by Elaria Ride
He turns to me with a soft smile and a shrug. “I’ll go make us some dinner. There’s not much in the way of entertainment out here, but you should probably rest. I’ll try to… not annoy you… as much as I can?”
I smirk, but he’s right; these muddled feelings are making my head pound even harder. I let my eyes slip closed, but before he walks away, I can’t help but put in a final jab for the pipsqueak who’d gotten me into this clusterfuck in the first place.
“Well, you couldn’t possibly be more annoying than Nick!”
Asher laughs. “I read you loud and clear, Ranger Walker!”
Ranger Walker. Ugh.
My stomach fills with that familiar sensation of frustration and regret — but thankfully, it’s fleeting. At least now, I have answers. Asher is back to formalities.
Right.
After a few minutes focusing on my breathing — and not on the pain pulsing in my skull — I deem it safe to reach for the clothes at the end of my bed.
I take a deep breath… but then all at once, everything spins in place.
“No,” I whimper, the frustration in my stomach turning into nausea. Shitshitshit… I’ve really, really hurt myself with that tumble.
I feel my head falling against the pillow as a strangled cry comes from my lips, but try as I might, I can’t prevent everything from going dark around me.
This is so much worse than I’d thought.
I’m seized with a sudden panic from deep in my stomach as I begin to feel like a scared, incapable little girl. I’ve spent my whole life fighting against the tide, trying as hard as I can to be happy… but right here, right now, there’s nothing I can do…
Just as the dark is closing in, just as I watch the wooden patina of the ceiling narrow to a tiny dot of bright white light, a warm hand rests on my shoulder.
“Hey,” soothes Asher. I gasp. For some reason, the sound of his voice rips me from darkness.
“I shouldn’t have left you,” he murmurs, almost to himself. His voice continues to throw the world into greater clarity; I dimly accept that it’s probably triggering a memory of the way Asher speaks to injured wildlife. This keeps me tethered for a bit longer.
I know it’s a weird comparison to my current situation, but every instance of him comforting an injured bird or fawn flashes in front of my eyes — and right now, I can’t possibly think of anything else.
Then again, I’m not sure anyone could forget the sight of a rugged lumberjack cradling a baby animal until a vet arrives. For a rugged, imposing dude, Asher’s insanely gentle when he wants to be. To say the least, I’ve always found this part of him to be adorable. I just never thought I’d be on the receiving end of Nurse Asher’s healing.
I suppress a shudder and as more comes into focus above me. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s being helpless — and today, I’ve been helpless an awful lot. I’m about to explain as much when Asher drops to his knees beside me.
“Take it easy!” He brushes the hair away from my face. “Let me help you!”
“No,” I manage, blinking up at the ceiling. I freeze, preparing for everything to go black again… but after a moment, it doesn’t; I decide it’s safe to continue. “I can do it!” I add, my voice growing stronger. “Just help me get to the bathroom, and I’ll change, and—”
He cuts me off with a soft laugh, his right hand coming to rest on my cheek. “No offense, Darling, but there’s no way in hell I’m letting you out of my sight right now.”
I let out a sigh laced with resignation. I’ve always been an independent go-getting type of gal who lives her life to the beat of a different drummer. Still, there’s a protective quality in Asher’s voice that floods my stomach with warmth. This situation isn’t ideal, not by any means — but I know he’ll take care of me.
“Now, I’m gonna give you some soup, and then some medicine,” he says. “You’ll be back to sassing my ass in no time. Ok?”
I smile, but wisely decide against turning my head. His words make me feel a little better, even though I know what he’s trying to do. For the first time in my life, I don’t care; if Asher wants to make me feel better, I’ll let him. Being incapacitated sucks, but I can’t imagine anyone else I’d rather be stuck with.
When he returns a few minutes later, I still haven’t decided if that realization is more depressing or enlightening. He doesn’t give me long to sit with those options.
“I’m going to help you sit up,” he says, running his hand down my cheek again. “But I’ll move very slowly, all right? Nothing too sudden.”
