Heart of Frankenstein

by Lexi Post

  He finally lowered himself into the chair he’d placed there before she woke.

  Her gaze immediately went to his face and she stilled, her smile of welcome frozen on her lips. The scar he’d referred to under his right eye actually ran from his sideburn, under his eye, up along the crease of his nose and just under his eyebrow. Did he have a glass eye after a surgery like that? She wanted to know, but he wouldn’t look at her.

  “Are you hungry?” His calm voice brought her attention back to the food.

  Immediately, her stomach tightened in anticipation, but she still lay on her back. “I think it would be easier for me if I sat up.”

  He didn’t move to help. “Are you sure? Last night when I moved you, it hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Her heart melted at his words. “I only hurt because of my own actions, not yours. I’d like to sit up if you could help me. It’s less painful with your help.”

  Putting the plate and wet cloth on the end table next to the bed, he rose without a word and walked to the couch.

  That’s when she noticed the fur blanket and pillow were gone, and for that matter, so was the fur coat he’d left at the end of the bed last night. He came back with a cushion and helped her sit. She was too busy avoiding moving her hands to study him.

  When he sat again, her interest was renewed, but he still didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he focused on her lips, which gave her a completely inappropriate tingle.

  At least it was a lot easier being able to see when he scooped some food onto his fork for her to eat. She recognized potato slices with onions as well as another vegetable she was unfamiliar with.

  Instantly, she opened her mouth. As the flavors rolled over her tongue, she hummed. Chewing the mixture, she swallowed and nodded. “This is good.”

  She only had two seconds to speak the words before he had another forkful ready. When she was blinded and couldn’t see, this ritual of him feeding her was simply part of healing. But now that she could see him, it felt like so much more. It felt intimate.

  For him, nothing had changed and she had to remember that. For her though, everything had. He was maybe a bit older than her, possibly thirty-seven, thirty-eight, was incredibly handsome, even with the scar, and his voice now seemed sexy instead of simply deep.

  She opened her mouth again and resisted the urge to playfully hold the fork in her mouth with her teeth. Teasing him when she didn’t know him yet, wouldn’t be smart. Without him, she’d still die. The last thing she needed to do was scare him away and based on his lack of eye-contact, she was sure he was far too shy for her usual assertiveness.

  Chewing, she watched his hands as he scooped up more food. They seemed very large. Was it because she’d been without sight for so many days, or was he particularly big? She opened her mouth and stared at the leather wrist bands. This close, she could see they were decorated with dyed designs she didn’t recognize.

  As he moved his hand away, she studied the leather choker around his neck. Normally, she wouldn’t have cared much for a man wearing a choker, but this one was decorated with what looked like ivory, but it could have been bone, and it was dyed with symbols that must mean something. On him, it looked primitive and definitely masculine.

  She swallowed another mouthful as he scraped the remainder of the food onto the fork. Opening her mouth, she tried to catch his gaze, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes. As soon as she took the food and started chewing, he rose, almost as if he couldn’t wait to get away.

  Once she swallowed, she watched him put the plate in the sink and pick up the bowl. He always fed her first. After placing the bowl on the table, he came back to the bed and used the wet cloth to wipe her face, forcing her to close her eyes. When he thought her clean enough, he lifted the chair and headed back to the table.

  “That was wonderful. Do you always eat vegetables for breakfast?”

  Once again, he finished what he was doing before answering. “No.”

  She sighed heavily. Having a conversation with him was like surfing the internet with a modem. “I’m not trying to be nosey, it’s just that there’s nothing else I can do except talk.”

  He glanced at her briefly at that before taking a bite of food. It wasn’t a long enough look for her to see the color of his eyes, but it was enough to see they were dark.

  “Then perhaps you should talk about yourself. I’m as curious about your life as you are about mine.”

