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Out of the Cold

Sneak Peak

Lucy Pond clenched the steering wheel until her knuckles ached and guided the car around yet another hairpin turn. If she turned her head, she’d be able to see straight down the cliff edge, but she kept her eyes dead ahead and held her breath as a truck barreled down the mountain from the opposite direction.

She groaned in relief at the sight of a scenic lookout up ahead and gratefully pulled her car off the road. Pushing the door open, she stepped out and stretched, breathing in the scent of pine. It was warmer than she expected, but then she was still in the Sierra Nevada foothills. She still had a ways to go up the mountain.

Opening the back door, she snapped a leash on Hildegard and released the German shepherd from her safety harness to sniff and do her business near the wooden railing.

Wildfires were burning farther north. She could smell the acrid smoke on a gust of wind. It had been a bad fire season. In July, a blanket of smoke had settled over San Francisco, and every day brought news of more evacuations up north. They were contained now, the fire season nearly over, but she was undergoing her own personal evacuation. From the outside she looked like a woman embarking on an adventure, but she was more like a mouse flushed from its hole.

Pressure bloomed in her chest, stealing the oxygen from her lungs, and her vision started to gray. She dropped into a crouch and put her head between her legs, counting as she drew each breath in as slowly as possible, letting it out on several more counts.

Her dog’s wet nose on her cheek had her letting out a muffled laugh. Some days Hilde was the only thing keeping her sane.

She stayed crouched for several more seconds, but the tunnel vision didn’t come. That was progress. Her head swam as she stood and her lungs felt like they were drawing air through a straw, but when she looked around again the world was back in full color. The early November sun was still strong, and the fluttering, buttery gold of the aspens glowed against the evergreens on the hillsides below.

Back in the car she continued her slow ascent, her entire body rigid as she hugged the yellow line down the middle of the road, as far from the edge as she could get without crossing to the other lane. Back east, there were railings along the dangerous sections of road, but there was no doing that for an entire mountain. She could disappear over the side without anyone even knowing.

Sweat broke out beneath her arms and on the small of her back. She stared straight ahead and drove toward the trees marching up the mountains in wave upon wave, blue-green in the shadows.

All she had to do was make it to Len’s cabin. She could do this.

Fifteen minutes later she breathed a sigh of relief as she passed a sign for Jeffrey, California, elevation 5,817 feet. It wasn’t exactly Mount Everest, but it was pretty high up for a girl from Florida.

Signs of civilization came next—a cabin here and there through the trees, a lone gas station and a smattering of motels, and soon she was passing a snow mobile shop and lumber yard.

She glanced at the email she’d printed with Lens’ directions for the last few miles her GPS wouldn’t cover and turned right before hitting the town proper. The paved roads turned to gravel before long, then dirt.

“We made it, Hilde,” she called to the back seat as a small sign reading “Sugar Pine Lodge” came into view. She turned down the pitted driveway, laughing at the sight of Hilde in her rearview mirror, her nose in the air to catch all the new scents.  

A break in the woods opened up and the cabin came into view.

She hadn’t asked any questions when Len had offered its use. He told her she could stay as long as she wanted, so long as she was out by the end of May when his family came to stay. She’d been grateful, relieved enough to cry when she got off the phone. She hadn’t asked how far it was from town or the nearest neighbor, or how big it was. All she’d cared about was that it was free and available.

But this was way beyond what she’d imagined. Where she’d been expecting a humble little cabin, this was new and modern. A wealthy person’s cabin, rustic wood built with modern lines and set in a clearing with a scattering of trees, some leafy, some evergreen.

It was chilly when she stepped out of the car, and her arms instantly pebbled with goosebumps. Not that much colder than San Francisco, but she’d stupidly packed her heavier coat somewhere in her bags. She’d have to dig it out.

This time when she let the dog out, she didn’t put a leash on her. Hilde flew off the seat and put her nose to the ground.

Grabbing her laptop case and a roller bag full of clothes, she made her way to the door. As Len had promised, the caretaker had left it unlocked for her.

Rather than the chill of an unoccupied house, she stepped into the cozy warmth of a home up and running, ready for her. It smelled of a fire burning and the clean, bright scent of the wood it was built from. A short hallway led to bedrooms off to the left. To the right a big open kitchen flowed into a living room. In the middle of the outside wall a hulking woodstove gave off luxurious heat.

A cabin on steroids, rustic but with every comfort.

