As he walked on, I stayed still for a moment, looking around at the woods with new eyes. Maybe they weren’t so scary—
A long, low howl split the air, then another one answered it. I went stock still for a second, one of those caveman responses you just can’t shake. Then I relaxed, the way I would in the city. Don’t be stupid. It’s just dogs.
Then I remembered I wasn’t in the city, anymore. “Wait. Wait, was that—”
Cal turned and looked back at me.
I felt my eyes go big. “Was that wolves? Actual wolves?”
“They won’t bother people,” he said. “Not unless you’re injured, and on your own.” He said it like it was meant to be reassuring. We moved on, with me keeping closer to him.
In the early afternoon, we came to a clearing and Cal said it was a good place to rest and eat. He set his backpack down, told Rufus to wait with me, and then walked off into the trees, unslinging his rifle as he went. It took a few seconds for me to get it: he didn’t carry food with him, beyond jerky. That’s how he traveled so far with just a small backpack. When he wanted to eat, he hunted. My life back in Seattle, when I could grab a bagel or a pizza slice on any street corner, suddenly seemed ridiculously easy.
I didn’t want to just sit there while he did all the work: he’d done so much for me already. He’d need a fire to cook whatever he brought home, right? I didn’t know how to build one but I could sure as hell collect wood. I made my way around the clearing, grabbing any loose sticks I could find, only slightly delayed by Rufus thinking it was a game and grabbing the sticks in his teeth and refusing to let go until I threw one for him to fetch.
A shot rang out, echoing through the trees. So fast?! It had only been a couple of minutes. Then another shot. I moved faster, gathering armfuls of wood, and when Cal re-entered the clearing a few moments later, I had an impressive pile. He looked surprised, but nodded his thanks and showed me the two birds he’d shot.
I got him to show me how to build a fire, clearing away scrub so that we didn’t burn down the whole forest, making a teepee with kindling underneath and then building a layer of thicker wood on top. He prepared the birds and we strung them on a makeshift spit so they could roast over the fire. It was lengthy and laborious and fascinating.
A gentle breeze tousled our hair and sent the smoke twisting and dancing. The sun had warmed the grass and it was luxuriantly soft to lounge on as we took turns turning the spit. The flames crackled and hissed as juices dripped and the air filled with the smell of roasting meat. I was still on the run...but right at that moment, I wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else in the world.
We ate with Rufus lying flat on his belly and making big, mournful eyes at us, then springing up to catch chunks of meat in mid-air when one of us took pity on him. He probably got more of our birds than we did. Bellies full, we put out the fire and moved on.
We walked all day, descending into a valley and then up a long hill. The sun sank in the sky, outlining every tree in orange-gold fire and the forest grew thicker and thicker, until I couldn’t see more than fifty yards ahead. By the time the sun turned red and eased below the horizon, I was exhausted: this was the furthest I’d walked in my life. I stumbled along with my eyes on the ground, focused on not tripping over a fallen branch in the dim light. So when Cal stopped, I almost walked into his back. “What is it?” I asked. “What’s up?”
He stepped out of the way and pointed through the trees. “We’re home.”
20
Bethany
RUFUS RAN FORWARD, barking excitedly and sniffing everything in sight. But I just stood at the edge of the clearing and stared.
It was a cabin, no bigger than thirty feet on a side. The walls were made of thick, dark logs, crisscrossing at the corners, like something out of the Old West. More logs made up a sloping roof. The windows had heavy wooden shutters and I noticed the door was sized for Cal—probably one of the few he wouldn’t have to stoop to get through.
Cal led me forward and showed me around while there was still enough light to see by. There was a chicken coop where chickens were just settling in to roost for the night. There was a lean-to for tools and a woodshed piled high with firewood ready for winter. A couple of things I had no idea about: a tall, narrow hut with a chimney and smoke drifting from it, and something big, round, and metal that was half-hidden under a tarpaulin. But I recognized the vegetable garden, with plants growing in neat rows, the herb pots and the fruit canes.