  Of course! What an idiot she was. “That’s a great idea. I grew up in Palo Alto, California and now I live in San Francisco. My job takes me around the world, but when I’m not travelling I work from home. I work for a computer reservations company. I’m with the loyalty program for worldwide resorts. I get to visit the properties so I can suggest the best way to market them to our members. It’s a great job.”

  She paused to swallow, even her throat was a bit rusty. “I’m a big believer in getting the most out of life, which is why I take opportunities to explore wherever I am. When a particular place really interests me, I plan a vacation there.” It was her typical spiel when meeting someone new, but after her brush with death, which had been hastened by her life philosophy, her entire introduction rang hollow.

  Did he find it superficial after the life he’d led, eking out an existence in a never-ending battle against nature? Was that why he didn’t comment? “How about you?”

  “Do you have family?”

  That’s right. He wanted to talk about her. “I do. I have a brother, Michael. Of course, I had a mother and father.” She hesitated since she rarely talked about her parents, but if it didn’t come up now, it was sure to come up later in the week. “My mom died of cancer when I was only six, so I have very fuzzy memories of her, but my dad, I just lost him two years ago. He took care of me and my younger brother. He was a good father, but…”

  “But what?”

  She’d been looking down at the quilt, so when he asked his question, she lifted her gaze to find him focused on his breakfast. “But he was what they call a functioning alcoholic. You know, those people who meet all their responsibilities but drink themselves into a stupor once they have. I don’t think he was before mom died. He loved her more than anything, even more than us.”

  He didn’t respond to her revelation. Instead, he pushed back the chair, rose and walked to the kitchen.

  Usually, that story would illicit some kind of sympathy, at least among those she’d told to date. “What about your parents?”

  He didn’t stop washing the dish, just spoke over his shoulder. “I was abandoned the second I took my first breath.”

  Stunned, she shut her mouth over her next question. No wonder he didn’t find her story very compelling! She doubted he’d been adopted or he wouldn’t be so shy. She’d put her money on foster care, or did they have that in Germany?

  Shoot, she didn’t know crap about the countries she’d visited, not really. To be fair, she probably knew a bit more than those who didn’t travel to them, but she’d never lived anywhere but California.

  Was he dropped off at a church? Why had he said his “first breath”? He didn’t seem the type to exaggerate, especially when he spoke so little. Was he one of those babies dumped in a trash can?

  Oh God, just the thought of that made her want to cry. “Who raised you? Was it your friend Akiakook?”

  He paused for a moment as he dried the dish. “You said you have a brother. Will he be worried about you?”

  Good question. “He will be, but not yet. My trip was supposed to last a month and there is limited service on the boat, so he knows not to expect to hear from me until I land in Seattle. I’m hoping I can give him a call by then and not tell him what an idiot I was.”

  “Won’t your shipmates wonder what happened to you?”

  She started to move her hand to wave away his concern, but stopped herself just in time. At least she was becoming more careful in regard to her limitations. Then again, pain was a good motivator. “It’s not that kind of
trip. It’s for eco tourists. We are allowed to leave the tour any time we come to a place we wish to explore further. It’s one of the advantages of not taking a typical tour. However, it was a lot of paperwork. I had to get approval from every country on the tour and I had to waive all kinds of rights if I decided to stay at a particular stop.”

  She watched him put away the few items he’d used. The white shirt didn’t bother her eyes anymore. Actually, it accentuated his broadness without being tight at all. “I certainly didn’t expect to leave the trip so soon. I played with the idea of staying for a while when we got to the North Pole, but the costs to get myself home at this time of year were prohibitive.”

  “That’s a long journey.” He walked to the opposite corner, diagonally from where she was and lifted an axe.

  That must mean he planned to go outside. For some unexplainable reason, she wanted him to stay. “I know. I’ve wanted to see the North Pole ever since I learned that Santa Claus doesn’t exist. It’s a little weird, but I always wanted to verify that he isn’t there. I guess I’ll never know now. After my recent experience, I’m not sure how adventurous I’ll feel about going to cold places in the future.”