Every comfort except another human. But that was okay. She needed to finish her book, and there’d be distractions up here.

She stared down at the woodstove, wondering if she’d ever have the nerve to start a fire in it. Maybe the caretaker would keep it going for her?

Hilde’s barking broke into her thoughts. In seconds, she was out the door and rounding the corner of the house.

She stopped cold.

The man was enormous. Granted, she was only five foot two, but he was a foot taller than her and built like a lumberjack with dark eyes, thick dark hair, and a beard. He would have been disturbingly handsome if not for his ferocious expression.

Len had warned her the caretaker was intimidating, but he’d assured her Gabriel would take good care of her.

Hilde was standing in his path and emitting a low, ominous growl.

“Hilde come,” she commanded. The dog hesitated, then came to sit beside her feet. “You must be Gabriel,” she said, smiling in relief. “I’m Lucy. Thank you for getting the cabin ready.”

He looked her up and down as if her very presence were an affront to him. His expression didn’t soften. “There’s your wood,” he said, pointing behind her.

She turned to see a tarp-covered pile set against the back of the house. “Right. Great.”

“For the woodstove. You do know how to use one, right?”

 “Of course.” She’d never seen a woodstove before now, never mind lit a fire in one, but his tone set her on edge. “Is that the only way to heat the house?”

“There’s electric heat, but the woodstove’s much cheaper and more efficient, and it works even when you lose electricity. I’d keep the electric heat to the bedroom and bathroom you use. Keep the doors to the rooms you don’t use closed.”

“Does the electricity go out often?” she asked.

“I wasn’t here last winter, but from what I understand they lose power pretty regularly. Just make sure you don’t let the fire go out. It’s easier to keep it going than to start it up again.”

She was trying to keep up with what he was telling her while also breathing, but it was getting harder and harder. She’d been here all of ten minutes and she already felt thwarted by the most basic functions of the house. And if she wasn’t mistaken, Gabriel was testing her.

His voice receded along with her surroundings as the pressure in her chest grew and her breath sawed in and out. Her vision went gray at the edges, and she dropped to her knees with her head in her hands. The ground was cold and hard, a little damp.

Hilde whined and licked her cheek.

“Are you okay?” Gabriel asked, crouching beside her.

“I can’t breathe.”

“It’s the altitude,” he said, voice low and soothing. “Takes a while to get used to it, but you will.” His hand, broad and warm, settled on her shoulder. “Relax. You’ll get enough air, even if it doesn’t feel like it.”

As unwelcoming as he’d been only moments before, his hand grounded her and his low voice broke through her panic.

“Breathe in. That’s it. Now let it out slowly. You’ve got it.”

Gradually her breathing became easier and her panic eased a fraction. So maybe not a panic attack, maybe it only felt like one. Either way, he thought it was the altitude, which allowed her to save face.

Gabriel came back into focus, and there was genuine concern in his dark brown eyes. He was close enough that she could see the fine lines fanning out from the corners. Either he laughed a lot or he spent a lot of time outside. She’d bet on the latter.

“I’ve never been this high up,” she said, getting to her feet.

He stood with her, his hand on her elbow. “No? How high have you been?”

“San Francisco.”

“They do have some pretty big hills there,” he said, his eyes amused. “Is that where you live?”

“Yes. Or no, I did live there, but I’m from Florida.” She took a deep breath, testing. Her heart was still pounding, but the panicked feeling had subsided.

He was watching her, assessing. “You sure you’re all right?”

Those brown eyes of his, so disdainful a few minutes ago, were almost kind. Maybe he wasn’t a total ogre. There might be hope after all.

“I’ll be fine. I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

“I was only chopping wood.”

“Really? It looks like there’s plenty,” she said, scanning the enormous pile stacked against the cabin and the even bigger pile near the trees.

“All that was cut last year and had time to season. What I’m cutting now will be used next year. Between both houses, we go through a lot in a winter.”

Looking past him, she saw a much smaller cabin on the other side of a stand of trees maybe a two hundred yards away. A little bridge crossed what must have been a stream.

 “I see,” she said, her stomach sinking. Even in Florida electric heat was ridiculously expensive if you used it all the time. She was going to have to deal with the woodstove.

He studied her before replying. “Are you sure this is where you want to be?”

That look was back again. Like he owned the mountain and she was an interloper. The worst part was she felt like one, too. She didn’t belong here, and he could tell.

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