Under the Northern Lights
Page 10
My conversation with him rang through my ears while I worked. You saved my life. The very least I can do is make yours a touch easier.
You already have.
You already have . . . Whenever I found myself getting down about the upcoming holiday season, those three words gave me a tremendous amount of lift. There was power in that short, sweet sentiment, power derived from the mysterious, reclusive man who had said them. Michael was self-sufficient, didn’t need or want anybody. But in one simple phrase, he’d cracked open a door for me, a window inside himself. And he was clearly uncomfortable with that fact. It had taken him a solid twenty-four hours to look me in the eyes again. He wanted to remain a fortress, cold, hard, able to weather any storm. And that made me wonder . . . once I was gone, would those internal cracks weaken him? Or would he simply plaster over them and move on? Either solution made me sad. He’d done so much for me; I didn’t want him scarred in any way because of me.
Exhausted, I loaded up the last stack of split wood and put away the ax. I’d just had a bath the other night, but maybe I could take one again. I felt like a cesspool of dirt and sweat. At the very least, I would need to wash my clothes. That could be done in cold water, though, so it wasn’t quite as much of a hassle. It just meant I’d need to collect even more water tomorrow; the cycle of responsibility never ended out here.
Trudging up to the cabin, I stomped my boots to get them clean of snow and wood chips. The scent of freshly cut wood was so strong on me that I still smelled it when I stepped inside the cabin. Definitely a bath night.
Michael was already home, a rarity when he was checking his traps. I smiled at seeing him here, then frowned. “Hey, I know I just had a bath, but I really need another one, so you’re going to have to occupy yourself outside. Hopefully our curious bear friend doesn’t get you . . . I’d feel really bad about that.”
I expected him to scoff at my never-ending bear phobia, but he didn’t stop grinning. He looked like a man with a secret, and I was instantly on guard. “Why are you . . . ?”
He stepped to the side, and I instantly knew why he was wearing a Cheshirelike smile. The scent of wood I’d been smelling wasn’t coming from me. Tucked in a corner of the room was a four-foot-tall evergreen tree stuffed in one of our five-gallon buckets. It was barren of any type of decorations, but it was clearly meant to be a Christmas tree.
“Oh my God . . . you . . . ?” My hands flew to my mouth, and my eyes instantly started watering.
Michael’s smile softened, and his eyes began to shimmer. “I know you’re far from home, far from your holidays . . . but I thought since you had to be here . . . with me . . . then maybe we could have our own holiday.” He glanced back at the tree and frowned. “We’ll just have to be more creative about it.”
The tears were dripping down my cheeks now. “Oh my God, this is amazing! Thank you, Michael. Thank you so much.” I felt like I was about to start sobbing. Christmas was my favorite holiday, and I really thought I’d have to give it up this year. It hadn’t occurred to me that I could have all the same festivities here, with Michael. “This is perfect . . . just perfect.”
Needing to seal the thank-you with a hug, I took a step toward him. Like he could sense my intentions, Michael turned and grabbed a towel. He handed it to me, both doing me a favor and subtly deflecting my approach. Knowing he wanted space, I took the towel and thanked him again.
He frowned, but it was a playful grimace. “You keep saying thank you . . . I’m going to have to ban those words soon. But you’re welcome. I just . . . I want this to be as easy on you as possible.”
His comment echoed the sentiment behind the phrase that had been swirling in my mind all day. I wanted to make his life easier, and he wanted the same for me. It was the basic building blocks of friendship that we were creating, and I cherished the fact that we were forming them. With every day that passed, bonds were being strengthened. Michael was quickly becoming much more than just my savior and my salvation, and I was sure the same could be said of me to him.
Running an awkward hand through his hair, Michael indicated our tub basin. “Want me to get the water started for your bath?”
I smiled as I wiped my tears. “I’d love that, Michael. Thank you.” He gave me a warning look, since I’d used his banned words, and I laughed. Seeing my humor made him relax, and he laughed, too, before moving to the stove to grab the pot. Yes, bonds were definitely forming. Things were definitely changing.