I nod. This time, I take it as a good sign that nothing goes dark when I move my head. A moment later, I feel Asher’s warm arms wrapping around my back to help prop me up. It feels like he moves with aching slowness, lifting me a millimeter at a time. I’ll never admit it, but this pace is exactly what I need.
When I’m finally at an almost 90-degree angle — and when I’m facing forward, for a change! — I hear a rustling of bed linens.
“There,” Asher soothes. I manage a weak smile as his face slides into view.
“I’m gonna sit on the bed, ok? And then I’ll um… help you get a shirt on.”
Oh, right.
My cheeks burn; I’ve somehow forgotten I’m half-naked.
I nod again, trying to remember that he’s being friendly and professional. I opt to focus on the little dining area in front of me (I hadn’t gotten a proper look at it before) while Asher gathers my clothes from the end of the bed. I can’t bring myself to make eye contact with him as he slowly eases the shirt over my head, his fingers surprisingly gentle for their size. After the shirt covers my chest, he softly lifts my curls so they’re sitting on top.
“I’ve got some buttered baguette here, ok?” he says. “But until I’m sure you won’t fade out on me again, I’m gonna have to feed you.”
I heave a sigh that ruffles the hair around my face, but I don’t object; arguing is a lost cause. Asher gives me a soft smile as he brings the bread to my lips, and I tell myself that I’m just imaging the way his hand comes out to caress my jaw.
I open my mouth, take a big bite, and — ooh! It’s delightfully crunchy and warm, obviously fresh from the oven. I have to admit that fresh-baked bread wasn’t what I expected to find in a rustic mountain cabin.
After a few bites, Asher seems satisfied that I’ve got it on my own. He drops his hand from my jaw as I finish the last few bites, but a second later, though, he presses a straw to my lips as I take a few sips of water. I just sigh in contentment and oblige. Yeah… I’m seeing the perks of being catered to. As Asher serves me some tomato soup followed by pain pills for my head, I numbly think my mother would have a heart attack if she could see me right now. Who’d have thought her chubby little rebel would be laid up in a cabin, with a man serving her food.
I smile as Asher carries the tray back to the kitchenette. Even if he doesn’t care about me the same way I care about him, this is an act of kindness I won’t be forgetting.
After assuring him (for the hundredth time) that I’m really, seriously ok, Asher sits at the table in front of me and eats his own dinner. For a while, I’m content to watch him eat, despite the weird circumstances, we’re fine just enjoying the quiet company. I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced that with anyone else… that sense of contentment to just sit.
Between the food and the painkillers, though, I’m feeling a lot better — well enough to try a little banter.
“So,” I start, breaking the silence. “Do you usually eat this well, or do you pull out all the stops when a girl goes unconscious on you?”
Asher laughs and leans back in his chair. “Ok, ok, I confess: The soup was left over from my contribution to the family dinner this week. I just reheated it in the microwave. Like a criminal.” He sighs in mock penance.
I playfully roll my eyes. “Feeding me definitely isn’t criminal. Or at least not legally actionable. I think not feeding me would be a lot less pleasant for you, actually.”
He chuckles darkly. “You clearly don’t have an Italian mother. I think she’d kill me if I brought a girl to my house — even an unconscious girl — and didn’t feed her something fresh and home-cooked.”
I giggle. I’m sure he’s joking, but calling me a girl is filling my stomach with these pleasant little butterflies.
“Not an Italian mother, no,” I admit. “But I do have a Hispanic mother who pretends she’s white.”
Asher arches an eyebrow. Right. Nice over-share, Autumn…
I clear my throat. “So, do you have family dinners a lot?” I blurt.
Asher, taking the dishes to the sink. “Yeah. We’re tight knit, even though my family’s never really understood my whole isolated-wilderness-dude thing.”
I snort; I know the feeling.
