She pushed the blankets aside, kicked out of her high heels, and padded across the soft carpet to the window. There was a wraparound porch and a rocking chair set up right beside the window. Growly Man was standing on the edge of the porch, aiming a gun at the sky.
She squinted and could barely make out something through the snow. Vultures?
Boom!
She startled hard at the deafening blast of the gun.
“What in the hillbilly hell are you doing?” she demanded as she scrambled to lift open the window. “Are you shooting the birds?”
The man didn’t even turn around, just busied himself loading more bullets into his rifle. “No. I’m shooting at them.” How could a man’s voice sound that gritty? “Killing them would be even worse luck. They don’t know that though. For all they know, I’m aiming to kill. I just need them to go anywhere but here.”
The window groaned and released its death grip on the window sill.
The man tossed a frown at her over his shoulder. “Don’t touch anything.”
His eyes were a really strange color. He was wearing a black bandana over the bottom half of his face and had a black beanie pulled down low over his eyes. A thick winter jacket covered his massive frame. The hood had been pulled up, hiding him even further. All she could see were those churning silver eyes.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she told him, and then pointed a finger out and poked the window sill just because he’d told her not to.
His eyes narrowed to angry little silver slits. He turned back around, cocked the rifle, and aimed it back at the sky.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?”
“Lady, I’m trying to save your life and mine. Why don’t you go talk to your pet blow dryer and leave me alone?”
“Billie doesn’t talk back. You’re more interesting. Do you have Cheez-Its?” she asked.
“I don’t know what those are, so the answer is no.”
Gwen gasped in shock. “You don’t know what the best cheese crackers in the universe are?”
“I checked your vision and reflexes, and I don’t think you have a concussion, but just in case, why don’t you just lay in bed and be quiet. Rest is the cure for you, Miss. And silence is the cure for me.” His voice was kind of sexy. It was all deep and snarly and grumpy.
She zipped her lips, then unzipped them when she thought of one more thing to say. “Will my face heal up normal? I mean will I look okay?”
“You are the vainest creature I’ve ever met.”
“That was really mean when you told me to grow a personality.”
“I meant it.”
Gwen pursed her lips and studied the gargantuan man. He was ankle deep in snow, studying the sky, holding his rifle at his hip. His legs were splayed, and were clearly long and powerful.
“Your voice sounds hot, but you are probably a three under all those layers. Why else would you cover yourself completely?” Yeah, she’d taken a shot, and also dangled a challenge. Come on, stranger. Pull that mask down and show me your face.
“A three?” he asked in a dead voice. He tossed her a silver-eyed glance. “Try a one, lady. Trust me, you don’t want me pulling down my mask. I’m going to work.”
“Work where? It’s a blizzard out there.”
“On my farm. Anywhere away from you. Just…stay inside,” he said as he trudged away into the snow and disappeared from sight.
“You have a farm?” she called out. “I was supposed to be on a dude ranch right now! You got horses?”
There was no answer. None at all.
Okay. Gwen looked around the room. How long had she slept? Her cell phone was plugged in and sitting on the end table. Okay, so he wasn’t trying to kidnap her. Kidnappers didn’t give their victims their cell phones. Or bandage them up. Gwen leaned over the dresser mirror and peeled back the bandage on her forehead with a hiss of pain. Five perfect stitches held her skin together. Huh. Okay, kidnappers probably didn’t doctor their victims either. She studied her nose from every angle. It looked straight, just swollen. Her black eyes were pretty gnarly.
Her phone said it was eleven-sixteen. In the morning! Geez, she’d been asleep for a whole day. There was no reception on her phone. When she tried to text Tabby, the message gave an immediate response of ‘failed to send.’ Crap. She tried to call out, but there were zero bars and she couldn’t even get the call to connect long enough to ring once.
Okay, that made her a little nervous.
But the man seemed to want nothing to do with her. He’d given her his bed and set her purse, duffle bag, and Billie at the end of it. And he was staying out of the house. To give her space? If so, that was thoughtful. Or maybe he was lulling her into being comfortable before he went serial killer on her. Gwen rifled through her duffle bag. Ooooh, he’d grabbed a good one! This one had three pair of leggings, brand-new snow boots with the tag still on them, her make-up bag, three sweaters, and a box of love letters the ex-who-shall-not-be-named had given her over the years. She’d brought them to burn them.
Feeling self-destructive, she reached into the shoe box and pulled out the one on top.
Dear Gweneth,
Waking up next to you is like waking up to the most beautiful sunrise. I will never stop appreciating you or the care you show me every day. I feel like the luckiest—
Gwen crumpled it up and shoved it back into the box, her heart aching.
Boys lied so easily.
She inhaled deeply and looked at her blow dryer on the bed. “Billie, we deserve better than boys who write the same kinds of letters to other girls.”
She glanced at herself in the mirror again and scrunched up her face at all the bruising and bandages. That little move hurt like hell, and she gasped and counted to fourteen before the pain went away. Well, she had all these plans to take a billion selfies at the dude ranch and post them all over social media to show how much she was enjoying her life without a man, but there was no way in heck she would be posting a selfie any time soon.
Gwen swallowed hard.
She was actually okay with that.
She’d been exhausted by her life of pretending everything had been okay with him, social media included.
She’d wanted to get away from the phone. Sure, the dude ranch would’ve been way better, and she would still have her car and her face intact, but she wanted to be her old bright-side self again. Gwen wanted to find that positive attitude she’d been missing during the years of fighting and confusion with him.
So here it went: it might not be the dude ranch, but she was on a farm with no cell reception. She would start her dude ranch adventure as soon as the snow lifted and she figured out her car situation. And bonus, she’d been doctored up for free, so no co-pay bills coming in from her medical insurance for stitches and resetting a broken nose. Look at her being a mother-effing survivor and saving money all at once! She should buy Franklin some Cheez-Its as a ‘thank you.’
Gwen pushed open the door of the bedroom carefully. She had expected to find a hallway, but the door led straight into a big living room instead. The ceiling was so tall, it made the place feel huge. That, and the sparse furniture and few decorations. Everything was precisely in its place, from the salt and pepper shakers set directly in the middle of the dining table, to the book that sat perfectly centered on the coffee table in front of the couch. There wasn’t a television. When she padded over to look at the book, she lifted it up and read the cover. The Art of Surviving Loneliness.