Under the Northern Lights

by S. C. Stephens

  His lip trembled as he held my gaze. “How do you know what she would want?” he asked, heat in his voice.

  “Because I know what I would want,” I answered. “And I would want you to live. You’re too incredible for anything else.”

  The fire in his eyes died as his gaze drifted to the ground. “You barely know me, Mallory. How can you say I’m incredible? I could be the worst person in the world for all you know.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t considered that,” I told him with a smirk. “Remember when I ransacked your house? I was worried you were a serial killer in hiding.” A small smile curved his lips, and some of the tension in the room drained. Shaking my head, I stepped closer to him. “Give me the chance to get to know you. Stop closing yourself off and pushing me away.”

  His eyes scanned how closely we were standing, but he didn’t retreat. “Why? What’s the point? You’re leaving. All of this . . . is temporary . . . so why let it happen?” His voice lowered into a sultry tone that sent goose bumps racing along my arms.

  “I know I’m leaving,” I said, stepping in to his body, closing the space between us. Looking up at his face, I murmured, “I know this is short term . . . but my feelings aren’t. And I can’t keep ignoring how it feels to kiss you, to hold you . . . to be near you. I don’t want to.”

  I pressed my body against his, and I felt him shudder as he closed his eyes. “So we what? Satisfy ourselves now so we can be miserable later?” When he opened his eyes, there were both sadness and intrigue in the pale depths.

  “Weren’t you already miserable?” I asked. “I’m offering you . . . I’m offering us . . . a reprieve from that misery. A temporary shelter to keep us warm from the cold, even if it’s just for a little while.”

  He stared at me for so long I was positive he was brainstorming ways to tell me no, that what I was asking was beyond his capabilities. And honestly, it felt a little outside of my own capabilities. I just wanted to pursue this enough that I was willing to close my eyes to the runaway train screaming toward us.

  After long, agonizing seconds, Michael finally responded to my statement, and his answer wasn’t anything like what I’d been expecting. “Okay,” he simply said.

  I blinked in surprise. “Okay?” What did that mean? What was he agreeing to? What about me leaving—what about his feelings for his long-gone wife? How far were we taking this? And just what was “this” now? My heart started surging with hope and happiness as I waited for clarification.

  A small smile crossed Michael’s lips as my bewilderment flew out of control. “Okay, yes, we won’t fight this . . . but . . .” He frowned, and my momentary thrill diminished. “This is going to sound crass, but I can’t have sex with you. With the way I still feel about . . . my wife . . . and with you going home soon, I just . . . I can’t go there. I hope you understand.”

  Endorphins flooded me, and I couldn’t contain my smile. Wrapping my arms around his neck, I coyly told him, “I was asking for your heart, Michael, not your body.”

  A charming flush brightened his cheeks, but then he sighed. “I don’t know if I can go there either, Mallory.”

  I understood completely, but still, a part of me was disappointed. “You can try, though, right?”

  “Trying is about all I can do,” he said with a brief smile. “But I can’t promise you . . . anything.”

  “Whatever you can give, I’ll take. Just don’t hide from me. Don’t leave me alone in this.”

  Threading my fingers through his thick hair, I pulled him into me as close as I could. Michael sighed, then lowered his forehead to mine. “You know we’re making a mistake, don’t you?”

  I did, but I still couldn’t stop myself from doing it. In answer to his question, I angled my head and found his mouth. As our lips moved together, that same feeling of rightness and sadness washed over me. Knowing this was going to be short lived made it bittersweet, intense in a way I’d never felt before. I felt my heart opening to a point where it was nearly painful, and I hoped Michael felt it too. He deserved to feel love again, even it was just for a moment.

  Wanting to feel closer to him, like we’d been in that snow cave, I pulled him to my bed. He went freely, even letting out a soft laugh as we landed on the moss mattress, but I could feel the tension in his body. He didn’t want this to go too far. I didn’t either.

