A strange expression crossed Michael’s face. He was smiling, but there wasn’t any joy in it. “Yeah . . . sure,” he said, and I knew he was well aware that it would never actually happen. He would be alone next Christmas; there was no getting around that.
I was just about to tell him that maybe I could visit during the summer instead, in a couple years when I had a plane again, but before I could speak, we both heard a loud clatter outside. Michael instantly snapped to his feet, his face intently focused as he listened for further sounds of trouble; he had no human neighbors to speak of, so things were generally silent here.
Fearful curiosity was killing me, and I was dying to ask him if he knew what was out there, but I didn’t want to disrupt his concentration. And it turned out I didn’t need to ask. Seconds later, I heard the deep, resonant, unmistakable growl of a bear. Shit.
Michael turned my way, his expression serious. “Stay here.”
He grabbed his high-powered hunting rifle, and my heart started thudding. Was he nuts? If there was a hungry bear out there, we should be barricading the cabin, not going out into the wilderness. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Lips twisted in a frown, he told me, “All our food is out there, our meat. If I let the bear destroy it, we’ll have nothing to get us through the winter.”
I knew he was right, but still, I was terrified. “Okay . . . I’ll help.” Setting down the broom, I grabbed my gun and checked it for bullets. It wasn’t as powerful a rifle as Michael’s, but it might hurt the bear enough that it would change its mind about gorging on our food stash. Or it might just piss it off.
Studying my gun, Michael shook his head. “No, stay in here—guard the cabin.”
His answer made me frown. “The bulk of the food isn’t in here. There’s nothing to guard.”
His eyes softened then. “Yes . . . there is something to guard.”
My cheeks heated when I realized he meant me. “Be careful,” I whispered.
“Always am,” he stated; then he darted out the door.
Racing to the window, I peered outside, searching in vain for some sign of Michael or the bear. The moonlight wasn’t strong enough to illuminate much, and even though only candles were lit in the cabin, it was enough to wreck my night vision; I couldn’t see a damn thing out there. My nerves spiked, and my heart started racing. I felt like I was out there in the woods, possibly about to get mauled, and following Michael’s orders and staying put grew harder and harder with every second.
I strained my ears, listening for the bear since I couldn’t see it. Sounds of lumbering steps crashing through brush met my ear. Then I heard the dreadful sound of sharp claws raking down wood. With no electricity, freezers weren’t an option here. Michael stored his food the old-fashioned way, either drying it into jerky or curing it with salt. The prepared food was kept in his enclosed workshop, and while Michael had bear proofed the shop as much as possible, hungry bears were tenacious. With food being so close to its reach, the grizzly might not stop until it had ripped the door to shreds.
Knowing where the bear was outside calmed my nerves somewhat. I fingered my rifle, debating whether running out there would help Michael or hurt both of us. It was dark, and if Michael thought I was inside, he could shoot me just as easily as the bear. And verbally warning him would get the bear’s attention—attention I’d rather not have. No, it would be best to stay put and let Michael handle it. But still . . . that was hard to do.
I heard Michael shout then, yelling at the bear to leave. A gunshot rang through the night, startling small nocturnal animals and rattling the windowpanes. Another one followed shortly after, and fear trickled down my spine. Was that a warning shot? Or was the bear attacking?
Michael wasn’t shouting anymore, and the night was still, silent. Oh God, no . . . The ball of dread in my belly was too great to ignore, and I nearly tripped in my haste to get to the door. “Michael!” I screeched into the night as I flung the door wide.
A dark shape was suddenly right in front of me, and as I stared in shock, a gaping mouth of thick, sharp teeth opened, and a powerful roar pushed me back a step. I’d never been so close to a bear before, and my legs felt like water. I couldn’t move them, couldn’t move anything. My mind was trying to avoid the here and now by drifting off to happier times with my family, my friends. Death was once again staring me in the face, but even still, the part of me that was cognizant of the present was awed and amazed by the ferocious beauty of the beast before me. There was a reason these creatures ruled the forest.
