by Zoe Chant
How can I seem less threatening? He was big and tall; that was one of the things that scared people. So he tried sitting down on the floor. No, this probably wouldn't help. Instead of a big scary guy looming over her, now there would be a big scary guy sitting next to her, neatly positioned to reach out and grab her if he wanted to.
Gannon scrambled back to his feet. Maybe if he went out and came in again, but made sure to make plenty of noise this time? That should wake her up. But then what if she thought he was angry at her for breaking into the cabin? She might try to climb out a window or something.
As he dithered anxiously, the sun peeked over the edge of the river canyon. The cabin had been built to catch the first rays of the sun as it gleamed between the mountain peaks. A shaft of sun speared through the window and turned her hair to spun gold.
Gannon's breath caught. He hadn't even seen her face yet, but he knew it would be beautiful.
The sunlight made her stir at last. "Ohhhh," she moaned, twitching under the covers, and rolled over. Now he caught a glimpse of her face, half covered with a curtain of tangled hair. It was just as beautiful as he'd known it would be, a small heart-shaped face with a slightly upturned nose and a tiny dimple in her chin. He was drawn to her as he would have been to any beautiful and fascinating thing in nature, a flower or a bird's nest, and he leaned down to drink in the sight of her.
Which meant that when her green eyes fluttered open, he was staring at her from about a foot away.
"Gahhh!"
The girl recoiled and Gannon did too, stumbling backward until he hit the wall.
Way to not scare your mate, you big stupid bear, he thought at himself angrily.
Chapter Three
Of all the ways Daisy would have wanted to wake up in a stranger's bed, having that stranger staring at her from a foot away was not one of them.
She cried out and flung herself backward, nearly falling off the bed in the process. It was some small comfort that he did the same thing, slamming into the wall.
Now at a more comfortable remove of ten feet or so, they stared at each other.
Good God, he's huge. He was well over six feet, with tremendously broad and well-muscled shoulders, and was he wearing a vest made out of an animal skin?
And yet, now that she'd gotten over her initial shock, she was considerably less frightened than she really thought she ought to be. She simply didn't get a feeling of menace off him at all, despite his size. Part of it was the way he was pressing himself against the wall, as if he wanted to make himself seem smaller so as not to scare her. But it was also an instinctive feeling, as if she could tell just by looking that he meant her no harm.
Her gaze wandered up to his face. It was a broad, ruggedly handsome face, framed by shaggy dark hair long enough to brush his shoulders. His eyes were dark and intense, like those of some forest creature. But the thing that really caught her attention was a scar that slashed across his face from one side to the other. It started at the outer corner of his right eye, and cut through his face at a diagonal, under the eye and over the bridge of his nose and through his left cheek, all the way to his jawline. A little higher, she thought in shocked sympathy, and he would have lost the eye; a little lower and it would have damaged his mouth, making it impossible for him to ever do anything except grimace on that side.
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
She jumped when he spoke. His voice was low and rasping. At first she had the wild thought that his vocal cords had been damaged too, but then she realized it was merely that he didn't often speak, and wasn't used to talking to people.
"I was feeling sad for you," she said. When you found yourself in a strange person's bed with no memories farther back than the middle of the previous night, it seemed like a good idea to be as honest as possible. "I wondered who did that to your face, and if they were punished for it."
One of his big hands came up quickly to half-cover the scar, and she caught the look of shame before his face turned away.
"I'm sorry," he said, not looking at her. "Didn't mean to scare you."
No ... I didn't mean ... Now she'd made him self-conscious, but there was nothing ugly about the scar to her. It only upset her that someone had hurt him like that.
"I was only scared because I didn't expect to see someone so close to me when I woke up," she explained. "I'm not scared of you." And she wasn't, for reasons she couldn't quite figure out. "Actually, I'm the one who should be apologizing to you. I'm sorry I broke into your cabin and slept in your bed. It was very rude of me. Can we start over?" She held out a hand. "I'm Daisy." I think.