Chapter Eleven
A few days later, I was standing at the window, astonished by what I was seeing. Winter had hit full force, and the landscape was muted by a white curtain of huge, fluffy snowflakes floating to the ground. On the bright side, that damn nosy bear was most likely sleeping now, but the entire yard was covered with a blanket so thick that I couldn’t make out any of the paths we took for our daily chores. I could barely see the shed holding our precious stores of food. If it kept up like this for too much longer, the snow would cover the window, and I wouldn’t be able to see anything; as it was, the snow line was only a foot or so beneath the glass. I was instantly grateful that Michael had installed heavy-duty storm windows when he’d built this cabin. They did a good job of retaining the heat and keeping out the cold.
“Guess you were right about snow days. We can’t go out in this.” If we tried, we could easily become blinded by the never-ending sheet of white. Then we’d get lost and probably never make it back to the safety of the cabin.
Michael idly looked out the window with me. “Yeah. These storms can get pretty bad, but they usually don’t last very long. Two to three days on average. Five or six at the most.”
Five or six? That sounded like an eternity to me. Especially considering all our food was out there. “What about the meat?” I asked, curious how we would retrieve it.
“I’ve got a system,” he said with a smile. “We can get back and forth to the shed and the outhouse.”
Turning around to face him, I raised an eyebrow. “How?”
Still smiling, he walked over to the door and opened it; the chill smacked me in the face as I stepped beside him. Michael pointed to a couple of metal rings embedded in the thick logs of the cabin, near the front door. I’d never noticed them before, probably because nothing had been attached to them before. But now, one had a bright-yellow cord tightly tied to it, the other had a bright-pink cord. Both were easy to see against the backdrop of white snow, and they hovered above the ground at around shoulder height. The yellow cord stretched off toward the direction of the shed; the pink one led to the outhouse.
Michael kicked a bucket. It was full of carabiners attached together by foot-long ropes. “Snap one end on to you, the other end to the cord. Snap it back on when you’re coming back. It makes it almost impossible to get lost.”
“Clever,” I said, impressed with his ingenuity.
He gave me a soft smile. “Yeah . . . unless the snow or the cold snaps the cord or a creature gnaws it in half or the cords somehow become untied or the metal rings pull free from the walls . . . then you’re pretty much screwed.”
I suddenly felt less impressed as he pointed out every potential flaw in his system. “Good to know.”
Lightly laughing, he shut the front door. “It hasn’t happened yet, so I wouldn’t worry too much. Just don’t feel overly confident and forget to use it. That is the most likely reason that it will fail.”
Nodding, I took that to heart. Even if it was bright and sunny outside, I’d religiously use his safety measure. The last thing I wanted was to get lost and freeze to death. Or create a situation where Michael had to come looking for me, and he got lost and froze to death. I couldn’t handle that happening. Our lives were tied together now, and we each had to be cautious and careful of the other. And that meant not doing anything stupid.
After a full day of doing nothing but watching the snow fall, boredom began to set in. Unfortunately, I’d already decorated the small tree Michael had brought in for me. There was
n’t a lot to adorn it with out in the forest, but I’d gathered a handful of pinecones and tucked them throughout the branches. I’d also collected numerous small twigs and had spent several evenings twisting the sticks into shapes . . . most of them haphazard circles. It wasn’t the most elaborate tree in the world, but I loved it. All the more so because Michael had gone out of his way to get it for me. It was the epitome of everything Christmas stood for.
No longer having the tree as a boredom buster, I turned to Michael, who was sitting on his bed reading a book. “Want to play one of those games you mentioned?”
Closing the book and setting it on his lap, he smiled at me. “Cabin fever set in already?”
A small laugh escaped me as I nodded. “I’m just used to doing something, I guess.” Pursing my lips, I added, “Doing chores didn’t entirely take my mind off things . . . but it helped. Not having anything to do just reminds me of all the things—” Snapping my mouth shut, I stopped talking. If I kept complaining about how much I missed home, he was going to start taking it personally.