  “It’s okay,” I murmured. “I just want to kiss you.” His body melted into mine after I reassured him that I wasn’t trying to break his one rule. Then we readjusted ourselves so we were lying side by side.

  Our breakfast was forgotten as we reveled in the bliss of each other’s embrace. His strong hands felt along my body, and my smooth fingers traced his curves. He was smiling between kisses, and I finally saw true joy in his eyes. As much as he’d been avoiding this, he’d wanted it too. We were both finally content.

  His beard tickled my face as we kissed, and with a laugh, I playfully pushed him away. “Can I finally cut this? At least trim it into a more manageable . . . piece of art.”

  Michael laughed as he leaned in for my mouth. “As long as you keep kissing me, you can do whatever you want.”

  God, I loved how that sounded. And felt. As our lips languidly connected, I thought I could kiss this man forever. “Okay . . . after . . . this . . .”

  He laughed, deep in his throat, then kissed me deeper, harder. Something flared inside me, an inferno of desire and need, and I returned his kiss just as hungrily as he sought mine. His lips wandered from my mouth to find my neck, and the fire inside me tripled. His free hand was resting near my hip, and I thought I might die if he didn’t do more than kiss me.

  But no, we weren’t going there. And that meant this needed to stop, right now.

  “Michael,” I breathed, my words laced with desire.

  “Yeah,” he whispered in my ear, stoking the blaze inside me.

  “I think we should go have breakfast now.” Food was about the last thing I wanted, but I needed to cool down.

  Michael pulled back to stare at me. “You finally get me to agree to kiss you, and now you want me to stop?”

  Grabbing his hand, I placed it over my racing heart. “No, I don’t want you to stop . . . and that’s why you have to.” I smiled so he would know that I was still happy about all of this.

  He grinned in return, then leaned down to give me a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to tease you.” As he pulled back again, his expression grew more serious. “I want this to work for both of us, Mallory. If it’s too . . .”

  “I know,” I said with a nod. “That’s why I let you know you needed to stop. We can do this, Michael. It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be better than fine, because we’re finally on the same page. And if it gets to be too much—for either of us—then we can stop anytime.”

  He flashed me a brief smile, then stood from the bench and helped me to my feet. I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him tight, and softly let my lips collide with his. The spark of desire was still there, goading me for more, but the pure ecstasy I felt when I was just lightly kissing him was enough to calm the urge inside me. We could stop ourselves, we could keep this light and romantic, and when the time was right, we could say goodbye and hold the memory of this moment deep within our hearts. Forever sealing it in place with every tender touch. No matter what happened from here on out, I would never be able to forget this man. Brief as it might be, I would cherish this memory for the rest of my life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I was nervous when I woke up the next morning. Nervous that Michael would say he was wrong and try to take it all back. Nervous that he would say we had to keep our distance. For our own good. But I didn’t want to keep a distance between us. I meant what I’d said: I was going to have a romance with him regardless, and I’d rather act on our feelings, encourage the fondness to grow, than stomp it in the mud and try to destroy it.

  As I looked around and noticed that Michael wasn’t in the cabin, my
nerves tripled. Was he ignoring me again? Would he go back to how he’d been after that brutally honest conversation regarding his beliefs? Would the awkwardness return? I’d really hoped we’d finally moved past that.

  With a sigh, I tossed off the warm covers and stepped onto the chilly floor. I was just slipping on my boots when the front door banged open. I startled in surprise, then smiled when Michael walked inside. He was covered in a light dusting of snow, and I wondered if we were in for another snow day. God, what would that be like, now that our relationship had shifted? Or had it? Was he still on board, or were we back at square one?

  I tried to gauge his mood as he shut the door, but with his back to me, it was hard to tell anything. “Good morning,” I tentatively began. “How . . . are you?”

  He twisted to look at me, and a smile instantly erupted on his face. I let out a relieved sigh at seeing it. “I’m . . . okay . . . I think.” With a laugh, he shook his head and set some meat for breakfast on the table. “I honestly don’t know, and I’m trying not to think too hard about . . . things, but . . . I feel good, and that’s something.”

