Snowbound

By Freya Barker

Had she known 'doing the right thing' would land her jobless, homeless, and snowed in with a moody bear of a man guarding her, Bobbie Strada might've thought twice.

 

Last thing US Marshal Dag Toland needed was to get stuck protecting a witness as tempting as this one. Especially when forced to share a small mountain cabin in the middle of a snowstorm.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Freya Barker
• Release date: Dec 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215625330

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Bobbie

Great meal. Thanks.

I turn my head and throw a smile at Mike before refocusing on the dishes.

The guys have offered to take on cleanup duty after meals, but I waved them off. The kitchen is my domain, the only place where I can feel at least a tiny bit useful. Besides, I like having my hands in the warm, sudsy water, it’s almost like meditation to me, and Lord knows I need all the help I can get to preserve my sanity. I just wish I could look out the window while doing it, but they insist the blinds stay closed at all times.

That doesn’t mean I haven’t snuck a peek every now and then, mainly from my bedroom window. All I know is there aren’t any other houses visible from the front of the house. I’m not even sure where we are, since I was driven here in the back of a van, although it can’t be too far from Denver, judging by the half hour or so it took us to get here.

I’ve been cooped up in this house for over two months now, cut off from the outside world. No phone, no computer, just a large screen TV with only Netflix as an option, plus a large collection of old movies on DVD to kill the time. They haven’t allowed me any calls so I haven’t talked to Jillian, my best friend, in as long as I’ve been here. I was assured she was notified I’d be out of touch for an extended period of time, and I understand it’s as much for her protection as it is my own, but I miss her. I miss having someone in my corner. I’m not sure what she was told, but if I discovered her house had been burned to the ground and she suddenly went missing, I know I’d be worried sick.

The only thing keeping me from going out of my mind has been cooking. It’s what I do, both for work and for pleasure. I’m the sous-chef at a popular Italian restaurant in downtown Denver, The Olive Press. At least I was before I landed myself in this mess. Now I’m not so sure I’ll still have a job if ever I get out of here. All I can do is keep my skills fresh and the guys are appreciative of my efforts. All except one.

The guys I’m talking about are US marshals. Four of them in total, although not at the same time. They work on some kind of rotation I haven’t been able to figure out yet, but today Marshal Mike Cooke is in the house with me. He’s one of the appreciative ones and usually sits at the large kitchen island, chatting while watching me cook. Probably in his early thirties, he’s also been the most forthcoming and I know he has a serious girlfriend, he loves backcountry camping, and his dog’s name is Mutt.

The others aren’t quite so chatty, so I tend to do the talking, except with Marshal Toland. He’s the large, broody, and intimidating one. Older than the rest, with predominantly gray hair, ice-blue eyes, and a stern mouth. I’ve never seen him crack a smile and I swear he hasn’t said more than two words to me in all these months. I can also count the times he’s eaten my cooking. He’s certainly never indicated he enjoys it, which is not something I’m used to. Everyone loves my cooking, it’s what I thrive on, but Marshal Toland has never as much as expressed a Thank you. All I get from him is an unidentifiable grunt before he disappears into another room.

Luckily, he’s only been here a handful of times compared to the other guys. He rattles me.

I drain the sink and grab a towel to dry the dishes.

Movie?

Mike sticks his head into the kitchen.

Not for me tonight, I tell him. I want to finish my book.

The US Marshal’s Office kindly supplied me with a Kindle reader loaded with enough books to last me a lifetime. I’ve always been too busy to read as much as I’d like, but I’ve been devouring the romance section these past months. Stories that take me out of my rather dismal situation and offer me a little light and hope.

Want me to make some coffee before I head upstairs?

If you don’t mind, that’d be great, Bobbie. You’re a treasure.

I grin at him. Too young and very taken, but I enjoy his harmless flirts and compliments. How sad is that?

From the living room I hear the opening credits for Star Wars and am grateful I opted to sit this one out. Mike is a sci-fi fan and I’ve already sat through all of the movies at least once, which was torture enough. I make a fresh pot—these guys seem to drink coffee all day long—and quickly dry the dishes and put them away. I like