But then a thought occurs to me. Almost as soon I’d gotten to Biggal Mountain, I’d felt the eyes on me around town… the up-and-down stares and whistles of appreciation for my natural curves. Maybe now is my chance to get some answers about the origins of these… erm. Preferences. If I overstep, I can always chalk it up to the concussion.
I swallow, watching as Asher takes out a sponge and starts soaping up our dishes. Normally I’d offer to help, but I have a feeling he’d find the suggestion insulting.
“So… your family’s not into wilderness stuff?” I ask, trying to sound casual. “I thought you were, like, this epic lumberjack family.”
Asher chuckles as he submerges a plate. “Well, I dunno about epic, but yeah, my ancestors started the business. They were naturalists, but since Bosco Lumber passed down to my dad — and then to my brother, Huck — it’s been mostly business-related.”
Asher pauses after placing the dishes on the drying rack. “Think more occasional-suit-and-tie. Less loincloth.”
I snort. “Well, since you’re in a different line of work, do you ever wear a loincloth?”
There’s a pause.
With anyone else, I’d be worried I’d said something wrong… somehow, even though Asher hasn’t spoken, I know he’s not bothered.
He pulls the stopper to the sink and turns around, crossing his arms over his chest. “I dunno, Ranger Walker,” he drawls. “Do you?”
A giggle erupts from my chest. “I don’t think they make those in my size,” I mutter, staring at the flannel bedspread.
“Well, that’s a pity,” Asher’s voice rumbles from across the kitchen, cutting off my downward spiral.
The look in his eyes is unmistakable. I’m familiar with this look. It’s the same one he’s given me since my very first day on the job… the same look I occasionally get around town, but to a lesser degree.
I rip my head away from his gaze; this time, I’m the one to break the connection.
My chest heaves with the effort, but I’m tired of playing these games. I think he’s flirting, but I need answers.
So with a newfound resolution, I draw a deep breath, blink a few times, and tilt my head up to face his.
“I’ve heard a lot of rumors about the men on this mountain,” I start, trying to keep the tremble from my voice.
Asher cocks his head, but by now the look in his eyes has shifted to one of warm curiosity; for the sake of continuing this conversation, that’s a blessing.
“And what would those rumors be?”
I sigh: it’s now or never.
“They say you’re into fat girls.” The words leave my lips in a mortified rush, so fast I’m sure he hasn’t heard me right.
I stare at the bedspread again, my cheeks the same color as the red flannel, confident he’s about to run screaming from the cabin.
Then, an unexpected sound pierces the silence: Asher’s laughing.
I snap my face up to meet his, my brow wrinkled in confusion. But Asher just laughs harder and harder, like I’ve told the funniest joke he’s ever heard. I watch him chuckle and guffaw, and I take a second to realize that he’s not laughing at me.
He’s laughing at the question.
Which means…?
“I’m sorry!” he finally exclaims, raising a hand in surrender. “It’s really, really not funny, I’m sorry to laugh, but…” He trails off, shaking his head. “You asked that question so seriously, like preferring fat girls is the same as being sexually attracted to pandas.”
Oh. I snicker. I hadn’t thought about it like that.
“So yes,” Asher says, meeting my eyes. “Sometimes rumors are bullshit, but in this case, I’d go with whatever you’ve heard. We’re, uh, into bigger girls. Almost exclusively.”
“But why?”
Asher shrugs. “Would it be weird if we lusted after 100 pound models? What if we spent our teenage years thinking about a woman who measures exactly 36″-34″-36″?”
Huh. I hadn’t thought about it like that, either…
I’m about to press him to elaborate when he clears his throat.
“But enough about me,” he says firmly, closing the subject.
Asher wipes his hands on a dishtowel and takes a few steps to the foot of the bed. “Let’s get you more comfortable, ok? I think you’ve been awake long enough to rule out any long-term damage, but I’d still feel better if you had a good night’s sleep.”
I roll my eyes, about to argue the point — but a traitorous yawn splits my face.
Asher laughs, crossing his arms. “Exactly.”
