2
BRODY
I stood in the kitchen, holding a woman. Stunned. Mason had gone back outside because he thought he heard a horse—I figured it had been the deceiving sound of the wind—and came back with a woman. Yes, she most surely was a woman. The size of her, the feel of her soft curves, even through her coat, provided no doubts. She was covered head to toe—boots, long dress, wool coat, a scarf that came down low over her face. I could see nothing of her skin, only feel her femininity. Her attire was no match for the fierce weather. What was she doing out in this storm? Why was she here, on Bridgewater? Where had she come from?
"Is she dead?" I asked Mason, who stripped off his gloves and coat. She was freezing cold and the snow that covered her began to dampen my shirt.
"No," he replied, b
