He hands me the water, and I drink some more. As our bodies heat up the insulated shelter, he pulls off his snowsuit. I do the same, and he sits there, cross-legged, ignoring the water pouch as I hold it out. Instead, he runs his hands over his face and through his hair and exhales as if he’s been holding his breath all this time.
I crawl over to him, and when he looks up again, my face is right there. I say, “I’m sorry,” and his hands are in my hair, lips on mine.
I lift my mouth to his, my lips soft, but it’s not that kind of kiss. It’s the kind that says he’s been going out of his mind since he flew back into Rockton and found me lost in the woods, midstorm, with the psycho who captured Nicole.
Now I’m here, and I’m safe. He’s built this shelter, and I’m finally safe.
So, no, it’s not a quiet kiss, or a soft kiss. It’s the kind that has me flat on my back in two seconds, and undressed in not much more. It’s hunger and need, edged with residual terror and panic. And I feed right back into it, my own terror and panic of the last twenty-four hours finding release in rough kisses and rougher hands and finally, proper release, deep and shuddering as I collapse onto the snow-packed ground.
Dalton hovers over me, breathing hard, his eyes closed. I reach up and put my hands against his cheeks. When he opens his eyes, I say, “Hello.”
He chuckles. “Missed that part, didn’t I?”
“Kind of.”
“I was worried.”
“I know.”
He rolls onto his back and flips me onto his chest.
“I hate worrying,” he says. “Fucking hate it.”
“But you’re so good at it.”
He pushes my hair back, and I feel the tremor in his fingers as he says, “You were gone, and the storm and then Will and Nicole and…” He swallows. “I was so fucking worried.”
I bend down and kiss him. “I’m sorry. I really am. Sutherland bolted, and I wanted sex.”
He sputters a laugh at that.
“Well, not with Sutherland, obviously,” I say. “But I wasn’t able to go to Dawson City with you this time, and it was a long three days.”
“You missed my scintillating conversation.”
“Nah, just the sex. So, see, the problem was this: if you came back and Sutherland was gone, we’d have had to go after him right away.”
“It could have waited five minutes.”
“It’d been three days, Sheriff. I wanted more than five minutes.”
“Pretty sure you didn’t just get more than five minutes.”
“I made an exception for your mood. You owe me. I will collect. Anyway, the point is that I went after Sutherland so I could get sex when you came back.”
“Not because you wanted to impress me? Have him waiting when I returned?”
“Mmm, yes. That, too. But the sex excuse is funnier.” I stretch out on him. “I made an error in judgment. The weather was good when we left. Perfect, in fact. Now I know not to trust that. It literally changed in a heartbeat.”
“It does that.” He pulls one of the emergency blankets over us. “I overreacted, and I’ll apologize for that. Obviously, I can’t insist you stay in town. That’s not right.”
“As my lover, no. As my boss, you totally can. I distinguish between the two just fine, Eric.”
“Are you telling me you wouldn’t have done the same under your old boss?”
“I didn’t want sex from my old boss,” I say with a smile, but then add, “No, I would have still left. This was simply employer-employee insubordination. Feel free to punish me for it. As for how you punish me, you can blur the employer/lover line there.”
A sudden laugh vibrates through him.
He shakes his head. “You punished yourself enough. Lesson learned. All I cared about was finding you. That storm blew up, and I started thinking of how big this forest is and how I might never—” He takes a deep breath. “Enough of that shit. You found Nicole.”
“Right. Good change of subject.” I start to roll off him, saying, “I’ll let you get comfortable,” and he says, “This is comfortable,” pulling me back on and adjusting the blanket over us. “If you get cold, let me know,” he says.
“Weirdly, despite being naked in an igloo, I’m not cold.” I purse my lips. “Except maybe my toes. I’m putting on my socks.” I do that, and I put his on him, too, which makes him smile, and then I stretch back out on his chest, cuddling into his body heat as I say, “So, about Nicole…”
“I fucked up. I—”
I press my fingers to his lips. “You thought she was dead, so you stopped looking for her. Will said you found a body. That’s not fucking up, Eric. I know you’re good at taking blame. Even better than me.”
“Nah, I’m minor league. You’re pro.”
I stick out my tongue and then say, “Well, as a pro, let me speak from experience and stop you right there. Skip it and move on, Sheriff. Tell me about Nicole.”
He does. Nicole Chavez came to Rockton eighteen months ago and hadn’t made much of an impression. That’s not a bad thing. She wasn’t a troublemaker, kept to herself.
She disappeared last year. It was late October, and the weather seemed fine, not unlike yesterday, but Dalton could read the signs that told him a storm was brewing. Come morning, Nicole’s roommate reported she’d been out all night.