Hesitantly, he turned his gaze back to her, arresting her attention with those striking dark-brown eyes. "Gannon," he said quietly, and took a few slow steps toward the bed before reaching out to take her hand very carefully in his.
She thought about asking if he had a last name, but it wasn't like she could provide a last name either.
And he was still holding her hand, and looking at her, which was very pleasant, but steadily getting more awkward. She wasn't quite sure how to retrieve her hand without being rude.
Then a loud growling sound made her flinch. It took her a moment, in her sleep-addled state, to realize it was coming from her. Her stomach was rumbling like she hadn't eaten in days.
Maybe I haven't.
She could tell from the heat of her cheeks that she was probably blushing as bright as the sunrise outside the window. "I'm sorry," she said, a little desperately.
"No, no, I'm, uh, I'm being a really bad host." He had such a nice voice, she thought: low and raspy and rumbly. She could listen to it all day. Especially when he asked, "Can I make you breakfast?"
"Oh, yes, please," she said eagerly. "And I—I'm so sorry to have to ask you this, but ... do you have something I could wear?" She was suddenly very aware that all she had on was a slightly grubby T-shirt and shorts.
Instead of answering, Gannon just nodded and went to a massive, handmade-looking dresser in one corner of the cabin. He took out a neatly folded plaid shirt and brought it to her.
She pulled it on over her T-shirt. It fit her like a dress, but at least it covered up her braless chest. With the sleeves rolled up to keep them from covering her hands, she sat on the edge of the bed and watched Gannon bustle around the cabin. He filled an old-fashioned metal coffeepot with water from the bucket by the door, and put it to heat on the propane burner. Giving her a brief glance—he didn't smile, but she saw his eyes crinkle as if he wanted to—he went outside.
Daisy hopped to her feet and went to the window to see what he was up to. Oh! she thought as he fed a motley collection of chickens that were pecking around in a big pen behind the cabin. Daisy watched in captivated delight as they ran and pecked for the grain. They were adorable; she even saw some baby chicks scurrying around the feet of the bigger hens.
Do I like animals? It seemed that she did.
Gannon went into the chicken house and came out with a basket of eggs. After that, he circled around the side of the cabin to the garden—Daisy ran around to another window to watch him—and began to gather items from the neatly tended plots: a handful of herbs here, a couple of ripe tomatoes there.
When he finished and started for the house, Daisy hurried back to the bed, so she was sitting as she had been when he came in. She didn't want it to look like she had been snooping around while he was gone.
Of course, she thought, I guess I could have, but all I wanted to watch was him.
Now she watched him make breakfast. The coffeepot was boiling, so he took it off the burner and put on a massive cast-iron skillet. He broke nearly a dozen eggs into it and stirred handfuls of chopped herbs into them. From an old-fashioned breadbox, he took a big crusty loaf of bread and sliced it on a gorgeously polished wooden breadboard on the table. The muscles in his bare arms flexed as he wielded the big breadknife; the only thing he was wearing on top was the furry vest, exposing his rippling pecs and the appealing curve of his shou
lders.
She could happily sit here and watch him all day.
"It's awfully plain food," he said, scraping the contents of the skillet onto two plates.
"It smells wonderful." Her stomach gurgled again. With the shirt swishing around her like a shapeless dress, she padded over to the table and shyly sat down. Gannon passed her a plate containing an enormous heap of eggs, sliced tomatoes, and thick slabs of bread smeared with yellow butter.
How much does this guy think I can eat?
The answer turned out to be a lot. She polished off everything, washed down with gulps of strong black coffee that Gannon kept hot for them on the propane burner.
During the entire meal, he didn't say anything and neither did she. And yet, it was a comfortable silence, not at all awkward. She never felt as though anything was lacking. Besides, what could she say? She wasn't sure how to begin to make conversation. She kept desperately hoping that her memories would come back naturally as she woke up, but it was starting to look like they weren't going to.
