High Intensity (High Mountain Trackers HMT 2G #2)

Chapter 3

Three

Jillian

Dammit.

All I can find are these two measly tea light candles and they don’t do much for either light or heat. No oil lanterns or at the very least a damn flashlight in sight. I’m woefully unprepared for this power outage.

The wind is howling outside and I can feel the temperature dropping in here. I’ve been so focused on getting my house together and the boxes unpacked, I haven’t even thought about building a fire. Of course, I hadn’t considered I might need a fire to heat the house, to me they’re mostly for ambiance.

The dogs are huddled on the couch. My four plus River, who looks to be the only one sleeping fitfully. The others follow me around the house with their eyes, restless and maybe a little spooked by the storm. I haven’t heard anything from Sloane, but I assume she’s got her hands full just dealing with the storm, let alone the power outage. When I tried to check the forecast, I noticed I had zero reception, so she won’t be able to contact me either.

It also means I won’t be able to reach out to anyone, so I’ll have to do my own problem-solving.

Starting with heat.

There’s no firewood in here, and the supply the previous owner left stored in the garage is limited. Still, it’s better than nothing. Walking over to the window, I peer outside, barely able to see the detached building.

Well…I’m going to have to go out there eventually, unless I want to freeze to death. And who knows? Perhaps I can find something useful, like a goddamned flashlight.

Emo and Peanut start whining and jump off the couch when they see me getting dressed to go outside.

“No, we’re not going out now, guys. You’ve gotta wait here.”

Peanut immediately jumps back on the couch with a grunt, but Emo throws me a recriminating look, letting me know she’s not happy. It can’t be helped. I pull my knit beanie down over my ears, tie a scarf around my neck, and shove my feet in my snow boots. Then I carefully slip out the door.

Jesus, that wind is cold. My boots sink down in the fast-accumulating snow the moment I step off the porch. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I trudge in the direction of the garage. I have to squint my eyes to find my way and brace my shoulders against the near gale-force gusts.

It’s a bit eerie out here, without the lights from the house or the street, just a pale reflection off the blanket of snow. My lot is fairly treed, so I can’t really see the neighbors’ houses, but I assume if the streetlights are out, their houses will be without power as well.

I quickly realize I should’ve brought my phone so I could’ve at least used the flashlight on it, because when I step inside the garage, it’s very dark. I’m forced to hold my arms out in front of me to prevent running into things as I go in search of the firewood.

A stubbed toe and a couple of cobwebs in my face later, I find the woodpile and quickly load up with as many logs as my arms will hold. If I’d have thought this through, I would have grabbed an empty box or a bucket from the laundry room for easier transportation, but it is what it is.

As I exit the garage, I try not to think about the possible critters I might be carrying. I’m generally okay with bugs—I’d better be, I spend enough time outdoors—but that doesn’t mean I enjoy them in my house, or worse, on my body.

Despite not being able to see much and having my arms full, I make it back to the porch, where I dump my load. I figure since I’m out here anyway, I might as well haul as much wood as I can to the porch. It’ll be dry out here and I’ll have easy access. Who knows how long this storm or this outage is going to last?

Inside one of the dogs starts barking. They can probably hear me out here, so I quickly poke my head in the door.

“It’s just me, guys. I’ll be right back.”

My eyes are getting used to the dark and this time is easier loading up with wood. I’m on my way back, carrying more logs up to the porch, when a deep voice behind me has me jump out of my skin.

“What are you doing out here?”

I hang on to my load as a shield when I swing around. The brim of his hat is tipped down, obscuring his face, but I have no problem recognizing Wolff.

“Me? I live here. What are you doing here?”

Instead of answering me, he brushes past and sets the big box he’s carrying on my porch. Inside the dogs start barking again as I swing my head around to look down the driveway. I don’t see any vehicle and have no idea how he got here, but I doubt he walked. I intend to ask him when I’m suddenly relieved of the load of logs in my arms.

“Fireplace? Wood stove?” he asks brusquely.

“Fireplace.”

The brim of his hat lifts, and I get a glimpse of his piercing blue eyes fixed on mine.

