“Fair enough,” I take a plate of still sizzling fish that he’s handing out to me and a fork. I can’t wait to tell him about my ankle, how it’s already feeling so much better, but my growling stomach puts my priorities in order and I take a mouthful.
“Wow! This is so good,” I tell him around a cheek full of food.” Chomping it quickly, I take another bite.
“Everything tastes better out here, I find. I don’t know if it’s just being outside so much, or that I don’t have stuff to snack on all day, but it seems like my taste buds have come alive since I’ve started living like this,” he swirls his fork around the room.
I breathe in the fresh June air. Even from inside, I can smell the faint aroma of flowers and new growth in the woods. It’s like having a luxury rustic resort all to myself. Complete with a waterfall for a shower and a rugged, muscular guide to keep me safe.
I let myself imagine what his body must look like naked. How his broad chest looks without a shirt clinging to him. I bite my lip involuntarily and feel my heart speed up as my gaze travels further down, trying to peel his pants off in my mind.
“How long until you move out of here?” I focus my attention back on his face and try to keep it there.
Cole finishes swallowing the last bite of his fish and rests his plate on his knee, “Well, as soon as your ankle is good enough to make the trek, I’ll get you back into town and then I’ll be heading straight out. It’s only a matter of time until your boss or more people like him come to find me. I don’t want to be waiting here like a sitting duck, you know?” He wipes the glistening butter from his lips with the back of his hand and stands up to get more fish from the pan.
The food he made that had just tasted so vibrant turns to sawdust on my tongue. I don’t even want to finish the last couple of bites. The idea of him taking me back to Whitehorse and leaving my life forever makes my heart twist up in my chest like it’s clenched inside a tight fist.
I look down at my ankle and decide to keep my news about it healing to myself.
I know he’s right about being in danger here, but I’m in no rush to walk out of Cole’s life. This is the first time I’ve felt truly alive in my twenty-two years. I know it’s greedy, but I can’t bring myself to march out of here and never look back. I’m a girl who always does the right thing, but God help me, I just can’t this time.
21
Cole
I raise my fork to dig into my second helping of the Alaskan grayling I caught but stop mid-air when I see Abbie’s face. She always looks fair, but right now, her skin is bleached pale and she’s pushed her food away from her.
“You alright?” I hope she’s not getting sick. Abbie doesn’t exactly strike me as a great outdoorsy kind of girl. I don’t know if roughing it like this is taking a toll on her health. Truth be told, I also don’t need any more delays in getting her out of here. I feel terrible for even thinking it, I mean, it’s not like I want her to leave. But the longer she camps out here the more chance her old boss will come looking for her. Or worse. The police will.
“What?” Her glossy eyes flicker back into focus and she looks over at me like she just remembered I’m here. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” she presses her lips into a thin slit.
Not the most convincing face, but I know it’s best to let things go. There have been many times that my mind has drifted back to my sister and my thoughts have dragged me unwillingly into another world. Sometimes it’s good to let things drop.
Abbie places her plate on the table and looks around like she’s searching the room for hidden treasure. I scoop some more fish into my mouth and watch as she rubs her hands up and down her thighs, it’s like I can see the wheels turning in her head.
“So, what do you do around here every day? I mean, don’t you get bored just sitting out here alone?” She sits up straight and tosses her hair over her shoulder, twisting her hands over it like she’s trying to pull it up into a ponytail only to let it drop back down around her face again.
“You’d be surprised actually, survival is pretty much a full-time job. I don’t think I’ve spent a single day out here bored, to be honest,” I admit, finishing the last bite of my meal.
I lean back and look around my place. I admit that it’s not much to look at, but I’m proud of what I’ve put together. She obviously has no concept of how much work it took to build this place or how much I do just to stay alive.
“Most days, just keeping wood chopped for fires, fishing, cooking, cleaning, working on the cabin and keeping myself clean takes up the entire day. Let me tell ya, keeping me clean is probably the biggest one. I’m always getting covered in dirt or tree sap or something. It’s amazing I haven’t turned into that dirty kid from the Charlie Brown comics, remember him? Pigpen I think his name was. He always had a dust cloud surrounding him,” I smile.
Abbie laughs and I can see her relax a little. Whatever was just eating at her seems to have passed. I love making her smile, making her laugh. It’s almost as amazing as making her cum.
Making her cum is the clear front-runner, but then in a distant second is making her laugh.
“So, what’s on the agenda today? You’ve already gone fishing. Is it wood chopping day? Do you have a schedule like that?” She leans in toward me, and rests her elbows on her knees, cradling her face in her hands. The way the sun is falling on her looks like a spotlight in a play. Like she’s the star of the show.
“Today is Wednesday,” I answer her matter-of-factly.
“Okay…” she raises an eyebrow in a silent question.
“Wednesday is my day off. Ever since I finished this place, when the weather cooperates I try to give myself a day of rest every week.”
“Oh, okay then. What do you do? Just chill here?” I can see the boredom creeping in across her face. She’s trying to hide her disappointment, but the fine lines that erupt in a spider web across the bridge of her nose and the way her pink lips are tugging down in the corners is making it impossible.
