After a thorough vet exam confirmed no injuries and a warm bath, the puppy looked like a brand-new dog. Neither the vaccinations nor the antibiotic shot slowed him down, and he wanted out of the truck when they returned to the cabin. The dog even charmed Hawke, who tried to hide his smile from Camille.
As if purchasing dog food, toys, and a doggie bed—all charged to Hawke’s credit card—hadn’t already proven the man was half in love with the creature.
Camille knew Hawke had a soft spot for animals. She remembered him sharing stories about how he had rescued a couple of abandoned dogs, one cat, and even an old goat. As they drove back from the vet, Camille announced, “His name is Lucky because today was his lucky day.” Silently, she added in her mind, not my lucky day.
Hawke chuckled at the name but otherwise remained silent on the way back to the cabin.
Typical strong and silent type. They rode, each lost in their thoughts, with only the gentle patter of drizzle on the windshield breaking the tension.
Camille had planned to eat at the resort today, but that plan was scrapped between the confrontation with Hawke this afternoon and the rain. She only had basic non-perishable food at the cabin—pretty much nothing—and should stop on the way back to pick up something to eat.
“Food-wise, I usually have cereals, bread, and jam at the cabin. What are your plans for food?” Camille asked as they neared the edge of town.
“I assumed you had the food situation covered,” he replied, a hint of superiority in his voice.
“I usually eat at the resort, but it’s too late for that now,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “There’s a taco truck that’s usually parked by the school a few blocks from here. We could stop there on our way back to the cabin,” she suggested, hoping to smooth things over.
“Tacos are a little too greasy for my taste. How about we stop at the grocery store, and I’ll cook steak and vegetables tonight?” he countered.
“Hard to cook steaks on a camping stove. Don’t be Mr. Perfect for once, and eat the darn tacos,” she replied sarcastically.
Hawke chuckled, shaking his head. “All right, Camille. Let’s get those tacos.”
“Deal,” she said, a smile tugging at her lips.” Silently, she thought, I so hope you get heartburn.
After reaching the cabin, they exited their respective doors, Camille carrying the dog to keep him from getting muddy again.
Hawke grunted. “Looks like you’re low on firewood. Get inside, and I’ll bring more in.”
She rolled her eyes at his command. Hawke was welcome to the task as she hated chopping wood. Maybe he’d get a well-deserved splinter or two.
Camille served Lucky a small amount of food, knowing too much too soon could upset his stomach.
Lucky, now clean and content, happily settled onto his new doggie bed in front of the fireplace, looking like he wouldn’t move anytime soon.
Glancing around the cabin, Camille realized how cramped the next few days would be with an additional person. The only heat source was the fireplace. She frequently enjoyed the luxurious showers at the spa to refresh after her morning job. A basic bathroom, recently added to the cabin, included a rudimentary shower and composting toilet, mainly for emergency use only. It was thankfully accessible inside the cabin and not in a separate building. The water heater, hooked to a portable battery, used a standard-size propane tank and provided instantaneous hot water without electricity. Inside, no general electricity existed. Coleman lanterns served as lamps.
The cabin’s walls were lined with rough-hewn logs, and the air was thick with the scent of pine and lingering smoke from the fireplace. A worn, handmade quilt draped over the back of a creaky wooden chair. Camille sighed, thinking about the days ahead. The close quarters and lack of amenities would test her patience, especially with Hawke around. She wondered how they would manage without stepping on each other’s toes.
Their clothes were still dirty and damp from their earlier rush to the vet. Camille shivered, the cold seeping into her bones.
“I’ll build the fire up. We need to get out of these wet clothes. Take your shower first. Do not use all the hot water,” Hawke ordered.
“Hope is eternal, but hot water is not,” she muttered to herself in response to his high-handed command, stepping into the rudimentary shower enclosure.
The warm water slowly flowed over her like a soothing balm, washing away the day’s grime. Camille closed her eyes, letting out a deep, contented sigh as her tense muscles finally relaxed. She stepped out of the shower, frowning at the towel that barely covered her. She never bothered obtaining larger towels as she usually showered at El Ocaso. Determined to project the image of a sophisticated woman, she re-entered the main room, clutching the towel tightly around her. Thankfully, Hawke didn’t look up and faced away.
