Chapter 21

CHAPTER 21

C onnor slipped back into the cabin and motioned for Duke to lay in his spot near the stove to warm up. A quick glance at the bed showed Zoe sound asleep, the plank, pen and paper lying beside her. She looked relaxed and hadn't wiggled the quilt off her leg, so he assumed her sleep was peaceful this time.

He quietly settled the logs in his arms into the bucket by the stove, then removed his coat and hat to hang near the door. The sun had come out for a little bit, but not enough to melt the snow. He and Duke had trekked to the road again. No one had come by with a plow yet, so for now Zoe would stay another day with him.

The idea warmed a place in his chest. A pleasurable feeling. Pleasure in another person's company. He hadn't felt that since his early days in the Army. Before everything turned to shit.

For the first few years in prison, he worked on just surviving. Letters from Grandpa Mac helped keep his spirits up. Not for one minute did Grandpa believe he'd done what they'd convicted him of doing. At the end of year three he got a letter from Old Man Tillis who ran the Feed anger at his friends and superiors; bargaining with prayers that the nightmare would end; depression that his life would never be the same and he couldn't trust anyone; and finally acceptance that no one was coming to rescue him and the only person he could trust was himself.

"While I was still reeling from the wrongful conviction, I quickly had to make some decisions about surviving inside the prison walls." He'd never shared the details about his time inside with anyone. Now the words were flowing from him like an open tap. "The first attack happened forty-eight hours after I walked in the door. A blow to the back of my head, then a shive in my right side, barely missing my liver, sent me to the infirmary for three days."

"Oh, my God. Only three days?"

"You're gonna have to pick a side in here," Wilson, the black orderly who'd been inside for thirty years, said once he woke up with an IV and stitches in his side and scalp.

"Thanks, but I'm good," he'd said sitting up on the side of the bed. "Where's the john?"

"Down there." Wilson pointed to the half door about ten feet away.

He hobbled that direction with his hand on the IV pole and Wilson walking along side. Privacy wasn't part of prison life, even in the infirmary.

"There's two white gangs you can join." The other man said on the other side of the door. "You're a big man and they can both use your muscle."

Connor waited until he was back in bed before answering, his head a little woozy, either from the head injury or the anesthetic, he wasn't sure which. "Last gang I joined was the Army and they're the ones who put me here. So not joining anymore. Thanks though."

Wilson shrugged and shuffled off to another patient, muttering over his shoulder. "Probably going to see you in here again then."

"Yeah, the sooner I got out of there the sooner I could get back to letting them know not to mess with me. That was the first lesson I learned. Any sign of weakness could get me killed. I didn't survive Afghanistan to die from some moron's sharpened toothbrush infecting me or nicking an artery.

"The second attack came a month after I got back in my cell. I'd been watching and assessing who it was going to be this time. The previous attack had been one of the white gangs. The second one was, too. Apparently, it was a weird sort of initiation ritual of coercion and intimidation. This time I saw it coming and took out three men with little injury to myself except for some bruised knuckles. That earned me my first time in solitary confinement, which was just fine with me. I actually slept for a week.

"That fight established two things. I wasn't to be messed with and I wasn't part of anyone's gang. I was left alone for a few years until another attack came just after the lady president was sworn in. When I got out of solitary, the news had moved passed that terrorist attack. It also re-established that I was the last person anyone or any gang wanted to bother."

As the days went by, he'd chosen the inmates he spent time with in the day room or at mealtimes, never anyone on a regular basis, and others he avoided as much as possible. Same with cellies, (he learned quickly you didn't call them cellmates, or someone would get the idea you were open for intimate associations and that wasn't happening). Some of his cellies were assholes and he'd given them a wide berth outside of the cell or after they were moved. Others were okay, people he could talk to about sports, the guys he'd play chess with. He declined offers to play dominos, which usually had illegal betting going on and could escalate into violence in a heartbeat. When that happened, he'd step out of the fray, even warning other inmates to go to the house —a term for their cells.

"I'm so sorry you had to endure that, and for something you didn't even do."

"That wasn't the worst part."

"Were you…" She hesitated, tears filling her eyes. "Were you…raped?"

He shook his head, understanding how she could jump to that conclusion. It had happened to others. "No. No one was going to try that with me. Partly because of my size, partly because of my reputation."

She visibly relaxed into the pillows as if his being violated had hurt her physically.

Giving her a moment to come to terms with her feelings, he picked up the dishes and carried them to the sink. To be honest, she wasn't the only one that needed time to comprehend what had just happened. He'd never spoken to anyone about why he went to prison or what happened to him in there. With a quick wash, he set the dishes in the rack on the drainboard to dry, then he covered the beans with a lid and set the pot beside the cornbread on the table to cool before putting them in the fridge. Finally, he filled Duke's bowl and motioned for him to eat.

"What was the worst part of being in prison? The loss of your freedom?" Zoe quietly asked.

Persistent .

"It was the loss of my grandfather. He died while I was inside, and I couldn't attend his funeral."

"I'm so sorry," she said with such tenderness that he believed her empathy.

"He's buried in the family cemetery not far from where I brought you down the mountain. Right next to my grandmother and both of my parents, along with lots of ancestors since before the Civil War, or what some of my neighbors like to call the War of Northern Aggression."

She chuckled. "I've heard that before."

He met her smile with a lift of the corner of his lips. "Some folks still believe it down here in the mountains, but not enough to be a threat, despite what some people in Washington say on the news."

Suddenly, Duke let out a low growl, his nose pointing at the door.

"What's up, boy?" he asked as he went to the window to see out into the yard. The sun had just gone down and moonlight shone off the snow.

Duke continued to growl.

"Do you think it's a bear?" Zoe asked as he grabbed his coat and put it on.

"Not sure." He picked up his short-handled ax from beside the wood stove. "He doesn't usually signal for just an animal outside." Pausing with his hand on the door handle, he made a decision and walked to the pantry shelf and pulled down the coffee container. He grabbed her gun from inside, then laid it on the bed beside her. "If you hear gunfire or I don't come back, you're going to need that."

"This is my weapon," she said, picking it up and turning it over. "How did you get it?"

"It was in your coat pocket when I took it off you, along with your wallet and phone."

"Why did you hide it?"

"I'm a felon. I can't have a gun in my house. Until I knew what was going on with you, I figured best to put it up out of sight."

She gave him a nod. Then she did the most extraordinary thing. She cupped his cheek with one hand and her gaze, filled with tenderness and concern, met his. "You'll be careful out there?"

Her question surprised him. It also touched him deep inside. She cared about him, about his safety. It had been years since someone truly cared about him. Not what he could do for them, and she had every reason to want his safety so she wouldn't be stranded in this cabin injured and alone. No, she was worried about him .

Without thinking it further, he leaned in and claimed her lips in a slow kiss. One he wanted to remember long after she'd gone back to her world. A kiss he could pull out on a cold winter night and relish.

Slowly, he pulled back and was rewarded by watching her closed eyelids flutter open to reveal the passion that his kiss had put in her blue eyes. "I will. Be careful out there," he said when she was confused by his answer.

And didn't that make his ego feel good? Not that he'd put passion in her eyes, but he'd left her a little dazed.

He went to the door again and Duke stood. He shook his head at the hound. "No, boy. Protect."

The hound quickly obeyed, jumping onto the bed beside Zoe.

"He should go with you," she said. "You don't know what's out there."

"I can take care of myself. You're the one that's at a disadvantage. He stays with you," he said and slipped out the cabin door.