“No, I’ll show you after we eat. Usually I have some drinks and either write or draw for a while.” I stand up and pick up her plate, placing it on top of mine. “Are you done with this?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” she casts her eyes downward.
“I guess you’re not a fan of my cooking?” I tease her.
“No, it’s not that. I’m just not used to eating fish for breakfast I guess.” She scuffs her boot across the floorboards and avoids my eyes.
“Suit yourself,” I shrug and pop the last of her fish into my mouth. I’m not about to waste a perfectly good catch.
“So, are you an artist then?” Abbie looks up at me.
“I wouldn’t say that, but I find it relaxing,” I admit. “I used to try to whittle on my days off, but it turns out that wasn’t a great combination with the booze,” I snort and tug my shirt sleeve up, revealing a scar I gave myself in a drunken attempt to carve wood.
“Ouch! Yeah, that just sounds like a terrible idea,” she shakes her head.
“Yeah, well, I never claimed to be a genius,” I laugh and tug my shirt back down. “Anyway, just let me get this stuff taken care of and we’ll get going,” I nod to the dirty dishes.
“I can do them,” her voice is chipper, like she’s volunteering to taste test a new kind of candy bar, not wash dirty plates.
“Great,” I agree. “You get the dishes and I’ll get everything we need for the day together, sound good?”
“Mmhmm,” she stands up and then gives me a quick, wide-eyed look before wincing and lifting her foot.
“You okay?” I close the distance between us and grab her arm for support.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll be fine,” she won’t meet my eyes. I hope she’s not trying to hide how much pain she’s dealing with.
I try to assess what she’s holding back, but decide to let it go. It’s Wednesday and my grassy knoll and lazy day are calling to me.
22
Abbie
“We’re here,”
Cole smiles broadly at the foot of the hill his cabin is built into.
“What? I don’t get it,” I look around.
“You’ll see,” he smirks and grabs my hand, tugging me up the hill with him. We scramble to the top of the fifteen foot climb and my jaw drops open.
“Pretty cool, huh?” Cole looks pretty proud of himself. His blue eyes sparkling as he spreads a blanket out over the flattened top sheltering his cabin.
I soak in the incredible view feeling like I just climbed Everest and am looking down from the top of the world.
“It’s amazing,” I whisper. “What’s that for?” I point to a small, ankle high barrier made from wood and strung across the edge overlapping his house, like a tiny fence for gnomes.
“Ahhh, well since I have drinks up here, I made this. It’s kinda like when you were a kid and had a rail across the top bunk bed, you know? I didn’t want to fall asleep up here and wake up with a broken leg when I rolled off the side. It’s quite a drop to the front door.”
“And an even further one down there,” I nod at the cliff only twenty feet from his cabin entrance.
“Yeah, if I ever get drunk enough that I fall off that, I won’t need to worry about my liver. I’ll be dead,” he laughs.
This grassy clearing on his roof is so tranquil. It’s easy to see why Cole likes to spend his downtime here.
I watch him as he pulls a long swig of amber alcohol into his mouth, making it disappear from the bottle into his belly while I sit on the blanket beside him. I’ve never been much of a drinker, most of my Friday nights on campus were spent in the library studying, not doing shots. My scholarship meant too much to me to squander it being a party girl.
At least that’s what I told myself.
The truth is, I wouldn’t know how to handle myself at a party. I’ve always been so nervous around guys, and a girl with an anxious snort and pit stains is not what I think most dudes are into. I think I mostly saved myself from sitting in corners with houseplants and watching from the sidelines. If college kids have houseplants. Probably not. The point is, I spent too much of my life observing everyone else live their lives. I’ve always wistfully watched them cut loose and have fun, while I enviously wished I had the guts to do the same.
Enough is enough.
“Can I have some of that?” I nod toward his bottle of whiskey nestled beside his leg. Cole looks down like he’s not sure if there’s something else I could be talking about instead of the booze. He looks from side to side before pointing down at the alcohol and twisting his face up.
“This?”
“Yeah, if you don’t mind,” I try to act nonchalant, like I drink all the time and it’s no big thing.
“You didn’t strike me as someone who’d enjoy straight whiskey, but sure, knock yourself out,” he holds it out to me skeptically.
I unscrew the cap and peer over at the look of amusement pasted to Cole’s face. Something about his smirk makes me dig my heels in and I take a huge mouthful of burning fire, struggling to swallow it without coughing. I try to keep my face straight as the flames burn a path down my throat. I can feel the heat reach my stomach and spread out.
Cole laughs at me and the fire in my belly is nothing compared to the angry heat spreading across my cheeks.
“What’s so funny?” I sulk.
“Nothing, you just didn’t look like you really enjoyed that,” he looks like he’s biting the inside of his cheeks, but I can still see his smile.
I squint my eyes at him and pull the bottle back up to my lips, tossing another swig. This time the edge is toned down and when it hits my belly, my head feels fuzzy, like I took too much NyQuil.
