The Protector (Game of Chance, #1)(20)

Chappy stared at his reflection in the mirror and grimaced.

He felt awful. Grimy. He needed a shower in the worst way, but before that could happen, he’d need to go outside and start the generator so there would be hot water. He had a feeling going out into the storm wouldn’t do him any favors right now. He’d gone longer than this without showering in the past. He’d survive.

But he took his time using a washcloth to try to get as much of the dried sweat off his body as possible. He brushed his teeth, used his beard trimmer to shape up his beard, and put on a bit of deodorant. When he was done, he felt a little better. His face was still pale and his head a little woozy, but he hoped eating something would help.

Leaning heavily on the counter, Chappy stared at the mirror again, but his mind wasn’t on his looks . . . it was on the woman in his cabin. Carlise.

He didn’t remember much of the last three days, just a few blips. But one thing he did remember was waking up, disoriented, and holding her tightly against him. They’d slept as close as longtime lovers, and a sense of comfort and contentedness had filled him before he fell back to sleep.

Chappy wasn’t a man to trust easily. But for some reason, he instinctively trusted Carlise. Maybe it was because she literally could’ve done anything while he’d been out of it. She could’ve robbed him blind, put drugs in his water to kill him, or completely left him to deal with his sickness on his own. She hadn’t done any of those things.

She’d taken care of him.

He hated being sick, hated feeling helpless, and this woman, a stranger, had stepped up and done what was necessary to make sure he didn’t die.

Not that Chappy thought he would’ve kicked the bucket, but he definitely would’ve been in trouble if she hadn’t been there. She’d kept the cabin warm by stoking the fire, she’d helped him to the bathroom when he’d needed it, made him drink as much as possible and take meds.

In short . . . she’d gone above and beyond to help a stranger.

Chappy straightened too quickly—and had to throw out a hand against the wall to keep himself from falling over. “No sudden moves,” he muttered before reaching for the door handle. He wanted to see Carlise. Talk to her. Get to know her. And hanging out in the bathroom wasn’t going to get him the answers he needed. He wanted to know everything about the woman in the other room. Where she was from. What she did for a living.

Why the hell she’d been driving around on the back roads of Maine in the middle of a storm.

He opened the door and headed straight for his dresser. With his back to the kitchen, he tore off the T-shirt he’d been wearing for way too long and replaced it with a clean one. Then without really thinking—because he hadn’t ever had an overnight guest in his cabin before—he pushed his boxers down his legs and bent over to put on a clean pair.

He heard a slight gasp from the direction of the kitchen, and grimaced.

“Sorry,” he muttered, not turning around as he fumbled with one of the drawers and looked for a pair of sweats. “I forgot you were there.”

That was far from the truth. An undercurrent of awareness swam through his bloodstream. In the past, he’d felt edgy and uncomfortable when he knew someone was watching him . . . but Carlise’s gaze caused more of a buzzing feeling than an alarming one.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly.

Chappy finished dressing, then picked up his dirty clothes and added them to the hamper next to the dresser. He took a deep breath and finally turned to face his guest. He ignored the bed for now—he’d been laid up there for too long—and headed for the small table. His legs shook slightly, and he cursed his weakness.

“I made you a sandwich,” she said as she placed a plate in front of him on the table. “I wanted to make you some soup or something, but I didn’t think you’d want to eat it cold.”

Chappy looked up at her with a frown. “Why would I eat it cold?”

“Well, because you don’t have electricity, and if I tried to heat it on the fire, I’d probably burn it, or my hand, and ruin your pan in the process.”

“The stove is gas,” he said softly.

“What?”

“The stove. It runs on propane. I have a small tank under the sink that it’s hooked up to. I can heat water, sauté stuff, make pasta and rice, and anything else you can make with a pan on the stove top.”

Carlise stared at him for a long moment. “Oh,” she finally muttered.

“There’s also an icebox on the side of the porch. I use it in the winter because it’s more economical than plugging in the small fridge I have out in the storage building. I’ve got meat, milk, and cheese out there. Eggs, too, but they’re probably frozen solid. Hell, most likely everything is.”

“Wait, you have a fridge you can plug in? I didn’t think there was any electricity here,” she said.

She hadn’t sat down, was still standing next to the table staring at him. Chappy wanted to reach out and pull her into the other seat, but he also didn’t want to freak her out by touching her without permission. Yes, they’d slept wrapped around each other, and she hadn’t freaked out when he’d put his hand on her thigh earlier, but he didn’t want to push his luck.

“I have a generator outside. When I need to charge my electronics or use the few electrical appliances I have here and there, I can start it up and get some juice for a while. I don’t use it a lot, as the generator is loud, and I like the peace and quiet of the place.” He sighed. “I’m so sorry,” he said, shaking his head.