Hunger had taken over Cole’s thoughts, and he didn’t ask the obvious questions, already knowing he might not like the answers. And then, he’d seen a boy in the back of the pantry, staring at Cole from between rough wooden planks that made up the cupboard. Cole had not revealed the boy’s presence to anyone, wary of what might happen to him. They were both children, reliant on the goodwill of adults, and at the time Cole had been lucky to ride with men willing and able to protect him.
He’d since wondered what had happened to the boy, and whether he’d gotten to grow into a man. If the cabin was still standing, maybe they could find shelter within its walls.
Cole growled. “So you stopped watching where we were? I told you it was just a hunch!”
“You said, and I quote, ‘I know this area, there’s a cabin two miles uphill’.”
Cole had never said that, so he squinted in growing displeasure.
Lars got up and started pacing like a rabid fox insistent on getting its teeth into something. “We’ve been fruitlessly meandering through these mountains for a week now, so excuse me for getting my hopes up!”
“Just sit down and eat. We’re not gonna move any further in this weather. Didn’t you say your country has the harshest winters?” Cole asked, swinging his arm to indicate the deep snow around them.
Evergreens emerged out of its dense covering like toy soldiers standing watch over their small camp, a silent army to witness their suffering. At least they had fire to ward off animals, but seven days into the journey, Cole’s mind was starting to play tricks on him and suggested that trembling shadows cast by the flames might not be what they seemed.
“It does have harsh winters, but I never said I liked them. I’m here, in America, ain’t I?” Lars huffed.
It hadn’t been his choice to leave Norway either, since he’d been a child when he’d last seen the fjords. If even that much was true, because Cole knew better than to trust Lars’s big mouth when it came to his personal story.
Something jangled beyond the glow of the flames, and Cole wouldn’t have thought twice of it if the noise didn’t continue, moving about in the dark. He could have blamed it on the wind, but the sound was too distinct, too much like a rattle. Lars grinned, about to say some foolhardy thing, but stilled when the howl of a wolf tore through the night from dangerously close, sending a shiver through Cole’s bones.
“What was that?” Lars voiced the question buzzing in both their heads and faced their surroundings with his back to the fire.
“A wolf. Get your rifle,” Cole said.
Lars snarled at him. "I've been a bounty hunter for five years. Don't tell me what to do! If you were any smarter, you would have brought a compass too instead of relying on me!"
The rattling grew louder and more frantic, and it circled them this time, like a predator stalking its prey. The hairs on Cole’s arms bristled.
Reluctantly, he opened one of the bags attached to the saddle resting alongside him. Cold climbed his back despite the thick fur coat he wore to protect himself from the elements. His cheeks pulsed with anger, but if there was a chance to find more adequate shelter, to keep back whatever beast had found them, he would take it.
He didn’t often take out the little box at the very bottom of the bag, not when Lars was around at least, and the polished wood reflected the flames in warning. Cole took a deep breath, trying to ignore the noise spinning around the campsite as he opened the lock to reveal items from a past life he rarely talked about.
A red plaid bandana, which no longer smelled of rosemary and sweat, lay on top, and underneath it—a brass compass Cole hadn’t used for seven years. Ned had given it to him with the sweet venom of words on his tongue.
If we’re ever forced to part, with this, you will find me.
Perhaps Cole should have trusted that promise and used the gift to track down the bastard and get his answers. In the seven years it had rested at the bottom of his bag, he hadn’t even gotten a whiff of Ned’s stench.
It didn’t matter anymore. Cole didn’t believe in superstitions, destiny, or love for that matter, so his only excuse for not having burned the box yet was sentiment. He shoved it under a tangle of clean unmentionables and stepped close to the fire, opening the compass with a flick of his finger. Why he’d held on to his resolve to not use a perfectly good compass, he couldn’t explain.
“Are you joking right now? You forgot you have another one?” Lars scoffed, his gaze wary as he reloaded his shotgun.