Ren and Della: Boxed Set (Ribbon Duet Book 3)

by Pepper Winters

  At first, I’d worried about the new needs running in my blood and the pleasure my body insisted on finding sometimes in my sleep. I’d refused to skinny-dip and didn’t let Della cuddle too close when we slept.

  But gradually, the wariness I wore whenever we were around people fissured and shed, leaving me a boy once again.

  A boy who might be turning into a man against his wishes, but out here…with nothing but trees for company and woodland creatures to judge, I could act stupid and make Della laugh. I could cannonball into the river butt naked and not feel as if I’d done something wrong.

  I could be happy with my tiny stolen friend.

  Nothing could make our life any better, or at least that was what I’d thought until Della rolled on her belly and poked my cheek as we lay side by side with our tent flap open and the sounds of night blanketing us.

  “Hey, Ren?”

  My eyes cracked open. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “I faked it.”

  “But I told you two stories, Della Ribbon. The deal is I talk, you sleep.”

  “I never sleep when you talk.” She yawned. “I like your voice too much.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You like my voice, huh?”

  “Um-hum.” She rubbed her chin where an indent of the sleeping bag zipper had pressed into her. “I like all of you.”

  The starburst of affection she caused made me choke. I cleared my throat, turning to stare at the tent ceiling and focus on the lining and seams. “I like all of you, too.”

  “No, you don’t.”

  I scowled, risking another look at the blonde tussled kid who had every power to suffocate me beneath happiness and rip me to pieces in despair. “I don’t?”

  She giggled. “Nope. You love me.” She blew kisses, then flopped onto her back and placed her forefingers and thumbs together to form a crude looking heart. “You heart me like this.”

  I chuckled at her impersonation of a cartoon skit she’d seen. I wasn’t the best one to teach her what love meant. To be fair, I wasn’t sure how to describe it apart from I felt for her the exact opposite of what I’d felt toward the Mclarys.

  The cartoon explained love was when you wanted to do everything for the other person without needing anything in return. Love was simple with one rule: if you hurt the person you love, it would be as bad as hurting yourself.

  I sighed heavily. “You’re right. I do love you.”

  She wriggled under the unzipped sleeping bag, her little legs kicking mine. “Yay!”

  A smile quirked my lips even while, for some inexplicable reason, I’d gone sad. Sad because I loved something? Sad that loving someone terrified me? Or sad because she was the first, and I’d missed out on loving the people who created me?

  Either way, she didn’t let me wallow, poking me in the cheek again. “I love you too, Ren Wild.”

  And that, right there, that made those few months back in the wilderness the best months of my life.

  Nothing came close after that.

  Nothing was ever that simple.

  Nothing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2005

  WINTER HELD OFF longer than I anticipated.

  Some days, we didn’t bathe as the thought of diving into icy water and walking back over frosty bracken wasn’t exactly enticing. Some days, we went hungry due to animals snuggled up warm in burrows and towns too far away for a day’s hike in the first snow fall.

  Until the last week, it was liveable.

  However, we’d stayed in the forest longer than we should. I knew that. I’d steadily grown more aware of how fragile we were as the weather became cooler.

  If it was up to me, we would have found another abandoned building or some other alternative to survive the upcoming freeze.

  But we were still here…alone.

  No one knew we existed.

  No one cared if we survived or died.

  It was just me and Della, and Della had decided she didn’t want to go back.

  I’d rubbed off on her too much. I’d proven what a wondrous place simplicity could be, and she’d fallen in love with the life that had always lived and breathed in my heart.

  But even I knew what we could overcome and what we couldn’t. This was her fault we sat shivering in the tent, too lethargic and exhausted to do anything but try to stay warm.

  Every time I mentioned we needed to find warmer, better shelter—that even though I agreed with her and didn’t want to leave, we had to be smart and find a place to ride out the upcoming blizzards and heavy snow—Della would shake her head and pout.

