Maybe they should have made love again. It might have settled Sam’s nerves some because she was tense and on edge as they followed that path back through the forest to— The trees suddenly cleared and light glowed within that clearing, glinting off the metal roof of a small cabin. “Hey, Hansel,” she murmured. “You think the witch is waiting inside for us?”
Braden chuckled and nodded. “Feels like a trick…but if there’s food inside, I could be tempted to eat it, Gretel.” He’d had some protein bars and water in his backpack, but they’d eaten those last night.
She’d been hungrier for her husband than she’d been for the food. But now that he mentioned eating, her stomach grumbled. “Let me go in first,” she said, and she clutched the gun a little tighter, remembering how easily Braden had taken it from her.
“So you can eat all the food before I get to it?” he teased, his dark eyes serious as he stared down at her and shook his head. “We go in together.”
“You must be famished,” she returned, but she was teasing, too. She knew how much he loved her—as much as she loved him. She scanned the area before slipping out of the relative cover of the trees to cross the clearing. Nothing moved within the cabin, the windows reflecting only the sunlight and now their images. The small blonde woman, the tall, dark and handsome firefighter…
Her pulse quickened as it always did at the sight of him. And the fear that it could be the last time she saw him. That threatening text was what had compelled her to follow the directions to come out here alone. “Somebody went to an awful lot of effort to get us here,” she said as she and Braden crossed the front porch.
She reached for the door handle at the same time he did, and together they turned it. It was unlocked. And when the door popped open, she pushed forward, stepping through first with her gun barrel pointing ahead of her, toward whatever threat awaited them.
That was what the banner hanging across the mantel of the stone fireplace proclaimed. Surprise!
A vase of red roses sat on the mantel and another on a coffee table next to a bottle of champagne in a bucket of water, presumably from melted ice. She turned toward Braden. “You did this?”
Was this supposed to be some kind of romantic getaway?
His jaw was clenched, his face grim, and he shook his head. “I had no idea…or we wouldn’t have spent the night in the truck.”
Of course. That made sense. “But who…?”
Braden crossed the room to the stone fireplace, and he plucked the card from the vase of flowers. Then he shook his head and chuckled.
“Who?” she asked. “Who’s behind this? And why the hell did they take a shot at us last night?”
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