Finally, he showed me the barn. As soon as the door creaked open, there was a loud, commanding moo. Cal took me over to a stall where a large, black-and-cream cow was waiting for attention. She pushed her wet, pink nose into Cal’s hand and wouldn’t stop mooing until he expertly scratched behind her ears. In the next stall, a goat with a snow-white coat and curving brown horns put his front hooves up on the slats of the door and stayed there until Cal petted it. Back outside, he showed me around the back of the barn, where a pig pen held three snorting, boisterous pigs. Running along the back of the entire smallholding was a field of wheat, the golden stalks turning silver as the sun sank and the moon rose.
I turned a slow circle, taking it all in. “What do you do for power?” I asked.
“No power. There’s a wood stove for cooking, lanterns for light.”
“Phone?”
“No phone.”
“Water?”
He showed me the wooden doors that covered the well.
He was completely self-sufficient here, I realized. And utterly alone. “How far is the nearest person?”
“There’s a town, Marten Valley. I go there every three, four months for stuff I can’t grow myself.” He pointed. “It’s about six hours’ walk that way.”
“You don’t have a car?”
He shook his head. “No roads, out here. When I went to Seattle I borrowed one.”
It was beautiful, idyllic: a little home carved out right in the center of the forest. But...now that the animals had quietened down, it was so silent! Even a bird squawking, far off, seemed loud. I realized that I’d never been this far from people my entire life. It was achingly lonely and this was with Cal there. How must it be for him, not hearing another voice or seeing another face for months at a time? What the hell would drive someone to choose this kind of isolation?
He opened the door and, immediately, Rufus pushed past our legs and ran inside. He trotted to a corner where a blue blanket, tattered but soft with age, lay spread out on the floor. As he curled up and went to sleep, I looked around.
The inside of the cabin was one big room. The log walls had been stripped of bark and sanded down so they were glossy and smooth, and the cracks sealed up so that there were no drafts. There was a table and chair, handmade and as big and chunky as Cal himself. As much as possible, I realized, was made of wood. Because everything not made from wood—every nail, every pane of glass in the windows—would have had to have been brought from the nearest town, carried for six hours on Cal’s back. Building this place on his own, so far from any roads, was a monumental achievement. “It’s amazing,” I said.
Cal didn’t answer. When I looked at him, he was just looking around as if seeing the cabin for the first time: seeing it through my eyes. It slowly hit me that I was the first person, other than him, to ever see it. He’d had no one to share it with. The thought was heartbreaking.
One wall was dominated by a huge iron stove. “How did you get that here?” I asked.
“In the winter,” he said. “Boat brought it up the river, then I dragged it on a sled. Until then, I just cooked on a campfire.”
Nothing was electric, I realized. Nothing was even battery-powered. Everything was sturdy and easily repairable and probably wouldn’t have looked much different two hundred years ago. There was a cast-iron skillet, a stove-top coffee pot and a big, hand-cranked mill for grinding. There were oil-fired lanterns for when it got dark and blankets for when it got cold. It was basic but cozy. And very, very remote. For the fi
rst time since I got into the limo in Seattle, I felt myself relax. Cal was right: Ralavich would never find me, here.
“Let me see if I can find you something to wear,” said Cal. In the corner of the room, a chunk of wood had been nailed to the wall. He put his foot on it and used it to boost himself up to the rafters, then hauled himself up into the roof space. One end of the room had been boarded over and I realized he used it for storage. While he hunted for clothes, I checked in on Rufus. He was still asleep on his blanket, paws and tail occasionally twitching as he chased dream-rabbits. His blanket, I saw, hadn’t started out as one. I could see button holes along one frayed edge. The sleeves were missing, but it had been one of Cal’s shirts, once.
Cal threw things down from the roof space one by one: some boots, a blue plaid shirt, a t-shirt and a pair of jeans.