  She’d stomp her foot and snap her refusal, and that would be the end of it.

  Until I brought it up again and again…and again.

  For days, I tried to convince her. Until finally, I didn’t pussy-foot around. I didn’t tell her gently of my plan to head down the hill toward the small town we saw glittering through the trees at night. I didn’t tell her to help me pack or to dress warmly for the journey.

  What I did do was dismantle the tent with her still inside and wait until she crawled out in a huff before commanding her to move.

  We were leaving.

  This was stupid.

  I wasn’t about to let her freeze to death after keeping her alive this long.

  Our dynamic was simple. I was older and in charge. Normally, she bowed to those points of authority, and our arguments were short and sharp, then gone.

  But this time?

  She threw a tantrum that gave wing to shocked crows, screams that ricocheted around the hillside and left her out of breath and hiccupping. She’d thrown a few tantrums as a two-year-old, but this was the first since then.

  I’d done my best to refrain from yelling back, but after thirty minutes of her shout-sobbing that she never wanted to go back to a city, promising she’d hate me for eternity if I took her from this place, and vowing with snapping little teeth that she’d run far away and leave me, I lost my temper.

  I shouted back louder. I stomped around harder. I cursed her with every swear word I deliberately refused to use. I dared her to run because if she ran in this, she would die without me to warm her at night and feed her by day.

  She’d screeched that she hated me.

  I’d roared that I hated her more.

  She’d pummelled my belly with stinging little fists, and I’d held her hands until she’d torn away from me then threw her moss-stuffed sock snake in my face.

  After that, I shut down.

  I marched over to her, snatched her damn ribbon, and held it ransom until she calmed the hell down.

  It took a while.

  It took all day while I led the way from wilderness to civilization. Her disapproval stabbed me in the back as she followed, her newly returned ribbon clutched in frozen fingers and lips pressed tight together.

  My anger faded with every mile we travelled, and by the time we reached the outskirts of town, my chest ached with regret.

  I waited for her to catch up, her shoulders no longer stiff with temper but rolled with tiredness. She refused to make eye contact, and the ache in my chest wrapped tight around my heart and squeezed.

  We’d never had a fight that lasted longer than a minute or two.

  This grudge was new, and I hated it.

  I didn’t know how to make things right, and it hurt. It hurt so damn much to have the one person I loved withhold the love I’d become so accustomed to.

  She was my one constant, and this was unknown, scary territory.

  Turning to face her, I dropped to one knee and balanced with the weight of my backpack with my fingers jabbed into the dirt below.

  She tucked her chin down, avoiding my eyes, twisting her ribbon with tight jerks.

  Blowing out a breath, I wondered how to fix this. Her body language screamed not to touch her, but everything inside me needed to. I needed to bridge this terrible gap and I risked having my hand bitten off by cupping
her chin and forcing it to rise.

  Her beautiful blue eyes narrowed as she finally looked at me.

  I stared into her for a long moment, trying to study her, to understand what I’d done wrong, and how the hell I could make her happy again. “I’m sorry, Della.”

  She flinched, ripping her face from my hold and backing away from me. “I want to go back.”

  “You know why we can’t.”

  “I don’t. We’ve lived through rain and wind. It’s just snow.”

  “Snow can kill.”

  Her forehead furrowed. “We won’t die.”

  “We would. Eventually.” I smiled sadly. “We aren’t equipped like the other creatures. We don’t have furry jackets or warm nests.”

  Her bottom lip wobbled. “But I don’t want to leave. I like it there. I like just being us.”

  “It will still just be us. It always has been, hasn’t it?”

  She paused, digging her dirty sneaker into the earth. “I guess.”

  Sensing a slight thaw in her, I rushed, “Nothing will change, Della. It will still just be us—as it’s always been. When spring hits, we can go back. We can find another farm perhaps, or a tiny cabin somewhere. It will be fun, you’ll see.”

