16. Marcus

16

MARCUS

T he storm's finally blown itself out, leaving a damn mess behind. A pristine white mess, but a mess, nonetheless. Stepping onto the porch, the cold air hits me like a slap in the face, a sharp reminder that even paradise has its bite. Snow's piled high against the cabin, turning familiar paths into a maze.

"Well, well, well," I mutter irritably. "Looks like Mother Nature had herself a hell of a time."

I was expecting this, though. And truthfully, this buys me some more time with our guest of honor. It's evident River has it going with her, no surprise with the sounds coming from the study last night. But the question is…will he be all right if he knows he's not the only one who's caught the feels?

Sunlight filters through the trees, casting long shadows on the untouched snow. It's a beautiful sight, sure, but it doesn't change the fact that we're stuck here for the foreseeable future. The drifts are too deep for walking, and the roads? Forget about it. We're not going anywhere for a few days.

"Guess we're playing the waiting game," I say with a shrug, running a hand through my unruly hair. "Time to make the most of this unexpected exile."

I head toward the barn, a short hike through the snow-covered woods. It's quiet out here, just the crunch of my boots and the occasional bird chirping. The mill itself is a ghost town, usually bustling with activity, but now it's just a snow-covered husk. I make my way to the storage shed, its door creaking like an old man's bones. Inside, stacks of firewood beckon. Thank heavens I had the foresight to stock up before the storm hit. I grab an armful, the bark rough against my hands.

As I head back, a flicker of movement catches my eye. A deer, almost invisible against the white landscape, bounds across a clearing in a fleeting fire of gold and frosty white. I watch it disappear into the trees, a wave of introspection washing over me.

Life's a funny thing, always changing, always throwing curveballs. We lose people we love, we face challenges, but we keep going. We adapt. Losing my wife was like getting hit by a freight train, but even then, life found a way to move forward.

"Just like that deer," I say under my breath as I huff and puff through the snow toward the cabin's entrance. "Gotta keep pushing on, gotta find a way."

Which is also the truth right now. My boots sink into the snow with each step.

The first hurdle is a drift that reaches my waist. "All right, you fluffy bastard, let's dance," I mutter, bracing myself and lunging forward. The snow gives way, swallowing me up to my armpits. With a grunt and a few choice curses, I wriggle my way out, spitting snow from my beard.

Next up, a patch of ice hidden beneath a seemingly innocent layer of snow. One moment I'm walking, the next, I'm doing an involuntary split, my legs splayed out like a damn ballerina. The firewood goes flying, scattering across the snow like kindling for a giant campfire. "Son of a bitch!" I roar, the sound echoing through the silent woods.

Gathering the scattered logs, I decide to crawl the rest of the way. It isn't the most dignified approach, but hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. I inch my way forward, muttering choice profanities under my breath, my beard dragging through the snow like a plow.

Finally, I reach the porch, my muscles aching and my pride wounded. "Well, that was…invigorating," I huff, dumping the firewood on the porch with a thud. "Note to self: never underestimate the power of frozen water."

I brush the snow off my clothes, my fingers numb from the cold. But as I look back at the trail of destruction I've left behind, a grin spreads across my face. There's something oddly satisfying about conquering nature's obstacles, even if it means getting a little bruised and battered along the way.

"You win this round, Mother Nature," I mutter, throwing open the cabin door and stepping into the warmth. "But I'll be back for a rematch."

Back at the cabin, the fire's dwindled to embers, leaving the place ice-cold. I get to work, tossing a few logs into the hearth and coaxing the flames back to life. Slowly, a mellow heat spreads through the room, and I release a contented sigh. Time to make some tea.

I fill a kettle and set it on the stove, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent cabin. As the water heats, I grab the tin of tea leaves and inhale the scent of earth on them.

While the tea steeps, I lean against the counter, my eyes scanning the snow-covered landscape outside. It's a picture-perfect scene, a reminder of the raw beauty that surrounds us. Yes, living the mountain life is hard—but there is a lot of genesis here, growth and renewal. Unlike what I've come from, where there is nothing save death and destruction.