He swung himself down and dropped to the floor, graceful despite his size. “They won’t fit,” he warned as he walked towards me, “But I figure we can make it work.”
I nodded and crouched down to gather up the clothes. Arms full, I glanced up...and swallowed.
He was right in front of me, no more than a foot away, and indoors, he seemed even bigger. He was gazing down at me and the look in his eyes took my breath away. He was looking at me, all disheveled and muddy and with twigs in my hair, as if I was the best thing he’d ever seen. I felt that silver string inside me pull tight and tremble. And there was something else in his eyes, fiery and primal. His eyes flicked to my breasts, to the bare thigh revealed by the dress. A wave of heat rippled down my body and slammed into my groin.
I stood up, very slowly. I was so close to him that I could feel the heat of his body and it was making me almost drunk. My eyes passed his muscled thighs and I thought about the way they’d spread me, thick and solid, if he pressed even one of them between my legs. I passed his hands, curled almost into fists with the tension, hands that could so easily grab me, lift me, position me just how he wanted. And then, it was impossible to avoid: the bulge at his crotch, the denim tight and straining right down to—oh wow.
I kept going, my eyes rising past his belt, past the taut flatness of his stomach and then up to the broad swells of his chest. My eyes roved left and right: he was so big, he filled my vision. The urge to step forward and rub myself full length against the hardness of his body was unbelievable. It was more than just lust. There was an indescribable feeling of rightness. As if, if I pressed myself to him, I’d fit exactly, his big body sheltering me from any storm.
I looked up and met his gaze. His eyes were blazing down at me and I swore I could feel the heat on my face. He was frowning. Why are you doing this to me?
I looked helplessly back at him. I’m not doing anything!
He finally looked away, breaking the spell. Flushing, I looked around for somewhere to change. Then I remembered that the cabin was one big room. Oh.
I saw realization cross Cal’s face. “I need to get some meat from the smoker,” he muttered, and left.
The smoker. That was what the weird chimney hut outside was. I stood there for a few seconds, my cheeks cooling. Then I hurried to get changed before he got back. But when I had the dress half undone, I noticed something that made me stop.
He’d taken time, maybe years, building this place and getting it exactly right. But there wasn’t a single personal item here. Not a picture of him drunk with buddies or with his family, not a lumpy ceramic mug made by a nephew for his birthday. Memories didn’t have a place here. He hadn’t just isolated himself physically, he’d obliterated his past.
And the only reason he’d do that was if his past was too painful to remember.
21
Cal
I PULLED a couple of venison steaks from the hooks in the smoker and took a deliberately slow walk back to the house, checking on the chickens and making sure the barn door was closed tight. That should be enough time, right? I rounded the corner and—
Through the window, I saw her standing in just bra and panties, looking off to the side. She was reaching behind her and just as my brain registered what I was seeing, just as I was thinking I shouldn’t be watching this, the bra came free and the breasts I’d spent the last few days—hell, the last six months—fantasizing about, were revealed. God, they were incredible, weighty and full, and topped with dark pink nipples.
I swallowed and stepped back around the corner of the house, the image of her burned into my mind. I counted to ten Mississipi. Okay, now she’s got to be dressed, right? I took a deep breath. I’d walk in there and pretend nothing had happened. I rounded the corner again—
She had her back to me, now. The panties were just falling to the floor to reveal her perfect, curvy rump. I stood there transfixed as she pulled the jeans up her legs, the milky cheeks of her ass swaying this way and that.
Yes, I kept watching. I’m only human, dammit.
She pulled on the t-shirt and then the plaid shirt and then I finally marched out of the darkness and opened the door. Inside, I busied myself slicing up the venison and frying it with an onion, mixing in water and beans and spices.
“How did you learn all this stuff?” she asked. “Hunting. Crops. Building a cabin.”
I shrugged. “It was just normal, for me. That’s the way my folks raised me. I could handle a rifle by the time I was ten.”
