Chapter Nineteen
Sawyer
My stomach roars at me, pulling me from my deep sleep with a craving for strawberry crepes. I lick my lips, remembering how my mother used to make them with fresh berries and topped with a cloud of whipped cream. Not that shit you buy in the can either, no, hers was handmade and infused with vanilla bean.
I open my eyes and smile at the wild wisps of hair strewn over me. It still has the faint smell of strawberries. No wonder my stomach is confused. I haven’t had a breakfast like that since they were killed. All of them. My mother, my father and my older brother. A week later, I put them in the ground and left the city. I never looked back.
The only time I’ve forced myself to come back in has been for these supply runs. I’ve never second guessed the decision to walk away. I didn’t realize how much stress I carried with me every day until I abandoned it at the edge of the forest. Not just the stress caused by the rumors about my family, by the fake fucking news. Or the stress of losing them all to a misguided and mentally ill vigilante. The lump in my throat builds and I pull Ashley tight against my chest.
That kind of stress went without saying. What happened to us was horrific, but it could happen to anyone in today’s world. When I disappeared from society, the pain of losing my family didn’t just fade away. It’s been four years and that wound still hasn’t healed.
However, after I built my home, after I learned how to forage, hunt and grow my own food. Once I learned how to get clean water, then I started going to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow and waking up refreshed. Without all the little day-to-day moments in the city that chipped away at my soul, traffic jams, emails, to-do lists, fake friends wishing empty condolences for my family’s very real deaths. Those were the things crumbling the foundation of who I was.
Like a slow, steady drip of water that eventually carves out a rock, living that life was smoothing down my edges and hollowing me out.
I wonder if she’ll come back with me? I run my hand over her back and listen to her soft breathing. She feels perfect on my arm. Perfect in my life.
You know she won’t. Don’t fool yourself. This is like the opposite of a spring fling for her. Instead of going wild on the beaches of Miami, she’s letting herself cut loose in a cabin in Colorado. Different setting but the reason is the same, she has no intention of ever seeing me again after this is over.
The thought stabs my heart. I don’t want to lie here and think about what I’m going to lose. I’d rather enjoy the time we have. And that time isn’t going to be very pleasant if I don’t get my ass out of bed and build a fire.
Carefully, I roll Ashley over and free my arm from under her. I quickly kiss her cheek.
“Mmmm,” she half smiles and snuggles into her pillow.
I pull back the lasagna layers of quilts and blankets we’re buried beneath and want to shrink back under the covers. The cold clings to my skin, leeching the warmth from me as I force myself to jump out of bed and quickly pull my clothes on.
My teeth chatter as I exhale and my warm breath hangs in the air like a frozen fog. The blankets that Ashley is under are covered in frost making the bed look like a dewy hill on an early October morning.
Yeah, fire might be a good idea.
I scurry over the painfully cold floor and race over to my outdoor gear. Once I zip up my parka and slide my feet into my boots the bitter cold air becomes slightly more tolerable and I get to work on getting a rip-roaring fire lit.
It takes some patience to get it to catch, I shouldn’t have let the coals die out. Even though I’ve done this thousands of times, once I hear the distinctive whoosh and watch the orange and red flames crawl over the logs, I still feel a sense of pride.
Standing up, I let my limbs thaw for a bit while I look down at the bathtub I put together for Ashley.
The way the water glistened over her perky breasts flashes through my mind, tempting me to jump back in bed with her and wake her up with my stiff morning wood.
The water that last night lapped at every inch of her body is now a block of ice. Looks like it’s going to take a few hours before I can dump it out and begin gathering more snow.
Now that I can actually feel my fingertips, I grab my crank radio and lower the volume before winding it up. It whirrs loudly while I spin the handle and the light on the front flickers as the voices cut in.
