Raised From the Flames

by Raina Wilde

  "I have another surprise for you," he said, his voice was throaty and hoarse.

  "You're dirty," she joked. She wanted to kiss him again, she was aching to feel his lips against hers.

  He made a throaty groaning noise that was part desperate sexual need and part laugh. "That's not the kind of surprise I was talking about," he held her up against him with one hand and threw open the doors to the bedroom. It had been refinished as well, but he had also installed a king size bed made from the same hard maple as the cabinets. It was a chunky, solid looking sleigh style bed. There was just a bare mattress on it, but Evita didn't care.

  "Where did that come from?" she asked.

  "Don't worry about that right now," he growled in her ear, and he brought her in for another rough kiss. One hand held her body against him, and the other roamed over her clothes, desperately pulling them off one layer at a time. He placed her on the bed and unzipped her jeans. His fingers brushed against her bare skin as he pulled them off and she moaned with desire. When she was naked in front of him he held her knees, spreading her legs. His eyes took every inch of her in, and although she was confident, she was also always just a bit self conscious of being naked in front of anyone. The desire in Shane's eyes, however, and the greedy way in which his hands roamed up her legs pushed any shred of self consciousness out of her mind. She could tell he wanted her, and she wanted him so desperately she could barely stand it.

  As he undressed himself Evita watched, his muscles flexed and rippled as he moved with fluid grace. His hips were chiseled and defined, and she saw he had a scar running across his chest. She looked into his eyes and thought they were darker, an intense black she had never seen before. They were almost feral. For a minute she felt afraid, but when he slipped between her thighs he was so powerful, but gentle, she forgot any apprehension and lost herself in sheer pleasure.

  Afterward they laid on the bed, entwined, and when she finally got her breath she asked him where he got the bed.

  He rumbled a laugh deep in his chest. "I made it, a long time ago. It was a request from a woman who was paying me to make all of the furniture in her house... some big deal oceanfront place with lots of windows. Well I made it; I thought this grain pattern was interesting..." his fingers traced a peculiar pattern in the wood that resembled leopard spots. "It's called a burl, it's where the wood has grown into a bulge after some kind of stress. An injury or disease. Anyway, she didn't like it. The bedside tables I made were with different trees, without burls, and she wanted the bed to match..."

  "So you had to make it again?" Evita asked, her fingers also touching the grain, expecting it to feel bumpy like it looked, but it was cool and smooth.

  "Yeah. I made it again. And then I just put this one into storage," he shrugged.

  "Why don't you use it yourself?" she asked. He didn't answer, instead he rolled over and kissed her deeply. After a few seconds she forgot she had asked the question at all.

  #

  The next morning was foggy and a light dew had settled on the grass. Evita got a call at four that morning about a labouring horse in distress.When she woke up she found Shane had left during the night. As she drank her instant coffee and pulled on an old pair of LL Bean boots, she tried not to dwell on the fact that he had left in the middle of the night after having sex. She wasn't the type of girl to get offended easily, and just chalked it up to the fact that he wanted to go home, to his own bed. She didn't often think of other people's reactions as a slight on her. People did what they did, and that was that, as her father used to say. She drained her coffee and jumped into the SUV for the 45 minute drive to Applewood Farm. The hike through the paddocks was picturesque, with the sun breaking through the morning sky and lighting the world in orange and pink. The horse lay on the ground, each agonising breath coming from its nose in a fog of steam. The farmer was there with his horse; he wasn't inexperienced, but he had done everything in his power to help and was at a loss for what to do next.

  Evita instructed the farmer on what to do, and together they got the foal free. As Evita cleaned and stitched the mother, the foal took his first steps toward her to feed.

  "Thank you for your help," the farmer said, holding out a hand for Evita to shake. She took his hand and smiled.

  "That's what I'm here for," she said.

  "I know, but it's still appreciated. How are you settling in?" he asked as they made their way back down the field.

