Page 34 of Claimed on the Ridge

"Stay sharp. Watch the road when you're outside. Anything off, you come to me or Bryan."

He picks the hatchet back up and gets back to work.

Nobody asks about Kendall by name. Nobody needs to. The lodge is shifting into a posture I recognize from hunting seasons when the weather turns wrong and the elk move into avalanche corridors. Quiet adjustments. Sight lines checked. Locks verified. The mountain doesn't announce when it's paying attention. It just starts watching.

Sleep doesn't come. I lie in the dark and listen to the lodge settle, timber contracting in the cold. The same calculation keeps running. Who. When. How close.

By morning I haven't slept and I don't have answers. Gray light through the kitchen windows. The coffeepot is already half empty, which means Cameron has been through. The mug on the drying rack is his.

Kendall comes down the stairs and sidesteps the third step. She's wearing the flannel, sleeves rolled to her wrists, her hair down and tucked behind one ear. The mark I left below the other ear has faded to a pink shadow that catches light when she turns her head.

She moves to the coffeepot. The reach is guarded, left arm tucked close while the right does the work. She pours two cups without asking if I want one.

"Morning," she says, and sets mine on the counter between us.

"Morning."

She leans against the opposite counter and drinks. For once the quiet between us isn't loaded. The fire in the main room has burned low. The clock ticks above the stove. Outside, Cameron's boots crunch past the window on his way to his truck.

"Your brother was up before dawn," she says. "I heard the engine."

"Cameron doesn't sleep. He just finds things to fix until the sun comes up."

"That explains the oil stains on everything he owns."

"Those are permanent. We've tried."

"Have you tried soap?"

"Cameron considers soap a suggestion, not a requirement."

The corner of her mouth lifts. She lets it. This morning she isn't fighting the smile, and the unguarded version of it does more damage than anything she's aimed at me on purpose.

She wraps both hands around the mug. "Amberly gave me a breathing device. Plastic thing with a tube. I'm supposed to use it ten times an hour."

"Are you?"

"I'm averaging six. Don't tell her."

"Amberly finds out everything. She doesn't need my help."

"She's terrifying in a very calm way."

"That's the Sawyer women. Calm until they're not, and then you're already in trouble."

She laughs. The sound is low, unguarded, and it strips three layers of armor off her face at once. The wariness behind her eyes goes quiet and I'm looking at a woman I haven't met yet.The real one. The one underneath the flinches, the false name, the bag packed by the bed.

That laugh is going to be a problem. The version of her that produces it, unguarded and unplanned, makes me want to lock every door in this lodge and keep her on this side of them.

"Storm system's moving east," I say instead. "Pass should open in a day or two. I talked to Bryan about road conditions. When it clears, we'll make sure the route's safe before anyone drives it."

The laugh dies. The guard comes back sharp, and the woman standing across from me isn't the one who was here ten seconds ago.

"Before anyone drives it," she repeats. "Meaning before I drive it."

"Meaning the roads are dangerous after a storm like this. Avalanche risk on the switchbacks. Black ice through the pass."

"Meaning you've decided I'm not leaving until you say so."