Winter of the Wolf by Cherise Sinclair Read Free Book Online

you have any available, and can I see one?”
    His gaze lingered on her body, and she stiffened, until she noticed his attention was on her white-knuckled hands.
    His eyes narrowed, but he answered easily, “Yes, we have one available and yes, you can see it.” When he smiled, laugh lines crinkled around his blue-gray eyes, and she relaxed.
    He reached back inside the lodge and lifted a key ring off a nail. “The previous owner died a few months ago, and the lodge has been closed. Since we only took over two days ago, we’re not functioning as smoothly as we wil be. I’m Shay O’Donnel.” His deep voice was velvet smooth and oddly calming. He nodded his head at the tiny dirt road continuing past the lodge. “There are cabins al up and down the lane, but we’ve only finished setting the first one to rights.
    How many in your party?”
    “Just me.”
    “That’l work then. It’s a one bedroom.” He limped across the porch and down the steps, obviously trying not to favor his right leg.
    Wel, at least his handicap would slow him down if he tried to grab her. “How’d you get hurt?” She flushed. Nosy. “I’m sorry.”
    “No problem. I had a run-in with something large and fast.
    I lost.” He sounded pretty pissed off about the losing part.
    Her mind immediately jumped to a monster. Ah, no, Bree, don’t be stupid . A bear? She glanced at the trees that could hide about anything. Or maybe he’d just had a nice normal car accident.
    “How about you?” he asked.
    Darn. But fair was fair. “Same thing.” Definitely large and fast; definitely lost the battle. She forced her breathing to stay smooth and ignored his curious look.
    They turned onto the lane off the dirt road. Surrounded by forest, the log cabin appeared tiny under the giant trees.
    “Hansel and Gretel’s place?” she murmured.
    “The hu—the fairy tale, right?” His slow smile erased the lines of pain beside his mouth. How old was he? In his thirties? Shaggy brown hair fel over his forehead and curled along his colar in back, but she didn’t see any gray in it. He was pretty beat-up though. A prizefighter’s face. His nose had been broken at least once. Two blue-tinted scars marked a tanned cheekbone—one shaped like a knife, the other a primitive sketch of antlers. Fine paralel scars ran across his jaw. A quiver of unease ran through her. How had he colected so much damage?
    he colected so much damage?
    He opened the door, motioned her in, and waited as she wandered around.
    The style was rustic. She walked through the “living room” which consisted of a brown and green couch and two worn leather chairs by a glass-fronted woodstove. Near the back was a sorry excuse for a kitchen and a smal round table with three chairs. The bathroom was at the back left, tiny but clean, with dark green towels.
    To the front left, the bedroom had a queen-sized bed with a beautiful handmade quilt, a dresser, and a bedside table.
    There was no closet to search for bogeymen. One less place to worry about.
    The entrance and back doors were heavy oak. The front window was large and…she looked closer. It had metal bars on the inside, hinged so they’d open inward.
    Her mind replayed how easily the monster had come through the glass door. She spun, checked the other windows, then went into the bedroom. Al the windows had bars. Maybe the landlord realy had run into a bear. But she’d prefer bears to monsters any day. She turned. “I’l take
    —”
    He stood inside the bedroom, his big frame blocking the door.
    She choked and backed up so fast her shoulders banged into the wal. Pain flamed across her wounded shoulder and into the wal. Pain flamed across her wounded shoulder and arm, and her legs wobbled. Heart hammering, she raised her fists and squared her stance. Darned if she’d go through life afraid of everything and everyone. Not again. Been there, done that, have the black belt as an answer.
    He breathed in, and his nostrils flared as he studied