  "I'm settling. I bought a house and it's being renovated right now. I'm staying in a motel until it's done," she answered.

  "Anyone good doing the work? I know a few guys, if you need another hand," he said.

  "It's a neighbour. I was lucky to meet him actually. His name is Shane LeFevre, his property abuts mine..." Evita was going to continue and say that Shane had done a beautiful job on the kitchen but the farmer had stopped short. His face was pale and drawn, and Evita dropped her bag, ready to give the man first aid. Surely he couldn't be in shock from a simple farmyard birth? He was an old-time farmer, he must have seen much worse. He held up his hand and shook his head, seeming to come out of it.

  "Are you okay?" she asked, "do you need to sit down?"

  "No, no. I'm fine," he answered, and started walking again. "But you want to stay away from that LeFevre. He is well known around these parts and he is nothing but trouble," the farmer quickened his pace, as if eager to be away from Evita. She hoped she hadn't just lost a customer, and back-pedalled to try to save face, and find out more about why this old man disliked Shane so much.

  "Oh, I don't have time to keep close relationships. He's just a hired hand," she said, and the farmer looked at her so earnestly she felt ashamed at the lie.

  "You want to be keeping it that way," he replied. "That LeFevre is no good," the farmer shook his head and spoke under his breath as he walked away toward his house. Evita could see his wife at the door, still in her dressing gown, and she waved politely.

  On the drive back she mulled over what he could have meant, and she wished she had asked for details. Maybe she would call the farmer and inquire further, but then she shook it from her head. She wasn't a stranger to small-town politics. Just because this was Maine didn't mean the old farmers were any different to how they were in Kansas. Men held grudges. Maybe Shane did some work that someone wasn't happy with. Or maybe he slept with someone's sister and didn't call her back. Who knows? The littlest things can ruffle some people's feathers. Although Evita felt a pang of jealousy wash across her at the thought of Shane with another woman. She shook it away and turned on the radio as a distraction.

  When she neared home, she pulled into Shane's driveway on a whim. She told herself it was to ask why he hadn't deposited the check for the work yet, but really she just wanted to see him. Especially after the night they had had together. And maybe she would ask why the farmer was so cagey. She pulled down his long gravel driveway but the house was dark and empty. His truck was in the drive, but she couldn't see the motorcycle. She figured maybe he had gone for an early morning ride. Or maybe he was working on a construction project and was on site. Either way, she backed out of his drive and then headed to work, eager to put on a pot of coffee. It had been a long morning already.

  After a few hours of cleaning up the office and sterilising equipment Evita flipped the sign on the door to open and took a seat behind the reception desk with a fresh cup of coffee. She intended on spending an hour or so sorting paperwork before her first appointment, a routine vaccination of a house cat, when the bell over the door disturbed her. A man came in wearing a khaki coloured uniform and hat. He removed it as he came in, and Evita could see the local university insignia on the breast pocket of his jacket. He wore a gun holstered to his hip.

  "Can I help you?" Evita asked, standing up.

  "Hi, I'm Matthew. I'm a biologist with the university," he held up an ID badge. Behind him another man was coming through the door carrying a german shepherd.

  "We were in the area studying bears when o
ur dog got caught in a trap," he continued, and the man carrying the dog came forward enough so Evita could see its leg was severely lacerated and broken. Evita jumped to her feet and guided them behind the desk into the surgical quarters. The men watched as she tended to the dog's leg. He was in pain, but still gentle, and lovingly licked her hands as she administered a local anaesthetic.

  When she was finished she led the men, and the dog, back to the front of the office and sorted out their bill.

  "Thank you very much," Matthew said. He was friendly, but Evita couldn't help but think it was a little forced and false. The other man was quiet, he had barely said two words. Evita chalked it up to being upset about the dog. They paid, and the man handed Evita his card. She felt like he was looking at her a little too earnestly, as if he was trying to look deep into her mind and gain some kind of insight. She was glad when she could close the door behind them. She stood at the window watching until they loaded the dog in the back of their truck and drove away out of sight.