  Her eyes skated to mine. “Fun?”

  “A holiday.” I grinned bright.

  “Promise it will just be the two of us.”

  I drew a cross over my heart. “Promise.”

  “Good.” She nodded sharply. “Because I don’t want to share you.”

  I chuckled. “You’ll never have to share me.”

  “Good,” she said again. “Let’s go then.”

  This time, she held out her hand and smiled without any remnants of our fight. My heart beat easier; I breathed deeper; my world was righted once again.

  Only thing was, I should never have promised it would just be us.

  Because I lied.

  Without even knowing it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  REN

  * * * * * *

  2005

  IT TOOK THREE weeks of hiding in rickety sheds, occasional kid tree-houses, and a basement or two before life threw us another curve ball.

  I’d searched for something permanent, but this town kept itself too well tended.

  The streets were salted and swept of snow every day, the houses painted and cared for. Even on the perimeter of the town, no dilapidated buildings waited to house two homeless kids, and no farm promised space away from people but close enough to ride out the winter by stealing from their supermarkets and larders.

  On the third week of searching, I came down with the flu. It was my turn to be shivery and achy, struggling through my daily chores of petty theft and cooking to ensure Della had a full belly to stay warm.

  The first couple of days in town, I’d been able to steal her a couple of warmer outfits complete with ski jacket and trousers from a rich family who’d left their kids snowboarding gear on the front porch overnight.

  I made do with jeans that got constantly wet and boots that pinched my toes from being too small. I forgot what it was like to be warm and did my best to hide my rapidly fading strength from Della.

  She couldn’t suspect I needed a rest. She didn’t need to worry because I carried the worry for both of us. Only thing was, the stuffiness in my nose and cotton wool in my head made my reactions sluggish and instincts falter.

  And that was how we got caught.

  We’d steadily crept our way toward the boundary of the town and found a farm too far to see the twinkling city lights of its far away neighbours.

  It wasn’t abandoned.

  Smoke curled from the chimney, recent footsteps melted the snow in the driveway, and the sounds of family laughter trickled through the starless night.

  But it was late, and I was done—utterly unable to travel another step with the heavy backpack.

  Keeping Della close, I guided her around the back of the cheery looking homestead toward the barn lurking in the darkness. Cracking open the double doors, I coughed heavily and stumbled toward one of the stalls.

  Unlike our previous borrowed farm, this one was immaculate with polished brass fixtures, cobweb-free beams, swept cobblestone floor, and freshly-stuffed hay nets currently being munched on by two happy horses, warm and cosy in bright red rugs.

  Della’s eyes widened as the creatures snorted at us, ears pricked and swivelling in curiosity. “Can I go pet them?” She drifted toward their stables.

  I pinched her shoulder, keeping her by my side. “Maybe later.”

  My eyes danced around the space. The tack room smelled of leather and oats, the racks of folded towels and bottles of vitamins and grooming gear sat dust-free and tidy. All this care and neatness meant whoever lived here took pride and time in their home. Our presence wouldn’t go unnoticed, and usually, I’d run.

  I wouldn’t take the chance.

  But right now, I would most likely tumble into a snowdrift and suffocate before we found anything else. It was this or nothing. And I desperately needed to sleep. I needed a new nose, new brain, new throat, new bones.

  I needed to be taken care of, but there was no one to do that, so I sucked up my aches and fevers and smiled at Della who stood in rapture as the horses nickered then continued to devour their hay.

  I daren’t crash here where we would be found if the farmer came to check on his beasts. Instead, I looked up to where a loft held sweet-smelling hay and sacks of feed for livestock.

  It was as good as it was going to get.

  “Come on, climb up,” I barked around a cough, desperate to shed my snow-wet jeans, peel off my icy-damp socks, and crawl beneath our sleeping bag. I was too tired to eat. Too tired to attempt to feed Della.

  Guilt drowned my heart along with sickness, but I had nothing left.

