moment, seemingly undaunted by the storm.
“I found the old woodpile.”
“Looks like you found the storm too.” Snow draped him head to foot, frosting his hair and eyebrows, even clinging to parts of his jaw.
“There’s already a few inches on the ground. I predict a few more at the very least before this system moves on. I’m going to get more wood.” He dumped an armful into the bin by the door. He made two more trips, filling that box and then piling some beside it.
“Expecting us to get snowed in for a while?” she asked.
“This storm might last hours, or it could be days. Best be prepared.”
Days? Before panic could truly set in, he’d disappeared back into the storm. She tidied some more, finding a pot with a handle that fit on the hook inside the hearth. She melted snow in it and rinsed it out three times, along with a pair of tin mugs she found, before letting the snow in it melt and boil, making it safe for drinking.
She hoped.
She poured it into the cleaned mugs then melted more snow and, using a corner of the sweater she’d removed, dampened it and washed her face. Then hands. Hesitating, she finally dabbed at her neck. The bite didn’t hurt. Perhaps it wouldn’t get infected.
More time passed, and no Lawrence. The storm outside intensified, the wind whistling and at times shaking the cabin. Yet very few drafts made it inside, and not a single flake of snow.
A good shelter. If only it came fully stocked with a pantry.
Time to check out the mystery cans. She rummaged in the rustic kitchen and found a thing that had to be an opener. When she couldn’t figure out how to use it, she resorted to drinking more water to quell the hunger pains in her belly.
When Lawrence finally returned, she almost burst into tears of happiness.
I’m not alone.
When she realized she wanted to run to him like some weakling, she instead barked, “And where have you been?”
“Getting us dinner, Peanut. Ever had roasted squirrel?”
Chapter Seven
Charlotte blanched as he held up his find. Perhaps he should have skinned it and made it look more store bought before bringing it in.
“What is that? Rat?” she asked.
“Squirrel. Tasty when smoked. I don’t suppose you found some salt and pepper.”
“You brought back road kill?”
“Snare, actually. And is that a no on the seasoning?”
She’d been busy while he was gone. He took in the tidied nature of the cabin, the nest she’d built in front of the fire.
She pointed. “Tons of salt, a shaker of solid pepper, which is probably no good, and something that could be either oregano or weed.”
“No one leaves their weed behind.” He winked as he entered and shut the door firmly against the storm.
He’d not meant to be outside so long; however, he’d wanted to scout and ensure they were as remote as he believed. In his mad dash while drugged, he’d taken them deep into the forest. Climbing a tree had only shown more trees as far as he could see. Which admittedly wasn’t as far as he liked with the impending storm.
He searched for tracks and laid snares for animals. Not everything hibernated all winter long. He tossed his furry catch onto the cleared counter and emptied his pockets of the nuts he’d also found, hidden in the bole of a tree.
“Can we eat those?” She showed interest and grabbed one, turning it in her fingers.
It shouldn’t have fascinated him to watch, yet as with everything else about Charlotte, he couldn’t help himself. The effect must have been amplified while he was drugged. That would explain why he’d marked her as his mate. Fate, knowing he wouldn’t go willingly, had arranged for him to be in a weak spot and swooped in to screw him.