I put my arms around his neck, rising to kiss him, expecting a light hello kiss, but when his mouth meets mine, it’s a hard, deep one. I jump, startled, but he doesn’t notice that either. He kisses me with a ferocity that reminds me of the snow shelter, when he found me in the storm. A wordless, desperate kiss.
I return that kiss, feeding my own worries and uncertainty into it, looking for reassurance he’s okay, we’re okay, everything is fine. I find it there, in that hunger that promises he’s not withdrawing, not angry with me, just unsettled and looking for a way to work out his frustration.
I’m more than happy to give it to him, sliding my hands under his shirt, chuckling when he jumps at my cold fingers. When I try to pull away, though, he presses my hands to his skin. His eyes half close as I run my fingers over his chest. Then his own hands are undoing my belt and tugging down my jeans, the kiss never breaking. One leg free, and that’s enough, and his fingers are inside me, making me hiss, his cool fingers against my heat.
I raise my hips and rock against his hand, enjoying before realizing I’m leaving things rather one-sided. I undo his belt and reach inside his jeans, but then he’s moving up over me and he pauses, and I know what that pause means. I arch my hips in answer. His hands move to my hips and then he’s in me, and it’s like the kiss—hard and deep and a little bit desperate—and I reciprocate, beat for beat until another wordless pause, one I know just as well, and I grab his hips in answer, giving him the go, and letting myself follow until we’re lying in the snow, panting.
His lips move to my ear, and I’m ready for some wry comment about the snow or the very confused puppy. Instead, his lips press against my ear, breath warm, as he says, “I love you.”
I tense in surprise. Then I wrap my hands around his face, pull it over mine and say, “I—” But he cuts me off with a kiss. Before I can get my breath back, he’s picking me up, along with Storm, and carrying us into the house.
He deposits the puppy in the living room and then carries me upstairs. Once we’re in bed, I try again, lying on top of him, my face over his, and I get as far as “I—” before another kiss shuts me down.
“You don’t want me to say it,” I say when we finish.
He shakes his head, and I understand what he’s really saying. He doesn’t want me to echo him, to make the seemingly obligatory response.
“Can I show you instead?” I ask, and that gets the first sign of a smile since he came out the back door. He nods, and I show him.
FORTY-ONE
Sutherland is fully awake the next morning, coherent and asking to speak to me. Dalton and I head there after dropping off Storm.
Sutherland’s in his living room, dozing under a blanket. When I walk in, he starts awake. “Sorry. I keep thinking I’m fine, and then proving myself wrong. Got halfway through making breakfast and almost passed out. Kenny had to finish cooking.”
I take a seat on the sofa. “Don’t push. It’ll only slow things down.”
He starts to answer. Then his gaze flicks to the doorway as Dalton joins us.
Sutherland straightens fast. “Eric.”
Dalton takes the seat beside me. When Sutherland doesn’t go on, Dalton says, “Is me being here a problem?”
Sutherland smiles weakly. “Only if you’re ready to put me on chopping duty. I’ll take my lumps, but I need a bit of time to recover.” He turns to me. “I wanted to apologize for running. My timing put you and Will in an awkward position. Kenny explained all that. I appreciate you guys coming after me, though I know it caused trouble with…” His gaze slides to Dalton.
“Not going after you wasn’t an option,” Dalton says. “It’s their duty. Which means they had to break my rule. That’s fine, though, because I pull rules out of my ass. That’s how law works in Rockton.”
Sutherland flinches. I’m tempted to ease in and soften the blow. Then I remind myself how I felt when he took off, how pissed I’d been, how he could have gotten Anders killed in that accident, gotten us both killed in that storm. I keep my mouth shut and leave him pinned under Dalton’s gaze.
“I know you have reasons,” Sutherland begins. “I’m sorry. I’m really—”
“I don’t want your apologies. I just want you to make damned sure it doesn’t happen again. Have a little consideration for others. That never seemed to be a problem for you before.”
“It wasn’t. I just … I hit a wall, you know? I’d settled in, adjusted, and then it just … struck. The isolation. The boredom. The loneliness. I’ve heard people talk about cabin fever, but I didn’t really get it until the sun was gone before five. It felt like the walls closed in. I got so sick of the darkness and the cold, and I realized it was only going to get darker and colder. I snapped. It won’t happen again. I’m responsible for keeping myself busy and entertained. I’ve been talking to Kenny about a poker game I can join, maybe signing up for chopping duty voluntarily, if only to get me off my ass and out of town for a few hours. I might learn to hunt come spring.” A weak smile. “That’d shock the hell out of my dad. He never could get a rifle in my hands.”
“Trying fishing instead,” I say. “Once you’re well enough.”
He nods. “That’s more my speed. Thanks.”
And that’s all Sutherland wanted to tell me—to apologize. He tries adding tidbits to his description, but they won’t get me any farther in my investigation. I’ll ask Petra to stop by, see if she can coax a sketch from him, but I think I’ll need a suspect for him to ID. He just didn’t see enough for a sketch.