  I just needed to rest.

  Della looked at me worriedly before scooting up the well-made ladder to the loft above. I started to climb after her, but the weight of the rucksack was too much.

  I fell back down, tripping over a cobblestone and landing on my ass. I groaned in pain as my ankle rolled and my head snapped forward from the bulk behind me.

  Della peered down from above, panic whitening her face. “Ren!”

  “Quiet!” I whisper-hissed, very aware that this was a temporary situation with owners extremely close by. “I’m fine.” I needed us to go unnoticed, so I had a few hours to catch up on some sleep before pushing on before dawn. “We have to be quiet, so we don’t get caught.”

  She bit her lip, nodding once, even though the desire to climb back down and help shouted all over her tiny face.

  With another wet cough and no strength, I shrugged out of the backpack and left it at the bottom of the ladder. Ripping open the zipper, I coughed again and again, cursing the rattle and noise as I yanked out the sleeping bag then hoisted my flu-riddled body up the vertical ladder.

  A rush of light-headedness made me trip at the top, and Della squealed as I landed on all fours with the sleeping bag trailing in hay dust.

  “Ren.” Her little hands did their best to pull me upright, and I thanked her with a weak smile.

  My body was shutting down, forsaking me, leaving me weak and wobbly and useless.

  “I can manage, Della Ribbon.” With the promise of sleep within reaching distance, with the knowledge of a roof above our heads, and shared body heat from animals below, my endurance reached its end and threw me head first into exhaustion.

  I somehow crawled toward the stacked and inviting looking bales and barely managed to shed my jeans and boots before a deep, flu-congested sleep slammed into me.

  * * * * *

  “Ren, wake up.” Something shook me. “Ren…please wake up.”

  I groaned and swatted at the annoyance.

  My teeth rattled as I shivered with a bone-deep chill. I wanted to stay asleep, so I didn’t ache so much, so I didn’t struggle to breathe, so I didn’t know what it was like to freeze to death slowly.
>
  “Ren!” The shout was barely louder than a whisper, but it was delivered straight into my ear, along with the tone of terror and crippling urgency.

  My eyes flew open even as my vision remained foggy and gritty. “Wha—” I coughed, loud and wet. Clamping a hand over my mouth, so Della wouldn’t catch this awful bug, I waited for the tickle to pass, but it never did.

  The ache in my lungs kept going and going, wrenching out air I needed, tightening around ribs I’d already bruised.

  “Ren!” Della curled into me, diving her head over my shoulder in a terrified embrace.

  I tried to shove her away. She shouldn’t be close with me this sick, but she glued herself against me, trembling in fear.

  I opened my mouth to assure her I was okay, to say the coughs sounded worse than they were, but then I heard what’d spooked her.

  What I should’ve heard minutes ago.

  What I should’ve never heard because I should’ve been smarter never to stay in a place so well loved by owners that only lived a few steps away.

  Footsteps on the cobbles.

  A voice murmuring to horses.

  Daylight trickled weakly into the space from skylights above.

  No!

  I shot upright, planting both hands tight over my mouth, willing the wheeze and urge to cough again to vanish.

  Someone was below us.

  Someone was about to find us.

  Della shook harder as I froze in place. My jeans were across the loft where Della must’ve hung them over the ladder rail to dry. My boots were neatly placed out of reaching distance. My socks spread out and smelly on a sack of molasses-infused animal meal.

  My bottom half was practically naked, and my top half could barely breathe.

  A cough exploded through my fingers, uncaring that it had just condemned both of us to discovery.

  “Who’s there?” a female voice snapped.

  A horse whinnied, followed by the sound of running footsteps then the creak of the ladder as weight shimmied up it.

  “Ren.” Della squirmed closer, seeking comfort and safety that in my stupidity and sickness I couldn’t provide. I’d chosen this place. I’d been the one unable to wake at dawn. I’d been the one who didn’t leave before we were noticed.