The bear rose up on its hind legs, visually warning me that it was bigger, stronger, and most likely hungrier. My eyes flashed to the various weapons it could use in an instant to end me—talonlike claws, ice pick–like teeth, or just its massive weight. All I had was a gun.
Thinking of my own weapon jostled me from my state of panic. Raising the barrel, I chambered a bullet and yelled at the bear to back off. It seemed a poor tactic at this point, but I didn’t really want to kill the animal. If I could scare it into submission, I’d take that as a win.
The bear, however, was unimpressed by my shouting. Landing heavily on its front feet, it began lumbering toward me. Damn it, I was going to have to shoot. And hope my gun did more than anger it. With shaking fingers, I lined up my shot. “Please go away,” I murmured, putting light pressure on the trigger.
Like it heard me, the bear suddenly looked to its left. It growled again and took a step back, away from the cabin. I heard Michael’s voice, and then a gunshot rang out in the night. The bear roared again, then seemed to realize it was outmatched. It turned and ran, its winter bulk vibrating with each thundering step.
I was still shaking as Michael stepped into view. Disengaging the gun, I dropped it on the ground and flew over to him. Before I knew it, my arms were around his neck, and I was pulling his firm body into mine. Thank God he was okay. Thank God I was okay.
“Oh my God, Michael,” I murmured into his shoulder, inhaling his woodsy scent. “That was terrifying. I thought for sure . . .”
Once I fully comprehended that I was squeezing the life out of him, I froze, every limb rigid with tension. I wasn’t sure if Michael would push me away or not, but then he surprised me by wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me into him just as hard as I was holding him, maybe harder. As we held each other, the anxiety and fear started easing, and I was flooded with warmth; I’d never felt more at peace.
Michael broke the connection by stepping back so he could look at me. “I told you to stay in the cabin,” he scolded.
“I did!” To prove my point, I indicated my gun, still in the cabin where I’d dropped it. It wasn’t my fault the bear had tried to enter.
Michael pursed his lips. “You scared me half to death,” he said, his voice tight with an emotion that hadn’t been there the first time he’d saved my life.
“I did?” I whispered, a little mystified by how much things had changed in such a short amount of time. Did I matter to him now?
His eyes flitted over my face before shifting to the ground. “Of course,” he muttered. “I’m trying to keep you alive . . . to get you back to your family . . .”
For the first time ever, the thought of going home saddened me a little. Or maybe it was the look on Michael’s face. His fear had stemmed from more than just his desire to keep me living: I was sure of it. He liked having me around. He liked the comfort, the companionship, the help around the cabin. No matter how hard he tried to convince me—and himself—Michael didn’t really want to be alone. I was positive of that. And a part of me . . . liked being here too. I enjoyed spending time with Michael, and I enjoyed helping him. I liked how he made me feel—like we were equals, teammates . . . partners. I felt . . . free with him.
“Michael,” I said, my voice feeling weak. “I was worried about you too. I thought for sure when you stopped yelling that the bear had . . .” Swallowing, I couldn’t speak my dire assumption or my relief that it hadn’t been t
rue. I felt like I was drowning in the feelings that were swelling between us.
Clearing his throat like he was suffering from his own emotional rollercoaster, Michael indicated the cabin. “Well, we’re both okay, so we should go back inside.” I nodded, and Michael sighed. “That bear might come back, though, so we’ll have to stay sharp until it hibernates.”
I really hated the thought of having to go through this night after night. Hopefully, we’d startled the bear enough that it would search for goods elsewhere; otherwise I might have an aneurism before winter hit.
Chapter Ten
The next several nights, I was a nervous wreck. I kept hearing things that weren’t there—crashing in the woods, growling in the night air. Whenever I went outside, I felt like I was being hunted; it was not a comforting feeling.
