by Tamar Sloan
Now there will be no loneliness,
For each of you will be companion to the other.
Now you are two persons,
but there is only one life before you.
Grandpa holds out his arms. “Ladies and gentlewere, I present to you, Mitch and Tara of the Phelan pack.”
Mitch takes Tara in his arms, giving her a sweet kiss, as the crowd once again breaks into applause.
I squeeze Eden’s hand. “And it’s done.”
Tara slips from Mitch’s arms and they both head toward the trees. In a blink of an eye, two wolves stand there. A big, black wolf and a slightly smaller red one. Their heads tilt in, nuzzling, before they leap forward and disappear into the trees.
Slowly at first, my extended family starts following, each changing into shades of grey, brown, and red. More and more morph and leap into the trees, until I’m standing with Eden and Mom. Mom turns and heads for the path. I know she won’t run without Dad.
Eden turns to me. “You should go.”
I take her hand, pulling her in the same direction that Mom is heading. “Nah. I’m good.”
She stops, and my arm jerks as I come to a stop too. “You should go.”
I turn to face her, knowing she doesn’t understand. “Eden, I don’t want to run as the Alpha. That’s my dad’s job.”
“Oh.”
Instead I focus on the positives. “One day we’ll join them.”
“We?”
Her confusion is enough to unbalance her, and, with a quick pull, we’re heading toward the path. An idea has anticipation pulsing through my mind.
Once we’re back at the parking lot, I turn to her. “So, what time are you usually up on a Saturday?”
“I’m not much for sleeping in, why?”
I grin. “I thought we might go on a date.”
29
Eden
Light is barely touching the Inn grounds when I tiptoe out our front door. Alexis and I have barely spoken since the day I rushed to the bonding. She hasn’t asked about Noah, but I suspect the dramatic change in my behavior answers any questions she may have. I generally try to avoid our brief, tense interactions defined by avoidance of eye contact, monosyllabic conversations and unsaid encyclopedias of words hanging around us.
I wait at the front gate, the cool, moist air creeping into any little gaps between my jacket and skin. Every now and then a wave of goose bumps flashes across my arms, seeking any flicker of heat they can glean. I flick my braid over my shoulder, once again treading the fine line between nervousness and anticipation, when I hear his truck. The man-made sound overpowers the gurgle of the river and the sweet tweets of the yellow warblers, Blasting the concealing silence. The blue truck lumbers around the bend, with a red canoe strapped from the tray to the roof.
Canoeing! I can’t help myself; I skip straight into anticipation and out of the gate.
Noah hops out of the truck, a huge, happy grin lighting up his face and his eyes. My heart feels like it could float out of my chest. He’s closely followed by Stash, his tail wagging out his excitement and enthusiasm. It’s times like these I wish I had a tail too.
“Hey, boy.” I kneel down and he barrels into my arms. I rub his head, his chocolate-colored ears flopping from side to side.
“I figured we could bring the dogs,” he states in a hushed tone. A little redundant considering his truck obliterated the dawn quiet.
“I can bring Caesar?”
Noah grins. “Only if you want to.”
I spin on my heel and run up the path. I open the door and call him. In a split second Caesar leaps through the front door, and skids to a halt on the path. Stash is there, eyes alert. Caesar looks at me and I nod. A few cautious steps and he’s in front of Stash. The two males reach out, noses sniffing the air, their tails straight and erect. Stash is the first to move. His tail twitches a little and pauses, waiting to see its reception. Caesar mirrors the micro tail wag. And that’s all they need. They step forward, and with a quick head to toe sniff, tails are wagging and excited leaps abound.
Partway down the path, I notice Noah is rubbing his lip. “You didn’t have to use your voice, did you?”
I stop. I didn’t want to risk waking my mother. “No.”
The corners of Noah’s mouth turn down as he considers this, his bottom lip tipping out. He gives a sideways nod. “Lucky you.”
I move again, heading to the truck. I don’t know why I worried, Noah has always accepted me unquestioningly. But I suppose old fears don’t just throw their hands up and slink off, never to be seen again. It would be nice if they would.
