Bobbie
I’m still grinning inwardly at Dag’s distasteful expression when he dropped a small bag holding the Hanes pack in the back seat.
Okay, so that was probably a little immature, but I couldn’t resist the opportunity to get back at him for forcing me to make that unflattering climb into the back. I know he’s only looking out for my safety, but his cool and dismissive attitude is bugging me more than I’d care to admit.
Oddly enough I do trust the man. After all, I’m being whisked off to places unknown without anyone knowing my whereabouts, but I haven’t spent a moment worrying about the potentially vulnerable situation I find myself in. At least not at the hands of Dag Toland.
Of course he has to have a cool as shit name to match his handsome looks. I should probably be glad his personality is lacking, otherwise, I’d be in a heap of trouble.
As we venture deeper into the Rockies, I notice the snow is getting deeper. I’m a summer girl, thriving on warmer weather, but living in Colorado you have no choice but to contend with the white stuff. Still, winter sports aren’t really my thing, which is why I’ve never been to Aspen.
Rather than make the same embarrassing trek into the front seat, I opted to stay back here after we left the store, but I’m leaning forward in my seat so as not to miss the pretty lights as we drive through town. It’s much bigger than I thought, and surprisingly busy for this late hour. It’s just after midnight, which doesn’t appear to be a deterrent. Plenty of people are walking along the main stretch, which appears to be lined with shops, bars, and restaurants.
What I wouldn’t give to check out some of those for myself, but I have a feeling that won’t be in the cards.
On the other side of town, Dag turns onto a road leading us up the mountain and I look forward to seeing the resort we’ll be spending the foreseeable future at. I spot a sign indicating a turnoff to the St. James Inn and my eyes are peeled for a peek at the place.
I get it at the next turn when the trees open up and I see the lights revealing a picturesque lodge. It looks to be surrounded by smaller chalets and I wonder whether we’ll be in the main building or one of those chalets.
However, when we reach the turnoff, Dag keeps going straight ahead.
“Isn’t that the resort?”
I catch his cool eyes in the rearview mirror.
“It is, but we’re not staying there. Too visible, and besides, it’ll be booked up for the holidays.”
It would be. Hell, the ski slopes may not appeal to me, but I’d sign up to stay at this place anytime. It’s gorgeous. I have to say I’m a little disappointed we won’t be staying here.
“We’ll be on the property, but in a cabin a bit higher up.”
Awesome, there’s hope yet.
Unfortunately, any hope my new safe house is anything like the resort I saw earlier vanishes when Dag maneuvers the truck onto a barely distinguishable trail into the trees, with only the headlights as illumination. About five hundred feet in, the snow becomes unsurpassable. To my horror he switches off the engine and turns to face me.
“We’ll have to continue on foot. It shouldn’t be too much farther.”
He must run ten miles before breakfast on the regular if this is his idea of, “Not much farther.”
I’m gasping for air by the time we reach what appears to be a shack. It’s hard to see in the dark and with snow piled up so high, I can only make out part of the front, the rest of it is obscured by a thick white lumpy blanket.
Wonderful.
It’s that I can barely breathe after our half-hour trudge through deep snow in the dark, or else I’d have voiced my displeasure.
A shack, on the mountain, in the middle of winter, with a man who is as cold as the temperatures out here, is not exactly the resort stay I’ve been imagining the past few hours. Not that I signed up for anything that’s happened since I watched a man get killed in cold blood months ago, but maybe I could’ve convinced someone to hide me in Florida or Mexico.
“Wait here,” Dag orders, not even a little bit winded.
I watch as he walks up to the door and manages to force it open enough for him to disappear inside. A few minutes later, a watery light shines through the crack in the door and then he reappears, carrying a shovel. It doesn’t take him long to clear a path along the front of the cabin, revealing it to be slightly larger than I thought it was. Only one story, it has two boarded-up windows on either side of the centered door for a total of four. I can’t really see how far back it goes since it seems to disappear into the mountain.
“Why don’t you get inside? I’ll get the rest of the gear.”
I don’t need to be asked twice. Despite Dag’s daughter’s fur-lined boots and winter jacket, I’m numb with cold.
The front door opens into a large space which is living room, dining room, and kitchen all in one, currently lit only by a single standing lamp. There are two doors on the left and two on the right—I assume bathroom and bedrooms. The sparse furniture is basic; a Formica table and vinyl covered chairs serve as a dining set by the terribly outdated kitchen, and a brown and beige plaid couch and wooden rocking chair make up a sitting area. The only redeeming feature in the entire space is a brick fireplace. And I hope there’s a woodpile somewhere underneath the snow, because a fire sounds heavenly right about now. It’s as cold in here as it is outside.
