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A knife would be better.

  Before she could yell to ask what the man planned, a loud scraping sound surrounded the driver’s side door—a grating, metal on metal. Ice cracked and snapped off as he ran something sharp along the seams of the door. Did he have a knife? Her heart beat faster as the sound of splintering ice echoed through the truck cab, dark and ominous, as if her saviour planned to carve his way into the truck, instead of cutting through the ice sealing the door shut.

  Without warning, the door wrenched open. Cold air smacked Brenna’s face. The wind blew snow into the vehicle. The icy air sliced her cheeks like shards of glass. She threw her arm up to shield her eyes.

  Why on earth had she decided to come to a place where the air hurt her face?

  The man moved in, blocking the wind, knife in hand. “Are you okay?”

  Her tension eased from the sincerity of his tone. She dropped her arm and smiled at the masked man. “Yeah. But I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” he said. “Brenna Jones.”

  ****

  Eric watched as Brenna recoiled.

  “Do I…know you?” She clutched something in her jacket pocket. What the hell was that? He peered in and spotted the butt of what looked like a Maglite. Really? Did she plan to beat a grown man with a flashlight?

  He glanced at the knife he held. She’d literally brought a light to a knife fight. Well, better than nothing, but lucky for her, he had no intentions of hurting her. He sheathed the knife.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  He sighed and tugged off his helmet. Guess the jig was up. No way would she offer such a smile again once she knew his identity. “Yeah, Brenna. You know me.”

  Her whole body stiffened, and her gaze turned hard. “Eric Buchanan.”

  Not exactly a warm welcome, not that he expected one. After a decade, though, he’d hoped the next time they met, he’d make a better impression. Or at least say something more profound.

  He peered inside the truck. The front seats were a mess, covered with coffee, sweet-smelling candies, and what looked like the contents of an exploded purse. An emergency kit sat on the passenger seat, and he spotted ski goggles stuffed in the bag.

  “Here.” He held out his helmet. “Put this on. I need your goggles to drive the snowmobile.”

  She hesitated, drawing back into the mangled truck, looking as though she planned to stay there. What the hell? Brenna might hate him, but she wasn’t stupid.

  The wind howled, and the sun dipped below the treeline, casting them in dark shadows. The headlights from the snowmobile provided minimal light.

  “We need to go,” he insisted. The intensity of the wind’s howling increased. “It’s getting ugly.”

  Brenna pursed her lips. Darkness shrouded her fine features, but a trail of dried blood from her forehead and mouth indicated she’d hit her head. His heart beat heavy in his chest. He couldn’t leave her here. He wouldn’t. But knocking her out and hauling her over his shoulder to get her to the cabin seemed a bit barbaric, even if it was for her own safety.

  “My seat belt’s jammed.”

  “What?”

  She rolled her eyes and spoke slower. “My. Seat. Belt. Is. Jammed. I can’t get it to release the clip.”

  “Oh.” He ducked into the truck and leaned across her body. The aroma of coffee and candy flooded his senses, along with something else, something more subtle. Roses. As if soft flower petals lifted off the warmth of Brenna’s skin. The floral scent caressed his face. He drifted closer, wanting to nuzzle into the heat of her body.

  Brenna stiffened. “Do you plan to sniff the seatbelt into working order?”

  Busted!

  He silently cursed and pulled on the seatbelt. “Sorry, you smell nice, is all.”

  She huffed.

  He pushed the button, and yanked on the belt, but the clip had locked. “Yup, jammed.”

  “No shit.”

  He glanced up. Her gaze matched the coldness blowing around them, but her pouty lips, partially open, spoke of wanting something else. Those lips. So close…

  He cleared his throat. “We don’t have time to fiddle with this. I’ll cut you out.”

  She nodded, and he used his knife to cut through the belt. He ducked out of the truck and picked up his helmet. He held his hand out to help Brenna down.

  She eyed his open palm as if it contained a grenade.

  “Brenna…I know you hate—”

  She snatched the helmet from his hands and stuffed it on her head. She pulled her gloves on and handed him her purple toque and ski goggles. “Here,” she said. “I have supplies in the back.”