“San Miguel county search and rescue is coming under fire for the weather-related delay in beginning a mission to search for twenty-three-year-old Ashley Young.” A woman reports. “On the line, I have Mark Gilbert, the San Miguel County Sheriff’s Office Operations Coordinator. Sir, can you explain the hold up in this operation.”
“Certainly, Sandy,” the line is crackly but his voice is clear, “we have been eager to get the search operation for Ashley underway. However, as your listeners are aware, the weather has not been favorable. We haven’t had flyable weather to send out our helicopter and with the reduced visibility and extreme drops in temperature we’ve been experiencing, we haven’t been able to send out people on the ground.” He explains.
“What do you make of the internet outrage about the delay in this operation? People are saying that Ashley Young is likely deceased due to these hold-ups.” The woman drills him.
“Unfortunately, I would suspect that is true. It’s highly unlikely that she has managed to survive in these conditions. I understand that people are upset. We are not happy about this either. We want to find every single person who goes missing alive and well, but we can’t risk the lives of our search and rescue team by sending them out in weather that could kill them,” he stresses. “At the first opportunity, we will deploy our team in search of the young lady and if she can’t be found at this time, there will be an operation to retrieve her remains in the spring.”
“Well, with the brief pause in this storm that we’re supposed to get, will you be sending out your crew before the next wave of this weather system is supposed to hit?”
“We are discussing that now, but I can reassure you and your listeners that we will do everything we can to pursue this mission once it is safe for our brave team members to do so.”
I flick off the switch. They’ve written her off for dead. I can’t help but wonder if she might let them believe it and come out to my place instead of going back to a cheating pile of garbage for an ex-fiancé and her internet ‘friends.’
The hope builds in my chest, flickering up and warming my heart like the flames in the fireplace are slowly warming this cabin. Hope can be dangerous, but, for the first time since my family was stolen from me, it feels right. I can’t help but wonder if this was all meant to be. If Ashley was supposed to cross my path and give me a new beginning. It’s certainly starting to feel that way.
I fling open the cupboard doors and take stock of our supplies. To call them limited would be optimistic. I’m going to need to get some more rabbit today if we’re going to make it through the snow that sounds like it has still yet to come. In the meantime, I’d love to figure out something to throw together. Maybe make Ashley breakfast in bed. I scrounge the supplies and start plopping a bunch of spices down on the counter along with some condensed milk and Minute Rice. It’s not ideal, but I can make this work.
Chapter Twenty
Ashley
“Rise and shine,” Sawyer’s muffled voice pulls me from my sleep. I pry open my eyes and see streaks of light shining through the cocoon of quilts I’m wrapped inside. It’s so warm and cozy, I don’t think anything could make me want to move.
“I’ve got breakfast,” he nudges my blanket shell. Ok, so maybe that is enough motivation. My rumbling belly agrees.
I pop out of the mini blanket fort and smile at Sawyer from under my frizzy hair and flyaways.
He laughs and leans over me, kissing me softly on the forehead. “Good morning,” he places a couple of bowls of white porridge on the night table and smooths his large hands over my hair. Holding my head on each side, he
covers my mouth in a tender kiss. Not like the urgent, desperate kisses from yesterday. Instead, I can feel the slow, sensual warmth pour from him into me, spreading through my body like the heat of the liquor we drank last night did.
Sawyer releases me from his kiss, but rests his forehead against mine. His hands haven’t moved from my face. In this moment, I feel like nothing in the outside world matters. It’s like our past burdens have been lifted and our future is yet to be written. My heart feels lighter, my head clearer, and my life fuller.
“You’re so beautiful when you wake up, do you know that?” He doesn’t wait for me to think about it, to answer, instead he kisses me quickly and all those mornings that I spent glaring at my imperfections in the mirror float away. I do feel beautiful, every time of day, when I’m with him.
“I managed to throw together some food,” he pulls away and cracks my illusion of an ethereal world with only us two. The dingy cabin slides back into focus around us, and the snow piles high outside the bedroom window. I realize with a sinking heart that the storm has stopped.
