"Not that I know of. The way Grandma made it sound, I was the only person she wanted to be there. It was part of her estate. My inheritance."
Her eyes take on a shine and I almost reach for her, expecting tears. Ayla takes a steadying breath, instead, and then meets my eyes with that same determination I saw earlier.
"She said I was the only one she trusted to take care of her part of the mountain."
I nod. "That sounds like Margery. She swore no one was going to ruin her spot."
That earns me a smile, and even in the dim light of the shed, I'm struck by how pretty she is. Which is something I shouldn't notice.
Not even a little bit.
Because Margery didn't send this girl to me for my own enjoyment. She sent her to me for protection. To keep her safe.
So I better get to work.
I consider my tools, mentally running through a list of what I might need to secure the cabin. Based on the amount of damage Ayla described, I likely can't fix everything tonight, but I can at least make sure the door is set to rights and secure. So the woman can sleep without worrying about someone breaking in again.
It's quick work to get everything together, and when I look back at Ayla, she's watching me.
Eyes assessing, but I can't read her expression.
A quiet voice in my mind warns me to keep up the front I use around most people. Cold, cruel, frightening.
But I can't with Margery's granddaughter.
And what's truly terrifying is that I don't want to.
4
AYLA
Oren helps me into his truck, giving me a sideways look. "Where's your car?"
"Don't have one." That answer seems to stun him, then his eyes turn concerned. I shrug, like it's no big deal. "I sold my car when I decided to move up here. I wasn't in any kind of shape to make the trip and I figured the money would be more useful. Took a bus to town, and the woman who owns the market had her teenage son give me a ride. He dropped me off, but we couldn't see the door from the angle of the drive. By the time I found the damage, he was already gone. Grandma's instructions included clear directions to your property, so I just walked over here."
He runs his hand through his hair, and I'm tempted to pat down the standing spikes. To learn how it feels against my palm. It's an urge I don't give in to. I brace myself when he looks away from me, his eyes scanning the area around us, like he's looking for dangers I can't see. I expect him to tell me how stupid it was for me to come to his cabin alone, or that I should've made the delivery driver wait until I knew it was safe, or had a phonenumber for someone I could call to rescue me. Or any other number of things I should've done but didn't. That's what I'm used to.
Instead, when he focuses his gaze back on me, he says, "That was brave of you."
My heart stops, literally stops, freezing between beats as my brain tries to process what he said. The respect in his voice and even what I suspect is caring. I can't seem to breathe or even blink. I'm just caught, staring at this granite block of man, who is so handsome it makes everything else in the world less beautiful, and there's nothing I can say.
He reaches around me, stretching the seat belt taut, and buckling me in. It's the click that breaks the spell, or the way he tugs on the strap, just once, like he needs to verify I'm secure, but I'm moving before I can stop myself. My hand lands on his forearm, corded with muscle and covered in dark, wiry hair, and I can finally speak.
"Thank you."
Now he's the one frozen, it seems, even if only for a breath. He hesitates, his eyes lifting up to my lips and then darting away. I relish the warmth of his skin under my fingertips and then I save us both, maybe, when I lift my hand up, releasing him from my touch.
"You're welcome."
It's a gruff statement, gravelly and deep, but it's not cold. In fact, there's a heat underneath his words that sends a flush over my skin.
He steps back, shutting my door, and I gulp down air as he makes his way around to the driver's side. Oren doesn't say anything when he gets in, just starts the engine and then shifts into reverse. His arm stretches out, resting above my head as he checks the back window, and I can sense the weight of it there. It makes me imagine what it would feel like on me, holding meagain like he did in the workshop, the strength of him loaned to me when I most need it. I want that. And more.
Because if just his arm makes me feel that way, what would having all of him do?
"Wait," I say, and he looks at me, eyebrows raised, as he hits the brakes, the truck grinding to a stop on the rocks of his driveway. "You don't have your seat belt on."
Oren shakes his head, reaching behind him and pulling the strap out, around his chest. He halts when I reach out my hand, a confused wrinkle in his forehead as I take the buckle from him and slide it home, hearing the same satisfying click as earlier when it caught. I slip my fingers under the silky nylon, and it's impossible not to notice the heat radiating off him as I tug on it just the way he did to mine.