9
Autumn
I’m running down the path to Holiday Canyon as fast as my bare feet will carry me. I don’t know why, but there’s urgency in my steps: If I slow down, bad things will happen.
Then I glimpse over my shoulder, and I immediately understand why: I’m not running. I’m being chased.
An enormous silver serpent — one you’d only see in the deepest recesses of the Amazon — is hissing and undulating behind me, staring me down as he moves. His forked tongue laps at my heels as the moonlight glints off yellow eyes that have long-since narrowed into slits of rage.
Fear rises in my throat. I’ve never been afraid of snakes before, but this one is downright menacing.
I turn back around with a whimper, all my energy focused on putting one foot in front of the next, but this snake isn’t only huge… he’s fast.
He gives a malevolent hiss, and on instinct, I whip my head to face my hunter. In the time I’ve looked away, he’s grown several feet larger.
I gasp, but keep myself from crying out at the sight; somehow, I know he thrives on my fear. I know he wants a reaction.
By now, his diamond-shaped head is nearly even with my right calf — and it’s twice as thick. He leaves a slimy trail as he moves, his whole body twisting and writhing in an S-formation. His hisses become louder, his slithering more intense, but worse than that is the look of determination on his face.
He’s enjoying this, I realize… he loves watching me suffer. His slit of a mouth widens into a fanged grin, his silver scales moving fluidly in pursuit of his goal.
It’s not until I charge down the steps of the canyon, my bare feet slapping on the sheetrock, that I realize his goal is me.
And I’ve played right into his hand.
When I reach the clearing, I cry out and try to stop — but no… I’ve gathered too much momentum… I’m moving too fast… too, too fast… all I can do is thunder forward as my breath heaves in my chest, my eyes watering from hopelessness and exertion.
And just as I’d known this snake’s intentions, I also know what’s coming next: I’m going to die.
He’s going to win.
Tears stream down my cheeks as the guard rail draws closer and closer to the vast openness of the canyon below. The snake’s hisses only grow louder and more delighted as I draw nearer to my fate, and then — with a nudge of his diamond- shaped head — my knees slam into the guardrail with a sickening crunch.
A scream rips from my lips as my hands flail in the frigid air, but it’s too late: the snake has won.
I tumble over the edge and into the darkness below wit
h one final, pathetic sob… and the last thing I hear before everything fades to black is the distant, maniacal laughter of the snake.
I jut upright in bed with a sharp gasp, my hands clutching my chest.
Shit.
My eyes dart around in the darkness, trying to grapple with my surroundings. I turn my head to take a better look, and — ouch! I wince, but the dull throbbing from my head orients me quickly. I bring a shaking hand up to massage the base of my skull, but most of the pain has already subsided; I just need to be careful and move slowly.
The events of the past day come rushing back just as my eyes adjust; the vague form of Asher’s kitchen table is visible, even from this distance, which means —
Oh!
I release a breath I hadn’t been aware I was holding.
I’m definitely still in the cabin… so that part hadn’t been a dream. But the rest of it had been really disturbing. A shudder races up my spine at the thought of those yellow eyes, at the memory of that cruel, high-pitched laugh.
I take slow, deep breaths as I gather my bearings. Since there’s no ominous hissing from behind me, it’s clear that whole thing was just some horrible, fucked-up night terror.
But how long has it been since I’ve had one of those?!
It’s been a long time… a long, long, time. Probably since before I moved out of my parents’ house. Back then, my nightmares had two main triggers: being too cold and being around my mother.
And I’m definitely cold now — which explains at least half of it. A quick glance to my left confirms another key component: The once-roaring fire is now a few smoldering embers. It’s not enough to provide real warmth, not in the middle of a blizzard. My blanket doesn’t help much either; it’s probably perfect for someone as warm-bodied as Asher, but I’ve always run little colder than most.
I shiver and bring the blanket around me; the flannel brushes against my bare arms, a stark reminder that I’d been asleep. In Asher’s bed.
But contrary to my wildest fantasies, I’d also been asleep in Asher’s bed alone.
