The Protector (Game of Chance, #1)(10)

“Come on,” he said a little more gruffly than he intended. “I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing.” Chappy started walking, looking over his shoulder to see her following as he headed back toward the cabin.

“Where’d the dog go?” she asked after a couple of minutes.

“Don’t know.”

“Is it yours?”

“I’ve never seen him before tonight,” Chappy told her. “And there’s no way I’d let any pet of mine get as skinny as he is.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay?”

He didn’t know that either. And Chappy couldn’t help but be worried himself. He hadn’t seen the mutt since he’d started talking to Carlise. It didn’t sit well with him that the dog would be out by himself in the storm. “I hope so,” he said softly, not sure what else to say to her question.

They walked in silence the rest of the way toward the cabin, and Chappy found himself both grateful and confused. Why wasn’t she asking more questions? She should be trying to figure out where she was, asking more about him, wanting to know when she could get out of here, asking for a phone . . . something. But instead, she simply walked behind him, using his footsteps to help her tromp through the snow, and kept her mouth shut.

By the time Chappy saw his cabin, he was more than thankful and less concerned about the woman’s lack of conversation. He was shivering violently and couldn’t think about much beyond getting inside and in front of the fire to warm up.

He stepped up onto the porch and sighed in relief. He heard Carlise coming up behind him as he jerked open the door.

“You didn’t lock it?” she asked.

Chappy snorted. “It’s not as if someone was going to steal anything while I was gone,” he said a little sarcastically as he stepped inside. The warmth of the cabin felt like heaven. And the roaring in his ears from the wind abruptly ceased as he shut the door behind Carlise.

She hadn’t moved, except to step out of his way so he could shut the door. She looked around with wary eyes. His cabin was one room. There was a queen-size bed along one wall, a couch in the middle of the room facing a large fireplace, a small kitchen along the wall opposite the bed, and a door to the bathroom in the back wall.

Besides the couch and the bed, there was a bookcase, a dresser, a small side table next to the couch, a two-person table near the kitchen, and a large rectangular rug on the floor in front of the fireplace. That was it. The log walls were bare of any decorations, and there weren’t any pictures or other knickknacks to mess up the place.

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.