That’s when she noticed he was discarding his wet shirt and T-shirt. She froze, staring at his broad back and shoulders. “Oh, my goodness,” she whispered, hoping he didn’t hear as she bent to pet Lucky for distraction. She couldn’t help sneaking another look at Hawke’s magnificent body. Her gaze was drawn to the intricate tattoo that spanned across his left shoulder and down his bicep. It was a masterful depiction of a fierce eagle, symbolizing power and freedom. Seeing Hawke turn to grab his towel, heading for his turn at a shower, Camille noticed his chiseled chest and a faded scar below his right shoulder. The scar was a stark contrast to the tanned skin around it. Camille found herself unable to look away, her curiosity about Hawke deepening.
After Hawke finished with his shower, they dressed in sweatpants and T-shirts for the night, and they settled down to eat. They ate the tacos by the fireplace as she dried her hair. The crackling fire added a warm glow, but Camille couldn’t shake her anxiety about the coming night. Mindful of the dropping temperature, she noticed Hawke adding more wood to the fireplace.
Time for bed, she thought, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves. More interested in horses than boys when growing up, she bypassed the craziness of teenage love and angst experienced by her classmates. Even though she knew him well enough, she was uncomfortable being so close to a man for the night. Her family was quite conservative, and she never dated, being too busy with the horses and school, concentrating on reaching her goal of a master’s degree in biology.
Hawke spoke softly, shifting his inflatable queen bed closer to the fireplace. “Your bunk bed is anchored to the floor and can’t be moved closer to the fireplace. If it gets much colder, we could conserve heat by bringing over your sleeping bag to my queen bed and adding your blankets to mine.”
At his suggestion, Camille felt her cheeks burning. Was he teasing her or testing her? Was he thinking of the fantastic kiss they’d shared earlier? She glanced away, pretending to fuss with the blankets. The idea of sharing the queen bed with Hawke was something she desperately wanted to avoid. While she understood the practicality of it, the thought of being that close to him all night made her heart race. “I’d prefer to freeze,” she nodded curtly, slipping into her bed. Despite her resolve, sleep eluded her as she flopped like a fish in her small bunk, the chill seeping deeper into her bones. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop picturing his bare chest, scolding herself for being so foolish.
Camille’s thoughts drifted to past family gatherings where Hawke’s presence always dominated the room. Despite her disdain for his flirting ways, she couldn’t ignore his magnetic pull. She clenched her fists, annoyed at her own body’s betrayal—a mere hormonal reaction, she told herself, trying to shake off the unwanted attraction.
After about an hour, Camille heard Hawke stir from his sleeping bag. He switched on the Coleman lantern and went outside to gather more logs as the cabin grew colder. They had underestimated the number of logs needed for this unusually cold night. Pulling the blankets tighter around her body, Camille determined to ignore the biting cold and her confusing feelings. If Hawke weren’t there, she would have moved her sleeping bag closer to the fireplace, and the cold wouldn’t have been so unbearable. The cabin’s temperature dropped further when Hawke returned with the logs as the cold wind infiltrated when he opened and closed the door.
“OK. Enough of this,” he finally burst out, breaking the silence. “It’s colder than expected. I can hear your teeth chattering. Let’s bring your sleeping bag over to the queen bed. It doesn’t make sense for you to freeze.”
“NO,” Camille’s heart skipped a beat at his suggestion. The wind howled outside, and she shivered, but her stubborn pride would not let her agree.
“YES,” he insisted, coming over and scooping her up, sleeping bag and all, before she could protest further. He placed her gently on the queen bed.
She moved to the farthest edge, trying to keep her breathing as steady as possible, though her chest felt tight, and her breath came quicker than she wanted.
Hawke gathered the rest of her blankets from her bunk and added them on top of her. He turned down the Coleman lantern and climbed in beside her.
Immediately, she felt his warmth and heard his steady breathing.
“Feel free to come closer if you get cold,” he murmured. “It’s warmer that way.”
“In your dreams,” she muttered, wondering if she would sleep at all. She was so close to him in a warm cocoon, her mind racing. She was unable to rest.
“No need to be snippy, but as long as we’re awake, how about clearing the air and talking about what happened this afternoon?” he asked.