The tea is ready. A pour later, I take a sip from the steaming cup. Wafts of caramel-touched steam rise from my mug, the scent of Earl Grey filling the quiet cabin kitchen. I lean back against the counter, warming my palms from the residual heat of the cup. My mind drifts to Bella, her image seared into my memory.

I'm not a man of many words, but I know what I want. And right now, what I want is to explore the connection with her. It's a primal pull, an undeniable attraction that has been simmering since the moment I laid eyes on her. The years since Sarah have been a solitary journey, and while I've embraced the solitude, there's no denying the spark that ignites whenever Bella's near.

"Can't hurt to try," I grunt, taking a long sip of the scalding tea. "She's a grown woman. She can handle a little flirtation."

But there's a wrinkle in my plan, a complication that can't be ignored: River. The man's clearly head over heels, his gaze glued to Bella like a lovesick teenager. After everything he's been through, I wouldn't dream of stepping on his toes. We're more than just friends. We're brothers, bonded by years of shared experiences and mutual respect.

A thought strikes me then, a possibility that both excites and intrigues me. Maybe, just maybe, there's room for both of us in Bella's life. Hell, maybe even all three of us, because it's obvious Wyatt is a goner too. I'm not one for conventional relationships, for putting love in a neat little box and labeling it. Life's too messy for that, too unpredictable.

And Bella…she's a force of nature, a woman who defies easy categorization. She deserves a love that's as wild and untamed as she is, a love that's not confined by rules or expectations, a love that allows her to fully be herself.

"It's not a traditional setup," I admit to myself, a slow grin spreading across my face. "But who the hell wants traditional, anyway?"

The earthy heat from the tea settles in my lungs, fueling a growing sense of anticipation. This could be interesting. This could be fun. And if Bella's willing to play along, well, then the possibilities are endless.

But first things first. I need to talk to River to make sure we're on the same page. There's no room for jealousy or petty squabbles in this equation. We're a pack, and if he's not okay with this situation, I won't move ahead with it.

Speak of the devil. The cabin door creaks open just then, a blast of cold air and the scent of pine needles rushing in. River and Wyatt stomp the snow off their boots, their faces ruddy from the cold. River is his usual stoic self, gives me a brief nod as he shrugs off his coat. Wyatt, ever the charmer, flashes a grin that could melt a glacier.

"Morning, sunshine," he drawls sarcastically, dusting snowflakes from his beard. "Smells like you've been brewing up a storm in here."

"Tea's on," I reply, nodding toward the pot. "Help yourselves."

We settle around the kitchen table.

Wyatt breaks the silence, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "So," he begins, his gaze shifting between River and me, "seems like someone had a good night."

River's jaw tightens, a flicker of possessiveness flashing in his eyes. "We reconnected, Marcus. It's…complicated."

I nod and set the cup down on the counter. "So, should we assume all is not lost?"

A chuckle escapes River's lips, the tension easing slightly. "Something like that."

A heavy silence falls over the room, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the grandfather clock.

Finally, River speaks, his voice a low growl. "I care about her, Marcus. More than I thought possible."

I meet his gaze. "I know you do."

A pause, and then, I decide to just spill it. "You're not the only one."

River's brows narrow a fraction. "You like Bella?"

Leaning against the counter, I cross my arms and dip my head in acknowledgment. "I do. And I'll wager a guess that Wyatt feels the same way."

River eyes Wyatt dubiously, and the man basically flounders for a second before mumbling, "You got me."

He stares at the both of us, his mouth hanging open slightly. "The fuck? Y'all eyeing my woman out here and telling me about it too?"

Wyatt looks alarmed. "She's a treasure, River?—"

"Treasure?" River scoffs defiantly, cutting him off. "Bella's not an object to be claimed, Wyatt."