  Yes, that was everything. Pure joy radiated through me at the thought that I’d made him happy—genuinely happy. Standing, I practically skipped over and tossed my arms around his neck. He stepped backward like I’d caught him off guard, but then he put his arms around my waist, and his smile stayed constant.

  Not truly sure if I was still allowed to do this or not, I leaned up and lightly pressed my lips to his. He stiffened in my arms but then softly returned my affections. “Are you okay with this?” I asked between tender kisses.

  Michael paused, then pulled away from me. His expression changed, grew confused, troubled, like he’d just remembered all the reasons we shouldn’t allow this momentary happiness to continue. My heart began to surge as I studied his face. Had I pushed him too far? I wanted to tell him it was okay, that we could do this, that we could have this, and it would be all right, but he spoke before I could. “Yeah,” he said, his face softening, “I’m okay . . . with this small . . . your company means the world to me, Mallory.”

  While he was being vague with his words, his message was as clear as if he were shouting: Friendship and these small kisses are all we can have. There would never be more between us. Ever. My heart squeezed in sadness with the truth of that, but I chose to accept it, the same as he was accepting this. We could never be more than we were right now; it just wasn’t possible. But “now” was enough, and I vowed to do my best to never ask him for anything more.

  Even though I wanted the oh-so-soft kisses to continue, I let Michael go and took a step away from him. It thrilled me to no end when he stumbled toward me like he wasn’t ready to give up our connection. “We should get started on our chores,” I murmured, putting on my most sultry expression.

  Michael’s gaze turned heated as he stared at me; then he swallowed and looked away. “Yes . . . you’re right.” Running his hand through his hair melted the remaining flakes sticking to the unkempt mess. “We’ll have breakfast before we go,” he said, pointing to the meat he’d brought in from the shed. Almost as an afterthought, he turned to me and said, “When you’re out gathering water, could you get some extra for me? I’d like to take a bath.”

  Right after he said it, he looked away, seemingly embarrassed. We hadn’t bathed since our newfound agreement—since we’d decided to accept the physical part of our relationship. Bath days had always been awkward before, with the person not in the tub always escaping to the outside, but now they seemed especially . . . tense. Like a sexually charged bomb had been set, and it would go off the minute one of us stepped foot in the water.

  I swallowed a hard lump. “Yeah . . . sure. Maybe I’ll finally cut that beard,” I added with a smirk.

  He smiled at my oft-repeated attempt to tame his mane. “Yeah . . . maybe I’ll finally let you.” I wasn’t sure how that would work with the chemistry bouncing between us, how I would be able to peek into the tub at all his naked glory, and not get . . . carried away . . . but if he was willing to try . . . then I would try too. And I’d pray for strength the entire time.

  After breakfast, Michael went his way, and I went mine. The snow had eased up, and only small, light flakes were falling from the sky. Thank God we weren’t going to be stuck inside all day with this bottled spark between us. Just thinking about the bath later had me on edge.

  I thought about it the entire time I was doing my chores. Pictured that the water droplets rolling down the side of the bucket were sliding down his skin instead, fantasized about the satisfied sounds he would make when the steaming water eased every ache in his body, imagined the look on his face when he rolled his head to the side of the tub and gazed at me. Remembered words filtered through my brain, heating my skin even though the air was chilled: Your company means the world to me. It was a sentiment I strongly shared; being with him meant the world to me too.

  I was so entranced in my visions of Michael bathing that time leaped ahead in bounds, jumping forward in bursts of hours instead of dripping forward second by second. When I noticed the daylight fading and darkness starting its inevitable descent upon the woods, I was surprised; I was usually well past done with my work before nightfall, and while the bears were sleeping, other animals were quite awake.

  Hurrying back to the cabin with my arms full of wood, I wondered if Michael was back from the trapline yet. I usually heard him when he returned, but I’d been so caught up in my thoughts today that I had a feeling he could have easily sneaked past me or noisily lumbered past me, and I wouldn’t have noticed. My smile was huge when I nudged the door open with the toe of my boot. I only had a millisecond to consider how odd that was—I usually had to set down my stack and wrangle the door open; the lever often stuck—before I realized something was very wrong.

