Savage Cinderella

by PJ Sharon

  When he stopped and looked up, their eyes met, and a playful grin took over his face. It was not a predator’s expression, but one of delight, as if he were truly happy to see her at the top of the hill. The sight of his smile, full-lipped and white-toothed, sent a prickle to the back of her neck. His dimpled smile was not like any other man’s. If she didn’t know better, she would think he was still a boy, but it made little difference to her. She tried to make sense of the feelings and thoughts that mingled and fluttered through her insides. Habits of old told her to keep running. She spun away and bolted farther up the mountain slope.

  The spring rains had left the trail slippery. Mud caked the side of her boots and spattered her legs, adding to her natural camouflage. Brinn propelled herself upward. She navigated around treacherous moss-covered stones, pulling herself up the steep slope by tree branches, vines, and wood ferns, keeping a marked distance between her and the man who wanted her picture so desperately.

  She’d never seen a camera like his, but Mr. Hoffman, the owner of the General Store in town, had some on the shelf, and she was familiar with the concept of photography. After all, the books that she treasured were full of pictures taken by people like her young pursuer. Anyone who could capture the world in frozen moments and share its beauty with others couldn’t be all bad.

  An urge to stop and confront the stranger welled inside her, warring with her instinct to run. She didn’t want him to have her picture. No one could know she was there. If she was found out, she had no doubt, she would die.

  Before she had a chance to decide, Brinn heard a loud cry from behind her. Doubling back on the trail, she watched as the man tumbled down the hill—a blur of flailing arms and legs—and crashed with a thump against a tree.

  After a moment’s hesitation, she slipped and slid down the slope, her heart thundering with the fear that he might be dead. Though she had no reason to concern herself with the well-being of a stranger, she couldn't fight the desperate desire to help him. She’d led him up this trail knowing full well how dangerous it could be. She prayed he wasn’t hurt because of her.

  The spark of connection that she’d felt when their eyes had met touched a distant place deep inside. Flashes of the family she’d lost long ago surfaced with unexpected clarity, intensifying the panic that rose in her chest.

  When she reached the bottom of the hill, she slowed her steps and approached him carefully. He might be playing possum in order to capture her.

  From a few feet away, she could see that wasn’t likely. Blood oozed from a nasty gash on his head, darkening his soft brown curls. His ankle was twisted awkwardly and already beginning to swell. Even if he was conscious, he wouldn’t be walking on his own, let alone running a chase. She sat down and considered her pursuer, watching his chest rise and fall, a sign, at least for now, that he was still alive.

  The light was fading as the sun settled below the tree line, casting dark shadows like pools of marsh water. The cool air chilled her warm flesh, and she knew she had to get back to the cabin for the night. Left behind by some early settler, it was well hidden and far from any main trail—a place no one would ever find her. A safe haven from weather and the prying eyes of strangers, the abandoned shack was her home.

  Bringing this man to the cabin was unthinkable, not to mention unmanageable, based on the width of his shoulders and his long-limbed frame. Brinn frowned.

  He was a stranger who meant nothing to her. Why had his smile and the sunshine warmth of his eyes sparked such a response of longing? The pain of loneliness tugged at her heart. She disregarded the familiar and constant ache, having convinced herself that it didn’t matter.

  She knew she should just leave him there, but the thought of him in the woods at night, injured and alone, plucked at a distant memory.

  It was another night in May when the cool mist of the mountains had rained down on her and she had awakened—bruised, terrified, and alone, covered in dirt and leaves. Eight winters and springs had passed, but the feeling came back sudden and sharp. She knew she could not leave him there to die.

  Chapter 2

  Prisoner or Patient?

  When Justin regained consciousness, darkness surrounded him. Shadows of massive trees towered above, their canopy of branches against the cloud-covered night sky lending to the eeriness of the endless forest. The searing pain in his head and the throbbing ache deep in his bones discouraged even the smallest movement.

