Chapter Three

Cam

T he baby wasn’t crying, but she made noise almost nonstop. Gurgling, squeaking, grunting, and something that sounded a lot like laughing when Jake played with her. I hadn’t thought babies that tiny laughed yet.

I could have asked Jake, but I didn’t say a word. Sitting rigid with my feet flat on the floor, I stared at the orange glow through the ash-stained glass of the stove’s door and gulped my coffee. Toby went back and forth between me and Jake, not sure what to make of any of this.

Join the club.

Normally, I’d have my legs stretched out and my feet propped on the stone hearth, Toby snoozing under my knees. My socks would get perfectly warm and defrost my toes while I sipped a spiked hot chocolate and read.

“Are those your feet? Yes, they are.”

Jake’s murmur behind me from the bed was gentle. Sweet, even. I could almost believe he really cared about the baby.

I scoffed to myself. ’Course he cared about her—she was his daughter. He wasn’t a psychopath. A selfish piece of shit, yeah. But he seemed to be a good dad. Not that I knew anything about it.

I glanced over my shoulder. Jake was bent over the baby, tickling her. His brown hair still had a curl, the gentle waves tumbling over his forehead. He’d lost a sock in his boot, and I frowned at his bare toes on the rug.

The cabin had baseboard heaters that I only kept on in the bathroom since the stove heated the main area so well. Still, the floor was cold beyond the hearth.

The window rattled with a gust of wind. It needed fixing, but my new house was almost ready. The crew boss had told me I’d have the keys in time for the holidays, but they were already cutting it close, and this storm would put them behind schedule.

Not that it mattered where I spent Christmas. It was just another day. Either way, it wouldn’t be long now until the house was done.

Too bad minutes were currently ticking by like hours. And…what the hell was that smell?

“Uh, Cam? Sorry to bug you. I need to change her diaper. Do you have a garbage bag I can use?”

I got up to grab one from under the kitchen sink as Jake carried the baby into the bathroom. She started crying again, her little face going red. The bathroom was big enough for a tub with shower, a toilet, and sink.

I didn’t know what else I needed, though the en suite in my new house was huge enough to live in. Mrs. Pinter had insisted that I’d regret it down the road when I got married, and I’d given in even though I knew the odds of me getting hitched were about the same as Toby learning French.

Jake took off his dark hoodie, revealing toned arms below his navy tee and the vulnerable bumps of his spine as he bent to put Cora on the tile floor with the hoodie cushioning her. The sole of Jake’s bare foot was reddish—from the cold?

“Here.” I grabbed a fresh towel from the rack. “Put her on this.”

“It might get dirty. I have more stuff in the car but it wouldn’t fit in the bag.”

Squeezing beside him in the narrow space, I spread out the towel. “This is thicker than cotton.”

“Thanks.” Jake didn’t look at me as he peeled down her baby outfit, unfastened the diaper, then—

I jerked back. “Jesus Christ!”

He chuckled. “I know. Amazing how a person that small can create… that .”

I thought I’d seen it all when it came to shit and bodily fluids. I’d been shoulder-deep in cows and yaks struggling to give birth. It hadn’t been pretty. But the foul stench and mess in that diaper packed a hell of a punch.

Shooing out a curious Toby, I stood back as Jake dumped the contents into the toilet. The baby squirmed, her cries inconsistent as Jake held up both of her little feet in one hand to clean her with a baby wipe.

The whole time, Jake talked to her in a singsong at odds with his baritone, narrating what he was doing. He’d always had a deep voice that had made me—

Nope. Not thinking about that.

I watched him fit her with a fresh diaper. “How old is she?” My curiosity got the better of me even though I was breaking my own rules on keeping quiet. Why was I even still hovering over them in the bathroom?

“Just about six months.”

I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice. “She seems small.”

“Yeah. She was in the NICU for nine days, and her adjusted age is twenty-one weeks. But her growth rate is normal. Her mother’s petite, so the doctor says it’s totally fine.”

Here was a chance to ask about the mother, but I said nothing. It was none of my business, and there was no reason to give a shit. I wasn’t sure what he meant by adjusted age, but it didn’t matter.

As Jake wriggled the baby into a fresh outfit, he said, “Babies grow and develop at their own pace, and there’s nothing to worry about.”

He sounded like he had definitely been worried. More questions echoed in my head despite myself—exactly where was this mother, for starters—but I only stood there as Jake tightly rolled the diaper and wipe into a Ziploc, then bundled it in the garbage bag I’d given him.

Jake added, “She eats and goes to the bathroom normally. She’s twelve pounds, two ounces now. I’m starting her on solid foods when we get to Lonely Creek.”

Anxiety permeated every word. For a ridiculous moment, I wanted to reach out and clasp his shoulder. I only said, “Okay.”

