He felt ashamed. Heat moved up his neck, but he nodded. “There’s a bucket hanging on the water pump.” He knew she was used to inside bathrooms. He’d been used to that once too. In the long-ago time. Now he could barely remember what hot water felt like. He wished he could give her hot water.

Her eyes widened, but she set her shoulders straight. “Then I’ll just . . . freshen up . . . out back.” Her cheeks turned light pink, and it made his stomach muscles jump. She gave him one last big-eyed look and then turned, grabbing her gun and rushing out the front door.

He watched her close the door behind her, collected the small bag he’d packed, and then he left his house too.

She walked from around the corner a few minutes later, her hair stuck up on top of her head. She looked pretty in the morning light, wrinkled and fresh at the same time, and his blood started doing strange things inside his veins again, rushing quickly, and then slowing, making his brain feel sleepy. He turned his back on her and started walking. She could follow, or not. He heard her truck door opening and closing and then her quick footsteps.

She looked at the knife strapped to his hip. “Expecting trouble?”

“No,” he said quietly. “Expecting dinner. If I’m going to be out today, I want to bring back something to eat.”

“Oh. Right. Yes, of course,” she said. “So, you’ll just use that to . . .” She paused for a long time before finally saying, “Get dinner.”

He squinted ahead, then glanced down at her. Her expression made it look like she had a small, pointy rock in her shoe, and it made him feel like maybe he did too. She didn’t like him, thought he was different . . . strange. He didn’t like it. But it wasn’t her fault. He was different, and strange, and the loneliness opened inside him, widening like a black hole.

Yes, he was different, but that wasn’t the worst of it.

They came out of the trees on the far side of his house, and the open field stretched before them, the sky glowing shiny silver and copper gold. The sight of the early morning sky calmed him, and he was able to move his mind away from the emptiness that would forever be a part of who he was. He could hate it if he wanted—and he did—but he could not change it.

“Thank you, by the way. I’m sure you have other things you could be doing. Especially considering the weather. I really do appreciate it.”

Harper’s words snapped Lucas from his thoughts and he nodded. He didn’t have much else he needed to do. He had a supply of food for winter that he could use if he needed to. He’d learned how important that was to survival many winters ago, and now he knew what to do long before the first snowflake fell. Now all there was to do was wait and worry about his future. He could do that as well out here as he could sitting in front of his fire alone. Although he would be out of matches soon, and he hadn’t worked out how he was going to deal with that.

The way you did before you had them.

He could go to Driscoll’s house and steal matches if he wanted. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to ever go in that cabin again, not even for a box of matches.

“How far is it to the car?” she asked, coming up beside him. He suddenly noticed she didn’t have her gun with her—that must have been what she was putting away when he’d heard her truck door opening and closing—and he wondered what it was that made her decide to leave it behind. Had she decided she wasn’t afraid of him anymore? Or that it would be too hard to travel while carrying a big gun? It didn’t matter, he told himself. He wouldn’t think about the way the thought of her trusting him—the girl whose picture he’d worn around his neck for years, the girl who’d been with him during so many times of struggle and pain and loneliness, made him feel . . . good.

He realized she was glancing up at him and remembered she’d asked him a question. How far to the location? He paused again. He didn’t know how to describe near and far and he knew by the look the sheriff man had given him the day before, he’d done it wrong when he’d told him how many steps were between Driscoll’s and his cabin. “Not long now,” he finally settled on.

They came over a hill, and a valley stretched before them. In the summertime, it was filled with flowers—red and purple and yellow, all melting together and sending the breeze back with their sweetness.

They walked in silence for a little while, just the sounds of their footsteps filling the air around them. It was cold, but not as cold as the day before, and the sun had broken through the clouds so it was warm on his back. Harper picked up a long stick and stopped to break a piece of it off, coming up beside him again and using it to tell the places that were safe to step and the ones that were not. He’d done that once, before he’d memorized every hole and rock of the land around him. “I know every step of this ground,” he told her. “Just follow me.”

She paused, but then tossed the stick to the side. More trust. He picked up his speed, and she did too, keeping up with him even though his legs were much longer. “You bring people out here for your . . . job?” He wanted to know about her—he couldn’t help it—and he also wanted to know about the world, about the ways people lived, the things they did. He wanted to know if any of it would be familiar to him anymore, or if he was too different now to live among others.

He wanted to know whether he even wanted that.

“Oh. You remember that. Yes. Mostly in the spring, summertime, and fall. I take people out to hunt, or to camp, or just to hike for the day. There are fewer customers during the cold months, but I do take some ice-fishers out, skiers, things of that nature. But I save my money so I’m fine working less in the winter. Eventually, I’ll take some classes. But . . . oh, you didn’t ask about that. So, yes, I bring people out here for my job. To, um, enjoy the soul-filling beauty of nature,” she finished, a tilt to her lips. There was a word for that kind of lip tilt . . . what was it? Some kind of smile that was . . . she was trying to be funny in a sort of way? Was that right?

She talked a lot and moved from one subject to the next. Keeping up with her was hard. He had to go back over what she’d said in his mind in order to understand what to respond to.

“You don’t believe the beauty of nature fills a person’s soul?” he finally asked.

She gave him a surprised look. “Oh. I mean, no. I mean, yes, I do. It just sounded like a cheesy thing to say. But . . . being in the wilderness, it’s brought me peace on occasion when I needed

it.” She gave him a quick look before stepping over a rock sticking out of the snow. “What about you? Does the beauty of nature fill your soul?” She smiled at him—so pretty—and all thoughts left his head. He looked away so he could think again.

He thought about the things he loved best about nature, about home . . . the long days of summer when his belly was full of fresh fish and sweet berries, and his skin was warm. The way the fireflies flashed in the wavy blue of not-yet night, the way the wolves sang love songs to their mates, their voices rising high and clear to the full yellow moon, so beautiful the whole forest stopped to listen. The way the gophers laughed with their big-toothed grins as they made trouble and played tricks on each other, and the way the birds greeted the morning light, glad and thankful for another day.

But he also thought of the cold that stabbed his bones, the loneliness that felt like a dark pit of sadness yawning wide, the wild pigs with their crazy eyes and blood-chilling shrieks, and the terrible pain of being hunger-sick. “Fill?” he finally said, his voice low and quiet. “No. But it’s saved me. And . . . punished me. If there are things that might fill my soul, I haven’t found them yet.”

Yet. A hopeful word, he thought. And it surprised him to know he still had some. Even a little.

She was silent for a long while and when he glanced at her, she was staring at him with the strangest look on her face. A new and different one he couldn’t put a word to. He’d said too much . . . in a way others did not. Maybe. But she didn’t look upset with him just . . . surprised and . . . something else that he also didn’t have a word to describe. He looked away, pretending to think about which direction to go in, even though he knew exactly where to go.

“Well, I . . . hope you find it. The thing that fills your soul.”

Tags: Mia Sheridan
Source: readsnovelonline.net