She didn’t sound breathless. Nope. She sounded…nervous, which was understandable. Willow Bradley would never be breathless near me unless she was winded from screaming at me.

We crossed the plain between the ridgelines, the snow coming at us in the headlights like we were at warp speed.

“It’s beautiful, in its own little, dangerous way,” she remarked, her helmet resting between my spine and right shoulder blade.

“Most everything that can hurt you is.”

She sighed softly but didn’t reply.

We climbed the last ridge, and I was careful to stick to the path I knew didn’t have random boulders that could throw us or a chain.

“I see it!” she exclaimed as we crested the ridge and Elba came into view.

“Almost there,” I assured her. We’d made it. Even if the Cat died right now, I could carry her the distance.

I brought us around the back of the house and pulled into the driveway. “You go ahead inside, and I’ll pull it in,” I told her as I climbed off the Cat.

“You don’t need help?” she asked, her gaze obscured by the tinted visors of our helmets.

“No, go get warm.” I walked to the garage and punched the code into the panel. The door rose, and Willow slipped inside.

I quickly pulled the Cat into the little bay it called home and closed us in. Then I unfastened my helmet and set it in the metal locker that soon held my coat, snow pants, and boots, too. Willow’s coat and boots were already there.

My athletic pants were damp with sweat despite the temperatures outside, and I crossed over to the power shed in my socks. Once I was satisfied that all the batteries were full, I closed it up and headed inside.

Warmth and the smell of something sweet welcomed me as the tension drained from my muscles. I hadn’t realized how anxious I’d been until the anxiety left.

She was safe. She was warm. She was here.

Fuck, what if I hadn’t come home? I leaned back against the door as the weight of that possibility took me down. If Dad hadn’t left that voicemail. If I hadn’t acted on it… Where would she be?

“Hey.”

My gaze shot up to meet hers as she stood across from me in the entry hall, a steaming cup in her hands. Even though she’d rolled them at the waist several times, my snow pants were huge on her. Her long-sleeve shirt contrasted the ill fit, holding close to her curves, and the tail of her frayed braid fell over her shoulder to end just beneath her breast. Her cheeks and lips were pink from the cold, and her eyes were bright. I’d seen her in almost every way, from tank tops and overalls in the summer to a ball gown on prom night.