He laughed thinly. “I try not to obsess over percentiles and comparing her to other babies. But since my feed these days is all mommy influencers, it’s hard.”

It took me a second to understand what he meant by “feed.” I hadn’t had social media accounts in years. “Hm.”

“Do you have a bucket or something?” he asked. “I’m not sure the best place to keep these.”

Though the fetid odor had faded, it wasn’t gone. “Outside.” I took the bag and sacrificed the mop bucket wedged under the sink. As I opened the front door, a blast of wind nearly knocked me back. Toby barked as though he could scare off the attacking storm.

Oppressive darkness and a mini snow tornado greeted me, and I tucked the bucket against the cabin wall beside the door. It was cold enough that the diaper would freeze before an animal could get at it. I had no idea how many diapers a baby went through a day, but it seemed smart to keep the bucket in arm’s reach.

Toby still barked as I shouldered the door closed against the disturbing amount of snow falling. I bent to calm him, murmuring, “Thank you for protecting us from the weather.”

The baby was mercifully quiet, and I returned to my rocker with my book, a dog-eared paperback thriller I’d picked up at the secondhand shop in town. The water ran in the bathroom sink, Jake still talking to the baby constantly.

My eyes danced over the same paragraph about ten times before I gave up and went to the chest of drawers. After cramming my socks in with my boxer briefs, I lined the empty drawer with a flannel blanket, folding it over for more padding.

When Jake emerged from the bathroom holding the now-calm baby against his lean, muscular chest, I said, “Here,” motioning with the drawer still in my hands. “It’s not a real cradle, but…” I put it on the bed since the side table didn’t feel safe.

Jake smiled, and goddamn it, I hated the crinkles around his eyes. It wasn’t fair that he should be so handsome. That he should be so gentle and loving with his daughter—whose giraffe-themed onesie was stupidly adorable—as he lowered her into the drawer.

Jake Gregson was a selfish POS. He wasn’t supposed to coo and hum and smile adoringly.

Not that I wanted him to be a shit father. Why was I even watching Jake? Biting back a huff, I stalked to the refrigerator and poked around the freezer section. “Hungry?” I snapped.

“Uh, I’m fine. Thanks. I need to feed Cora soon.” Jake zipped on his hoodie again. “I think I have a protein bar in my coat pocket.”

The front door handle rattled, and I looked away from the selection of frozen dinners. Jake was bent over, examining the knob. Tight jeans stretched over his equally tight ass, which looked even better than it had in his baseball uniform in high school.

Irritated at myself for even looking, I demanded, “What are you doing?”

By the fire, Toby jumped to his feet, and Jake stood and whirled. “Sorry! I was just trying to lock it.” He tentatively added, “I think it’s broken. Just FYI.”

He was walking on eggshells, and if I was being fair—which admittedly I probably wasn’t—I couldn’t blame him. I laughed, though it was on the mocking side. “Lock? You’ve been in Toronto too long.”

“Oh.” His thick brows met. “But anyone could just walk in.”

I laughed for real, and Toby resettled by the fire. “The yaks have no interest, don’t worry.”

Jake’s face was still pinched, his gaze shooting to the baby sleeping in her makeshift cradle in the middle of the bed. Ah. I could—grudgingly—understand his concern.

“There really isn’t anyone out here,” I said. “The big house is twenty kilometers away, and the closest neighbors are more than an hour down the road past that.”

Jake nodded and sat gingerly on the side of the bed, peering at his daughter, who tried to shove her tiny hand into her mouth. He exhaled a long breath before rubbing his face. His eyes were bleary and red, and I wondered when he’d slept last.

And why hadn’t he put his damn sock back on? His foot had to be freezing.

When had he had a decent meal? If it was just Jake, I wouldn’t give a shit. But he was apparently the only one around to take care of the baby.

“Butter chicken, General Tao, beef and broccoli, or red curry chicken,” I said.

“You don’t have to go to any trouble. Really.”

I grumbled, “Just pick one.”

“Uh…”

As the seconds ticked by, I added, “It’s not life and death.”

“Sorry. Whatever one you don’t want.”

“I bought them all because I like them.” Why was he making this so difficult?

“Um, red curry? If that’s okay?”

“Fine,” I muttered.

“I need to heat up her bottle.” Still sitting on the side of my bed with my down-filled plaid duvet wrinkling under him, Jake didn’t move. The Jays duffel he’d pawed through for a diaper sat unzipped at his feet.

Though his eyes were open, for a second, I thought he might have actually fallen asleep. He sat there with shoulders hunched and that one sock missing, his expression blank. His remaining white sports sock didn’t look warm enough for Alberta winter. He’d definitely been out east too long.

I closed the freezer door, and Jake jolted, mumbling to himself as he pulled out a container of formula and a bottle. While I microwaved the curry in its molded plastic container, he hesitated behind me by the sink.

“Is there a bowl I can use to warm her milk?”