“It works?”

I open my mouth to confirm, but then realize I don’t really know for sure. It’s not like I’ve had a chance to check.

My face is frozen and my teeth are chattering when I respond with, “Since I’m hauling firewood from the garage, I sure hope so. Otherwise, we’ll freeze.”

“You’re freezing now. Grab that box and go inside. I’ve got this.”

“What’s in it?” I want to know, but he’s already heading for the garage.

“Jillian, get inside and calm down your dogs,” he tosses dismissively over his shoulder.

Oh-kay .

Rude, to put it mildly. The man avoids talking to me at all costs and now shows up out of the blue, ordering me around on my own turf? Never mind my freezing hands and chattering teeth.

Pissed, I bend down to pick up the box and just about throw out my back, which doesn’t do much for my mood. I have to set it down to open the door and end up shoving it into the hallway with my foot.

“Hey, guys! Quiet!”

The only two dogs still curled up on the couch are River and Murphy, the other three rush up to greet me, Nugget in the lead.

“Well, hello, and I love you too,” I mumble at the enthusiastic greeting. You’d think I’d been gone for a day and not fifteen minutes at most.

I give each of them attention before I get to my feet and catch sight of Wolff’s box. Which reminds me, I still don’t know how or why he’s here. Part of me wants to peek inside, but I have other priorities; it’s getting really cold in here and I need to get a fire going. I look around for my phone, which I spot on the kitchen island in the faint light of the two tea lights. I’m going to need that flashlight to make sure the inside of the chimney is clear.

Peanut crowds me when I get to my knees in front of the chimney, and I have to nudge her aside before I can stick my head in. Aiming the light on my phone up, I can see the flue is closed. Not thinking too clearly, I reach for the lever and have to yank a few times before it gives with a squeal.

The next thing I know, my face is covered in soot.

Wolff

Thank God I was still wearing my heavy winter gear, otherwise I’d be a popsicle by now.

Damn truck slid in the ditch turning onto Jillian’s street. There were some high drifts along the road, distorting the landscape and making it hard to see whether you’re on the road or next to it. I had to leave it there and hoofed it the rest of the way, carrying the box of supplies I thought she might need.

I’m annoyed, because I know I’m going to have to wait until after this damn storm passes before I can get someone to come and pull my truck back on the road. So, it looks like I’ll be stuck here until that happens, and I’m not too sure how that is going to go over.

Still, I don’t regret coming because it’s obvious the woman was not exactly prepared for emergencies. She’ll be lucky if she can last the storm on this meager wood supply.

Instead of adding the last logs to the pile on the porch, I open the door and carry them inside. I’m greeted by six dogs, two of them growling. I don’t recognize the Lab, but I know the other one, Emo, although she apparently doesn’t remember me, and of course I know River, and the two therapy dogs I met yesterday.

“Guys! Friend,” I hear Jillian call out.

In the faint light of a couple of candles, I can make out the large stone mantel. It’s not until I ditch my boots by the door and navigate my way through six dogs and round the couch, I see Jillian sitting on the ground in front of the fireplace. Her head and shoulders are covered in grime and her eyes are like angry, glittering jewels in a blacked canvass, daring me to comment.

I never back down from a dare.

“You didn’t have to climb up the chimney.”

She throws me a dirty look before clambering to her feet.

“All I did was open the flue,” she shares a bit defensively.

“Looks like you forgot to duck.”

I move past her and start stacking the logs next to the fireplace. Then I crouch down and give the dogs a little attention.

When I turn around, she is standing by the coffee table, glaring at me as she wipes her face with her scarf.

We’re caught in a bit of a stare-down when she finally relents, asking, “What is it you’re doing here, Wolff?”

“Figured you may not have had a chance to prepare for bad storms or power outages. Came to drop off a few things you might be able to use.”

When I point at the box just inside the door, she heads over, picks it up, and carries it to the kitchen island. While she starts digging through the contents, I turn my attention to the fireplace and a few minutes later have a small, compact fire going.

