wrapped his scarf twice around his face and pushed his way through the snow.
A huge man dashed around the corner and froze. A battered black winter coat hid his form and a black ski mask covered his face. But Benjamin could clearly see the knife clenched in his outstretched hand. Benjamin leaped for it, forcing the masked man’s arm into the air as he wrenched the weapon from his grasp. The masked man punched out hard, catching him in the jaw.
Benjamin stumbled back. But he managed to keep hold of the attacker’s knife.
The man gave up and bolted for the tree line. The urge to chase after him surged through Benjamin. But finding Piper was all that mattered now.
“Hey, Piper!” He ran around the side of the barn. “Piper! Where are you?”
No answer but the howl of the wind and the ice pellets smacking the ground.
Then he saw her. Facedown in a heavy snowbank beside the barn stairs. He ran for her, slid one strong arm under her and pulled her to her feet. When he saw the bag tied over her head, his throat tightened so he couldn’t even speak. He unwrapped the string from around her neck as quickly as he dared and pulled the sack off her head.
His gaze fell on Piper’s face. Chestnut hair fell loose around her shoulders. Her huge, dark eyes looked up into his. She gasped in a deep breath.
Then she punched him squarely in the gut. And ran.
Benjamin felt the air rush from his lungs. “Piper... Wait...” His winded chest struggled for breath. “It’s okay! It’s me—”
“Benjamin?” She turned back. Sleet poured down her slender frame. Her eyes scrunched as if trying to focus.
He realized she wasn’t wearing her glasses and could barely see without them.
“Yeah, Piper,” he said softly, yanking off his hat and scarf. “It’s okay. It’s me. Benjamin.”
“Thank God!” A smile crossed her lips as her eyes rose upward in prayer. Then her gaze turned back to his. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
He crossed the snow toward her, feeling that odd lump in his throat grow even bigger.
Piper had been the first person to really call him “Benjamin.” She’d known exactly who he was the moment they met. Most Ontarians between the ages of thirteen and twenty-eight seemed to, thanks to a particularly horrendous documentary about his accident that was regularly shown in high school assemblies. But in that moment, when she’d been play-fighting with the dog in the entrance to his store and he’d rushed over to greet her, she’d stretched out her hand and said, “Do you prefer Benji or Benjamin?” As if the fact that his sister, his friends and every single news outlet still referred to him by his childhood nickname hadn’t settled the matter. It was the most rebelliously thoughtful question he’d ever been asked.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now.” He pulled off his gloves and let his bare fingers brush her hair. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m okay.” She grabbed his left hand and held it tightly. Somehow her voice managed to sound a bit stronger than his. “What happened to the guy who attacked me?”
“Gone.” His eyes glanced toward the empty tree line. “He ran.”
“What did he look like?”
“Tall. Heavyset. Black ski mask. Tattoo on his wrist but I couldn’t make it out.”
“It was a bear,” she said, “and the word Kodiak. But I have no idea who he was. He said he was looking for someone I used to know, a woman named Charlotte. But I haven’t seen her in years.”
She didn’t move. Neither did he. They both just stood there, knee-deep in ice and snow, with sleet smacking against their bodies and their hands holding on to each other. Her face was turned up toward his, her cheeks flushed. She’s beyond beautiful. The thought hit him from out of the blue. There was a quality to her that defied his ability to find adjectives to describe her. He wanted to pull her close, wrap both arms around her and shield her body from the storm.
But he’d never hugged Piper before. Sure, they’d hung out as pals. Great pals. Which was different than a hugging kind of friendship.
Her free hand brushed his beard, as if to double-check he was really there. “But how about you? Are you okay? Where’s the dog? I thought I heard something crash into the barn.”
“Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.” He pulled her hand away from his face, stepped back and held both her hands together in front of him at arm’s length, with what he hoped felt like a reassuring squeeze. “I let the dog out at the top of the hill so he’s probably racing through the trees right now. My truck is mostly okay. I didn’t spin out of control so much as do a fast and calculated skid.” Because, in that second, it was a choice between watching her die from a distance or getting down the hill fast enough to save her. “Now, we need to call the police. My cell phone can’t get a signal.”
“Mine might. I dropped it in the barn. Plus, that’s where I lost my glasses. My vision’s pretty blurry without them.”
He stretched out his arm to guide her up the stairs. Instead, she let go and started walking. He followed her into the barn. The smell of old wood and hay filled his senses. Lights flickered to life above them, revealing rows of stacked chairs, folding tables and boxes of Christmas decorations. A loft lay on one side, with bales of hay tucked underneath. He spotted a fireplace against the far wall, but it was entirely cemented up on the inside and probably hadn’t been used in decades. At least he hadn’t driven into the chimney of a working fireplace. Something crunched under his foot. He bent down and picked up the remains of a blue-and-silver decoration.
“Watch your step. He jumped me the moment I stepped in the door.” She started feeling around on the floor. He unzipped his ski jacket and knelt down beside her. The wind howled, shaking the door in its door frame. “I hit my head and lost consciousness. I never even saw it coming.”
All the more reason to be thankful he was leaving Harry behind as a guard dog. “Isn’t it a bit late to be down here all by yourself?”
“I’ve been walking down the hill to the barn, alone, ever since I was a kid.” She rolled her eyes. “Even before Uncle Des put the path and lights in. Which I think he only did because Aunt Cass was worried I’d break my neck running through the trees in the dark.”
“You used to live with them, right?”
“Yeah. The Downs is theirs and I run it for them. They’ve had to temporarily move in to a retirement building in town because of health problems.” She sighed and sat back on her heels. “Found my phone. Parts of it, anyway.”
He looked down at the pieces in her hand. It looked as if someone had stomped on it. Glancing behind her, he spotted her glasses. He carefully bent them back into shape and cleaned them on the corner of his shirt before handing them to her. “Here you go. Now, what kind of security do you have if he comes back?”
“Just the usual locks on the doors and windows.” She slid her glasses on. Then she grabbed a box of Christmas things from the floor and carried it across the barn, scooping stray decorations off the floor as she went. “I have three guests at The Downs right now, so I won’t be alone. But there’s absolutely no reason for anyone to come back here