I open the door, tapping the red plastic shell above the cab. “So what are we doing today?”
“I thought we’d play chess.”
I smile my own happy, excited smile. “Can’t wait.”
Noah chuckles, opening the door. The two dogs jump into the backseat, and he starts strapping in Stash. He even brought two doggy seat belts. I reach in, realizing we look a little like a married couple strapping their kids in.
As we pull out of the driveway, I glance over my shoulder. I think I see something move in the front window, but I’m not sure. I turn back to the windshield, Noah’s profile in my peripheral vision. I’m not going to let it dampen my excitement.
“So, where do the board games start?”
“Well, I know a secret little spot where we can launch and then it’s a matter of floating down the river.”
Oooh, a private canoe trip. My feet tap an excited little ditty on the car floor.
Noah heads away from the national park, toward the Glade. We zoom past a sign saying ‘Wilmot 10 Miles’ and it reminds me.
“Have you heard from Kurt?”
Noah’s hands tense on the steering wheel. “No. But it’s done now. Let’s hope he takes it gracefully.”
“And your dad?”
His shoulders slump. “No change. We can’t figure out why the healing is taking so long.”
My hand reaches out, and finds his. He grasps it, and I can feel his heartache, with the hint of desperation shifting beneath it. I give it a squeeze, wishing I could do more.
“Do they know who?”
Those shoulders drop another inch. “No. And without frontline evidence, they’re not likely to find out.” Noah glances at me before turning his eyes back to the road, returning the squeeze. “Today is about us. Let’s just enjoy it.”
“I can do that.”
We pull off the highway and onto a dirt road leading into the trees. I have a sense we’re near the national park, in the vicinity of the Glade. In the back Stash gives out an excited bark. He knows where we’re going. Caesar has picked up on the atmosphere, his nose smearing lines down his window as he tries to figure out what might be coming up.
The trees open out and the river is before us. Right where its massive width has divided, a smaller tributary passes before us. It’s like we’re standing on Mother Nature’s shoulder and she’s extended a curvaceous sweeping arm, the remainder of her serpentine body curving away. The jagged mountains, so majestically close, watch her lounging at their feet.
We pull up beneath a willow, its weeping branches brushing the truck. The two dogs leap out and are instantly absorbed in scenting the place out. They follow each other, seeing who’s found something more interesting, more new.
Standing at the river’s edge, I breathe in the cool mountain air—the scent that fast became one of my favorite smells. The sun, a gentle glowing giant concealed behind the trees, outlines the tall conifers with shimmering detail. In the muted light, the flowing water course gurgles and splashes. It’s breathtaking.
Noah steps up behind me and his arms slip around my waist. I sink into his chest, its warmth instantly filtering through my layers. His cheek comes to rest against mine; his bristly skin feels delicious. My most favorite smell fills my lungs.
I turn my head a little, resting it more against Noah. “This is beautiful.”
“It�
�s the best time to see it.”
At that moment the sun arches over the trees, spilling golden light over the panorama. Rays of light lance over the jagged horizon, each one brushing the scene with its Midas touch. Every pebble, blade of grass and drop of water becomes suffused with vibrant light.
I turn in Noah’s arms, my hands wrapping around his shoulders, and my breath catches. With his honeyed hair touched by the sun, his blue eyes glorious and intense, he’s more breathtaking than the scenery. More importantly, his lips are dipping down to meet mine.
Gently they brush mine, a butterfly breath leaving them tingling and craving. Once. Twice. So sweet, so tender. Making me feel something new, something I can’t identify.
But it’s not enough.
My fingers spear into those tawny, glowing locks and grip, pulling him close as I push up on my toes. Bringing his lips into direct contact with mine.
They’re warm and soft and heavenly.
I want more. I tug on his silken strands, creating more pressure. More heat.
All of a sudden they’re hot and strong and fierce. Noah crushes me to him, like I’ve unleashed something within him. Something within me. How can it blaze so hot, so quick?