  Not one to refuse a toque in the middle of a snowstorm, Eric threw on the rose-scented hat before fitting the goggles.

  After zipping it up, Brenna grabbed the large emergency kit from the passenger seat and hopped out of the truck. Sort of. More like she fell out. She winced and sucked back air. He reached out to support her, but she snatched her arm out of his reach.

  “I’m fine,” she hissed.

  “Obviously.”

  She shuffled to the back door of the extended cab, and yanked on the handle. It didn’t budge, and Brenna went flying back, ass-first in the snow. She yelped.

  “Uh…” He leaned down to help her up, extending his hand.

  She snarled at him.

  Geez! If looks could kill. He snatched his hand back and turned to the door. He ran his knife along the seams as he had with the driver’s side door, and tried to ignore Brenna scrambling to her feet. She stood beside him, her breath coming out in little puffs of white air, as if daring him to laugh or comment. Not happening. Not when she packed a deadly flashlight and looked for an excuse to use it on him. He bit his tongue and tried the handle. The door popped open.

  Brenna huffed and leaned into the truck to haul out a large backpack. When he glanced at the backseat, he spotted another suitcase.

  “Do you need the other one?” he asked.

  “No, that one just has clothes.” She slipped the backpack on and placed the shoulder strap of the emergency kit around her neck so it hung in front of her. “I’m taking the one with food.”

  Brenna had always been practical. Not like any of the women he dated.

  She cast a forlorn look at the second bag before slamming the door shut on whatever it contained. “Let’s go.”

  The gash on her forehead had stopped bleeding, and although she moved a bit stiffly, it appeared her injuries were superficial, not life threatening or seriously debilitating. He glanced back at the truck, and its smashed hood. He sucked in a breath. She’d been lucky. Very lucky. Good thing she’d been driving this old monster of a truck.

  Her worn jeans clung to her legs. They wouldn’t provide much insulation in this weather or protection against the wind, but it was a short ride to her parents’ cabin and at least she had a thick winter jacket. He nodded at the bags. “You going to be okay with that?”

  Her response came out as a snort. Eric gritted his teeth and bit down on a response. They climbed on the snowmobile in silence as the wind and snow continued to rush over their faces with blistering speed. Brenna placed the emergency kit between them before loosely holding on to his sides. He half turned to her.

  “Hold on tighter,” he yelled. The wind carried his words away.

  “What?” she yelled back.

  “Hold on!”

  She didn’t reply, but her arms wrapped around him and gripped tighter. He revved the engine and turned the snowmobile toward the Jones’ cabin.

  The sun set, casting them in darkness, and the storm intensified instead of letting up. His vision reduced to the two narrow beams from the snowmobile’s headlights. His heart lodged in his throat, and his hands clutched the handles in a death grip. Brenna’s warm presence against his back spurred him on. He had to get her to safety.

  In the bleary dark, snow banks and snow-laden trees looked the same. All the same. Fuck!

  Was he lost? Maybe they shou
ld’ve stayed with the truck.

  Eric kept his head tucked and continued navigating through the trenches and valleys. No wolves howled to welcome the night. Not in this storm. Nothing would be out hunting. Only the sounds of groaning trees and the screaming wind filled Eric’s ears. The trip should’ve taken five minutes. Maybe he was lost.

  His numb fingers ached from his tight grip on the handles. The wind sliced his skin, leaving it raw and blistered. He slowed the snowmobile down. Maybe he should turn around. At least the truck offered shelter.

  The headlights snagged on a dark cabin looming in the field of white. The Jones’ cabin. Thank fuck. Eric sighed and his shoulders dropped as he pulled up to the front entrance. Brenna relaxed against him.

  “Come on!” he yelled over the wind. He turned off the machine and hopped into the knee-deep snow.

  Brenna slowly clambered down after him and dumped the emergency kit on the snowmobile. She moved less stiffly, but her injuries probably pained her more than she let on.

  “Let me take that.” He reached for the backpack.

  Brenna flinched.

