A Night by My Fire

Eyeballing the unappetizing food, hungry but warry, there were long minutes of seeking the hidden poison, the missed shard of fish bone, the trick, before beefy fingers moved to grab a utensil.

River pointed at him with her fork. “My cooking is pretty hit or miss. Twenty percent hit seventy percent miss.”

Wasting no time, Stephen shoveled in huge mouthfuls, shuddering when the mass wriggled down his throat. Voice pained, he grumbled, “You are missing ten percent.”

“The ten percent is unmentionable.” His dirty hostess took another bite, following his lead and eating quickly to avoid the terrible taste. “I would like to blame the gas range, but if I did, I would be lying.”

He finished the entire serving in three more repeats of the face stuffing first bites, then cleared his throat. “Have you contacted the authorities?”

“I radioed the Rangers this morning.”

She was lying and it was painfully obvious to someone with his training. Liars deserved to be punished, yet her oversight was in his favor. Having the local authorities aware a man of his description, a man whose face was on FBI watch lists—a man sought by the CIA, Interpol, terrorist organizations, mafia—would complicate things greatly. With none the wiser, he could kill the horrid female and no

soul would ever know.

Just as death was not his yesterday, imminent incarceration would not be his tomorrow.

Thanks to the idiocy of this woman.

And so he stared, eyes colder than the water she’d pulled him from. He let her feel what would be coming, and measured how best to do it.

Quickly, because he did owe her some semblance of a debt.

But River warned, cheeks flushed and lips shined by grease, “Your tracks, stranger, were obvious. Your size, their depth, the fact you walk with a limp. You’d be noticed. This is small country. And, yeah, I’m lying to you. I couldn’t get through, but that doesn’t mean no one has their eye on me.”

She had a point. A decent point that had to be carefully considered.

Her open shelves were stocked with canned goods, and though she appeared to be athletic under the sagging sweater, a woman of her size could not carry all that food here alone.

In answer to his further contemplative silence, River explained, “No trucks get this deep, you’re going to have to shelter and wait for snowfall. With more powder, I can take you on my sled. Or, if you want to try the hike, it’s two days to town. I’ll draw a map on the back of your hand and we can see if you have better luck than last time.”

“How far? Which direction?”

“Far. East.” She gave an apologetic shrug, yet those eyes. Those dark, exotic eyes held none of her nonchalance. “If you leave right now, you might make it before the blizzard hits. Clever guy like you did see the sky. You know a storm is coming, right? Options are limited.”

Stephen said nothing. Silence almost always served best.

“You in a hurry to get somewhere?”

More silence, the dense naked chest across from her expanding as he drew in a deep breath.

“Your ankle, is it broken? Do you need to be airlifted? I’ll make the trip alone and notify authorities if that’s the case. While I’m gone you can keep trying the radio and might get them here sooner.”

She knew the terrain and might actually get through, so his lips parted, tongue dragging over the grease shining his own. “I do not require such a measure.”

Nodding, River let the idea go. “I scouted the area upstream from where I found you. I didn’t find a camp or a pack... nothing. Do you have friends I need to worry about?”

This conversation was over.

“I have no one.” Stephen stood, hopping to spare his sprained ankle and bracing against the wall on the way to use her facilities.

* * *

When the bathroom door closed, River whispered under her breath, “I’m sure you can thank your charming personality for that.”

While he was out of the way, she hung up the laundry, cleaned up the fish guts, and left the couch for the wounded prick, slouching down in a shabby recliner instead. Immersed in the pages of a worn paperback by the time he navigated all the hanging clothes and reclaimed his throne, she ignored him.

An hour passed and he didn’t speak, but he did lean forward and tend the fire in her place when the time had come. When it was done, he grunted, like an animal, over and over until she tore her eyes from the page to look at the annoying nuisance.