Passion explodes through my tightly strung body. Noah’s chest rumbles on a groan, the sound amplifying the explosive feelings. Arms tighten, bodies press. Hands begin to move.
A bark bounces around the clearing. And another. I pull away, and we turn our heads. My unfocused eyes and fuzzy brain slowly register two dogs watching us, tails wagging. My breath rushes out with a smile. Caesar barks again, giving a little hop forward.
Noah’s arms loosen around my back. “Nothing like an audience.”
I giggle, and then it steps up to all-out laughter. My forehead sinks to his chest, which is shaking with amusement. Caesar leaps up, two muddy paws thumping onto my hip. I rub his head, down to his shoulders. Stash is jumping like a jackrabbit, his own barks bubbling up.
I release Noah, giving Caesar his own hug. “I’m glad you approve,” I whisper into his neck.
Noah ruffles Caesar’s head. “Me too.”
I shoot up straight, surprised. Oh yes. Were super-hearing.
Noah winks. “Let’s get going.”
In no time we have the canoe sitting at the edge of the water, efficiently lifting it, turning it, and placing it ready for launch like we’ve done this countless times before. Stash doesn’t wait for an invite before leaping in, and Caesar takes his cue, jumping up beside him.
“Safety first.” Noah passes me a red U-shaped contraption—a life vest. He helps me slip it on, tightening the straps. “If you go in, pull this.” He points to a yellow toggle at the front, then quickly slips his own on.
Noah holds out his hand and helps me step into the boat, my hiking boots only touching the edge of the water. I sit on the center bench, that unidentifiable feeling bubbling up again.
“Hold on.” And with practiced speed he pushes the canoe out and leaps in, a few watery droplets catching the light as they follow him into the boat. He settles himself at the back, picks up a paddle, and steers us into the river.
Caesar and Stash sit at the front, two canine captains at the bow, one fuzzy set of ears straight up, one velvety set permanently folded down. Four eyes darting left and right, up and down. Two tongues lolling happily.
My head follows theirs, trying to take it all in. This new perspective of the wilderness I haven’t seen: the canoe a floating island in a river that is a complex patchwork of stillness, eddies and ripples, and the shore a moving buffet as the golden sunlight casts the grasses a glowing orange, darkening the conifers to a deep dark green.
I look back at Noah. I watch the way he competently steers the canoe, strong confident hands making small adjustments with the paddle. The early morning light is touching his tousled hair. He’s smiling. I can see his happiness. I can feel his happiness. And it matches mine.
A breeze ruffles the water, and it feels like it’s come straight down from the snowcapped mountain. I tuck my hands into the opposite sleeve.
“Come here.” Noah extends his arms, and I look at the inviting space he has opened up.
“Don’t we need to keep the canoe balanced?”
“I’ll move forward and those two boof heads at the front will do the rest for us.”
I don’t need any more convincing. Noah shuffles to the next bench seat and carefully, with the canoe swaying from side to side, I creep back to him. He wads up a spare jacket and tucks it at the base of his low bench, effectively creating a little cushioned seat. I clamber between his open knees, and lean back against him. Instant warmth cocoons me.
“Better?”
“Hmmm. Much better.”
I feel a few feathery brushes at my lower back. “Much better,” Noah echoes, and the three strands of my braid slowly unwind. I look over my shoulder at him, and he gives me a cheeky grin.
“Look.” His arm brushes my shoulder as he points toward the shore. A moose is standing in the shallows, munching on the willow leaves conveniently hanging over the water. He lifts his flattened antlers, watching us cruise past. His long, gangly legs step backward, his rotund nose sniffing the air, like he can feel I’m not a threat, but senses that something about Noah is. Noah dips the paddle in, giving the canoe a gentle push and we sail quietly past.
Farther down, a beaver lodge looms at the edge of the river, logs stripped of bark thrown together into a haystack of pick-up sticks, the homeowners nowhere to be seen. The timber hill has redirected the edge of the stream, creating a little dam, constructing a still space where two Canada geese paddle peacefully. I snuggle into the solid chest behind me, warm and content to watch the nature documentary pass by.
