Faked - Karla Sorensen Page 0,42

into his category either.

As Claire hopped onto the deck and made her way along the path I'd shoveled for her, I knew that being stuck with her in this cabin would undeniably be worse than that gaudy bedroom in the mansion where we were being watched.

She could be herself.

I could be myself.

And we had nowhere to go while she sat there categorizing me as a harmless, fluffy teddy bear.

"Brrrr," she said as she huddled next to me. "That wind is frigid."

I shoved the door open and motioned her in. "Let's go. I'll get a fire going."

She preceded me into the dark cabin, lit only by a small lamp along the small stretch of kitchen counter. Of course, Scotty left a light on for that damn cat.

When I shut the door, Claire blew out a hard breath. "This is ..."

"Tiny?" I supplied.

She exhaled a laugh. "Yeah."

Scotty's cabin was one room, kitchen counter stretching along the back, a bathroom tucked next to it without much more than a serviceable shower, toilet, and sink crammed into the small room. Separating the sitting area was a tiny, beat-up table with two chairs tucked against it. I'd had my fair share of meals at that table.

The couch and chair—basic and brown leather—faced a small TV on an equally small console table because when Scotty was home, he was outdoors. His property was probably more than five acres of heavily wooded forests, and the entire square footage of his cabin couldn't have been more than five hundred.

The soaring ceilings of the main room is what made it feel bigger than it was. The old-fashioned wood-burning stove set into the back corner gave it a warm, inviting feeling, which would get even better once I had it lit.

"Bedroom upstairs?" she asked.

I nodded. "The loft."

She eyed the staircase warily.

"Don't worry," I told her. "I have a long history crashing on that couch, and I've had much worse nights of sleep than that."

Claire turned and faced the part of the cabin that was all windows. It was Scotty's, and my, favorite part of his cabin. Yeah, it was small, but one whole side showed the beauty of this place we lived.

Right now, it looked cold and a little savage with nothing to block it from our view.

She shivered. "I feel like we're being swallowed whole by that storm."

I tilted my head. "You okay, princess?"

She was quiet, slowly rubbing her hands up and down along her upper arms. "I think, in my head, I imagined that the drive would be the worst part. But there is something terribly disconcerting about being stuck inside a stranger's home for who knows how long and just praying we don't, I don't know, freeze to death or something."

Approaching her carefully, I set my hands on her shoulders like I had just, shit, done one day earlier at Richard's. "We won't freeze to death. Even if his propane runs out, there's plenty of firewood for the stove, and it gets pretty toasty in here."

Her eyes were so big and trusting. Trusting that I could help us through this.

Instead of making me feel panicked or trapped, like I might normally, my chest warmed at how quickly she believed me. My hands gently tightened, and I felt the muscles relax under my palms.

Claire nodded. "Okay, so we won't freeze, but is there food?"

"Oh, yeah." I squeezed her shoulders again and went to investigate the kitchen. "One thing I know about Scotty is that his freezer is always full of terrible bachelor meals."

I pulled the small door open and wasn't disappointed.

"See?" I told her, pulling one black and red carton out. "We might hit a week’s worth of sodium in one meal, but we have plenty to eat. And that pantry will be good and stocked too. He doesn't run to the store much unless we're training and he's in Whistler every day with me, so we won't have much in the way of fresh food."

She sighed in relief, and I felt her come up behind me, close enough that her body heat warmed my back. "He likes chicken pot pies, I see."

"Who doesn't?" I glanced at her over my shoulder. "Hopefully you do too because that's what you get for dinner if I'm cooking."

Claire smiled. "I'll check the pantry for other options. Maybe I can whip something else together."

A flash of movement caught my eye, and I turned, hands propped on my hips. "There's the little asshole herself."

Claire clucked her tongue. "She can't be that bad."

Agnes poked