"Easy there," Wyatt replies gently, extricating the cup of half-drunk tea from River's grasp so he doesn't toss it at either of us. "I meant it figuratively. We won't do anything unless you're on board. But I…"

He doesn't say it, but I see it in his gaze, in the way it drops to the ground. River does too.

"You've slept with Bella?" he asks in a disbelieving tone. "When?"

Wyatt clears his throat and shuffles his feet. "In Spokane. Look, we didn't know this would happen, y'know?" He waves an arm around the room. "And it was meant to be a one-time thing."

There's a long, very pregnant silence. "River?" I finally ask, unsure of what else to do. "Look. We don't need to move ahead with this."

He looks at me and then shrugs. "Nah. That's not it. I was processing all the information. Can't blame me for taking some time. Honestly, I'm not mad. If it had to be a sharing situation, I'm glad it's you two. But we gotta make sure she's on board."

I blink and decide the best step forward is to make sure I've heard him right. "Really? You're on board?"

He nods. "It's…not what I'd immediately want. But Bella has been through a lot, and so have I. I don't think conventionality is the way ahead for either of us. Just gotta make sure she wants this."

"Agreed," replies Wyatt in a relieved voice. "We need to approach her with respect and honesty. And if she's not interested, we back off. No pressure, no games."

The atmosphere lightens, the tension dissipating slowly as we all come to terms with one core reality.

"So," Wyatt says, clapping his hands together, "what say we make the most of this situation? Let's cook up a feast, break out the whiskey, and have ourselves a little fun."

I grin, the knots in my shoulders easing. "Sounds like a plan. How about a game of truth or dare? Might be a good way to break the ice…and maybe learn a few things about our lovely guest."

"I'm game," replies River. "You go get her."

My brows lift. "All okay there?"

He doesn't look at me. "Last night was pretty intense. I want to give her some time before I approach her again."

Fair enough. I step away from the kitchen and head to the bedroom. The door is open. I announce myself with a knock and enter. Bella glances up from her laptop, her eyes wide with a hint of surprise. She's in a T-shirt with a throw wrapped around her. I lean against the doorframe.

"Well, well, well," I say with a little smile. "If it isn't the cabin's resident wordsmith, hard at work."

Bella chuckles. Strands of hair fall on her face, spilling out from the messy bun atop her head. They catch the bleak rays of the sun from the window, framing her face like a halo of fire. "Just trying to capture some inspiration before it melts away with the snow."

I step further into the room. "Inspiration, huh? Is that what we're calling it now?"

A blush creeps onto Bella's cheeks, and she ducks her head, her fingers nervously tapping on the keyboard. "Don't get any ideas, Marcus. It's just a silly romance novel."

"Romance, eh?" I say, a playful glint in my eyes. "Sounds steamy."

She laughs. "If only it were that easy. My characters are being particularly stubborn today."

"Maybe they need a little…encouragement," I suggest. "Or perhaps a change of scenery."

Bella raises her head, her eyes meeting mine. A spark of curiosity flickers in their depths. "What did you have in mind?"

"Wyatt and River are downstairs," I say, leaning against the dresser. "They're whipping up a feast fit for a queen, and they're looking for a fourth for a game of truth or dare. With a healthy dose of liquid courage, of course."

Bella's lips curl mischievously. "Truth or dare, huh? Sounds dangerous."

"Only if you're not up for a challenge," I retort.

She closes her laptop with a decisive snap, her eyes sparkling. "Challenge accepted. Just let me grab a sweater."

As Bella rummages through her bag, I admire the way her T-shirt clings to her curves, the slant of her eyes, the bridge of that impossibly cute nose. The desire that had been simmering within me all morning flares to life.

She slips the sweater over her head and turns to me. "Ready!"

"So," I say, extending an arm to her, "are you ready to spill some secrets, Bella?"

She loops her arm in mine, her eyes lifting to look into me like pools reflecting forests. "Only if you are, Marcus."