  He unlatched the door, but didn’t look back at her. “You may want to wait on that decision. The cold areas of Earth have the most magnificent beauty. They are the best spots for feeling alive.”

  Before she could respond, he’d stepped through the door and was gone.

  She tried to stifle her panic by listening, but didn’t hear anything. Closing her eyes, she tapped into her residual hearing capabilities. She waited what seemed like forever, but was probably no more than a minute before she heard something.

  Keeping her eyes closed, she turned her head toward the kitchen area.

  Thwap. A few seconds of silence followed then another definite sound.

  Thwap. She listened harder, pleased when she could hear a softer sound after every loud one. She imagined him splitting wood, half the log falling to the side and hitting the ground. Then he’d pick it up, set it in place and down the axe would come.

  Thwap. Thump. Thwap. Thump…

  She must have drifted off because the sound of voices woke her. Voices? Excitement had her senses alert at the prospect of being able to talk to someone who might actually give her more than one-word answers.

  She opened her eyes. Though she still sat up, thanks to the couch cushion behind her, no one was in view outside the windows. She watched the window on the wall with the equipment, what her caretaker had indicated was the south wall.

  A laugh sounded outside. It was definitely male, but instinct told her it wasn’t her mountain man. Then a gray ski cap moved past the window. Would both men come inside or was the gray cap just passing through. If only she could move without pain.

  Loud footsteps walked up stairs and approached the door. She chuckled to herself at how excited she was. Was this how pioneer women felt two hundred years ago?

  The door opened and a man walked in, quickly divesting himself of his cap. Behind him entered her caretaker who made the man look small in comparison.

  As the door was shut, she could see their visitor looked old enough to be her father, but it could be the weather that caused such deep wrinkles. He had a gray bushy mustache and when he turned to hang his parka on a hook next to the door, she noticed his gray hair was in one long braid down his back. He had hair longer than hers!

  As soon as he turned back around, his gaze searched her out and he smiled then strode forward. “You must be Angel. I’m Timber.” He held out his hand, then retracted it as his gaze fell on her bandages. His smile faltered.

  She gave him a warm smile. “It’s okay. Consider your hand shaken in welcome.”

  He regained his composure and sat in the chair next to her bed.

  “While I’m flattered, my name isn’t Angel. It’s—”

  “Ah, I see, Sas has already given you a bush name.”

  She raised her brows. “Sas?”

  Timber looked to where her caretaker worked in the kitchen. “You didn’t tell her your name?”

  “It’s not my name.” The words came out in resignation as if the two had had the same conversation multiple times.

  Their guest returned his attention to her. “That’s his bush name. We call him Sas. Most people up here don’t go by their given names. Some because they don’t want to be found, but most because you can’t escape a nickname once christened.” He chuckled, a light-hearted sound that raised her spirits.

  “Why did you name him Sas? He doesn’t seem like the sassy type to me.”

  A grunt from the kitchen area confirmed her assumption.

  “Oh, I didn’t name him. Sturge did, the first time this big fella strode into Savik. I didn’t even know him then, but I’d heard about him. I just so happened to be hunting out this way one day and as soon as I saw him, I knew who he was. Sas is short for Sasquatch.”

  “Bigfoot?” She looked at her host. He did appear to be rather large and he was shy, but he didn’t seem hairy. No, there was no way she was recuperating in the home of Bigfoot. She turned back to find Timber smiling widely, showing off two missing teeth near the corners of his mouth. “You’re kidding.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. When Sas walked out of the forest and down the center of Savik, everyone was sure he was the one and only Sasquatch. He wore a fur coat of brown grizzly fur and his beard and hair were much longer than now. Plus, the man stands at least a foot over most men and two feet taller than others.”

  She snapped her head around to look at “Sas.” He couldn’t be that big…could he? He did lift her pretty easily. She’d chalked that up to being super fit. If he was that tall and lived off the land, it was no wonder his strength was in proportion.