  He felt himself being dragged over bumps and rocks which drove shards of pain into his ankle with every shift of his body. He clutched the sides of the makeshift litter that he lay on as he heard the grunt and growl of a large animal close by—very close by. Then he registered a soft humming sound from somewhere behind him.

  Not sure which way was up or down, Justin lay still. He listened to the sounds of the black night and the haunting melody that filled the air, wondering how much time had passed and where the girl was taking him. Despite the darkness, he sensed her presence. Icy needles of rain stung his face, and the air was cold around him, his clothes soaked and clinging. He shivered, and pain shot through his head.

  For one brief moment, before even the shadows disappeared, he wondered if this was what it felt like to die.

  ∞∞∞

  When the world appeared once more, the aches and pains in his body let him know that he was indeed alive. The mattress beneath him lumped at his hip, a spring poked into his ribs, and he was covered in musty blankets. The smell of smoke and the crackling of a fire drew his attention as he peered around the dimly lit space. His head throbbed with the effort.

  Soft firelight cast shadows around him. A blaze of lightning, followed by a crack of thunder, illuminated what appeared to be a one-room shack. A table and chairs were tucked into one corner, and a row of cabinets stood along the wall next to a sideboard with drawers. Hanging on wooden pegs were an ancient pair of snowshoes and a dark fur cloak. Stacks of books rose from floor to head height in every corner of the room as if the ramshackle cabin were a public library turned on its side. Across the room, a figure sat perched on an old sea trunk, bright eyes peering at him in the gloom, her knees drawn up under a worn woolen blanket.

  "What happened? How did I get here?" Justin demanded, his dry throat catching painfully.

  He moved to touch the spot on his head that felt like it was on fire and flinched, unable to reach his target. His hands were tied to the bedposts, tight leather straps allowing for only a few inches of movement in any direction. His foot was splinted and wrapped in a sheet that was secured to the iron posts and fashioned as a sling, elevating the throbbing limb. Panicked by his confinement, he struggled, only to fall back in agonizing pain. A bolt of hot lightning seared in a line straight from his head to his right ankle.

  "What do you think you're doing? You can't tie me up like this! Who are you?" Fear and pain held him strung tight with anger. Nothing in his twenty-three years had prepared him for this.

  The girl stiffened but didn't answer his questions. He took in a deep breath and released it slowly. I have to clear my mind, he reasoned against the haze that closed in on him again and threatened to pull him under. A few more deep breaths calmed his nerves and eased the dizzying nausea. If she wanted him dead, she would have left him out in the woods.

  The fall...yes, that was it...he fell. Taking stock of his injuries, he grimaced. Worse still, under all the blankets, he was naked. "What have you done with my clothes?" he asked calmly, forcing the annoyance out of his tone.

  After a moment's silence, a soft voice spoke from the shadows. "They were wet. You could freeze to death sleeping in wet clothes."

  Her voice was soft and sweet but the vacant tone and the odd accent left him hollow. Who was this girl and where had she come from?

  "Why did you tie me up? I won't hurt you. I give you my word." When she didn’t respond and he could think of nothing more to plead his case, Justin remained silent. He stared up at the decaying rafters while he struggled to stay focus
ed. It took all his effort to control the shock and bone-deep chill that had his limbs trembling painfully.

  The small voice, sharp and angry, broke the darkness. "Like the men of our government gave their word to the native Indians? Or maybe it’s like the serpent’s promise to Eve in the garden.” Her tirade halted as she looked away. “I’m sorry...I...“

  “If you feel that way, why did you help me?” Justin interrupted, pain and frustration igniting his annoyance.

  She stared at him for a long moment and then looked toward the fire again, her eyes distant. “If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain.”

  Justin lifted his head slowly in surprise. He considered her with new interest. He recognized the familiar words. “If I can ease one life the aching, or cool the pain...”

  The girl peered intently at him in the dim light. She added the next line, anticipation growing in her voice, “Or help one fainting robin unto his nest again...”

