Credence

Then he closes the door and leaves. The river runs behind the house, so he probably won’t go far, and I take the opportunity while he’s gone to go outside and relieve myself, melt some snow to wash up, and eat and hydrate like I’m told.

Putting on an extra pair of socks, I change my sweater and tie my hair up into a ponytail. I actually slept well because Noah kept me warm, but I think he insisted we share a bed because he was afraid I’d bolt in the middle of the night to find Kaleb.

I’m glad I didn’t try. Coming up here with just Noah was stupid enough. Going out alone would be suicide.

After washing the dishes we used and checking my boots by the fire to make sure they’re dry, I grab my pack to do a supply check.

But I see something move outside the window and stop.

I look up, squinting.

Dropping the pack, I walk over to the door and carefully twist the handle, opening it gently.

Calming my breathing, I peer out into the rain, opening the door wider and wider, cringing when the hinges creak, but I don’t want to scare it off.

I step out onto the porch, water spilling over the roof to the ground as the buck stands like a statue in front of me.

My chest swells. Wow.

His antlers stretch like a giant U over his head, splintering off into smaller branches as his large, brown eyes stare at me like he’s waiting for something.

The rain falls around us, his hooves buried in the snow, and I falter, feeling my gun behind me in the house. Jake would tell me to shoot him. We’re here without much food, and who knows if we’ll get snowed in tonight or tomorrow. I shouldn’t balk at meat where I can get it.

He’d be right.

I throw my arms out, though, and whisper-yell. “Go!”

He darts off, past me, and I follow him with my eyes to make sure he gets away before Noah can see him.

And then I spot something and freeze, locking eyes on Kaleb in the brush as he points his rifle at the white-tail.

My mouth falls open. Kaleb.

I faintly hear the deer’s trot disappear as Kaleb’s rifle stops at me, no longer following the animal as he peers through the scope. His lifts his head, steam billowing into the air from his mouth.

I blink to make sure I’m actually seeing him and not some hallucination. He wears a dark gray hoodie, black ski cap, and his jaw is covered with scruff. He stares at me, his arms falling to his sides, and his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

Absently, I step down the wet steps in my socks as he walks slowly toward me.

“Hi,” I say.

He stands there, and I’m not sure what to do. We found him. He’s fine.

I think.

I scan his body, making sure he hasn’t lost weight or isn’t injured.

Where the hell was he all night?

I don’t even care, though. His beautiful eyes. His cheekbones. His mouth and tanned neck that I know will be warm. Of course, he would have a tan in the winter.

I swallow. “Noah’s downstream, looking for breakfast,” I say in a low voice. “We were worried about you.”

He inches forward, and I drop my eyes to his ankles, seeing his jeans are soaked from the knees down.

“You missed Christmas,” I say.

Tears lodge in my throat. I’m desperate for him to talk. To want me like he did that night of the fire with Noah and that afternoon in the barn.