She stared at that. I guess city folk aren’t used to guns.
“Our place was a lot like this,” I told her. “But bigger, big enough for my folks and me. We had a little land and we scratched a living farming. And we weren’t as far into the woods as we are here, just a mile or so outside a town. The sweet spot, my dad used to call it, close enough to have friends and neighbors, far enough out to be left alone.”
“My dad was a former Marine. Struck matches on his stubble, didn’t allow any cursing in his house and if I left the chicken coop open or forgot to put the milk pail away, he’d dress me down like a drill sergeant. But he was fair. Taught me how to shoot, how to hunt and skin, how to fell trees and build a house.”
“My mom homeschooled me. She’d coach me on science and math and French verbs till my brain hurt, but she made these cookies with cherries and white chocolate that…” I shook my head, my mouth watering. “God, I can taste them now. She came from a family of farmers and she taught me about crops and soil and what to plant when. She was as tough as my dad: she wasn’t afraid to get up on the roof to fix a leak, or pick up a gun to see off a cougar.” I looked at the floor. “She died when I was twelve. Problem with her heart, no one saw it coming. After that, it was just my dad and me.” I stopped for a second, thinking. “We weren’t rich...I guess we were poor. But I never felt like I wanted for anything.”
She nodded and looked thoughtful. I wondered how different it was to her own childhood. Very, I was guessing. “Sounds nice,” she said at last.
The sincerity in her voice made something break free inside me and rise to the surface. Because she was right: it had been nice. A good childhood. A happy family. A gift I should have been able to pass on, one day. A family, maybe with someone like Bethany.
But then, in one night, everything changed. My life was put on a different path.
I turned away, pretending to check the food, as the memories broke free. The alley walls, so cold under my palms. His grunt of pain. The stink of blood.
I stared at the bubbling pot, knuckles going white on the spoon as I stirred. I tried to take a slow breath, but the pain made it ragged. I could hear Bethany’s silence, behind me. She knew something was up and I was worried she was going to ask, but she didn’t. That was one of the things I liked about her: she was sensitive, good with people in a way I could never be.
I stirred and stirred and finally managed to force the memories back down. Only when I had myself under control did I turn down the heat and go to help her with the clothes.
The plaid shirt was more like a coat on her and the t-shirt hung halfway to her knees, but with some rolling up of sleeves and tuckin
g in, they worked.
The jeans were harder. We had to roll the cuffs up and use some cord to make a belt to keep them on her hips. I knelt in front of her, threading it through the loops and tying it off, and trying to forget about the fact that I knew she wasn’t wearing any panties under the loose denim. They were still a little damp from the river, so she’d hung them near the stove to dry...along with the bra. Every time she moved, her breasts would bob and swing under the t-shirt and I lost the thread of what I was saying.
The boots were the hardest to make work. She had dainty little feet and even with three pairs of thick socks, they were nowhere close to as big as mine. But I had some newspaper I kept for kindling and by scrunching that into the toes, we managed to get something that would stay on her feet. She tried a few experimental steps, the huge things clumping around like clown shoes and she looked—
I swallowed. She looked adorable.
I was kneeling in front of her and for once it was me looking up at her, at those big brown eyes, so liquid and soft. She gave me one of those shy little lopsided grins.
Suddenly, I couldn’t stop looking at her lips. The world seemed to stop.
Idiot. I stood and twisted away, breathing fast. It wasn’t just the attraction. As I’d looked at her, just for a second, stupid fantasies had started playing in my head: her and me and Rufus, all together like—
Like a family.
Stupid. The monster doesn’t get a happy ending.
I checked the pot. “Food’s ready.”
I passed her a bowl of stew and a hunk of bread and she thanked me. But she kept looking at me, her eyes full of concern. All she wanted was to help me.
I deliberately looked away and avoided her eyes until I felt her finally drop her gaze. People like me don’t deserve help.
Deep Woods Page 8