Brock laid her on the sofa and removed her goofy winter hat as her long, dark brown hair fell over her shoulders, so dark that it was nearly black, trying not to notice her thick eyelashes that brushed her rosy cheeks. He slowly unbuttoned her coat but left it on her for warmth until he could find blankets.

Knowing she was safe, he headed back outside and cut off the engine of his truck but didn’t bother to lock it up. If someone was out here in this snowstorm and found their way to his truck, at least they would have a place to go for warmth. He didn’t want to think of any strangers coming into the house while they were there. This may be in the middle of nowhere, but people were still people.

As he built the fire, he realized that his time in war had made him cynical of people. He had always believed that people were good at heart, that their first instincts were to help each other, to be kind to one another. But some things he had seen in war had changed all of that. When push came to shove, people could be greedy, petty, and selfish, even vicious to one another.

Maybe it was time he left the military and started looking for the sunnier side of life, knowing it had to be out there somewhere.

Luckily, the previous owners of the farmhouse had left some dry firewood in the wood box beside the fireplace. And when he looked up the flu to check out the chimney, everything looked to be safe. So, he quickly swept out the fireplace, set in logs, and had a fire blazing in the matter of minutes. Soon, warmth filled the air.

Brock looked over at the woman, picked up one of the couch pillows, dusted it off, and slipped it carefully under her head. He didn’t want to jostle her too much, in case she had a concussion, but he wanted her to be comfortable, too.

Brock sighed as he looked down at her, wondering why she was driving out in the middle of nowhere during a snowstorm. But in her defense, the snowstorm had just come up. He pushed the thought away and headed into the kitchen to look for some candles or a flashlight... anything that he could use to look through the house for some blankets.

Brock looked through some cabinets, but found nothing but dishes: plates, saucers, and such. Whoever owned the house had left all their belongings. He wondered why they had left in such a hurry, or if this was just their summer home. But he shrugged it off and continued searching the cabinets. When he opened the cabinet door next to the stove, there were some candles, a flashlight, and some emergency supplies, which he took to the living room.

He set one of the candles on the coffee table and lit it. Then he took the flashlight and went through a hallway. There was a stairwell immediately to the left, and two bedrooms downstairs: a master bedroom to the right at the front of the house, another smaller bedroom to the left, and a bathroom between.

The stairs creaked as he headed upstairs and he was astonished to see that there were three bedrooms upstairs. For some reason, he thought the space might be nice opened up to create a Great Room. But this wasn’t his house.

Brock headed down the stairs, knowing there wasn’t much there that could be of help to them. On the first floor, he headed into the bedrooms and looked in the closet for some spare blankets. Finding four, he brought them into the living room and set them on an old-fashioned chair, setting off to the side. Then he headed back into the kitchen to look for food or a pantry. Although it was clear that no one had lived here for a while, maybe they would get lucky and find some canned goods or soup they could cook in the fireplace. In Afghanistan, this place would have been a palace compared to some places he had seen there. Yes, they could make do here nicely.

He found two cans of soup from the pantry, along with other canned goods, mainly vegetables. Next, he found a saucepan and checked to see if the water was running. Luckily, the owners hadn’t turned off the water and the pipes hadn’t frozen yet. But without electricity, there would be no hot water, unless they heated it on the stove like in the olden days. Hopefully, they would only be there for the night until the storm let up.

Opening a drawer, Brock found a can opener and he was in business. He quickly opened the cans of soup, found dish soap under the cabinet and soaped the bottom of the pan so it wouldn’t burn, covered it, and then settled it into the fire, sending shoots of sparks into the air and up the chimney.

“It’s a good thing it’s not Christmas Eve,” Brock said aloud, laughing at his own joke. “Santa would have a rude awakening otherwise.”

Warmth had filled the air, so while the soup was cooking, Brock crossed the room to the woman, took off her heavy coat, and covered her over with two blankets to make sure she stayed warm throughout the night.

There was a love seat, so he vowed to make do with that for the night.

Soon, the soup was ready, and he rinsed out two bowls, poured in the soup, and carried it back into the living room. He looked down at the sleeping woman and smiled, remembering when she asked him if he was an angel. He frowned, knowing he was far from it. Some of the things he had to do in war taught him what he was capable of. But looking down at her, he knew he could be better... for her.

“Miss?” he asked, gently shaking her shoulder, but she didn’t stir. Knowing that rest was the best thing for her, he let her sleep.

Brock slid off his coat and laid it across the back of the love seat, picked up one of the bowls, and covered himself with another blanket, settling in. As he ate the soup and watched the fire, he stole glimpses of the beautiful, young woman asleep on the couch, hoping she hadn’t been seriously injured. Then he blew across the soup and took a bite, letting the heat warm him from the inside.

As he ate, he remembered what he had thought. That he could be better, put the past behind him and start over. If he had someone like her, well, maybe he could.