  “What the fuck, Brenna!” he said. “I’d never hurt you.” Well, he had hurt her, but not physically. He’d never raise a hand to a woman. With a grunt, he snatched the backpack’s strap and pulled the bag from her, then picked up the emergency kit. With both bags clutched in one hand, he grabbed Brenna’s hand and hauled her toward the cabin before she could protest, or flinch again.

  Luckily, she didn’t put up a fight. Either too tired, too hurt or too cold, she let him pull her through the deep snow. She said nothing when he took the key from its not-so-secret hiding place, unlocked the door, and pushed her into the safety of the cabin. Eric followed her in and shut the door on the blizzard.

  Flicking on the lights, the lodgepole pine cabin looked and smelled exactly as he remembered. Basic two-floor layout with bedrooms upstairs, and living room, kitchen and bathroom downstairs. The inside glowed a warm orange as the lights reflected off the interior wood, and illuminated the minimal furnishings. Pine, slightly infused with must, flooded his senses, but the stagnant air contained more warmth than outside.

  Brenna stood stiffly in the middle of the room studying him. Her lips compressed into a thin line. “Thank you,” she said.

  Hell, he was thankful he’d found her when he did. Surviving a night in that truck would’ve been difficult, and with her sore muscles and head injury, tramping through the forest…

  Even if she survived the storm, the wolves would be out after the weather settled to search for their next meal. In the middle of winter, they’d be starved for food and would hunt anything available.

  His gut twisted.

  He dropped the backpack and emergency kit. The tension in his shoulders released. “You’re welcome.”

  Her gaze flicked from him to the door.

  Understanding hit him like a semi-truck. “I’m not fucking going out there again.”

  She flinched.

  “Look, Brenna. I know you think little of me, but I can’t go back to my parents’ cabin in this. It’s too dangerous.”

  Her shoulders drooped.

  What the hell? He saved her life, and she wanted him to leave? To risk his life again, so she didn’t have to be in the same room as him? Un-fucking-believable.

  She hated him. He got that. But this…unreasonable. The Brenna he knew throughout high school wouldn’t have been so spiteful, so…cold.

  But then, the Brenna he knew was from years ago.

  Maybe he wasn’t the only one who’d changed.

  “I’ll get the fire going.” His heart fell heavy in his chest. “Did you want to make something warm to drink or take a hot bath?”

  Brenna’s dark gaze turned to him again and narrowed.

  “A bath will help relieve stiff and sore muscles. It looks like you need it.” Would probably help melt that cold heart, too. Of course, ice was probably the better option for reducing swelling, but already cold to the bone, the bath would be more relaxing.

  “I’ll make some hot chocolate,” she said.

  Her tone sounded resigned, but with the one statement, the anger and hurt coursing through his veins eased away. With a momentary truce, Eric set to building a fire. His mind reeled. He’d secretly hoped for an opportunity to be alone with Brenna. Now that he had the chance, though, did he even want it?

  Had he been dreaming of a woman who no longer existed?

  ****

  Brenna cursed as she clanked around the kitchen, making hot chocolate and putting away the food she’d brought. She also stashed the remaining packages of candy hearts. They seemed like such a childish thing, but they were a family tradition for Valentine’s. She snuck one last piece and enjoyed the sweet flavour rolling over her tongue.

  Had she really suggested Eric go home in a blizzard after he saved her? What was she thinking? She acted like a spiteful hag, as if being nice to the man would put her in danger of falling for him again. She owed him her gratitude…and an apology.

  He’d made a roaring fire before going back out to the snowmobile. She thought it odd, but he said he wanted to move it to a more sheltered location and grab the other emergency supplies, the ones kept with the machine. They needed more wood, too.

  Oh heck, maybe he wanted to get away from the cold-hearted bitch and the tension stuffing up the cabin, so thick she could probably cut it with a butter knife.

  While he tramped around outside, she’d taken a long soak in the bathtub, letting her sore muscles loosen up. She’d cleaned the cut on her forehead, and after staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, tension evaporated from her veins. Minor injuries. She’d walked out of that crash with insignificant bumps and bruises.