Within the protection of my personal heater, I twist to the side so I can dip my finger into the water. It’s icy cold. Ripples of water fan out from where I break the surface. I watch the rhythmic little waves push out then dissolve. I jolt when something brushes my fingers. I peer into the water and see a fish swimming alongside my hand. I turn wide eyes to Noah.
He glances over the side. “That’s a cutthroat trout. A decent-sized one too.”
Hundreds of small spots cover the fish that rubs its scaly body against me, its streamlined shape so much bigger than my hand. I turn my hand over, fingers extending, feeling the cold, firm body sinking into my palm. My fingertips brush over the ridges of its silvery scales, skim the distinctive crimson stripe along its lower jaw. Its fins gently fan the water, caressing my palm. With a flick of its tail and a flash of red, it dives into the deep water.
I’m a little speechless as I lean back into the boat. “Well…”
Noah hugs me to him. “You’d be a fisherman’s dream.”
I snort. “There’s a reason they don’t go near them unless they’re hungry.”
Noah holds me a little tighter. “The truth is, you’re everything I’ve ever wished for.”
Warmth wells from somewhere deep inside me, bubbling up from a dormant volcano that can no longer be contained. I rub my head against his chin. “You’re the dream I never let myself have,” I whisper. Knowing full well he can hear me.
His arms flex, holding me as if he never wants to let me go.
Which is fine. Because I never want to leave.
We stay like that for a long time, the canoe slowly floating down the narrowing tributary. Taking in all that’s around us. Taking in all that’s between us.
We round a bend and Noah sits up a little straighter. I lean forward, seeing a clearing at the edge of the water. Noah starts paddling toward it. I think we’ve arrived at our destination.
The canoe beaches with the quiet crunch of plastic across sand. Caesar and Stash leap into the shallow water, splashing their way to land. I slide back to the center bench, collecting my backpack.
Before I can stand Noah is up and, just like the dogs, splashes into the water up to his calves. I watch horrified, as he walks around the canoe, grasps it, and hauls the
front half out of the water. Then heads back into the shallows to stand beside me.
“Noah, your shoes!”
He looks down at the water lapping his ankles and shrugs. “They’ll dry. And I don’t feel the cold.” He extends his hand, just like earlier.
I take it, and next thing I know, his other arm scoops behind my knees and lifts me into his arms. I squeal in surprise, my hands flying to his shoulders, fingers digging into solid muscle.
My eyes fly to his. “What are you doing?” Dancing blue eyes look at me with a mix of humor and tenderness. And a little splash of heat.
“Keeping your feet dry.”
“Oh.”
That alien feeling is creeping across my chest, making my cheeks pink. I feel…cherished.
Noah carries me the few feet to land. I can feel strong biceps across my back, below my legs. Ridged muscles beneath my hands. And a solid wall of heat against my shoulder. My cheeks feel warmer than they should be.
He holds me for another few seconds then very carefully, very gently, he releases me. My legs touch the ground; my body remains against his. I don’t know if this day could get any better.
I step up on tippytoes. Then stop, wondering if I should, jolting back down to flat-footed safety.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes narrow, giving me no quarter. “Why did you stop, Eden?”
I lift my one shoulder then drop it, unsure of how to put this into words. “I don’t want to set up a false economy.”
Noah snorts, his arms tightening. “I don’t think demand will outstrip supply.”
I look at the sincerity in his blue eyes. Can I really let myself go?
“In that case then.” I push back up and press my lips to his.
The feeling of his mouth on mine is still so new, so intriguing, so intoxicating.
And with permission comes curiosity. The desire to know more. I kiss the edge of his mouth, then with fluttering lips I explore the ridge of his bottom lip, following its curve to the opposite corner. Noah’s mouth parts, his breath catching then exhaling. I breathe in through my mouth, tasting his warm masculine scent. I continue my exploration, my lips moving over the bow of his top lip. Discovering the firm edge, the soft lip, the taste of Noah. Without conscious thought, the tip of my tongue slips out, hungry for more.