  “I shall not live in vain.” Justin finished the poem, detecting a hint of amusement in the curve of her lips.

  “You know Miss Emily Dickinson.” Her face turned stony again. “I would not have imagined a man would read her writings.” After a moment she added, “But just because you recite poetry doesn’t mean I will untie you.”

  Whoever she was, she was not a simple mountain person. She spoke with a clear and distinctly educated vocabulary. Her use of words seemed almost too formal and her speech had an awkward accent. More than her tone, the cadence of her words bothered him. It was as if she had to force herself to form the words properly—as if she didn’t speak often.

  Justin ignored the questions that formed the ongoing commentary in his mind and glared back at the ceiling “I get it. You don’t trust me. Given the circumstances, I wouldn’t either if I were you.”

  Persuading this girl to open up was not going to be easy. What could he say to reassure her? His eyes found hers across the room. “I know I haven’t given you reason yet to trust me, but I've not personally given you reason to distrust me either."

  She remained silent, apparently pondering the logic and truth of his statement, observing him with a curious glare. “Why did you come after me?” she asked after a moment.

  “I wanted your picture for my magazine...” Justin hesitated and then smiled faintly into the shadows, "and because I thought you looked beautiful in the stream today.” He couldn’t see her response, but felt her become very still. A long minute of silence made the air thick.

  “Would you like some water?" she asked, her tone softening.

  Gravel scratched his throat as he swallowed. “That would be good. Thank you.”

  After a few minutes hesitation, she rose slowly, filled a dented tin cup with water from a rain barrel—which was collecting steadily beneath a leak in the roof—and came to the bedside, warily helping him to drink.

  Every movement sent shocks of pain through his head, but the water felt cool and soothing on his throat. He studied her features, capturing the bright blue eyes that tilted up slightly at the edges and now peered suspiciously down at him beneath long, dark lashes. Her face was the shape of an upside-down teardrop, her chin delicate beneath high cheekbones. Her cheeks were touched with a rosy glow from the fire, and her plump lips pursed in concentration as she tried not to spill water down his neck. Failing that, she wiped the water from his chin with her hand and then froze in place, staring down at him with an expression of wide-eyed panic.

  She jerked her hand back from his face as if recoiling from hot coals. Hastily rising from the edge of the bed, she resumed her place on the chest across the room, huddled in her blanket. Her response to him, unnerving as it was, gave Justin hope that she was not out to torture him. But her obvious fear of him didn’t bode well for persuading her to free him either.

  While the rain beat heavily on the roof, drips plopping sporadically onto the floor, he surveyed the stacks of books that he had noticed earlier. In the flickering light he could barely make out the titles, but the piles included everything from romance novels to classics to educational texts and how-to books. At least she was well-read. Attempting to outwit her was not a likely option given the keen expression of curiosity that lit her features.

  Behind all her wariness was a spark of intellect that intrigued him. How could he gain her trust? He’d always been a lousy liar, so deception was out of the question. Possibly his only hope for escape would be to charm the girl. He studied her in the candlelight. Judging from the glower on her face and her rigid posture, even charm held slim hope.

  “Can you please untie me?” He had to make the effort, but the silent scowl that met his plea was answer enough.

  Resigned to a long night ahead, he stretched as best he could, settling his swollen foot in its sling and letting out a groan that caused the girl to squirm. He’d have given anything for an ice pack and an aspirin just then, but didn’t bother asking, certain she wouldn’t have access to such amenities.

  A candle on the table lit the room in shadows. A few pots and pans and an unlit lantern hung above the hearth. An ancient ax leaned against a stack of wood, and a shelf with glass containers of dried herbs divided the small curtained windows. More herbs hung drying from the rafters, the stalks bound tightly in bunches. The leafy bouquets dangled upside down in a long row. Could this be all a person needed to survive? It was a far cry from his condo in Atlanta. An instant burst of gratitude flooded his chest at how lucky he was—his own family issues notwithstanding.