Wordlessly, I rooted around for a plastic mixing bowl from the back of the cupboard and passed it to him. With his bare foot on top of the other, he ran the tap and filled the bowl with what I assumed was warm water, then stuck in the bottle.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I went and grabbed a pair of red wool socks from the overstuffed drawer and tossed the ball at him. “ Here. ”

The socks hit Jake in the chest and dropped to the undoubtedly cold kitchen floor. He snatched them up and watched me uncertainly.

I sighed. Loudly. “Just put them on.”

“Thanks.” He pulled off his remaining sports sock and stuffed it in the duffel before tugging on my socks. His eyes crinkled, cheeks creasing with that wide, beautiful smile he’d always had. “Much better.”

The microwave beeped, and I dumped the rice and curry onto a plate, giving it a stir before handing it over with a fork.

Leaning against the sink, Jake wolfed it down in record time. “Thanks. I needed that.” He looked like he was about to lick the plate, but instead said, “I didn’t take you for a floral china kind of guy.”

My spine stiffened. “Didn’t you?” I snatched back the plate and rinsed it under the tap. “The dishes are castoffs from Mrs. Pinter.” Why was I explaining myself?

“I didn’t mean—that’s not…” Jake dropped his head. “I just meant it’s…rustic out here. Sorry. Bad joke.” He squeezed milk onto the back of his wrist the way they did in movies, then retreated to my bed to feed the baby.

In Jake’s arms, she sucked enthusiastically with cute little squelching noises as he smiled down at her. Beyond them, the window over the bed rattled again.

I hadn’t bothered with curtains since there were no neighbors. The window reflected Jake’s head and the bathroom door, and I could make out snow gathering on the sill.

I wasn’t hungry, but I forced down the butter chicken for something to do. Which was ridiculous given this was my cabin that had been invaded. The phone rang to temporarily rescue me from the awkward silence.

“Cam!” Mr. Pinter’s voice boomed down the line.

“Hello, sir.” I stood by the foot of the bed and shoved my free hand in my pocket.

I waited for him to launch into a complaint about a supplier or tell me again why the auction house wasn’t giving him a fair deal. Or since he was traveling, he’d likely grumble about the airplane food. He’d always said I was a good listener when he needed an ear, and I did my best. It was the least I could do for him.

But tonight, Mr. Pinter said, “Is your pantry stocked, son?”

I blinked at the abrupt question. “Er, yes.” I’d made a Costco run earlier in the week. Aside from one of the cupboards, my “pantry” was under my bed. I had cans of beans and soup and plenty of dried goods along with bread and microwave dinners in the freezer.

“Good, good. You heard the news?”

I went still. “No.”

“How these fool weathermen didn’t see something like this comin’ down the pike, I’ll never understand.”

In the background, I could hear Mrs. Pinter say, “It’s the climate change, Hal. The world’s gone tush over teakettle.”

I couldn’t ignore the dread uncurling in my gut. “You need me to check on the herd or the big house?”

“No, Hal Jr. and his brood are there for the holidays to keep an eye on things just in case the staff need a hand.”

I didn’t say that the day Hal Pinter Jr. was remotely helpful would be a frosty one in hell.

“If I’d known this was comin,’ I wouldn’t have left,” Mr. Pinter grumbled.

Mrs. Pinter harrumphed. “We’re not missing my sister’s diamond anniversary. We’re already in Barbados, and we are staying put.”

“Yes, dear,” Mr. Pinter muttered.

“I’m sure the storm’ll pass,” I said. “You know how those TV people are. Everything’s an emergency.”

“Mm. Though I have to admit, this one sounds different. Sorry I didn’t call sooner, son. I know you’re disconnected out there.”

“Not a problem. I’m hunkering down with Toby.”

I swore I could feel Jake’s eyes on my back. Heat crawled up my neck. There was no sense in mentioning my unwelcome guests. There was nothing the Pinters could do about it.

I avoided crossing paths with Hal Jr., but it didn’t matter one way or the other. The big house might as well have been the moon with the storm taking hold.

“Could get seventy centimeters,” Mr. Pinter said. “They’re probably closing the highway later tonight.”

I bit back a curse. “Makes sense. It’s really coming down.”

“Could be blizzard conditions for days. Power will surely go, but your generator will keep the lights on. Did I tell you I got a hell of a deal on that?”

Mrs. Pinter called out, “Of course you told him! We all had to hear about the generator for days! Now, you stay snug as a bug out there, Cameron! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas,” I replied, smiling as I imagined her wrestling the phone from her husband and shooing him off to the beach.

I hung up, my smile vanishing as reality settled in. With that much snow and the wind blowing it, visibility would be nil. Jake Gregson wasn’t going anywhere. Sure as hell not tonight, and not tomorrow without some kind of Christmas miracle.

I turned and surveyed my compact cabin.

And its one bed.