Under the Northern Lights

by S. C. Stephens

  Knowing I’d brought this remembered sorrow upon him made guilt swell inside me. “Because you two didn’t work out? I’m so sorry to remind you of that . . . especially on a day like today. That was callous of me.”

  I hung my head in shame, and Michael let out another sigh. “We did work out, Mallory. We were . . . great together. Amazing even . . .”

  There was so much pain in his voice that shivers raced down my back. “What happened then?” I asked, lifting my head to look at him.

  As I watched, his eyes misted over. “She . . . died. She meant everything to me, and one minute she was there beside me, and the next she was gone. Forever.”

  That certainly explained the rings, the picture . . . even the isolation suddenly made sense. He was still in mourning. I had no idea what to say to that, what could possibly ease his pain, so I said the only thing that I could think to say. “I’m so sorry, Michael.”

  A tear rolled down his cheek before he hastily wiped it away. “It’s fine, I just . . . I don’t want to talk about my past anymore, okay? It’s over—it’s behind me—and I have no desire to reminisce about it. Deal?”

  He stared at me unflinchingly, but I could see the turmoil and emotion rampaging through his eyes. It wasn’t over, not for him. There was nothing I could do to help him, though, except agree to let him keep his privacy. “Okay . . . deal.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Michael was right about feeling better once the holidays were over. It was like a weight had been removed from my chest, and I could breathe again. Or maybe that feeling was because living at the cabin with Michael was going really, really well. Every day we seemed to get just a little closer; as the temperature was dropping outside, things between us were warming up, and there was a deep well of friendship between us now.

  I had acclimated to the rigors of wilderness living, and I was even starting to have fun doing my chores. Well, not so much the water gathering. Walking right up to the edge of an ice shelf on a swiftly flowing river never became less nerve-racking. I kissed my cross and said a prayer of thanks after every successful trip. I’d become such an expert at wood chopping, though, that—in addition to having the sexiest arms of my life—I also had time to spare most days. Michael let me join him on his trap run when I was all caught up and didn’t have anything else to do.

  Walking through the quiet, snow-laden forest with Michael by my side, I began to forget that this wasn’t a typical existence. Being out here with him just seemed so incredibly natural. As we approached our third trap of the day, I spotted a lump of fur inside the sprung device. Grin on his face, Michael carefully pulled the hinge back so he could remove the dead animal.

  “What is it?” I asked, trying not to look directly at the face of the deceased creature.

  Slipping it into the basket backpack he was wearing, Michael said, “It’s butter, flour, toothpaste, and fresh batteries. That’s what it is.”

  I had to smile at his answer. Michael wasn’t doing this for sport; he was doing it for survival. There were things he needed that the land here couldn’t provide. Like in the pioneer days, trade was essential, and in the wilderness, furs were gold. “Good,” I told him as he reset the trap. “Let’s see if we can find some chocolate, toilet paper, and pillows to go with it.”

  Michael laughed at my requests. As I watched his lips curve into a smile, a bit of melancholy slipped into me. If he actually did purchase those things, I wouldn’t benefit from them. I’d be gone. Back home with my dogs and my family. Michael would have to enjoy them without me.

  Seeing my expression fall, Michael asked, “What’s wrong? Are you too cold? We could take a break—I could make a fire.”

  He was scrutinizing me, trying to see if that was my issue. It wasn’t, but his thoughtfulness was sweet. Yet another thing I’d miss. “No, I’m fine . . . we don’t have to stop. I’m actually enjoying this.” And enjoying you. I didn’t mention that, though.

  He smiled. “Good. It’s nice to have company.” His grin turned sheepish, and he looked away.

  The embarrassment of his smile perked my spirits back up. “Where’s the next one?” I asked.

  Flicking a glance my way, he nodded to our left. “Up that way.”

  Adjusting my own basket backpack, I began trudging in the direction he’d indicated. “Let’s go then. Lots to do before the daylight fades.”

  Michael laughed as he fell into step behind me. “Yeah, and we don’t want to miss the fireworks.”