  The bath and moving around had helped with the aches and stiffness. Why did Eric have to be right? It made it more difficult to hate him.

  Now, she set cups down after filling them with steaming hot water. She stirred in the chocolate.

  Eric had been gone for a while. Had he left?

  Her chest constricted. He might’ve been a royal jerk back then, but he didn’t deserve to die in a blizzard. She wasn’t an idiot. Even with her head tucked into the protective shield of Eric’s back, the jarring snowmobile ride had scared the crap out of her. They’d been lucky to reach her parents’ cabin. No way would he make it back to his place in this storm.

  She bit her lip as she continued to stir the hot chocolate. So determined to cling to her anger toward Eric, she’d acted like an idiot.

  She glanced at the door.

  Should she go after him? She tossed the idea away before chucking the spoon into the empty sink. If he’d left, there was nothing she could do.

  Her stomach twisted into a knot. Nausea coiled and threatened to rise. He better not have left!

  Eric stomped up the stairs outside, and her stomach settled. The door opened, and a burst of bone-chilling snow-packed air blasted her from across the room.

  Eric slammed the door shut with his foot and set an armful of wet logs by the fire to dry. He must’ve raided the wood pile by the side of the cabin.

  He pulled off the ski goggles and cast a wary glance her way—probably in fear of more ice-queen shenanigans—before removing the purple toque. He placed both items by the fire to dry as well.

  Her throat grew thick, and words failed her.

  Eric slipped out of his thick winter jacket and snow pants, and hung them on the peg by the door beside her stuff.

  Underneath his snow gear, he wore form-fitting dark denim jeans that clung to his powerful thighs and a navy blue T-shirt with a scuba diving logo, which accentuated his broad shoulders and strong arms.

  She swallowed.

  The last decade had been kind to Eric, aging him to perfection. The youthful pretty-boy looks had been replaced with harder edges, transforming him into a devastatingly attractive man. Instead of detracting from his looks, his wind-chapped cheeks carved an even more masculine image. Sandy brown hair, a
narrow, straight nose between piercing green eyes, a square jaw with a couple days’ worth of stubble, and full kissable lips—Eric Buchanan had become more handsome than he deserved.

  His shoulders remained tense. His gaze flicked to her while his mouth flattened. He straightened his tall, fit frame. For the first time since he rescued her, he looked unsure of what to do.

  “Here.” She held out a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

  Eric nodded and closed the distance to take the mug from her. His cold hand briefly closed around hers, but didn’t linger. In fact, he jerked the hot chocolate away so quickly, some of the frothy liquid slopped over the rim.

  “Look—” she started.

  “Listen—” he said.

  She rocked back on her heels, while he ran a hand through his silky hair.

  “Ladies first.” His voice always had a rough timbre to it, like he was part mountain man. Even when she despised him, she couldn’t bring herself to hate his voice. It vibrated along her skin and sank in to warm her bones. It hadn’t lost any of its potent power over the years; instead, it had gained new depth.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “For suggesting you go. You saved me today and didn’t deserve that. Thank you for getting me out of the truck and bringing me here.”

  His shoulders relaxed, and his mouth softened. “You’re welcome.”

  They stared at their hot chocolate in silence. At least she did. She couldn’t bring herself to maintain eye contact any longer.

  “Brenna.” He cleared his throat. “I know I hurt you that summer, and I’m sorry.”

  Immediate denial caught in her throat. She wanted to say he hadn’t hurt her, that she hadn’t cared enough for his actions to cut deep, but that would be a lie. And who was she trying to fool? The apology, though years late, warmed her more than the roaring fire.

  “I hope we can use this time to catch up,” he continued as if oblivious to the impact of his words. “You might’ve left without looking back, but I always wondered what happened to you. We have nothing else to do, so why don’t you tell me what you’ve been up to?”

  Brenna almost laughed. He thought she hadn’t looked back? That she’d gone off without a second thought? What would he think if he knew she replayed their first and only kiss more than a few times? More than she cared to admit? That she used that moment, though fleeting and short lived, as a benchmark for all guys?