  “Don’t worry, though. He’s not Bigfoot. It’s just a nickname and out here, the first name tends to stick.”

  It did, did it? “You said he named me Angel.”

  Timber nodded. “Yes, he did, and it’s obvious why. Not only are you beautiful like one, but—,” the older man hooked a thumb in the direction of the kitchen, “he’s far less grumpy and more talkative with you around.”

  Huh? More talkative? She’d hate to see what less was. “I appreciate the compliment, but I’m sure I’m quite a mess.”

  “Sweetheart, take a look at Sas and me? Do you really think you have competition?”

  Personally, she found Sas the best-looking person in the room, but she looked at Timber from beneath her lashes. “Oh, I don’t know. You’re quite handsome in this wilderness setting.”

  Timber laughed, the sound filling the cabin. “You’re definitely an angel.”

  She grinned, loving the warmth of the older man. “So where did your name come from?”

  “He has an annoying habit of yelling ‘timber’ to scare any animals away when he’s going to fell a tree.” Sas set a plate of food on his table.

  “Bah, there’s nothing wrong with a little safety.”

  “When the tree is actually falling, but not the entire time you’re cutting it.” Sas moved back to the kitchen area.

  She chuckled as Timber shrugged his shoulders.

  He winked at her. “How was I supposed to know that? When I first moved up here, I was nineteen and as ignorant as a polar bear cub in a grocery store. Of course, once I had my nickname, I had to live up to it. I yell out ‘timber’ while cutting down a tree to this day.”

  “I love that.” She was really enjoying herself. “So how did you meet Sas?”

  “You said you were hungry.” Sas’ tone sounded like his patience was nearing its end.

  She couldn’t think of a single time she’d heard that from him before.

  Timber sighed. “He’s a demanding fellow.” Rising, he pulled the chair away from the bed and brought it to the table. “Thank you. This is a feast. Are you sure you can spare it?”

  Sas didn’t bother to answer, but Timber didn’t exactly hesitate to dig in.

  “W
ould you like something?” Sas looked at her from the kitchen, but at her hands not her face.

  She wasn’t hungry, but definitely thirsty. “Just something to drink that isn’t that tea that makes me sleep.”

  “You don’t wish to sleep?”

  “Not right now. The pain is bearable if I don’t move, and I’m getting better at that.”

  Sas’ gaze flicked to Timber, and he looked up. Something had just been communicated about her, but she had no clue what.

  “I can make you a labrador tea. It’s more likely to keep you awake.”

  “I highly recommend it.” Timber winked at her. “Especially with a bit of Scotch for extra kick.”

  She couldn’t see Sas’ eyes, but she could tell his patience was tried by the older man. Maybe the whole not-talking-much issue was more specific to Sas because Timber certainly had no problem with chatting.

  “I’d love to try it.” Not sure if Sas was game to make the tea, she backpedaled. “But if it takes too long to make, I can just have water.”

  “No.” Sas turned to one of the upper cabinets. “This water is too cold. You need warmth.”

  “But it’s been three days already. Surely, that’s long enough.”

  “It’s been seven.”

  Seven? How did she lose four days? She looked over at Timber who was no longer smiling.

  “He’s right. You need to stay far from anything cold, especially inside your body. Hypothermia is nothing to take lightly. I’ve seen far too many lose their life to it.”

  It would have been one thing to hear Timber’s words from a doctor, but from someone like him, and Sas who’d seen her condition occur in the wild, the information hit her hard.

  She swallowed. “How long will it take me to fully recover?” Her voice barely made it out.

  Timber grinned. “Oh, you’re out of the danger zone if it’s been a week, but you’ll be sensitive to the cold for a while, and your frostbite could take months to heal.”

  “Months?” She turned toward Sas, who had opened the wood stove and crouched to add more wood. “It will take months? You didn’t tell me that.” Her voice rose as panic set it.