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to keep busy and not think about how True had looked when he’d tipped up her chin and asked her what
was wrong.
He’d just tried to be kind. But she’d melted. And she hadn’t been able to admit it to herself at the
time, but he’d scared her, because she’d wanted to latch on to that hint of tenderness and make it into so
much more. She’d fought her instincts and had muddled everything up. He had to be confused. He’d
thought he was getting a sexpot writer in his bed, and instead he’d gotten a basket case.
That her emotions were so close to the surface disappointed her. She was ready to move on and take a
new lover. That part of her life couldn’t be over. She hoped he’d give her another chance because she
remembered how’d he’d been, how gentle and gruff, how masterful and how well he’d filled her.
The sound of crackling logs stirred her from the counter, and she strode toward the furnace, ready to
add enough wood to last the morning. She bent and opened the door.
Yellow-orange flame billowed out and she jumped back, but the fire caught the scarf she’d forgotten
she was still wearing, causing it to crackle and curl. Frantically, she pulled it from her neck and flung it
away, then stepped back.
Christ, how many times had Lonny told her to be careful opening the door?
Crackling behind her, louder now, drew her glance. She looked back and her heart stopped. The scarf
had fallen on the sofa beneath the window. Flames licked at the throw and raced up to the curtains. Smoke
was beginning to fill the room.
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She lurched toward the table, grabbed her thumb drive and bent to get beneath the smoke near the
door. It was her only exit, she didn’t have much time. The fire was running across the walls, scorching the
ceiling. She didn’t have time to reach for her coat. She swung open the door, cool fresh air rushed into the
room, fanning the flames. She ducked, raised both arms to protect her head and plunged through the door,
coughing. She fell down the steps, and scurried away on her hands and knees, not halting until she was
several feet away. Gasping, she climbed to her feet and turned back to see flames in the window catching
the wood frame, licking up the roof and igniting the cedar shingles.
Fascination kept her rooted to the spot even though her boots sank deep into the snow. Flames,
yellow, orange and red, could be seen through the window. The whisper of the fire as it consumed more
fuel grew into a roar.
Shivering in the snow, she watched in horror as the fire leapt across the roof to the lean-to beside the
house, the one where the gasoline for the generator was stored.
That realization, at last, pushed her to move. She turned and ran as fast as she could, feet sinking in
snow, down the road toward the Wyatt brother’s house. Shock receded from her mind and she realized how
much trouble she was in. Already shivering hard, without a coat or gloves, she stood a good chance of
freezing to death before she reached safety.
Honey shoved away that thought. She wasn’t going to die. She wasn’t going to lose a single finger
either. She needed those to type. Shoving her hands under her arm pits, she slowed and concentrated on
putting one foot in front of the other. She’d get there.
No way in hell would she die and let True have his final proof that she’d never belonged here in the
first place.
True gunned the engine, enjoying the burst of power and speed, not even minding the frigid wind that
blew past him. He’d needed to get away from the house, from the woman sleeping in his bed.
Once she’d fallen asleep, Honey had snuggled up close against his side. He’d enjoyed her mingled
scents—something floral, feminine musk and sex—and had decided not to bathe before heading out
because he’d wanted to let Honey’s smell linger just a little longer on his skin.
Not that he needed any reminders of what it had been like to be with her. She’d fit just right, her head
on his shoulder, her hip snuggled against the side of his, her hand lying on his belly. He’d lifted it
cautiously, not wanting to wake her, and measured the length of her small fingers against his. She was
small and delicate, and yet she’d taken everything he’d given her.
Shame washed over him. He hadn’t been as patient as he should have been. She’d had things on her
mind, memories so haunting he’d seen the shadows in her eyes, and he’d wanted to obliterate every one of
them. Wanted to imprint himself on her.
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But she wasn’t his to keep. He hadn’t the right to expect her to cleave to him alone, to forget about
any other man she’d known before. And did he really want that?
He’d only dozed after that, waking to think about what he ought to do for her, how he could make it
up to her. He’d wrestled with his own jealousy, his own hang-ups, but had concluded he needed to have a
talk with his brother.
He drew close to the crest of the ridge and considered heading to her place. However, he still wasn’t
sure what he’d say to her. Maybe he’d start by saying he was sorry.
The sound of another engine coming up behind him made him slow. Lonny pulled up alongside him.
“I took her home.”
True nodded, ignoring Lonny’s expression. His brother had a bone to chew, but True wasn’t in the
mood. “How was she?”
“Brittle,” Lonny bit out. “She wouldn’t look me in the eye.”
True’s stomach sank. “I’ll go see her.”
“If I were you, I’d give her some time alone.”
True clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to listen to Lonny’s advice.
“Guess we should head back.” True glanced up at the ridge. “What the fuck?” He twisted the throttle.
The snowmobile shot forward.
It had to have been a branch, a shadow…something other than what he suspected, but already he
could smell it on the air.
Smoke.
He turned to Lonny, who rode beside him. “Honey!” he shouted, punching a finger toward the plume.
Lonny’s glance whipped toward the sky.
They crested the ridge. True’s stomach dropped. The cabin was fully engulfed. He searched the
clearing but didn’t see a sign of Honey. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He started forward, but Lonny cut in front of him, halting him. “The lean-to, bro,” he shouted.
An explosion rocked the clearing. Burning timbers flew into the sky.
True ducked, raising an arm against the bright light, but as soon as the debris crashed to the ground,
he was speeding down the hill, hell-bent for the cabin. Staring at the flames, at the smoke billowing out the
broken windows, his heart thudded dully against his chest. No one could live through that.
He pulled up next to the house, killed the engine and swung his legs over the side.
“True,” Lonny shouted over the roar of the fire.
True couldn’t let his brother stop him. He lurched toward the steps.
Lonny tackled him, taking him to the ground. “Honey’s not in there. Fuck, quit fighting me. She’s not
in the cabin.”
That last bitten-out sentence got through, and True stopped bucking.
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Lonny rolled off him, then grabbed his arm and helped him to his feet. Breathing hard, Lonny pointed
to a set of tracks leading away from the cabin—tracks two small feet in ridiculous boots had made.
He climbed back on his the snowmobile, and sped down the trail.
Rounding a bend, he found her, walking with her head bent against the wind, hands tucked under her
arms.
He cut the machine and climbed off. He unzipped his jacket and walked up behind her. She didn’t
seem to hear him, didn’t flinch or react when he gripped her arms, one at a time and shoved them into the
sleeves of his coat. He turned her.
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