He only smiled at me, though, like he completely understood that I wasn’t in my preferred situation and he wasn’t offended by the fact that I’d rather be somewhere else. Although I wasn’t 100 percent sure that was how I felt anymore. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be here . . . with him . . . it was just that I also wanted to be home. There were people in pain right now because of me, and that was a hard fact to live with. If I could somehow let my family know I was okay and would be home when the weather got better, then this little excursion with Michael might not be so bad. Downright pleasant even.
“What do you want to play?” he asked, standing up.
As he headed to the bins under his workbench, I tried to think of something that might stop my mind from spinning. “How about crib? It’s been forever since I’ve played. I’m not even entirely sure I remember the rules.”
He nodded, then adjusted what bin he was going for. “Crib it is then.”
It took me a while to get reacquainted with the game; I hadn’t played in over fifteen years, back when I was a teenager. But considering we had nothing to do for the bulk of the day but play, after a couple of afternoons of snowed-in conditions, I was damn near an expert.
“I win. Again.”
Michael frowned at my statement. “You really shouldn’t brag. It’s not becoming.”
He gave me a one-sided grin after his statement that was both alluring and mischievous; there had been a lot of smiles over the past forty-eight hours of captivity as we both became more and more comfortable with each other. Our stares were longer, and we always seemed to be brushing against each other. Michael’s nearness, combined with the inability to leave the cabin for an extended amount of time, was slowly driving me crazy. I just couldn’t tell if it was a bad kind of crazy, or a really, really good one.
Reaching out, I touched his arm as I laughed. “And you shouldn’t be making moonshine in your backyard, but you do. It’s darn good too.” We’d dug into his stash early this morning and had been sipping on it all day. It helped ease the boredom, but it was also dissolving all the awkward inhibitions between us. Again, I didn’t know if that was a good or bad thing. Playfully pushing my cup toward him, I grinned and said, “Fill ’er up.”
Michael let out a beleaguered sigh as he moved to stand up. It was clearly fake, though. He was having a good time, same as me. As his arm pulled away from me, his hand flipped over so our fingers touched. The connection, however small, sent a zing of electricity up my spine. What would it be like to have those fingers touching me everywhere? It was a thought I tried to never have, but my resistance was crumbling the longer we stayed in our cramped quarters.
I bit my lip as I watched Michael saunter over to the long counter to grab the large mason jar holding his homemade moonshine. I could tell from the ease of his steps that he was feeling the effects of the alcohol; we should both probably stop soon, before we regretted it.
Walking back to the table, Michael flashed a grin at me before pouring the clear liquid into my cup; most of it made it inside. He moved on to his cup, refilling it just as full as mine; then he returned the jar to the counter. My heart started beating harder as I stared at him returning to me. His eyes were locked on me, too, and a blazing heat passed back and forth between us, over and over in an escalating rhythm.
When he sat back down, his chair was much closer to mine than it had been; he even had to move his drink closer to himself. My skin pebbled at the thought of sticking my hand out and placing it on his thigh. Would he let me? Or would he instantly back away? I wasn’t sure, so I stayed where I was. It was torture.
Rolling his head my way, he put on a playful frown. “Ready for another win?” he asked.
“Always,” I answered, angling my body closer to him; our heads were almost touching now. His nearness and his comment made a carefree smile erupt on my face. He was right about my winning streak—I was on a rampage. But even still, I’d yet to see any signs of true irritation from him. For someone who claimed to be a sore loser, he’d handled my multiple wins exceedingly well . . . almost too well.
I frowned as I twisted to face him; his eyes slipped down my body before returning to my face, and a warmth deeper than the moonshine filled me. I had a legitimate concern, though. “You’re not letting me win, are you?”
