Against the wind, I push the door open. It’s going to be a bad blizzard, and I’m thankful Pete insisted on delivering an extra load of groceries from the small mom and pop grocery store he owns with his wife in Old Harbor. I’ll have enough to get me through.
I step into the snow and swear under my breath first before they fly from my mouth.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing? You need to get out of here!” Rage burns swift and hot, and I stomp across the yard to the reporter’s car. She’s standing there, fucking standing there, staring across where the churning water would be if the darkness hadn’t been so absolute, snow crusted in the faux fur of her hood, hands tucked into her pockets, like it’s a sunny afternoon and she’s enjoying the day. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
She turns toward me, hearing the words the wind didn’t whip away from us.
Snowflakes are frozen on her light eyelashes, and tears cover her cheeks. Snot runs from her nose, and her lips are chapped.
She shrinks backward against the car. It’s still running, and her headlights give her a clear view of my scar.
This is just what I need.
I grab her arm and shake. “Drive to town and get out of the storm!”
Even as I say the words, I know how useless they are. The visibility is diminishing by the second. She’ll never reach town in this. One wrong turn of the wheel would send her into the guardrail, and possibly over the side if she were going fast enough. At the very least, she’d slide into a ditch, but she’d still die of hypothermia and dehydration before anyone would find her. Forcing her to leave now would be sending her to her death.
“Fuck!” There’s nothing I can do but bring her inside out of the cold.
“I’m sorry,” she cries, wiping her nose with a mitten. “I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Not now, you sure as hell don’t. I should leave you out here to freeze to death.”
She straightens. A hard look comes into her eyes, and she blinks away the flakes still attached to her eyelashes. “Then do it.”
“I’ve got enough blood on my hands. I don’t need to add to it. Do you have a bag?”
She nods, her teeth chattering.
“Then grab the goddamned thing and come on.”
I turn my back against the wind as I wait for her to kill the engine and pull a small suitcase out of the backseat.
Letting her deal with her own luggage, I jerk my head toward the door, the violent wind whistling past me, stinging my ears.
I open the door for her, and she pauses, leaving my ass outside. Impatiently, I push her between her shoulder blades, and she stumbles into the darkened foyer.
It’s a small little space, hooks on the walls for jackets, a storage bench to sit on when I need to tie my shoes and boots. The door slams shut behind me, and the howling ceases. The lighthouse was built to withstand gales of up to eighty miles per hour, though it rarely happens, not in this part of Minnesota.
The foyer’s dark, and trying to find her bearings, she brushes against me.
Her breath hitches.
“Despite what you’ve heard about me, I won’t hurt you.” My voice comes out in more of a snarl than anything, but her fear reminds me of the last time I saw my wife. The look in her eyes. I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.
“I’m not scared.”
“Yeah, you are, but it’s your own fault you’re in this position.”
She sniffles. “You’re not kidding.”
I scoff. “Take your jacket off and hang it on a hook. Leave your boots and push them out of the way. I’m not very formal around here, but I like to keep it clean. They call me a beast, but I don’t live like one, and contrary to popular belief, I don’t have magical maid service.”
“But you do live in a castle,” she says, bumping against me again.
I open the door to the kitchen to let in some light, and I prop it open with a doorstop the shape of a fat cat. “I’m far from a prince. Leave your suitcase. When you can feel your fingers again, I’ll show you the guest room.”
“Do you have...Can I...Do you have a bathroom?”