  A soft, menacing growl echoed around the small cabin, and every hair on my body stood straight up. I knew that growl, knew it to the very core of my bones. Similar to a dog’s, but wilder, more feral. A wolf. In the cabin. I only had a heartbeat to wonder how that had happened before I spotted the furry beast. Our eyes locked, and my blood went as frigid as the icy river where I’d pulled out our drinking water.

  The heavy logs fell from my arms as fear sapped all the strength from my limbs. My legs felt like rubber. I couldn’t keep them straight, but I somehow remained standing. While the creature let out another terrifying snarl, I scanned the cabin. Had the animal gotten a jump on Michael? Was he already . . . gone? I didn’t see a prostrate, bloody body, though. There was relief in that, but what I did see filled me with anger. Everything in the cabin was ripped apart like the beast had been on a wild rampage. Containers had been chewed open, their contents strewn everywhere. Dishes had big gashes in them where they’d been gnawed on; my new mattress was torn to shreds, the mossy interior in bits and pieces around the cabin; and every piece of nonperishable food had been consumed—only the empty packages remained. In just one afternoon, this lone animal had destroyed almost everything Michael had worked so hard to put together.

  My eyes flashed back down to the creature, a vile curse on my lips, but it took a step toward me, silencing me before I even spoke. Knowing I couldn’t stay in a startled state, I jerked my shoulder, swinging my rifle around to the front of me. Chambering a bullet, I pointed the weapon directly at the wolf. I expected it to lunge at me, go for the throat, but it hesitated, like it knew what I was carrying and knew exactly what the gun could do.

  Fingers shaking, I jerked the barrel of the gun at it. The wolf flinched but didn’t back down. “Go!” I shouted. “Get out of here! Don’t make me hurt you.” Weapon still trained on it, I moved away from the door so the wolf could go outside. “I don’t want to kill you,” I murmured. “But I will, if you leave me no choice.” I was hoping it was full, having gorged itself on our food, and wouldn’t want to try to take me for dessert or because it was scared.

  With its teeth bared and low rumbles emanating from i
ts chest, the wolf took another step forward, but toward the door this time. Relief filled me at seeing that it was heading for retreat, not attack. “That’s a good doggie,” I said in singsong. “Move along.”

  The wolf stopped, and the sound coming from it grew in intensity. I retreated a half step, quickly telling the creature, “Not dog . . . sorry. Wolf . . . pretty wolf. Now please go home.”

  It snarled at me once, then turned and fled out the door. I slumped over in relief, then ran to the door and threw my weight against it, slamming it shut. I fell to the ground with my back to the door, keeping it securely closed. My entire body started shaking with nerves. That could have gone so differently. I could have been ripped to shreds, lost for good, and all because I hadn’t made sure the door was securely latched. Life here was so fragile—one second you were fine, safe, and secure. The next you were on the edge of death, fighting for survival. It was like constantly balancing on the edge of a precipice, hoping you didn’t fall.

  I wasn’t sure how long I sat there on the floor, recovering. The rifle was stiff in my hands, and my arms ached from keeping it taunt, rigid, ready for action. Even though I knew I was probably safe now, I couldn’t relax. I was too scared that the wolf would return, find some secret hole, or chew through a wall. Or maybe there was another one in the cabin, hiding, biding its time until I let my guard down. I knew wolves didn’t work that way—if there was one still in here, I’d know it—but my brain couldn’t convince my body to calm down. My sanctuary had been violated, and nothing felt safe.

  As I ceaselessly scanned the room, looking for danger, I felt my back being shoved by the door. Panic surged through me. Had the wolf figured out how to open it? Was its strength so great that it could push the door back—and me with it—with pure brute force? Or were there more of them now, working together? Instinctively, I pushed against the door, digging in with my heels to keep it closed.