Angel

by L. A. Weatherly

Page 59

 

  She felt the same way about him.

  He hadn’t been sure. Even when he’d almost kissed her, he hadn’t really known what she was feeling — apart from that somehow she liked him, even after what a jerk he’d been to her to start with. But now . . .

  It doesn’t change anything, Alex told himself dazedly. It’s still a really bad idea. Even so, he stood frozen, staring at her as the world seemed to shrink around them.

  Straightening, Willow self-consciously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, not meeting his gaze. “Listen, is it possible to . . . ? I mean, I’d sort of like to get washed off and changed, but —”

  Alex came abruptly back to himself. “Yeah, there’s the stream, but it’s pretty cold. And . . . I didn’t get a towel. ” Damn. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

  “That’s OK,” said Willow. “I can just use a T-shirt or something to dry off with. ”

  Alex grabbed one of his old ones from his bag. “Here, use this. ”

  Their fingers touched as she took it from him. “Thanks. ”

  He turned away, pretending to be fiddling with the camping stove as she rooted through her shopping bag for fresh clothes. There was nothing to fiddle with; all you did was hook up the gas lead to it. Finally, Willow hesitated by the door. She was holding a neat pile of clothing with a bar of motel soap perched on top of it; his T-shirt was under her arm, along with one of the rolls of toilet paper he’d bought. At least he’d remembered that much. “I guess the facilities are outside, right?” she said awkwardly.

  “Yeah. Sorry,” said Alex, rising to his feet.

  “God, don’t be sorry! This place is amazing. You’re amazing. ” Red swept her face again. Ducking her head away, she said hurriedly, “So, anyway, I’ll just go to the stream. ” Then she was gone, the door shutting softly behind her.

  Alex let out a breath. He found himself rearranging the cardboard boxes, so that a few that had been on the bottom were now on the top. He thought he’d give anything for some really hard, physical work right then — about ten miles on the treadmill would do it, or a hundred reps of the biceps press.

  After twenty minutes or so, the door opened and Willow came back in, her green eyes dancing. “OK, I’m feeling invigorated now. You seriously weren’t kidding; that was cold!” She was wearing jeans and the red sweater; a pale blue T-shirt peeked out from the bottom of the sweater.

  Alex grinned, relieved to feel the mood ease. “Hey, don’t say I didn’t warn you. ”

  “I hung your shirt over a branch outside,” she said, tucking her things away in the bag. “It can be our designated towel, OK?”

  “Sounds good. ”

  “So . . . ” She stood up again and gave a small, smiling shrug.

  It was only about ten a. m. ; they had a whole day to fill. Eager to avoid that sort of tension building again, Alex said, “Hey, do you play cards?” He dug in one of the boxes. “I bought us a deck. ”

  Willow raised an eyebrow at him as she sat down at the table. “Are you sure you want to risk this, when I almost beat you at quarters? I play Go Fish. Does that count?”

  “Go Fish?” He held back a laugh. “Yeah, I think I’ll risk it. ” Sitting in the rickety chair to her right, he took the cellophane wrapping off the cards; the plastic made a crinkling sound as he put it aside. “Is that all you play? How about blackjack? Or canasta?”

  She shook her head with a grin. Her hair was loose, falling past her shoulders. “Sorry. I think I must have had a disadvantaged childhood. ”

  “Gin rummy?”

  “Barely. ”

  “I’ll teach you blackjack first,” he said, thumbing through the deck and pulling the jokers out. “It’s really easy. ” The deck rattled as he shuffled it. He dealt them two cards each, one face up and one face down, flipping them expertly across the table.

  “So, why am I not surprised that you’re a card shark?” Willow lifted her facedown card, peering at it.

  He shrugged as he looked at his own card, trying not to notice the way her face lit up when she smiled. “We used to play a lot, back at the camp. There wasn’t much else to do at night without a TV, apart from listening to the coyotes howl. . . . OK, I’m the dealer this round, so you’re trying to beat me. The goal is to get as close to twenty-one points as you can without going over. Wait, we need something to bet with —”

  Shoving back his chair, he delved into one of the grocery boxes and found a large bag of M&M’s. Cully had always had a sweet tooth, he remembered with a pang.

  “Great,” said Willow when she saw them. “That can be breakfast, too. ”

  She had a point; suddenly he was starving. Alex opened the bag and scooped out a handful, then slid it across to her. “OK, the face cards are ten points each, the ace is worth either one or eleven, and the rest are what they say they are. ” He popped a brown M&M into his mouth.

  Willow seemed to think this over, munching a few candies as she gazed at her cards. “And we’re supposed to be going to twenty-one, right?”

  “Right. ”

  “Cool. ” She had a king showing. She flipped over her other card, and Alex groaned, laughing, as he saw that it was an ace. “I’d like the ace to be worth eleven points, please,” she said, dimpling a smile at him. “What do I win?”

  “Oh man, you asked for it. What you win is me taking my gloves off and wiping the floor with you. ” Scraping the cards toward him, Alex shuffled the deck again and slapped it in front of her. “Your deal. Though I’m not really sure why I keep putting myself through this with you. ”

  She gave him an arch look as she picked up the cards. “Glutton for punishment, obviously. ”

  They played for hours, sometimes stopping to talk. As if by mutual agreement, neither of them mentioned anything about angels. They just talked, sharing stories from their lives. Alex found out that Willow liked to cook and that she even made homemade jam in the fall; he told her about his secret love of astronomy, and how in the camp he used to lie on the desert ground at night and stare up at the stars. After a while, they heated up a couple of cans of chili for lunch, eating straight from the cans with metal camping forks. Remembering that there were a few six-packs of beer in one of Cully’s boxes, Alex went outside to put one in the stream to chill.

  “We’ve got a fridge,” said Willow, drifting out after him.

  “Yeah, all the modern conveniences. ” Alex straightened up from the stream and stretched, feeling stiff from sitting still for so long. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

  They put on their hiking boots and explored the area around the cabin for the rest of the afternoon, following the different deer trails. Willow was very relaxed company, easy to talk to when either of them felt like talking or just as happy to stay quiet, lost in her own thoughts as they climbed. Glancing at her profile as they sat on a boulder looking out at the view, it suddenly struck Alex that he’d never felt so comfortable with anyone in his life. It felt as if he’d known Willow always.

  No. It felt like she was a part of him.

  He was silent as they hiked back to the cabin. When they got to the stream, Willow walked ahead of him, bending down and touching the beer cans. “You’ll be happy to know that the fridge works,” she said over her shoulder with a grin. “Do you want one?”