  That made me stop in my tracks. “Fireworks?” I asked, confused. Unless he was lighting stuff off, we were way too far from civilization to see anything. And why would there be fireworks anyway?

  He grinned as he adjusted his pack. “Yeah, fireworks. Can’t celebrate New Year’s Eve without them.”

  I blinked in surprise. He was so good at keeping track of time; I’d already lost count of the days on multiple occasions. “Oh . . . that’s right.”

  Shrugging, he said, “There won’t be any actual fireworks, of course, but I thought we’d sit outside for a while and see if we can catch Mother Nature’s show.”

  He looked up at the sky, clear for once instead of a hazy gray, and I instantly knew what he meant. “The northern lights?” My grin was unstoppable.

  Michael nodded. “Yeah. It can be tricky to see, and we’ll have to stay up late to get the best chance, but if we’re lucky . . . it’s pretty spectacular. Best show on earth.”

  Even though it would be late and cold, I couldn’t think of a better plan for tonight. It sounded . . . wonderful, and I was instantly filled with contentment; right now, there was nowhere else I’d rather be. Not even home.

  It took us the rest of the day to check the remaining traps, and there were quite a few surprises waiting for us when we did—powdered milk, canned vegetables, dried beans, candles, and matches. Assigning every fur we collected a commodity value made the day kind of exciting. And even though I wouldn’t be partaking in the spoils, I was still happy for Michael. He needed this.

  Later that evening, after the furs had been prepared and stored for the night, Michael and I sat down to an amazing venison stew dinner. There were candles on the table and the last of the moonshine in our cups. Maybe because today had been truly productive, maybe because of the holiday, maybe because of the event we were going to try to witness, I was full of good spirits. For this brief moment in time, everything was perfect.

  “Have you ever seen the northern lights?” Michael asked, stirring his spoon around his bowl.

  “Surprisingly enough, no. I’ve never managed to catch it on my trips up here. Of course, I was trying to make the most out of my daylight, so I went to bed early, got up early.”

  He nodded like he understood. “I’ve only seen it twice myself. I’m looking forward to seeing it with you,” he added, a sparkle of joy in his eyes.

  For once, he didn’t look away after his sweet comment, and our gazes locked. A contented sigh escaped me, and Michael’s smile grew. The peace I saw on his face mirrored my own, and I loved that he was happy . . . loved that I was happy. I desperately didn’t want to do anything that might kill the hopeful spirit in the air, but sometimes it was difficult to know what to do and what not to do. Bringing up the past altered Michael’s mood, while mentioning the future dampened mine. Staying in the here and now was the only way to ensure the vibe between us didn’t change, and that was tricky, like walking an emotional tightrope.

  Studying Michael helped keep me grounded in the present. The way his lips moved when he talked, the way the candlelight flickered in his pale-blue eyes, the way he ran his hand through his scraggly beard . . . a beard I was dying to cut.

  Disarmed by my errant thought, I asked him a question I probably shouldn’t have, since it had nothing to do with the moment we were currently experiencing. “Will you let me cut that when the weather warms?”

  Michael’s eyes widened in alarm. “My beard? You want to cut this work of art?”

  I nodded as
fervently as I could. “Yes, yes, and yes.”

  He frowned, then laughed. “I usually cut it in the spring. My hair too . . . so I guess that’s fine. It will save me a trip to the barber.”

  A barber. A town. An impending goodbye. It all hit me so fast I sucked in a breath like I’d been punched. “I’ll do the dishes tonight,” I murmured, rising from my chair.

  Reaching out, Michael grabbed my hand as I walked by. The contact instantly sizzled my skin with comforting heat. “Mallory?” he asked, searching my face.

  Feeling melancholy enter our happy place, I made myself smile. “I’m fine. I just . . . want to help.”

  He searched me a second more, then released my hand; I instantly missed the contact. “Okay . . . let me know if you change your mind.” He flashed me a grin that made my heart beat faster. That smile could unfreeze the Arctic, I was sure.

  After I was done with the dishes, Michael and I killed time by playing a few rounds of cribbage. Just when I was yawning so hard I never thought I’d stop, Michael indicated the door. “It should be getting close to time. Want to go outside?”