Michael smiled as he leaned toward me. “Really? I was just about to ask you if you were cheating,” he stated. “How do you keep getting such great cards? It’s a little suspicious, if you ask me.” His lips curled into a frown, and the effect tantalized me. God, with so much tension swirling around us, if we stayed cooped up for much longer . . . who knew what could happen. And that, I knew, would be bad.
Trying to be discreet, I minutely pulled away. His comment made me smile, though. He’d also wondered if maybe things were being rigged. Sometimes our minds were closely synced. Too closely synced. “Today is just my lucky day, I guess. If only I’d been so lucky a month ago . . .” A brief swell of sadness stole my smile. It had been over a month now . . . everyone must know by now that something had gone wrong. They were worrying about me, right at this moment. And with this weather, they couldn’t search for me. Not until spring.
Michael slightly pulled away, too, and I felt some of that wondrous tension dissolving as my mood sank. He studied me while he shuffled the cards for another round. Then, as he began to deal them, he softly said, “I think you were lucky a month ago too. I saw the wreckage, Mallory—you shouldn’t have survived that.” He pursed his lips, then nodded to my cross and said, “Someone was looking out for you.”
It was clearly difficult and uncomfortable for him to say that. He had a . . . jaded view of faith. It made his words even more moving and profound; it gave them weight that I couldn’t ignore, and while I’d thought several times that I was blessed, his simple comment truly sent the message home. For whatever reason, I was meant to crash and meant to live. It was a humbling, powerful, encouraging thought, one that made me feel closer to God. And closer to Michael. “You’re right,” I quietly responded.
Since I meant he was right on both counts—that I’d been sent down and saved by forces I couldn’t even begin to understand—I didn’t clarify my answer. I knew enough about Michael to know he wouldn’t want to talk about the spiritual implications. He looked even more uncomfortable as he absorbed my answer, and he took a long swig of his moonshine.
The mood between us had changed again, and I hated that it had; I’d been enjoying the flirty tension, and I thought Michael had been too. Wanting to bring some of that back, I picked up my stack of cards and playfully bumped his shoulder with mine. “I think the real question is . . . are you ready to lose?”
My teasing comment combined with physically connecting with him seemed to work. He tossed a grin my way. “I’m due for a win. It’s in the cards.”
He flicked his hand for emphasis, and a throaty laugh escaped me. “We’ll see about that.”
So did I. I shoved his shoulder away from me, making him laugh. And somehow, when he righted himself, he was even closer than before. Our shoulders were touching now, and I sank into his side with a contented sigh, resting my head on his shoulder. Maybe being housebound wasn’t so bad. I felt like I could stay here like this for eternity.
Michael stiffened as our bodies collided, but then he relaxed into it. While I rested against him, inhaling the manly scent of nature on him that I loved, he began idly shuffling the cards again. A comfortable silence settled between us. It was a blanket of contentment that I wanted to wrap around me every day, for surely nothing could keep me as warm as this feeling. Then I twisted so I could peer up at his face, and as his pale eyes flicked down to take me in, the contentment shifted into something else entirely.
While the delicious tension reignited, Michael’s gaze darted between the table and my face. He played with the cards, not really shuffling them, just moving them around. After nibbling on his lip for a second, he quietly said my name. “Mallory . . . I . . . I’m probably going to regret saying this . . . but it’s . . . it’s been nice . . . having you here. I think I might . . . I think I might miss this . . . when you’re gone.”
His voice was laced with pain by the end of his statement, and my heart squeezed for him. By the way he isolated himself, by the way he was reluctant to reach out to people, by the way he seemed almost disconnected from society, I knew his admission of missing me was huge. Possibly life changing. I mean, he’d been alone and content with being alone for five years, and here he was saying he’d be sad when I left. I couldn’t comprehend how hard that was for him to say. And as his eyes shifted to lock on to my face, I saw the struggle in his eyes . . . the regret, the embarrassment, and . . . the hope. The hope that maybe I’d feel the same way about him. He was reaching out for human contact. For me. I suddenly felt like the stove had kicked into overdrive and the room was blazing with heat.