  #

  The next few weeks passed both slowly and in a blur. Evita hadn't seen Shane since their night together, and with each day that passed she got more anxious that it was something she had done and more worried that something had happened to Shane. After another two weeks in the hotel, she was eager to move into her new house. She gave up waiting for Shane to come back and called a local woodworker to finish the job. Ten days later she moved into her house, with the upstairs and down completely renovated. On a whim she asked them to install a basic operating room in the basement, just incase she needed to do emergency procedures out-of-hours. The room was white tiled, floor to ceiling, with a drain in the floor. It had a stainless steel table in the middle and she stocked it with some basic supplies and equipment from eBay. She decided she liked the bed Shane had left, and figured if he had a problem with her keeping it, she would just offer to buy it from him.

  The rest of the house was furnished in mostly new, but some well-worn old, pieces, and one of the two small bedrooms upstairs was converted into an office. The first night she spent in the finished house after checking out of the hotel was wonderful. She had never felt so settled. She made an elaborate ravioli dinner, rolling the pasta out, then cutting circles with the rim of a glass. Then she carefully scooped spoonfuls of mushrooms and cheese into the dough and slipped them into the pan to cook. She plated them with a side salad and brought a bottle of wine into the living room, where she curled up on the couch to watch television.

  The next morning, on a whim, she pulled into Shane's driveway again. His house was dark, and the lawn looked like it hadn't been mowed in weeks. The grass was tall and weedy, and fallen pine needles littered the gravel paths. There was a single light on over the garage, but otherwise the place looked abandoned. Evita got out of her car and approached the house carefully. She felt on edge, and a little like she was trespassing, but she took the stairs up to the front door anyway. She tried the doorknob and found that the house was unlocked. She stepped inside timidly, and called Shane's name a few times. The house was silent except for the hum of the kitchen appliances and the tick of a clock on the wall. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled Shane's phone number. She heard the faint sound of a phone ringing and followed it. Through a set of sliding glass doors that led out to a wooden deck on the back of the house, Evita could see a pile of clothes left on a table. There were several leaves on top of them, and they looked damp. She opened the sliding glass door, which was unlocked too, and stepped onto the back deck. Shane's clothes had been folded and left on the table, and his boots were under it, his socks balled up and shoved inside. She stepped forward and dug through the clothes until she found his phone and wallet. The phone battery was almost dead, and he had 5 missed calls. She felt like she was intruding but scanned through the calls anyway. The earliest one was from almost a week ago. A knot of anxiety curled in her stomach. His phone, a simple pay-as-you-go burner you could buy at any gas station, hadn't been touched in a week.

  She took his clothes and boots inside and left a note asking Shane to call her if and when he got home, and that she was worried. She left the note on top of the clothes and then went back to her car. Nothing in the house or outside looked amiss. Shane was simply gone. While she backed out of the driveway she dialled the local police and reported him missing. They submitted a missing person's report, but after a few days when Evita called to ask how the investigation was going, they said there were no leads and it wasn't a high priority case.

  She sat at her desk after hanging up from the police with her head cradled in her palms. She checked her phone for the hundredth time that day, hoping that maybe he had sent her a text or a call. The bell above the door rang and she looked up. It was the biologist from a few weeks ago.

  "Hi," he said, stepping up to the counter.

  "Hi," Evita replied, standing up. "How's your dog?"

  "He's doing much better, thanks. At home for a couple months. I'm training a new puppy today," he said, pointing out the door to a puppy sitting on the front seat of a green pick-up truck. The puppy jumped, barked and wagged its tail at the attention.

  "He's cute," Evita said.

  "Thanks. I was wondering if you could insert an ID chip into him," he said, leaning over the counter.

  "Yeah, of course," Evita answered. She handed him the paperwork to fill out.

