The second thing was the very real possibility that Freya would be sharing this cabin with him for a while.
And third? He didn’t actually mind the idea too much.
Freya’s breath fogged the window glass as she stared out at the deep snow drifting against the cabin.
Having grown up in Alaska, she’d seen plenty of bad storms. Either this one had to be the worst yet or conditions were far more treacherous on the mountain than the smaller towns below.
She raised a fingertip to the fog created by her breath and drew a rudimentary snowflake in it.
When she turned from the window, Aries sat there looking at her. She gave a little squeak of surprise but quickly squelched it. People said not to show fear to a dog. Her insides still knotted whenever she saw how big and powerful he was, no matter how strong her determination to appear brave. Muscles rippled beneath his fur.
She tuned in to the noise of the shower in the other room where Aries’s master was right this minute standing under the hot water. She imagined that man’s muscles were rippling even more than his dog’s.
Freya blinked away the vision in her mind and slowly—not making any sudden moves to attract Aries’s attention—eased to the armchair before the fire.
The crackle of flames on the logs was a comforting music to her ears. She’d been here for an entire day, and so far she didn’t have a glimmer of a clue as to how she’d gotten onto the mountain.
She had a handful of guesses, though. In the first explanation, some fright had sent her running to her car, and she’d driven onto the mountain. Then she’d abandoned the vehicle and set off on foot, when the storm overtook her.
Her second guess involved a similar scenario, only she’d wrecked her car, hit her head and climbed out of the wreckage in search of help when the storm overtook her.
And third… Well, that one was the most disturbing of all to consider because it involved Colby.
Her hands twisted in her lap at the mere thought of the boy who’d shared the Andersons’ home with her during their teens.
Uneasy with anyone who was new to her, she’d kept to herself. But Colby was a chatty kid, asking question after question. Initially, he wanted to know about her likes and dislikes. Before long, he was diving deeper into things she never wanted to think of again, such as what her past foster families were like.
Some were okay. Most weren’t. What else was there to say?
Then Colby hit puberty full force and things got even weirder. He wanted to sit too close to her. He asked for hugs, which she refused to give.
Her insides clenched at the gleam of anger in his eyes whenever she told him no, she would not give him a hug and to go ask their guardian for one instead.
When she was sixteen, she opened the shower curtain to find him in the bathroom with her.
Her scream had brought Mrs. Anderson running, and Colby never turned up in the bathroom with Freya again.
At seventeen, she heard some rumors at school claiming they slept in the same bed. She squashed those quick and warned him never to speak like that about her again.
Then she turned eighteen and struck out on her own. She landed a couple low-paying jobs before getting a full-time position at the agency.
The same job she needed to be at bright and early Monday morning, no matter the weather.
And where was her car?
She liked her apartment and job several counties away from where she’d grown up. And having peace and the ability to make choices about her life for herself, after years of virtual strangers who claimed to care making them for her, were best of all.
But the day she walked into the grocery store and Colby popped up in front of her, all the uneasiness she’d felt toward him in their teen years returned full force.
Only he looked pretty sad. He told her that he missed the Andersons, who had little to do with him now that he’d become an adult. The frown he wore was the only reason Freya agreed to give him her cell phone number. Just as she’d kept from laughing at the cross-eyed Santa figurine to spare her coworker’s feelings, she had felt sorry for Colby.
Her worst decision ever.
His texts were innocent at first, talking about his job and how he’d gotten a place of his own. But all too soon, his creepy side came into the spotlight.
“Freya?” The soft male tone jerked her out of the turbulent waters of her worry. Just as he’d pulled her out of the snow and saved her life.
She blinked to clear her thoughts and stared at the mug of coffee Hunt held out to her. A dark sprinkling of hair graced the backs of his knuckles and over his wrist to disappear into the cuff of the red-and-black flannel he wore.
“Would you like some coffee?”
She got the impression he’d already asked, but she’d sunk so deep into her thoughts that she hadn’t heard him shut off the shower or enter the kitchen.
She reached for the mug. “Thank you. You didn’t have to make me a cup.”
“I was making some for myself anyway.” He studied her face for a moment. “You’re still pretty pale. How are you feeling? Any dizziness or nausea?”
“No, neither,” she responded quietly and then sipped the coffee. He’d added milk and sugar. She usually didn’t take sugar, but she liked the sweet brew more than she guessed she would.
Maybe she’d spent too long locked into what she believed she liked when she should be exploring new things. But her past kept her walking on the cautious side of life.
He sat in the armchair across from her. Over the rim of her mug, she peered at him. His wet hair was mussed, like he’d toweled it dry and done nothing else to it. His jeans fit him to perfection, riding along his muscled hips and long legs, and his plaid shirt hung open to reveal a black shirt with the Alaska Search and Rescue logo in the center of it.
She dipped her gaze down his body to his feet, expecting to see good hiking boots built for treks through deep snow, but to her surprise, he was barefoot.
Staring at his feet left her feeling like a weird voyeur, so she focused on the fireplace instead.
“Freya…I think we should talk.”
He cradled his coffee in one hand, his pose casual. That was a good sign it might not be a serious talk, right?
“Talk about what?” she asked.
He threw a look at the mug she held. “Why don’t we start with the reason your hand is shaking.”
Was it? Her eyes widened at the sight of the mug trembling in her hand. Coffee sloshed up the sides.
Oh god. She hadn’t realized her dark musings about her past, and Colby—and whether or not he played a part in her ending up on this mountain without remembering why—had affected her so strongly.
“I-I was thinking about how I’ll get off the mountain to go to work Monday morning.” It was only a partial lie.
He stared at her for a long moment. Those deep oak-colored eyes pinned her to the chair and made her heart beat a little faster. She didn’t know how long she could keep her concerns over Colby’s involvement in her situation to herself. Or if Hunt truly believed that she had a hole in her memory. Few people besides the occasional therapist believed her before.
When his stare shifted to the window beyond her, he took a sip of coffee, breaking the tension of the moment. “The storm is on its last legs. By tomorrow morning, the roads will be clear enough to travel.”
Her heart lurched. She didn’t know why the news bothered her so much, but she had a gut feeling she shouldn’t return home quite yet. She needed a few answers first.