  Nodding enthusiastically, I started getting on all my extra layers. It was nice and toasty in here with the stove, but it was downright frigid out there. When we were both bundled up, we headed outside. I scanned the skies right away, expecting to see a vibrant display of color. But all I saw was a beautiful speckling of stars. Not bad, but not what I’d been wanting to see.

  Michael didn’t look surprised when he joined me. “Shouldn’t be too much longer,” he said, sounding confident, like he was wearing an aurora borealis watch.

  I smiled up at his presumptuous answer, then stepped closer to his side. Our shoulders touched, and even through our thick jackets, it was a delightful feeling. My gloved hands were dangling close to his, tantalizingly close. I wanted to reach out and share that connection with him, but I didn’t want to scare him away either.

  Wanting to do something but not being able to do it was maddening, and the feeling only worsened as time went on. I was just about to say Screw it and grab his hand when I suddenly felt his gloved fingers wrap around mine. A smile I couldn’t contain lit up my face, but I made sure I didn’t twist my head to make eye contact. He might change his mind and run if I pointed out what he was doing. All I allowed myself to do was squeeze his hand and lean into his side; another contented sigh escaped me. I could stay like this forever.

  And then, as if to make the moment even more picture perfect, a faint greenish-white light brushed the sky. I held my breath and gripped Michael’s hand tight as the light grew wider and more pronounced. As the curtain of color intensified, it began undulating, deforming, turning into arcs and spirals. It was the most amazing thing I’d ever seen, better than any New Year’s fireworks show.

  Blown away by the beauty of nature and wishing once again that I had my camera, I finally looked up at Michael. He looked down at me when he felt my eyes on him, but he didn’t break contact, didn’t go running back into the cabin. He just gazed at me with warmth in his eyes.

  “Happy New Year, Michael,” I whispered, my heart in my voice.

  “Happy New Year, Mallory,” he answered. Then, inexplicably, his lips started lowering to mine.

  I thought I was dreaming. I was so certain that I nearly pulled off my glove to pinch myself. Because there was no way Michael was about to kiss me. He could barely touch me without pulling away. But I wasn’t asleep, and he was making a move.

  My heart was pounding now as his face inched closer and closer. It was hard to stay still as he made his slow descent. I wanted to reach up and pull him into me. Yes . . . please kiss me.

  He was so close I could feel his light breath on my face. I closed my eyes in preparation; my every nerve ending was on fire, waiting for the moment. And then his cool lips pressed . . . against my cheek.

  Surprise shot my eyes open, and I could see him quickly pulling away in the moonlight. “Michael?” I asked, unsure what that had meant.

  “We missed midnight,” he explained, his eyes darting back and forth from my eyes to the ground. His breath was harder, his voice shaky, like he was embarrassed . . . or like he was struggling to resist me.

  “Oh . . .” I swallowed in a vain attempt to dislodge the rush of desire that had begun to sweep over me. Michael’s eyes flashed to my lips, making it even more of a challenge to subdue the feeling. “I thought maybe you wanted . . .”

  I stopped talking as embarrassment washed over me. Mentioning my misunderstanding would only make this moment even more mortifying. Thinking I should let go of him now, I eased my hold on his hand. Michael’s eyes were still glued on my face, though, and his grip on my hand hadn’t changed any. If anything, he clasped on tighter when I let go.

  “Michael?” I asked again, confused.

  His face scrunched as he stared at me. “I did . . . I do . . . want . . .”

  Something changed in his eyes, like a decision had been made. Then before I knew what was happening, his lips were again lowering to mine. They didn’t deviate at the last minute this time, and we connected just seconds later. His lips were so soft, so gentle, but full of so much restrained passion too. I just wanted him to lose control, wanted him to let down every wall he’d erected around himself, and let me in. I just . . . wanted him.

  As our mouths moved together, as his beard lightly tickled my face, I changed my earlier thought—now, this moment could last forever, and I’d be happy. There was just something about Michael that spoke to me—his courage, his independence, his thoughtful nature, the pain he tried to hide. This was a person I could see having a future with . . . if our circumstances were different. But as of right now, it seemed impossible. He was staying. I was leaving.