It was interesting that he hadn't asked her where she'd come from. He seemed to accept the presence of a half-naked woman in his cabin as if it was perfectly normal.
"Good?" he asked finally, when they'd eaten the entire skillet of eggs and most of the loaf of bread.
"Wonderful," she said, pushing her plate away. "I can't eat another bite. I think that was the best breakfast I've ever had." Although it wasn't like she had much to compare it to.
He gave her another of those little not-quite-smiles, the corners of his mouth denting in.
"I can wash the dishes," she offered, when Gannon got up and began clearing the table. So far, she really felt like she wasn't pulling her weight as a houseguest. "Uh ..." Looking around, she realized there was no sink to be seen, though she did see something she hadn't noticed last night—bookshelves all over the walls. It looked like her mysterious host enjoyed reading. However, there was no sign of any kind of proper kitchen facilities. "Where do you wash the dishes?"
"Outside," Gannon said. "At the spring."
"Oh." Come to think of it, there wasn't a hint of anything more recent than circa 1900 in sight. The cabin didn't seem to have electricity or plumbing.
"If you need, uh ..." Gannon actually blushed. "—someplace to, you know ... there's an outhouse behind the cabin."
"Oh." She was blushing now too, and her first urge was to apologize for it, but she steadfastly refused. This was going to be difficult if they couldn't get through an entire conversation without embarrassing each other!
Instead, she went outside to find the outhouse. She found it in a little clump of pine trees near the cabin, providing some privacy. The pine needles prickled her bare feet, but they also helped with the smell, like a natural pine air freshener. After she was done, she wondered how a person was supposed to wash their hands. How did people handle that back in the old days?
"Gannon?" she called.
"Over here."
She followed the sound of his voice to a little path that wound away from the cabin, following the top of a towering cliff. The cabin was perched near the edge of the cliff, looking out into wide blue vistas. The path wound in and out of rocky outcroppings and clumps of wind-stunted willows. Far below, a narrow ribbon of a mountain river twisted in whitewater loops and coils.
Daisy thought she should have been frightened by the sheer plunge to the river, but it only exhilarated her. Was I some kind of thrill-seeker, in the life I can't remember?
She found Gannon beside a splashing little stream that cascaded over the edge in a thin waterfall. He was scraping off the plates into the water. The fast-flowing little creek carried the scraps away, where fish would probably dine on them in the water below.
"Oh," Daisy said, delighted. "Can I wash my hands here?"
"Sure, go ahead."
She knelt on the rocks downstream of the place where he was washing dishes, and dipped her hands halfway up to the elbows. The water was shockingly cold. There was no soap, but seeing that Gannon was scrubbing the plates with handfuls of sand, she decided to do the same thing and rubbed sand on her hands and arms. After that, she dipped her scratched feet into the water and swished them around, rubbing off the dirt.
Gannon laid the plates, forks, and coffee cups on the rocks to dry in the sun, and sat back on his heels, arms over his knees, just watching her. Maybe it should have felt weird, but it didn't at all. Having his eyes on her made her feel ... safe. As if he wouldn't let anyone hurt her.
I just wish I knew who DID want to hurt me!
Gannon rose suddenly from his crouch. Daisy looked up in surprise and a little alarm. "Someone's coming," he said, tilting his head.
Daisy jumped to her feet, her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest. Gannon must have good hearing; she had to strain her ears for a minute or two, with Gannon stock-still beside her, before she heard the low rumble of an engine straining as the vehicle climbed the steep hillside below the cabin.
Beside her, Gannon relaxed. "That's either Cody or Alec. This is their ranch. They're good guys."
Daisy was not comforted. She stood tense and wary, poised to run. But where could she go? She didn't know the area at all. She'd only found Gannon's cabin by sheer chance.
Or something more. Fate. Destiny.
And that made her curl her hands into fists. She wasn't going to run away. Her first memories were of running through the woods, but she didn't plan to spend the rest of her life running.