“You don’t need to be worried, Mallory; the bear won’t act out of spite or hatred. That’s just one of many reasons why animals are better than people.” He grinned at me after he said that, like his words were comforting, but the official start of winter was still a few weeks off, so we weren’t in the clear yet. Maybe seeing that I still wasn’t cheered by the news, Michael shrugged and added, “It will either make another attempt on the food, or it won’t. Stressing about it won’t solve anything.”
I knew he was right, and I knew we had a lot of work to do before winter struck full force, so I tried to push the fear from my mind and focus on the task at hand. “Okay, so remind me again what we’re doing way out here? Besides being potential bear bait, of course.”
He rolled his eyes at my comment, and I felt my worry lifting at seeing his humor. “We’re felling trees for firewood.”
Now I rolled my eyes. “I understand that, but why are we doing it way out here?” We’d walked at least a mile to get to this spot, and considering we didn’t have transportation, we’d have to walk the wood all the way back to camp. “Your place is surrounded by trees. Why not just chop up one of those?”
Michael stopped and stared at me with a contemplative expression. “That’s my yard,” he finally said. “I want it to look nice.”
My jaw dropped; then a laugh escaped me. “I can’t believe you’re worried about aesthetics when you don’t have any neighbors.”
He lifted his chin, his pale eyes defiant. “I have myself . . . and I have you.”
That made me pause. He has me?
A flush of color brightened Michael’s cheeks, and he immediately averted his eyes. “You know what I mean,” he muttered.
Something warm and pleasant flooded through me as I watched him walk over to a clump of trees and begin to inspect them. I might only be visiting Michael for a short time, but he was already claiming me. I loved that he was, but it filled me with a foreboding sense of sadness too. All of this was temporary. Then Michael would be alone again. And in a way, I would be too.
As Michael began to swing his ax into the far side of one of the trees, biting deep into the wood, I thought of all the things I did for him now that he would have to do himself once I was gone. “Have you ever thought of a chainsaw?” I asked him. “Or a snowmobile? Four-wheeler? Bobcat? Something to help make your life a little easier?”
He paused in his work to look over at me. “Of course. But I spent all my money getting out here. All that stuff is a luxury I can’t afford right now. It’s on my wish list, though.” Chuckling to himself, he began swinging at the tree again. It was going to take us a couple of days to get all the wood back to the cabin. Maybe longer. He should seriously consider making his wish list more than a wish. But if there wasn’t money, then there wasn’t money. There wasn’t much he could do about not having enough.
It began to lightly snow while Michael was working, and I half-heartedly watched the lazy flakes as they drifted to the ground. Just a couple of days short of three weeks . . . that was how long I’d been stuck here. It seemed both longer and shorter; time had a funny way of fluctuating around Michael. Nick would just be beginning to worry about me, since I hadn’t returned to his place with the plane. He’d wait a few more days, and then he’d inform my parents that I hadn’t come back. Then everyone would start worrying.
Everyone would be in a panic . . . just in time for Christmas. God . . . Christmas. Like most families, it was a huge event for us. Since we all lived in the same small town, we saw each other frequently during the holidays. Mom would have us over for dinner at least two to three times a week. Patricia and I would go shopping for everyone together. Shawn would swing by with a jug of spiked eggnog. Patricia and I would help Mom and Dad find the perfect tree for their house; even though we’d hadn’t lived with them in a while, it was one tradition we both hadn’t been able to give up. We even helped them decorate their house. Of course, that was because Mom bribed us with sugar cookies.
Mom was a pro when it came to decorating cookies. She had a glass case in the diner where she would display all of her works of art, and customers would stand around, admiring her confections. Patricia and I hadn’t quite developed Mom’s decorating skills yet, but we were getting there. I made a damn cute Christmas tree.
Thoughts of trees and cookies made my mind spin with memories. I could nearly smell the pine and cinnamon, nutmeg and vanilla. The holidays always smelled so good. And tasted so good. And felt so good. It killed me to know I was going to miss it.
