Two Weeks of Sin

t she smiles behind her hand, I can tell.

“Conversations occurring here do not belong to you, they belong to me. And now, with heavy heart, I insist that you get on back to wherever you came from before I get ugly.”

“We can’t leave yet,” she says. “I mean, I can’t leave yet. He has to go.” She turns to him. “Jarom, I meant what I said. You have to go; I’m not doing this with you.”

“But it’s raining?”

I laugh so hard that it hurts. God, it feels good. It’s been a long time. It occurs to me that laughing is often something we do because of others. And not just that, when I see Sam smiling with me, trying not to laugh herself, even though she’s obviously rattled by whatever is going on with them, it occurs to me that laughing might even be something we do for other people. Maybe I can overlook the fact that she’s from the city, maybe. I feel like I would laugh all night to see her keep smiling.

“I’ll give you an exclusive, Sam,” I say. “But not him. He’s got to go. That is my one condition. You come up to the cabin with me, we’ll talk, and then you’ll be on your way when it’s dry enough to travel. Don’t worry. I’ll help you find your way back.”

“Deal,” she says.

“No,” says Jarom, stomping his foot, which causes a little bit of mud to splash onto his face.

“As for you, young Jarom,” I say, pointing right behind him, “You keep going in that direction and you’ll find your car. And I suggest finding a new name while you’re at it.”

When he hesitates I decide it’s time for a little showmanship. I raise the ax overhead and throw it with one hand. It lodges in a tree ten feet away with a satisfying thud.

Jarom runs so quickly that it makes me feel old. I used to be spry, but at least I’m not running from anyone like a raccoon with a pack of wolves after me.

When he’s gone, I look at Sam. “What makes you think there’s anything important out here?”

For an answer, she pulls her hood back up. The rain is spattering on her plastic poncho, beating a lulling rhythm into the night. “Let’s go,” she says. “I’m freezing and it’s a long story.”

After we walk for a couple of minutes she says something so quiet that I can’t hear it. “What’s that?” I say.

“I said thank you.”

It doesn’t take long to get to the cabin, although she’s winded by the incline by the time we get there. Not that I think women need callused hands, but I bet she doesn’t have any.

When I open the door and she steps across, something stirs inside me, and inside my pants. Good grief, it feels like I’m a teenage boy. Not the teenage insecurity, but the eagerness and the anticipation. There was a time when simply having a girl in my orbit felt like it bent gravity around me. How sad was this? There had never been a woman in this cabin. I had been here for years and this was the first time that the fairer sex had graced the gloomy little living room.

I watch her look around and wonder what she is thinking. An odd thing, to try to see my space through someone else’s eyes.

“Better or worse than you expected?” I say, setting down my tool belt and hanging up my coat. “Here, give me that poncho.” I take it from her and hang it up. She shakes her hair and a few droplets hit me. Then she takes off the coat she had underneath the jacket, revealing one of the most gorgeous bodies I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen my fair share.

It’s obvious all over again, from the way she moves and twists as she tries to figure out where she is damp—there was a thought to make my pulse race. She has no idea of how much grace and sensuality she packs into her frame. It feels like the room has gotten smaller.

“I’m not sure,” she says.

Her obliviousness to her appeal could only mean one thing: she hadn’t been with anyone who appreciated her. Beautiful women who have been with a few men are used to being worshipped. She sure as hell wasn’t getting what she needed from Jarom; although from their interaction there was no sense that they had ever had more going on than cavorting in the forest together.

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Although, if I disappointed her, maybe she’ll leave quicker. But it doesn’t seem like that’s what I want. Not yet.

“I’m not disappointed. She sits in a chair by the fireplace. “Can we light that? It’s been a long time since I’ve sat by a fire.” Then her eyes go wide and I can’t tell if it’s fear or confusion or both. She stands up and jogs across the small room, gaping at what she sees in the next room.

It was only a matter of time before she saw my dark secret, I suppose.

I toss some kindling into the fireplace, strike a match, and have a fire going in less than a minute. Then I follow her into the next room.

CHAPTER FIVE : SAM WASHINGTON

Outside of a library, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen so many books in one place. Although I suppose that makes this place a library. Books line the walls from floor to ceiling. The cabin is narrower than it looked like from the front, but much deeper. It’s more like a hallway than a nice square, but it makes for an impressive sight when covered in books.

And not just any books. It appears that my mysterious fighter—I’m already thinking of him as mine—is a history nut. And not just a history nut, but one that, from his collection, is far better versed than I. I’m intrigued. And jealous. I want all these books.

“How many do you have?” I say when he walks into the room. He looks like a larger—only slightly—and wetter version of Paul Bunyan. It’s like I ordered a lumberjack from one of the catalogs that Lacey was talking about. I’d never seen a man look so handsome, while also being rugged at the same time. Being from the city, there were very few men characterized as rugged, unless they were the poor brutes collecting coins at the train station. His moustache was dark and trimmed neatly above his mouth. His beard was dark and only slightly thick.