“All right there tiger, save some for the rest of us,” Cole grasps the bottle from my hand, screwing the lid back on and stashes it next to him.
“I told you I was fine,” I giggle unconvincingly.
“Yep, you’re a regular booze hound. Probably drink me right under the table if we had one up here,” he shakes his head and pulls out his notebook.
“Can I see your drawings?” I try to look inside the cracked cover of his journal. Normally I wouldn’t be so bold, but the booze is making me loosen up a bit.
“Sure, go to town,” he tosses it over in my lap and I open the first few pages until I see a drawing.
It’s the waterfall he brought me to, even though it’s only in pencil, I can almost see the sparkling drops splashing off the water. “That’s beautiful,” I trace my fingers over the page. Cole doesn’t answer, he just watches me as I flip the page and look at an intricate drawing of a log house. It looks so cozy and inviting, I feel like I can see myself walking in by the large, wooden front door and making myself at home. “Where is this?” I pull my eyes away from his work and meet his.
“It doesn’t exist. When I first came out here, that was my dream,” he nods at the page. “Maybe I’ll make it a reality now that I have to move further in.” He opens the bottle and takes another small sip before handing it to me. This time, I don’t feel like I have anything to prove, I’m not so tightly wound up and I just take a small swig too.
“It looks amazing,” I hand him back his book and the bottle. “So, what’s the deal? Were you some kind of artist before all this happened? You obviously have talent,” my tongue feels a bit thick, but it doesn’t stop me from prying. I want to know everything about Cole. I want to ask him his entire life story. I want to learn his favorite foods, where he’s lived, what his family is like. However, I know I’ll never have time to learn it all. Not before he dumps me back in Whitehorse and disappears into the Yukon wild. I might not have all the time I want with him, but I’m going to make the most of what time I do have.
“No, definitely not an artist,” he shakes his head emphatically and leans back against one of the two trees this hill is nestled between.
“So then, what did you do? You know, out there,” I wave my hand vaguely.
“Guess,” his lips twist up into another smirk, a playful one this time, not at my expense.
I lean back on my hands and shamelessly soak him in from his shaggy hair to his legs. Well, I almost make it as far as his legs, but something between them distracts me. “You don’t look like a salesman,” I think out loud.
“You got that right,” his eyes twinkle and my heart beats a little faster.
“A carpenter?” After living in the cabin he built with his own hands, it seems most likely.
“Nope,” he’s enjoying this.
“Umm, I’m gonna say you were a man in uniform.” From the way his eyes grow wider, I know I’ve hit the nail on the head. “A paramedic!” I say too excitedly.
“What? Paramedic? Why?” His dark eyebrows furrow together.
“I don’t know, I guess because of how well you took care of my ankle. I could see you helping people that way for a living,” I reason.
“No, you were right about the uniform, but not a paramedic. I was in the US military. A sniper,” his voice is flat.
“Really?” My heart begins to flutter in my chest. “So, you did the exact opposite of saving lives then, huh? You killed people?” I whisper my question like we’re in the middle of a bustling, city coffee shop and I’m worried about what the people at the next table might overhear.
Cole shrugs and opens the bottle again, taking another drink. “It’s all perspective,” he answers, holding it out for me.
I take it from his hands and don’t hesitate this time in taking another drink. The burning sensation is completely gone now, but the warmth in my belly seems to be spreading through my limbs. “How so?”
“Well, I had to take out guys who were directly responsible for the deaths of many Americans. Sometimes they were behind terrorist attacks that killed hundreds of people at a time. So, I took them out, and yes, ended their lives, but how many got to live as a result?”
I pass the bottle back to him and mull over his words. He’s not wrong, of course, I guess I just wasn’t thinking of the bigger picture.
“Hey, so if you were a sniper, why didn’t you kill Trent that way?” the question slides off the end of my tongue before I really have a chance to think it through.
I shouldn’t have asked.
As storm clouds brew in Cole’s eyes, I wish I had never mentioned him at all. I literally bite my tongue until it hurts.
“For one,” his voice is so cold that my forearms break out in gooseflesh, “it would be beyond irresponsible for me to kill him that way in a city. You never know what could go wrong or who could get hurt.” Cole’s scruffy jaw juts out angrily. “And for two, I wanted to see the fucker’s face when I ended his pathetic life,” he clamps his mouth shut and frowns down at his hands.
23
Cole
The forest that is normally alive with chirping and chattering of wildlife falls silent. I swear I can hear Abbie’s eyelids blinking at me in surprise at my dark confession.
It’s true. I was happy to watch him die. I wanted him to see the face of the man who made him suck the last lungful of oxygen into his body before I blew his brains out. I wouldn’t say that it gave me closure on April’s death, but it was as close as I could get.
The darkness swirls inside me, it’s a tornado that I know too well. I’m familiar with its powerful pull into depression. I’ve seen those depths of despair and I’m in no hurry to explore them again.
I force myself to breathe, closing my eyes, I push away the rage, the mourning and the confusion. I know it won’t be that long before they overwhelm me again, knocking me on my ass, but not today.
Virgin for the Woodsman Page 8