A sharp crack resounded through the woods as the huge tree Michael was chopping began to disconnect from its roots. A low groaning sound emanated from the base, and then the top of the tree began rushing to the earth. Branches snapped off as they smacked against other trees nearby. Michael stepped back, ax held loosely in his hands. His breath, frosty in the cold, was heavier after the exertion of chopping the tree. There was a small smile on his lips, though; he loved this stuff.
Michael’s grin widened as he looked back at me. “That should keep you busy for a few weeks.”
His comment reminded me of my earlier thought. “A couple weeks . . . Christmas.”
Expression softening, Michael walked over to me. “Right . . . I almost forgot.” After a short sigh, he shook his head. “It will get easier once the day passes. I promise.”
The light snow collected in his beard, dusting his lips as he spoke. It was clear by the look on his face that he understood what I was going through, and it made me wonder if this time of year made him miss his family too. Michael didn’t seem too close to his dad anymore, but sometimes the holidays had a way of bypassing rifts and reconnecting people.
“Have you ever thought of going back to New York and visiting your dad? Just for the worst part of winter,” I quickly added so he wouldn’t think I was suggesting moving home.
Michael immediately shook his head. “No, I haven’t.” I waited for him to expand on that, but of course, he didn’t. I opened my mouth to ask him why he hadn’t considered it, and he lifted a hand to stop me. “I’d rather not talk about my dad and why I do or don’t want to see him, okay?”
I let out a heavy sigh. “Fine. I just thought with the holidays approaching, you might want to open up about some of the stuff that’s clearly eating at you. But if you’d rather keep it all bottled in, ready to explode at a moment’s notice, then fine. Who am I to tell you how to live?”
Michael’s pale eyes widened at my outburst, and I was immediately hit by a wave of embarrassment. I usually tried hard to hold my tongue, to not pry or push in areas where he didn’t want me to. Thoughts of the upcoming celebrations were clearly making me fail. “I’m sorry—that was uncalled for. It’s just . . . Christmas has always been a very special time of year for me. Not being home with my family, my friends, my dogs . . . it’s really hard, but that doesn’t mean I should take it out on you. So . . . I’m sorry if that sounded bitchy.”
A small smile returned to his lips. “I’ve survived worse, but thank you for apologizing.”
Wanting to change the subject, I grabbed the ax that was slung across my back. “Guess we should start working on cutting this monstro
sity down to size.” The scope of work before us made a weary exhale escape me. “I can tell you right now, though, the second I get back home, I’m ordering you some decent equipment. You need a freaking chainsaw. Maybe two or three.”
Michael laughed, then shook his head. “I can’t let you do that, Mallory . . . but it’s a nice thought, so thank you.”
I stopped and stared at him. “You saved my life. The very least I can do is make yours a touch easier.”
He stared at me a moment, his eyes soft with warmth and compassion. “You already have,” he whispered.
The look on his face . . . the sweetness and sincerity in his voice . . . my heart started beating harder, and a warmth as pleasant as a sunny spring day began to radiate inside me. God, that was so . . . sweet.
Michael’s demeanor changed the second the words left his mouth. Eyes downcast, he started searching the snow-covered forest floor like he’d lost something in it. “We should get started,” he murmured. “Getting this back to camp will take a while.”
It took a lot of time to cut the log into manageable circles and even more time to load the circles onto our makeshift sled and pull them home. Four solid days, to be exact. But once we were done, it was clear we would have enough wood to last quite some time, possibly a couple of months. Of course, it still needed to be split and stacked so it could dry.
Michael resumed his trapping while I resumed my water gathering and wood splitting. Now that I was mostly healed—my ankle was back to normal, the scar on my thigh was a beautiful pink color, and my ribs were no longer wrapped—my strenuous daily chores were much easier. I was a heck of a lot stronger, too, and I could generally split a log in one swipe now . . . instead of my previous three. It gave me a surprising amount of satisfaction to see the physical results of my labor. I might suffer from homesickness on occasion out here, but I was also in the best shape of my life; my pants were even starting to get a little loose. There was something to be said for living an extremely simple life. I was still buying Michael a chainsaw, though.
Under the Northern Lights Page 9