As I get to my feet, I see the dogs have taken control of the couch. Jillian seems to have found the LED lanterns, as well as the MREs, and the single butane burner I dug out of my camping gear. The lanterns are on, she already has a pot on the burner, and she’s currently using the empty box to load with the content of her freezer.

“Luckily, I’m on city water, so I’m boiling some for tea since there isn’t much else in the house I can offer,” she announces when I approach. “It’s the least I can do after being an ass, when you were just being a good neighbor,” she surprises me by adding.

I get a brief flash of her eyes.

“You weren’t an ass,” is all I can think to say. “I probably was. Nothing to do with you, but I had to leave my truck in a ditch after driving it off the road at the end of your street, which annoyed me.”

What mostly annoyed me was trudging through the deep snow in a blizzard for what turned out to be a fair distance from the main road.

“Oh shit. Yeah, I can see why it would,” she commiserates. “Maybe I can help pull you out?”

Her hands pause and her attention is on me.

“I’m afraid no one will be pulling me out anytime soon. Not until this storm passes and they clear the highway.”

Her face betrays a reaction I can’t quite place, but she nods as if she’s taking the realization I’ll be stuck here for a while in stride. Then she closes the box and picks it up.

“Could you open the back door for me?”

I do as she asks and watch her set it down at the far corner of the deck, pushing it down in the snow.

“I don’t want it to go to waste, and its more likely to stay frozen out there than in here,” she explains when she steps back inside.

“True, although not all wildlife hibernates through the winter.”

She pulls the beanie from her head and static makes her red hair stand on end. She runs an impatient hand through it.

“If that’s the case, at least it’ll get enjoyed by someone,” she returns pragmatically.

Guess that’s a valid point.

She kicks off her boots and leaves them by the back door, then sheds her coat, hanging it over the back of a kitchen chair.

“It’s already warming up in here,” she observes, as she starts bustling around the kitchen, grabbing mugs and a box of tea from a cupboard.

I unzip my parka and slide a hip on one of the kitchen stools. Then I quietly watch Jillian pull the pan off the burner, pour hot water in the mugs, and slide one of them toward me.

“Want sugar or milk?”

I throw her a look she seems to think is funny, because she bursts out laughing.

“So noted,” she mocks me, before changing the subject. “Well, thanks to you, I’ll be able to warm up the white chicken chili I made last night, I would’ve hated to throw that out. There’s enough for both of us, but sadly, I don’t think I can do a decent cheese and garlic toast as I had planned without an oven, so I’m going to have to offer you a rain check on that.”

Although I’ve never heard of white chicken chili—and am admittedly a bit apprehensive at the sound of it—I guess I’m invited to dinner. I’m not going to object.

“Do you have tinfoil?” I ask her.

She looks confused, but opens a drawer and pulls out a roll. “I do.”

“I left the edges of the fireplace free. As long as your garlic toast is wrapped in tinfoil, we should be able to toast it in there.”

One side of her mouth pulls up as she grins at me.

“Well, aren’t you clever?”

Two hours later I’m at the sink, taking care of the dishes I offered to wash, since Jillian was responsible for what turned out to be an awesome meal. The woman sure knows how to cook.

She’s letting the dogs out back, and I can see her hanging over the deck railing, keeping an eye on them. It looks like maybe the winds are dying down a little. Even though the snow is still heavy, visibility appears to be a bit better.

If this trend continues, the plows may be able to go out tonight, and I can get Sully or Dan to come haul my truck from the ditch. I would’ve jumped at that a couple of hours ago, but I’m not in any particular hurry to get out of here now.

Surprisingly, conversation over dinner was easy once it got going, and that was thanks to Jillian. She started telling me about each of her animals and how she discovered she had a knack for dog training. Then she asked me how I got into tracking, and I found myself telling her about my disillusionment with the FBI and my switch to the High Mountain Trackers team.

We ended up swapping favorite rescue stories, and I was amazed to find how easy it was to talk to her. It seems the more I get to know her, the bigger a threat to my uncomplicated bachelorhood she’s becoming.

Yeah, coming here was a mistake, but one I seem to be enjoying the hell out of.