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“Power lines came down earlier in the day. There was a strong wind, you might have noticed?—,”
Out of nowhere, he saw the red scarf flying through the sky, and then the glimpse of a pony tail, on a similar trajectory, at a ninety degree angle from the woman to whom it was attached. The warmth flooded him again, reminding him what it had been like to feel her body against his.
He closed his eyes. “No cars have been able to use the road?”
“No. And with the storm, it’ll be a few days before it’s operational. Do you have enough by way of provisions?”
Dante didn’t answer. His mind was now on the woman and the certainty he had that she hadn’t driven to his property at all.
She’d walked.
Walked, he thought scathingly. Of course she had. That was just exactly the kind of foolhardy thing she would have done. Walked and walked until she’d found herself in the middle of the woods on the edge of a cliff with a once in a hundred year storm brewing.
“Dante?”
“Yes, yes, I’ve got provisions.” He disconnected the call without a word of thanks and, as with that morning, stalked from his house with intent, eyes scanning the forest for a hint of red, temper blazing in a way he knew he needed to control.
She wasn’t going to cry.
She wasn’t.
Only…she stared at her cell phone, smashed on the ground, her last hope of help fading as the sky turned black, and night grew perilously close. Beyond the tree trunks, she knew civilization was out there, but there were no visible lights of any towns. She felt utterly isolated and totally alone, and for the first time since leaving Australia, Georgia craved the familiarity of home. She missed the boys, their small apartment, she even missed their crotchety downstairs neighbour.
She shoved the treacherous phone into her pocket, and took another step, but her ankle was now like a migraine localized in her foot. She squeezed her eyes shut, forced herself to move forward, and then she heard it. A curse. Was it her imagination? A hypothermic apparition?
“You have the worst judgement of anyone I’ve ever met,” the man ground out, and lightning flashed at that moment, so his face was illuminated, casting it in pure shadow, showing the harshness and strength of those features, so she trembled. She wasn’t afraid, but she was very close to the end of her emotional equilibrium.
“What are you doing here?” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest then crying out because it forced her foot to bear weight and she couldn’t. She pushed one arm back to the tree she’d been holding for support.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d walked?”
“Why would I have?”
“You’ve sprained your ankle,” he pointed out. “Do you really think you should have left the safety of my home?”
“You were pretty clear about wanting me off your property.”
“I do want you off my property,” he said sharply. “But I also don’t want your death on my conscience.”
“Then allow me to absolve you of any guilt there. I have my own free will, and I made my own decisions. Whether they were good decisions or not doesn’t matter. It has nothing to do with you.”
“Okay, fine,” he held up his hands in the air in an obvious gesture of frustration. “Would you like me to go back?”
She shivered. His hair was also plastered to his face but where she suspected she looked like a drowning rat, he just looked even more handsome, if that was possible. It seemed to highlight his bone structure, and she hated him for that.
“Yes,” she said, internally berating herself for being so stupid.
“You are unbelievable.”
She tilted her chin, digging in. “Go. Leave me alone.”
“And what? How do you propose getting back to wherever it is you came from?”
“For your information, Mr High-Handed, I was just about to call emergency services for help.”
“Good luck with that,” he said.
“I don’t need luck,” she lied.