  "I don't think I properly introduced myself last time I came in," he said. He leaned further over the counter. Evita could feel him studying her.

  "No, I don't think you did," she replied.

  "I'm Isaac," he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. She took it and he rubbed his thumb across her knuckles. He was attractive, in an academic sort of way—the way she sometimes thought her professors were attractive. He was a little disheveled and wore glasses. Evita smiled at him and pulled her hand away. She knew there was nothing really going on between her and Shane, but somehow the idea of flirting with another man made her feel guilty.

  "Why don't we go get that little guy from your truck?" she asked. He smiled politely and gestured for her to lead the way.

  #

  That evening Evita made herself an elaborate dinner of salmon en croute with twice roasted potatoes and a salad. She even made dessert, something she tried not to do very often, but tonight she was going to treat herself to a cherry cobbler and ice cream. She had been working non-stop lately, and deserved a treat.

  She queued up a few podcasts on her phone and flipped on her bluetooth speakers. She preferred listening to the radio to eating in front of the tv, but living so far out in the woods meant her choice of radio stations was limited.

  While washing up her dinner dishes she heard what sounded like a roar from outside. She froze, turned the water off, and turned off the speaker. The house was silent except for the ticking of the pipes. After a few seconds she heard the noise again, this time quieter. It sounded like it was coming from near the front door. Evita clutched her phone and snapped the outside lights on. She peered out the window and what she saw made her gasp. Shane was lying near the front steps. He was face-down and covered in blood. She unlocked the door and rushed out to him. He was breathing, but unconscious, and she wasn't sure she would be able to lift him into the house.

  "Shane!" she exclaimed. "Shane wake up!" When he didn't answer she pulled out her phone and dialled 911. Just as she was about to speak to the operator Shane lifted his hand and took the phone from her. He hung it up just as the operator was answering.

  "Shane," Evita cried, "you need to go to the hospital. You've been shot," she checked his vitals, and although he was pale his heartbeat was strong.

  "Bring me inside," he said. He stood up, shakily but at least he was walking.

  "Come downstairs," she said, and led him to the basement door. "Do you think you can walk down the stairs?"

  "I'll either walk or fall," he said with a laugh. Evita wasn't in the mood to joke, and just helped him manoeuvre down the steps.

&n
bsp; She got him to the table and helped him onto it. He was too tall to fit on it properly, and she had to pull the table she kept her surgical tools on so she could prop up his feet.

  "You need to turn on your side," she said. He was dripping blood on the floor and she was afraid he would need a transfusion. He turned and she inspected the wound.

  "Shane, you've been shot!" she cried when she cleaned the blood and dirt away and could clearly see the bullet hole.

  Shane laughed, "I've been shot twice," he rumbled.

  "What?" Evita said.

  "Once with a bullet, once with a tracker," he said. His voice was growing weaker, and before Evita could answer his breathing changed and he slipped into unconsciousness once again. She cleaned his whole back and saw he did have another wound on the other shoulder, although that one wasn't as bad. She pulled the bullet fragments from him, slowly and carefully. She had taken bullets from dogs on a few occasions, but never a person. When the fragments were out she stitched and bandaged him, and then went to work on the other side. Shane had been right, there was a tracker in his other shoulder. It was about the size of an over-the-counter pain medication capsule, and as she rinsed it and held it under the microscope she saw it had the insignia of the university printed on it along with a serial number. Beneath that were the words ursus americanus, the latin classification for bear.

  #

  Shane slept for almost five hours, and it was well past midnight when he finally woke up. Evita brought him some water and, when he said he felt strong enough, some food. She couldn't help but think that he recovered faster than anyone she had ever seen. Normally a gunshot wound like that would keep someone down for at least a day, and they would be sore for several weeks after until the muscle had a chance to heal itself. But Shane seemed to be up and ready to go just a few hours after surgery. His color was better, and after he ate he managed to stand up and walk upstairs.