It was exactly how Chappy liked it—sparse, clean, and decidedly uncluttered, except for the multitude of blankets on most available surfaces.
Another shiver shook his frame, and he turned to the coatrack. He took off his jacket and hung it up, along with his hat and scarf. He had a feeling his hair was sticking up, but he didn’t care. He’d never been the kind of guy to worry about his looks . . . it wasn’t as if anyone cared what he looked like while on a mission, or during a sweaty hike in the woods.
Running a hand over his face, Chappy wondered what Carlise was thinking. Of him. Of his space. But then he mentally shrugged. It didn’t matter, really. She was stuck here until the snow stopped. He assumed she had a car somewhere and hadn’t just materialized out of thin air. He’d deal with that later.
Right now, all he wanted was to get warm.
Carlise stood stock still and watched Riggs take off his coat and wander over to the fireplace. He picked up two logs, which were sitting on the floor nearby, and threw them onto the flames.
He turned to her and said, “If the fire gets low or if you’re chilly, feel free to throw more logs on. I’ve stacked a ton of wood on the porch, so we’ll be good for as long as the storm continues. There’s a bathroom over there.” He gestured to a door on the far side of the room with his head. “Get warm. If your clothes are wet, you’re welcome to wear some of mine until yours are dry. I’ve got shirts and sweats in the dresser over there. I’ve got water and food too. Just don’t go outside. Don’t want you getting turned around and lost.”
He closed his eyes briefly, and it seemed to Carlise that he swayed on his feet.
“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t normally leave you to fend for yourself, but I don’t feel so good. I think I’m getting the flu or something. Don’t get too close because the last thing we need is both of us being sick. I’m sure I’ll feel better soon enough. I’m gonna stay here on the couch. Make yourself at home.”
Then he sat on the sofa, leaned over and took off his boots, threw them to the side closer to the fire, and pulled what looked like a heavy blanket over his lap. He tugged it up to his chin, leaned back, and rested his head on the couch cushion behind him before closing his eyes again.
It was as if she wasn’t there, which confused Carlise. She didn’t expect to be treated like a friend or even a welcomed guest—she was neither. But it was kind of odd that he was ignoring her entirely.
A shiver went through her frame, and she forced herself to move. She shrugged off her backpack and left it where it fell against the wall. Then she leaned over and fumbled with the laces of her boots. They were soaking wet, caked with snow, and difficult to untie. When she finally got them untied and the boots off, she looked over at Riggs.
He hadn’t moved. His eyes were still closed and, if she wasn’t mistaken, his cheeks were flushed. She took off her coat, hung it up on the rack next to his, and hesitatingly walked toward the couch.
She needed to get warm but remembered that he’d mentioned being sick. She felt a pang of remorse that he’d been out in the storm because of her.
Carlise looked around. She hadn’t missed the fact that his cabin was essentially just one room. It was a relief that it had a bathroom, at least, so she wouldn’t have to go back into the storm to find an outhouse. There were no lights on in the cabin, but the light from the fire was enough to illuminate the space.
It was . . . cozy. Carlise liked it a lot. This was no tourist destination. No bear or moose motifs decorated the comforter on the bed, and from what she could see, the kitchen looked sparse but functional. There were no light fixtures hanging from the ceiling. In fact, she doubted the place even had electricity, as she couldn’t see any appliances or lamps that would need to be plugged in.
The warmth from the fire drew her closer, and Carlise sat on the floor in front of the dancing flames, holding her hands out gratefully. She’d get up in a bit and see about finding something dry and warm to put on.
She’d almost died out there.
She knew that. Riggs probably knew it as well.
If he hadn’t found her, she wouldn’t have been able to walk for much longer. She had no idea what he’d been doing out in the storm, but she was grateful.
Carlise spared a thought for the dog. He had appeared out of nowhere. The longer she’d failed to find any sort of shelter, the more frustrated, depressed, and terrified she had become. At one point, nearly delirious from the cold, she’d even considered stopping. Just lying down, letting herself fall asleep and die. That’s when she’d spotted the dog.