“Is it over?” I nod at the frosty glass.
“According to the radio it’s just a break,” his intense brown eyes meet mine. I feel like what we aren’t saying is more important than what we are. I can see him struggling with our impending reality as much as I am. Sooner or later this storm won’t just letup, it’ll be over, and we’ll probably never see each other again.
I distract myself with breakfast, I’m not ready to think about a life without Sawyer in it yet, but I’m happy to think about eating.
“What did you make?” I glance into the bowls and realize that I was wrong about the porridge. It looks like rice.
“Oh, I made you today’s special, rice pudding. I’m pretty happy with how it turned out considering,” he holds his hand out at our surroundings and I nod. It’s amazing that he’s been able to make meals, let alone ones that taste as good as his do out here.
Sawyer hands me my bowl, grabs his and we dig in.
The sweetness explodes on my tongue and I devour my bowl like I haven’t eaten in a week. When I swallow the last mouthful, I lick my lips, “Where did you learn to cook? It’s incredible what you can put together. If I was up here alone, I would’ve starved by now.”
I can see the glimmer of pride flash in his eyes, Sawyer places our bowls back on the little table and looks out the window like he’s looking into another time.
“My parents taught me, mostly.” He answers. “They owned a restaurant, Il Lupi, or The Wolf in English.”
“What language is that?” I tilt my head and scan Sawyer’s features, I’ve never detected any hint of an accent in his voice.
“Italian,” he doesn’t blink, still staring outside.
“Why was it named that?” Thunder rolls over his face and his beard twitches as he struggles to find his words.
“Because the restaurant wasn’t just my parents’- my brother and I pretty much grew up in that place. We celebrated our victories there, I had my first heartbreak there, it was the backdrop of our lives. Dad said that without the family, the restaurant was nothing, that we were what breathed the life into that place. He called it Il Lupi because our family was tight, like a wolf pack, we stuck together.” Sawyer frowns and swallows hard, flicking his eyes back to me.
“That’s beautiful,” I whisper. “Why did you leave then?” The words fall from my tongue before I have a chance to think them over. Obviously, if he wanted to tell me what happened, he would’ve by now. I look down at the patchwork on the quilt, “Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.”
“It’s ok. They’re dead,” his voice is flat and hard. “My family was taken from me and the restaurant was destroyed. I realized that my wolf pack was ripped from me. That I became a lone wolf, I guess. The city is no place for a lone wolf.” He frowns at his clenched fists like they betray him. Anger and grief battle for control of his face.
“I’m so sorry,” I lay my hand on top of his.
“Me too,” he looks up at me. Sawyer stands up and grabs the empty bowls from beside the bed, “Ok, well, speaking of food, I’m going to take advantage of this break in the snow and try to hunt for some more rabbit,” he says it too loudly, like he’s trying to overpower his memories by yelling at them.
“Can I come with you?”
He stops in his tracks and looks over his shoulder at me, “Come with me?” He wonders out loud.
“Please? I can help you, or at least keep you company,” I realize my motivation is greedy, I know he won’t be lonely out there without me. He’s a lone wolf, but I’m not. I can’t stand the idea of being here all day without him.
“What about your floppy-eared bunny and all that? You aren’t going to have a ‘Bambi’s mother’ moment out in the woods when I kill our supper, are you?”
“No, I already ate the stew you made, I know where it came from. I’m good. I might even be able to help,” I offer.
“I don’t know about that,” he smiles, “sure, fill your boots. If you want to come, I’d love the company.” He walks over to the kitchenette and puts the bowls in the sink as I spring out of bed like he just told me it’s Christmas morning. The truth is, I feel more excited than I have for any December twenty-fifth. Not because we’re hunting rabbits, but because he just told me what I’ve been longing to hear. He wants me around him. He doesn’t want to be alone. He said he’d love the company.
