Page 33 of Billionaire's Coastal Haven

“Oh. Thanks, then.” I cross to the window. “These are painted shut. We’ll never get them open.”

“You saved my life. I saved yours. We’re even now, but we can’t stay here.” Her gruff tone makes the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. Why is she pissed off? Is shemad I saved her or mad that she had to save me? This woman is harder to figure out than a Rubix cube in the dark.

“Where to, then?” The main suite and library also have fireplaces. Not keen on hanging out in the former rat den. There’s also the potbelly stove in the kitchen. “Library or kitchen?”

“Library, I guess. It’s smaller. Easier to heat.”

I gather the blankets she dropped in the entryway and lead her into the library. “There wasn’t any other wood in the kitchen, so what do you suggest we burn? Furniture?”

She makes a dramatic sweep of her hand toward the window. “We’re in the middle of a forest. There has to be something out there we can burn.”

“That’s all wet.” Even I know wet wood won’t ignite.

“Do you have any supplies in your truck? Emergency roadside kit or something?”

“A few protein bars.”

“Did you look in the shed out back?”

I’d forgotten about the shed. “Not yet.” I deposit the blankets on the library floor and dust off my hands. “I’ll grab the stuff out of my car and see what I can find outside.” Hopefully a moment of distance from Zoe will help me think through her strange behavior.

Rain plummets from the sky like Niagara Falls. I search the backseat to gather what I can. I knew I wouldn’t be back to the bed and breakfast until late tonight and packed a bag with a change of clothes, so I grab it, plus the protein. I check the rest of the car but don’t find anything useful except my briefcase filled with paper we can burn if we need to. This is Washington. I should at least have an umbrella.

I place everything in the entryway, then head for the shed. A pile of cut logs is an unexpected but welcome sight. Loading up my arms, I run through the rain and protect the wood as well as I can.

Zoe has created a small palette of stacked blankets on the floor in front of the fireplace. Dusty, barren bookshelves line the two opposite walls. A small closet door hides behind the cobwebs decorating the corners.

I set the logs in the corner and hand her my duffel bag. “There’s a clean shirt and sweatpants in there if you want to get out of your wet dress and warm up.”

She eyes the bag suspiciously, like it holds a venomous snake instead of dry clothing. I drop into a crouch, unzip the bag, and pull out the clothes. “Here. Take them.”

“Don’t you want to change? You’re as wet as I am.”

“I’m not a total asshole.”

She sucks her lips between her teeth. Her eyes drop to the see-through dress shirt molded to my chest, and her cheeks bloom with color. “Thank you.” She tentatively takes the pile and walks down the hallway. I get to work building a new fire in the fireplace, so the room is warm when she returns.

The fire crackles delightfully as the flames build. Squeaky floor joists signal her return as she enters the room.

My T-shirt and pants swallow her frame, but her cheeks are rosy again, and her lips aren’t as blue as Jack Frost’s.

“Better?” I ask.

“Much.” She rubs the sleeve of the shirt between her thumb and forefinger. “What kind of fabric is this?”

“Cashmere.”

Her mouth drops open. “You have cashmere T-shirts? That’s a thing?”

My shoulder bobs. “They’re comfortable, especially if I’m wearing them for a day and half when I travel.”

“Must be nice to have the world at your beck and call.” She sits cross-legged on the corner of the blankets. “Have you called for our rescue yet?”

I show her my phone screen. “Dead. What about yours?”

“In my purse. In my car. At the bottom of the ravine.”

“I’ll buy you a new one.”