My Secret Santa Axton (Silver Ridge Christmas)

17. Shadows in the Storm

Shadows in the Storm

MEL

The cabin door slams behind me with a finality that echoes through my bones. For a moment, I stand there, my hand still on the knob, half-expecting—hoping?—to hear Axton's footsteps following me.

But there's nothing. Just the whisper of wind and the soft patter of snowflakes hitting the ground.

I close my eyes, willing the sting of tears away. Not here. Not now.

The memory of Axton's face—distant, closed off—flashes behind my eyelids. The way he'd looked at me, like I was a stranger. Like the past few months meant nothing.

"I need to keep you safe, Mel."

His words replay in my head as I start down the path, each step taking me further from the warmth of the cabin and deeper into the gathering storm. What the hell does that even mean? Safe from what? From him?

The wind picks up, whipping snow against my face. I pull my coat tighter, ducking my head against the onslaught. It would be so easy to turn back. To march right back up to that door and demand answers. To make him look me in the eye and tell me why he's pushing me away.

But I can't. My heart can't take it. Not again.

Fuck him.

The thought comes unbidden, hot and angry in my chest. Fuck Axton O'Connor and his brooding silence. Fuck his mixed signals and his goddamn hero complex. I'm done trying to decode a man who won't even give me the courtesy of a real conversation.

I trudge on, the snow already ankle-deep and getting worse by the minute. The storm that's been threatening all day is finally making good on its promise, the sky a roiling mass of angry gray clouds. It'll be dark soon, and the temperature's dropping fast.

For a fleeting moment, I consider turning back. It's a long way down to my truck, and the weather's only going to get worse. But the thought of facing Axton again, of seeing that wall come down behind his eyes... No. I'd rather take my chances with the storm.

Besides, I've spent half my life on this mountain. I know these trails like the back of my hand. I can handle a little snow.

As if in response to my bravado, the wind howls, nearly knocking me off my feet. I stumble, catching myself against a tree trunk. The rough bark bites into my palm, and I welcome the sting. It's something real, something I can focus on besides the ache in my chest.

I push off, forcing myself to keep moving. One foot in front of the other. Don't think about Axton. Don't think about the way his hands felt on your skin this morning. Don't think about how, for one perfect moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—you'd finally broken through that wall of his.

Stupid, Mel. So fucking stupid.

The path narrows, winding between towering pines. Their branches sway overhead, heavy with snow, creaking ominously in the wind. It's getting darker by the minute, the storm and the approaching night conspiring to turn the forest into a maze of shadows.

I fumble in my pocket for my phone, cursing when I realize I left it charging back at the cabin. Great. Just great. No light, no way to call for help if I need it. Not that I would. The last thing I need is Axton coming to my rescue like some brooding knight in shining armor.

A branch snaps somewhere off to my left, and I freeze. It's probably just an animal, I tell myself. A deer, maybe, or one of the mountain lions that sometimes prowl these woods. But something about the sound sets my nerves on edge.

I peer into the gathering gloom, trying to make out shapes in the swirling snow. Nothing moves. But the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, a primal warning that I'm not alone out here.

Keep moving, Mel. Just keep moving.

I pick up my pace, my boots crunching through the fresh powder. The wind is at my back now, urging me on, as if even nature itself wants me far away from Axton and his cabin on the hill.

My mind wanders as I walk, replaying our confrontation in vivid detail. The way Axton had stood there, his face a mask of forced indifference as I poured my heart out. How he'd flinched when I reached for him, like my touch burned.

"I can't give you what you want, Mel."

Bullshit. He can't, or he won't? Because for a while there, I really thought... God, I'm such an idiot. Thinking I could be the one to break down Axton O'Connor's walls. As if a few months of stolen moments and heated glances could undo years of whatever trauma he's carrying.

A sob builds in my throat, and I swallow it down hard. I will not cry. Not over him. Not again.

The path takes a sharp turn, and suddenly I'm out of the trees, standing at the edge of a small clearing. On a clear day, you can see all the way down to Silver Ridge from here.

But now, there's nothing but a wall of white, the storm erasing the world beyond this little pocket of forest.

I pause, trying to get my bearings. The truck's parked about a quarter-mile down from here, just off the main road. If I cut across the clearing and pick up the trail on the other side, I can shave some time off my trek.

Decision made, I step out into the open space. The wind hits me full force, nearly knocking me off my feet. Snow swirls around me in dizzying patterns, and for a moment, I lose all sense of direction. Panic rises in my throat, sharp and acrid.

Breathe, Mel. Just breathe.

I force myself to stand still, closing my eyes and focusing on the feel of the ground beneath my feet. Daddy's voice echoes in my head, a memory from one of our many camping trips.

"If you ever get lost out there, sugar, just stop. Take a breath. The mountain will tell you where to go if you listen."

I open my eyes, scanning the treeline. There—a gap in the pines that has to be the continuation of the trail. I set off towards it, head down against the wind.

That's when I see them. Footprints in the snow, clear as day despite the storm's best efforts to erase them. My heart leaps into my throat as I realize they're not animal tracks. These are human prints, and they're fresh.

Ice that has nothing to do with the temperature slides down my spine. Who else would be out here in this weather? Axton's the only one who lives up this high, and these prints are too small to be his.

I pick up my pace, no longer caring about the cold or the wind. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to run, to get to my truck and get the hell off this mountain.

But running in this snow is a good way to break an ankle, so I settle for a brisk walk, my eyes darting from side to side, searching for any sign of movement.

The trees loom closer on either side as I re-enter the forest, their branches forming a dark canopy overhead. The wind dies down, but the silence that replaces it is almost worse. It's too quiet, like the whole mountain is holding its breath.

I slip my hand into my back pocket, fingers closing around the familiar shape of my pocket knife. Another gift from my dad, given to me on my sixteenth birthday with a wink and a warning to "keep it handy, just in case."

The cool metal is reassuring against my palm as I flick it open. It's not much of a weapon, but it's better than nothing. And right now, nothing is exactly how prepared I feel for whatever's out here in the dark with me.

A twig snaps off to my right, and I whirl, knife held out in front of me. My heart pounds so loud I'm sure whatever—whoever—is out there can hear it. But there's nothing. Just shadows and snow and the creaking of branches in the wind.

I turn back to the path, only to stop dead in my tracks. There, not ten feet ahead of me, is a shadow. A human-shaped shadow, standing perfectly still among the trees.

My breath catches in my throat. I blink hard, praying it's just a trick of the light. But when I open my eyes, it's still there. Watching me.

Every survival instinct Daddy ever taught me kicks in at once. I widen my stance, gripping the knife tighter. My voice, when it comes, is steadier than I feel.

"If someone's there, show yourself!"

The words hang in the air, swallowed up by the falling snow. For a long moment, nothing moves. Then, slowly, the shadow steps forward.

My heart stops.

"Hello, Melanie," an unfamiliar voice says. "It's nice to finally meet you."

And just like that, I know. This isn't about Axton at all. This is so much worse.

Because the man standing in front of me, his smile as cold as the storm around us is someone I don't recognize, but I feel like I should. Especially since he knows my name.

And suddenly, I realize why Axton was so desperate to keep me safe.

Because the danger was never him.

It was this.