Maybe when this is all over there is hope for us after all. Maybe he’ll come back to the city with me and enjoy my company for good.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ashley
“Was that a rabbit?” I almost topple over into the snow as I twist around to catch the tail end of a squirrel bounding over to a tree.
“No.” Sawyer holds his jaw tight and keeps trudging forward.
“Isn’t it weird we haven’t seen any yet? We’ve been out here a while.” I look up at the sky as if I’d have any clue what time of day it is by looking at the sun. Instead of guessing the hour, I just get bright spots in my vision that won’t blink away.
“No, it’s not weird. The snowshoe hare molts and grows white fur for the winter, so they’re damned near impossible to see. Even brown rabbits are smart enough to hide under brush and around the base of trees. They know how to survive better than we do.” He keeps his voice hushed as he looks around the forest.
“Well, better than I do. You seem to be doing just fine,” I smile.
“You adapt to your surroundings. I didn’t start out my first year as a natural woodsman. It takes patience, a lot of it.” He admits.
“It sounds boring,” I shrug. “Don’t you ever get tired of how long it takes to do everything? I mean, don’t you miss having a microwave or just ordering take-out food?” I try to imagine what his life must be like. Preparing food and keeping things working must take up nearly all of his time. A few days ago, that would’ve sounded like the seventh circle of hell. Right now it still doesn’t sound appealing, but not like the torture I thought it would be.
“No, I don’t miss it. Sometimes it’s hard work, but sometimes I sit and read all day. Or I go fishing. Or I paint. The work is harder, but there’s less of it than when you live in the city and you spend ten hours of your day either getting ready for work or punching a clock. Besides, I spend most of my days in nature, growing or hunting for the organic food you spend a fortune to get at the grocery store. I don’t need to spend my time coming up with woodworking projects for a hobby, my whole life is a Pinterest project.” He scoffs.
“You know about Pinterest?” My mouth drops open. I don’t know why, but I expected Sawyer to be too removed from modern life to know about girly internet pages.
“I choose to live in the woods, Ashley. I wasn’t born there. I still know about things going on in the real world, if you want to call it that.” He looks at me and rolls his eyes exaggeratedly.
“Oh.” Of course, he knows about websites. He’s not completely shut off from society.
I mean, when he saved me he was heading into town.
“Do you think we’ll find a rabbit soon?” I bring my focus back to the reason we’re marching knee-deep in an endless sea of white.
“Not if you keep talking, chatty Cathy,” he smirks.
“What’s a chatty Cathy? Is that a show or something? Or just an expression?” I peer up at him and he sighs.
“I don’t know, I think it was a doll that never shut up and scared away rabbits,” he twists his lips downward and looks around the glistening forest.
The silence is eerie. I can’t hear anything except for our breathing. It’s a far cry from the endless buzzing of the city. The roar of the traffic. The chatter of friends. The constant dinging of people’s cell phones. “When you’re hunting rabbits, you have to be like Elmer Fudd, remember him?” He ignores my blank stare, “You have to be vewy, vewy quiet.”
I can’t help but laugh at the bad impression. “How old are you again? Chatty Cathy? Elmer Fudd? That’s before my time there, old man,” I giggle.
“I’m not old, I’m wise,” he smiles. I feel like I just took a sip of hot cocoa topped with marshmallows, all warmed up from my forehead to my toes.
Sawyer looks at the sky and the smile slips from his lips, “The storm is going to roll in really soon,” he looks back over the trail we’ve left in the snow, then back to the sky. “This old man is wise enough to know that we’re not going to make it back to the cabin before this gets bad.”
“What do you mean?” I bend my head back and stare at the snow tumbling down from the sky. “We have to get back,” I try to push down the panic rising in my chest. Did he save me just so I could freeze anyway?
“No, we need to build a shelter,” he answers firmly and shrugs free from his hiking bag, placing it at his feet.
Saved by the Woodsman Page 9