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“There’s a backup generator, which you’ll need once the next storm pushes through. The likelihood of you getting back down the mountain for the foreseeable future is slim. I’ve gone ahead and put my extra first aid kit in the bathroom in case you guys need it. There’s a pantry in the kitchen where you can store your stuff. I haven’t been up here in a while, so I doubt there’s much in it. Feel free to help yourself to whatever you need. And there’s firewood in the detached garage, but you may need to chop more before the storm passes. You know how to do that?” Bert asked as he studied me with arms folded over his chest.
“Yes, sir. My grandpa taught me when I was younger. I haven’t been through a storm of this magnitude before, but I’m familiar with the weather in Montana.”
“Good. You’ll be fine then. There’s space in the garage for you to bring it in and cut it there. I’ve got my set up in the corner; you’ll see it when you go in. Leave the wet wood out to dry and stay ahead of it so you don’t run short.”
“Will do,” I promised.
“There’s also Christmas decorations up on the rafters in there. There are some lights and a small tree that will look nice in that corner. That’s where my wife Janice always insists on putting it when we come up. You don’t have to go crazy with the decorations, but there are a lot to choose from.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” I smiled but wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Christmas is a big thing around Sugarplum Falls,” Bert said, rocking back on his heels as he shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “Everyone around town makes a big deal of it and decorates for the holiday. This cabin is still in Sugarplum Falls, even if it’s way up here. My friend Sam always says there’s nothing a little Christmas spirit can’t solve, and if that fails, then eat a candy cane or two. Now, that’s not the real saying, but it’ll have to do.” Bert nodded to both of us and then turned on his heel to leave. “If you need anything, my phone number is written on the board on the fridge.”
He nodded and looked around as if he was trying to see if there was something he was forgetting to tell us, like the fact that the cabin was tiny and barely fit one full-sized bed and a few chairs in what was supposed to be considered the living room area.
“Alright, well, I guess you two are all set. Sorry it’s not the best, but it’ll keep you from losing a toe trying to sleep in your truck.”
“We appreciate your generosity,” I said, shaking his hand. “Thank you for allowing us to stay here.”
Bert had already declined any payment for us using the cabin, but I was determined to find a way to pay him back regardless.
We gave each other a final nod before he stepped outside and hurried to his truck while I pushed against the wind to get the door shut. Once secured, I locked it and slid the deadbolt up top into place.
I turned around to find the beautiful woman with long dark hair and large green eyes scanning the room as she sat in one of the chairs, knees tucked into her chest.
“I’m Sebastian,” I said cautiously as I approached and sat in the other chair.
“I know. You told me.” She lowered her chin and watched me.
“Yeah, but you haven’t told me your name yet.”
She chewed her lip nervously as she watched me. She had acted tough earlier when she told me she was a thriller author and assured me she knew plenty of ways to murder me and hide the body. But now, she seemed scared and vulnerable, which pulled at my heart in a way I hadn’t expected.
“Why do you want to know it?” she questioned.
I lifted my hands and let them fall as I leaned back into the recliner, spreading my legs out in front of me.
“I guess it just sounds better than saying hey, you all the time.”
A tense silence filled the air for a few minutes before she tilted her head and looked at me.
“Brynlee. Brynlee Marie Adams. I’m twenty-eight. I graduated with honors. I had an imaginary pet when I was little, a dog named Pebbles. She was a cocker spaniel and my only friend because I was in and out of foster care homes and never in one place long enough to build a lasting friendship. I was a book nerd throughout high school and was never one of the popular kids.”
“Wow. Okay,” I said with a soft laugh, soaking all of the information up. “I wasn’t expecting that, but thank you.”
Her green eyes blinked a few times before her shoulders relaxed slightly.
“It’s proven that killers are less likely to kill their victims if they feel they know them and have a personal connection to them. Now you know something about me. Personal details.” She jutted her chin out, but the way her breathing changed, I questioned how much of it was true.
“First—I have no plans to kill you. Second, I don’t think that’s 100% true. Look at the rate of people killing their spouses, parents, or children. They know them personally and still kill them.”
“Anyone can kill anyone,” she sighed as if I were the stupidest person on the planet. “Men are far more likely to target a stranger and stalk their victim. They enjoy the chase of going after someone vulnerable. Women are more likely to target someone familiar to them—usually a spouse or partner.” She lifted her eyebrows as if to drive her point across.
“So, because I’m a man, I’m supposed to be a cold-hearted killer? You do realize that I wasn’t stalking you, right? We both ended up at this cabin because we got stuck in a crazy blizzard with nowhere to go. This wasn’t premeditated.”
“So you say,” she said with a shrug. “I couldn’t see much in that storm, so who knows how long you might have been following me.”
I shoved a hand through my short hair and stared at her in disbelief.
“Alright, but what if this is a deeper plot, and instead of being the predictable villain and storyline, we throw everyone for a loop? Who’s to say that you’re not some obsessed fan of mine who stalked me, lured me to this cabin, and now plans to murder me because you’re in love with me?” I challenged, leaning forward and resting my elbows on my knees.
“That’s easy,” she said with a soft snort and shake of her head. “I don’t even know who you are.”
We stared at each other for a few minutes, neither looking away.
“So, you’re telling me you haven’t heard of F.E. Tish?”
Her mouth opened briefly to say something but quickly snapped shut. Her cheeks tinted the cutest shade of pink as she adjusted in her seat, pulling her knees closer to her chest.
“So you do know who I am,” I teased.
“I didn’t know who you were,” she insisted quickly. “Like everyone, I assumed F.E. Tish was a woman. It’s not like there are images of the author floating around the internet.”
“Nope,” I replied, letting the p at the end pop.
“So I’m stuck in a cabin with a New York Times bestselling author of erotic romance, who also just happens to be a male working under a pen name and highly likely to murder me and feed my body to the reindeer in Sugarplum Falls. Lovely.”
“Trust me,” I said as I got up from the chair. “You don’t have to worry about me killing you. While I also do plenty of research for my writing, none of it revolves around how to kill someone and get away with it. If anything, I should be worried about you.”
I turned and headed to the bathroom, giving her a moment to soak that in while I took one to clear my head.