"Do you have a belt or something?" she asked Gannon. "I don't want to meet your friends looking half dressed. If I belt your shirt, it might almost look like a dress."
He thought a moment, then took a strand of what she took to be rope from his pocket. When he handed it to her, she realized it was made of braided leather.
And that triggered her first flash of memory before last night. She was standing somewhere with very bright lights and lots of people around her, and there were an array of leather straps dangling in front of her. She reached out to touch one ... and then the elusive flash faded.
"You okay?" Gannon asked. He was leaning closer, frowning at her in worry.
"Yes," she said, frustrated. It had been so vivid and intense for a moment. But even though she couldn't seem to grasp more than that one moment, she knew she was remembering a store. It was some kind of department store, and she had been looking at leather belts on a display rack.
I must live in the city, I guess?
She couldn't feel a connection to any of that now. The memory felt like something that had happened to someone else. The only thing that seemed real was these woods, with the sun shining on her hair and the rocky edge of the stream under her feet.
She knotted the braided leather cord around her waist and looked down at it to see how that had worked. The tails of the shirt hung down past her mid-thigh, and the fabric ballooned oddly above the makeshift belt. She wasn't sure if it really looked like a dress. It probably looked like exactly what it was: a much-too-big men's shirt that she was wearing because she had nothing else to wear.
But she'd done her best. "Okay," she said, combing back her hair with damp fingers. "Take me to meet your friends."
Gannon's lips quirked in something that was even closer to a smile than any expression she'd seen from him yet, and he started walking back toward the cabin, moving with slow strides that held a lithe, predatory grace.
But he didn't scare her, not even a little bit. He had only frightened her in the beginning because he'd startled her.
Why am I so convinced he's not going to hurt me? For all I know, he could be involved with whoever I was escaping from.
But she knew he wasn't. She couldn't explain where the conviction came from, but she knew that Gannon would never do anything to hurt her. She trusted him in a way she couldn't imagine trusting anybody else.
That's a ringing endorsement, since you don't actually remember meeting anyone else.
But she had known other people. Sh
e hadn't always been alone in the woods. Wherever she had been before, whoever she had been, she must have known people who would be missing her now.
But she had no way to find them, and in particular, no way to find them without alerting whoever had been responsible for her flight through the woods last night. So she meekly followed Gannon on the path back to the cabin, her bare feet already finding more secure footing and deftly managing to avoid loose rocks.
A big, beat-up pickup truck had just pulled into the yard of the cabin, and a tall, rangy guy was climbing down from the driver's side. He had sun-streaked, light brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and wore a plaid shirt similar to the one Gannon had lent her.
"Hey, man," he called with a cheery wave. "I just came up to find out if you needed anything from town. Saffron and Tara are doing a supply run—" He broke off in surprise, his blue-gray eyes widening when he saw Daisy hanging back behind Gannon.
Gannon looked back and saw Daisy's nervousness. "It's okay," he said quietly, holding out a hand. Daisy swallowed and held out her hand so he could take it. Her small fingers nearly vanished into his big ones.
The newcomer watched all of this with a surprised look.
"Cody, this is Daisy," Gannon said. "She's a guest. Daisy, this is Cody. He's the cousin of the ranch owner, Alec, my alpha."
Alpha? She didn't understand what he meant. Maybe this was something that would make sense if she had her memories.
Cody's handsome, weatherbeaten face broke into a wide grin. "Right, a guest," he said cheerfully. "Daisy, it's great to meet you. Gannon, man, I can't tell you how good it is to see that you've decided to rejoin the rest of the world. For awhile I thought you'd decided to become a monk up here."
"It's not like that," Gannon said, and for an instant Daisy almost thought she heard a hint of a growl rumbling under his words. "We just met this morning."
"Dude, she's wearing your shirt."
"That's because she didn't have anything else to wear," Gannon said tightly.