  "My name is Justin Spencer. I don’t mean to frighten you, but I was here on assignment, so you should know that people will be looking for me if I don't show up tomorrow."

  Maybe if he appealed to her sense of privacy, she would let him be on his way. She glared at him and ignored the comment. Wincing with the small effort it took to turn toward the girl, he realized he wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. His gut tightened. Where were her people? She couldn't possibly live out here alone in the mountains.

  "By the way, how did you bring me here?” he asked. “Do you have family or friends that helped you?"

  A hint of a smile crossed her face in the firelight, softening her wary expression. "I have a friend, yes." Then the smile was gone, and she stared off into the flame blazing in the stone hearth. "I don’t have a family."

  Justin wondered about the friend who had helped carry him to this cabin and whether this friend would be friendly or not when morning came. Not wanting to think too hard about the prospect, Justin continued his inquiry. "Do you live here alone, then?"

  She eyed him, measuring her response before answering. "Sometimes.”

  “How did you come to live so far into the mountains?” Justin asked, curiosity taking over. He watched her in the soft glow of candlelight and shadow. Her eyes shimmered like blue gems as she stared into the fire. A blank expression covered her face as if she were somewhere else.

  Finally returning to the moment, she set her eyes on his and let out a slow breath. She evaded the question and answered instead, "The forest is my home, this cabin shelters me from the wind and rain, and the streams, roots, and bushes provide food for me."

  She stopped to take another deep breath and added in an almost imperceptible whisper that gripped Justin's heart, "I’m safe here."

  Chapter 3

  In the Light of Day

  The man finally drifted off after she stopped answering his onslaught of questions. She’d prepared a cup of willow bark tea mixed with chamomile and valerian that he drank without argument, despite complaining of the pungent odor and bitter taste. Uncertain of his motives and having no clear plan for the unusual houseguest who lay in her bed, she remained wary, answering in vague, clipped sentences until he yawned deeply and stopped talking. The powerful mix of herbs should keep him sleeping comfortably until morning. She’d worried about his head injury, but since his vision seemed fine and he was speaking coherently, she decided that sleep would be the best medicine. If his breathing beca
me labored or shallow, she would wake him. She stoked the fire, added a few more logs, and then sat down on the old sea trunk listening to the rhythm of his breath.

  Dozing, she awakened to the steady sound of his light snore, so unfamiliar and yet oddly comforting. To have another person sleeping so near tugged at a place deep in her soul—a place where warm arms held her gently and the sweet smell of home permeated the air.

  A mother who carried the scent of eucalyptus: a father who smelled of coffee and newspaper: sitting in a big kitchen eating cinnamon toast. The distant memories emerged in flashes, and a desperate desire for companionship hummed beneath the surface of her dreams. The thought of having someone to depend on both warmed and frightened her.

  The hollow ache of loneliness had lived inside her for as long as she could remember. She had accepted that a different life lay in a world beyond her reach. Why did his presence make her question her future? Thinking about the future only made her sad. Her very survival depended not on another person, but on living one day—one moment—at a time. She pushed the thoughts aside.

  The gray light of dawn seeped through the window and sent shadows across her prisoner's face, which now held an almost angelic expression. Brinn’s eyes wandered down the curved muscles of his neck and shoulders and up his outstretched arms. She watched the rise and fall of his wide chest. Then she followed the line of his lean, muscular body, aware of the sensations that crept along her skin.

  Inspecting his tanned arms—the fine hairs golden in the first rays of morning light—she wondered what it would feel like to touch them. Was the hair as soft as it looked? Were his muscles as firm and taut as they appeared? Her eyes drifted across his smooth chest. The contours of each defined curve of his torso made her flesh rise and tingle. It felt like it did when she stood under a cool waterfall on a hot summer day—a sensation that took her breath away. The pounding in her ears was not from the familiar torrent of cascading water, but from the blood that pumped furiously through her veins.