  I shoved that thought aside as our light, tender kisses slowly began turning to something more . . . passionate, and I felt myself getting caught up in the bliss—mindless, unworried, and untroubled. Michael’s free hand ran around my waist, pulling me in tight, and my free hand curled around his neck. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, what could happen between us that wouldn’t scar us both, but at the moment, I didn’t care about the approaching pain. I never wanted this moment to end.

  But of course, it had to. If we stayed out here, we’d eventually freeze solid. We needed the comfort and warmth of the cabin enveloping us. Weighing the pros and cons of breaking this magical moment with Michael, I pulled away far enough to ask him, “Want to go inside?” My breath was fast; my smile was huge . . . but Michael’s expression instantly changed.

  Once realization of his lapse in judgment hit him, he took a step back, releasing me. I could almost see him shutting down, and pain pierced my chest as I watched the walls reforming. “Michael, don’t . . . it’s okay,” I said, trying to be encouraging. It was more than okay. It was . . . amazing. Possibly the best kiss I’d ever had. One I wanted to have again, even if it was a bad idea, even if we weren’t going to last long. Couldn’t we have that bliss for the brief time we were slated to be together?

  Michael seemed to feel that it wasn’t worth the risk. “No, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have . . . we can’t . . .”

  Stepping forward, I grabbed his hands. “We can. We’re adults. We both know the situation. I know you’re trying to protect me . . . like you always do . . . and I adore you for that, but there’s no need to protect me from this. I accept it’s short term, and I’d rather have a brief time with you than—”

  Looking at me with sad eyes, Michael interrupted my declaration. “No . . . I can’t. I can’t give you my heart when I don’t have one. And I can’t let you give me yours. I won’t break your heart, Mallory. I just won’t. That shouldn’t have happened, and nothing like it will happen again. You have my word.”

  He turned and left me, and I stared at the spot where he’d been standing, gaping like an idiot while the northern lights above me faded into nothingness.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The air was thick with tension when I returned to
the cabin. Michael ignored me as he got ready for bed, although he did it in such a way that it wasn’t obviously apparent that he was ignoring me. He just seemed preoccupied with his tasks. Finishing quickly, he climbed into his bed and rolled over so his back was facing me.

  It killed me to see the disconnect, especially since the feel of his lips was still burned into my brain. I wanted to go over to him, put a hand on his shoulder, roll him my way, and beg him to talk to me. He did have a heart; I know he did. He was just trying to protect me—or himself, since we both knew this was temporary. And while a part of me agreed with his decision, the rest of me knew I couldn’t spend months here with him . . . and not fall in love with him. I was doomed either way, so couldn’t we at least be happy before the pain set in?

  As I climbed into my own bed—comfortable now, since Michael’s thoughtful gift—I wondered what things in the cabin might be like after this. It was such a small space that it was impossible to avoid each other. Even if he left all day to go trapping, he had to return when it got dark, and the nights were long here. We had endless hours of uncomfortable awkwardness ahead of us, unless I could somehow convince him to give us a chance. To give me a chance.

  Waking up the next morning didn’t bring me any insight on how to do that, especially when I looked over and saw that Michael had sneaked out while I’d been sleeping. We usually spent time together in the mornings, having something to eat and making small talk before heading out to do our chores for the day. It hurt that he’d disrupted that pattern because of what had happened last night . . . because of that kiss. The memory of that kiss that still made my toes curl . . .

  Thinking of that moment as I began my chores made sadness well up inside me. Michael’s words before the kiss, the look in his eyes when he’d been debating whether to change our relationship. The fateful moment when he’d finally said Screw it in his mind and taken a chance. Emotion had been thick in the air between us, so him telling me that he didn’t have a heart—that he’d felt nothing—was complete and total bullshit. He’d felt something for me; that was why it had been so hard for him. But then he’d chickened out and given me an excuse so he could back off with a clear conscience. And the more I thought about that, the angrier I became.