I try the light switches on the wall, but apparently only the standing light has a bulb. At least we have electricity. When I poke around a little more, I find one bathroom—at least as outdated as the kitchen—and three bedrooms. One of those with two sets of bunks, one with two twin beds, and this last one has a queen. Thank God the couch and the beds are covered with plastic sheets, I just hope it was enough to keep the dirt and bugs out. Guess we’ll find out soon enough.
In what looks to be the master with the queen bed, I open the narrow closet to discover a couple of pillows and a quilt in a zippered plastic bag. I open the zipper and tentatively sniff, surprised at the faint scent of detergent. Someone must’ve washed these before storing them. I’m not sure what’s all in the Walmart bags Dag tossed in the truck, but at least we’ll have a pillow to put our heads on.
I’m just tackling the layers of dust covering everything, with some cleaning supplies I found rummaging through the kitchen cupboards, when the door flies open and Dag stomps in. He’s weighed down with bags he dumps on the couch.
“I can’t find firewood but I found pillows,” I blurt out.
He glances at me with what looks like mild amusement.
“Hope you didn’t plan on burning those,” he comments dryly. “I only bought us some blow-up ones, just in case, but I’d much prefer to sleep on the real thing.”
“Yes, I mean no, of course I wasn’t going to burn them.”
I watch as he walks over to the stove and turns on every burner and the oven.
“It should warm up the place a little while I find some wood. Feel free to unpack the rest. I plugged in the fridge earlier.”
Then he disappears back outside, shutting the door behind him.
Great, why couldn’t I have thought of that? He must think I’m an idiot.
* * *
Dag
I adjust the angle on the last small basic security camera I found at Walmart, aiming it on the cabin.
There are four in total, two along the trail we followed to get here and one by the road, aimed at the turnoff. I prepaid for data on the new phone as well, so I’ll be able to download the app allowing me to monitor the cameras. Not a foolproof setup—a prepaid phone is traceable—but I paid with the emergency cash I grabbed from my gun safe at home to minimize the risk. Using a credit card would’ve been too easy to track.
Climbing down from the tree, I take stock of our surroundings. The woods are thick and the snow cover already deep this early in winter, which helps conceal the place, but there’s nothing I can do about the trail leading from the main road here. All I can hope for is a layer of fresh snow to cover our tire tracks near the road. I did my best moving the truck into the cover of the trees, but it’s still visible to anyone coming up the trail.
I glance over at the cabin and can only see faint strips of light around the boarded-up windows. Maybe I’ll leave those up. Someone would have to get fairly close to the cabin to see lights on inside, and by that time one of the cameras would’ve picked them up.
I discover a small woodpile stacked against the side wall under a small overhang. The top layer of logs is damp from the snow, but I find dryer pieces underneath. Grabbing as much as my arms will hold, I head for the door.
Bobbie pulls the door open when I kick it and just like every other time I’ve looked into those brown eyes of hers, something stirs in my gut. She’s a beautiful woman—anyone can see that—but it’s the keen intelligence and hint of fire in those eyes that has drawn me in since I first met her.
It’s a persistent attraction I could do without, blurring my focus. Besides, it’s not like I’m in a position to do anything about it.
“You found wood!” she says with far more enthusiasm than our situation warrants, but her eyes are shining with fatigue.
“Enough to get us started. You should get some rest. Take the main bedroom.”
I barely look at her as I move to the fireplace and start stacking the logs inside.
“What about you?” I hear her ask behind me.
I’ll be out here, on the couch, keeping an eye out and the fire going, while doing my best to ignore the fact she’s in bed only a thin wall away.
“I’ll be fine,” I dismiss her, keeping my back turned until I hear the bedroom door close.
After a few false starts, I manage to get the fire going and wander into the kitchen to see she’s put all the groceries away and every surface is gleaming. Battling a yawn, I duck into the fridge and grab one of the bottles of ice coffee I bought. A sound behind me has me lift my head too fast, knocking it on the freezer compartment.
The heartfelt, “Fuck,” escapes me as I touch my fingers to my scalp to see if I broke skin.
“Sorry,” Bobbie mumbles, standing by the door to the bathroom with a guilty look on her face.
For some reason that pisses me off.
“What the hell are you doing?”
It comes out harsh and she visibly startles, but immediately her eyes form slits and she fires back.
“Brushing my teeth and using the bathroom, if that’s okay with you?”
Her words are as curt as mine were and rife with sarcasm, but she doesn’t wait around to hear my half-assed, mumbled apology. She slams the bathroom door shut.
Guess she told me.
I don’t even realize I’m grinning until I take a seat on the old couch and put the bottle to my lips.