Chapter 7

What the hell is she doing?

I've been watching her for almost an hour since I came down to check the nets. I set them in the water yesterday morning in hopes I'd get some fish before the ice and cold drive them away until spring.

What I found, however, was a trespasser. This is my land. I greased enough palms and did enough favors to become the only ghost that lives in this area and haunts these woods. I'm the only person for miles and miles. I thought, anyhow.

She's got her arrow at the ready. Her eyes scan the tree line like she's got night vision. Her fire is roaring, and she's kept it well-fed.

She's layered in enough clothes that I can't get the shape of her to save my life, but her face is the thing that'll haunt me when I turn for home soon.

Her hair is a mess, the wind taking its toll on it as she made her way here. It's been storming for days, and I can't fathom why she thought it was fit weather to travel. The most confusing thing is that she's been filming herself with multiple cameras, talking to someone unseen, and documenting every move she makes.

I've heard of shows that drop people into the wilderness to survive, paying them at the end for their cunning, but that's far from here.

She looks like she can no more survive on her own than a baby rabbit.

"Hey, bear!" she continues to shout, and I roll my eyes. Like any bear who hasn't gone into hibernation is going to be afraid of her.

If anything, she needs to do all she can to not draw attention to herself, as she's doing right this fucking second.

A twig snaps under my boots, and I wince. She stills, once again scanning for me.

The moment I'd gotten within a decent radius, her hackles had raised. Telling me she's got some training under her belt or she's at least got a keen sense of her surroundings. Which is more than I can say for many people I know.

The moment she'd gotten a weapon and stood, something within me smirked deeply. Something dark that I haven't let out in a long time.

My old life is the reason I'm here. The reason I hide in the pines, living off the grid so far that not even God himself can find me.

She's a threat to me even if she doesn't know it.

She's the first person I've had contact with in five years. Since I ran from it all.

And she's a direct risk to everything I've built. Everything that I've hidden away from.

She has to go.

When I finally take my fish back to the cabin, I clean it and set to cooking it, pairing it with a salad from the garden. I'd harvested what I could before the freeze, filling my stores in the food room as full as I could. The warmer months were good to me, allowing me to grow a ton of food for canning and preserving for winter. Sure, salads won't be a nightly delicacy, as the spinach will soon wither, but I'll take the vitamin-rich food while I can.

And anyhow, I'd preserved plenty to starve off scurvy once this is gone. Pouring a glass of wine, I sip the drink that I'd bartered with someone on the mainland to have sent here discreetly, closing my eyes.

But all I can see is her.

The wind howls beyond the windows, and I think of her out there in that pitiful tent. Her fire was close enough to her shelter that part of her would keep warm, but it was already dipping below freezing.

But it's not like I can just pop out of the woods and tell her to come here. With me.

The thought ambles around in my brain far longer than I want it to before I shake my head free of it.

Grumbling, I glimpse myself in the mirror hanging on the wall across from the table. My beard is in full blossom, making me look more beast than man. It's brown and matches the hair swooped back on my head. By the end of winter, it'll likely be to my shoulders. The beard will keep my face insulated for hunting until the spring when I buzz it off.

I light the candle on the table, rolling my brown eyes at myself that I've even thought about letting her in here.

Five years I've been here. A year before that, I planned. It's the only way I've gotten better. That my mind has become somewhere I'm not afraid to be anymore.

Yet, here I am, about to throw it all away in a flash. Give up my solace and let some stranger inside.

What the fuck is the matter with me?

I have to wonder if I've been subconsciously lonely, but I throw the notion away with a scoff.

The fish finishes cooking, and I shut off the stove, placing a piece on my plate and staring at the other portion longingly before shaking my head at myself again and moving to the table. I choose to sit on the opposite side from where I normally do, staring out the dark window as if I can see her beyond it.

She's near to here, the stream is only a mile away. It would be all too easy to plate up some food and take it to her.

But the inner struggle gives me pause. No matter how she got here, how she landed in my lap, she's not my fucking problem.

I eat my dinner, hoping she'll move on. Silence rings in my head as dark thoughts dance around. Ones where I'm feeding her, her in my lap, her dark eyes grateful.

I shift in my chair, growling at myself as I push my plate away.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I look up at the ceiling. Sending prayers isn't something I do, but I'm at a loss. The lord my mother worshiped was merciful, or so she told me. Maybe he'll take mercy on a man and let the little nymph move on tomorrow.

After cleaning up and blowing out all the candles and turning the lantern off, I trek to my room and get into bed.

The silence is something I've always loved here. But as I close my eyes, I swear I hear her shouting again.

"Hey, bear!"

I throw an arm over my eyes and snarl.

* * *

"Come on,Herman, don't be like that!" I shout, rushing out of the coop with the freshly collected eggs in hand before the rooster from hell can spur me.

Herman gives a loud screech that tells me he doesn't appreciate me reaching under some of his ladies to get said eggs. But with the temperatures so low, I don't want to lose any. After making sure they have water and the heating lamps are working well, I move on with my basket of eggs in tow.

Moving into the barn, I check on the goats. They're all huddled on their platform beds in the piles of hay. One bleats at me, as if it's too early for me to be bothering them.

I feign a grin, moving out of the barn again towards the house. All the animals survived the night. Which is good. It's only five-thirty in the morning, so the sun hasn't risen.

The air is still and cold. The only sounds are those of my animals bustling about, likely getting comfortable enough to sleep again after I've roused them. Feeding and mucking early gets it over with, however.

Herman gives another screech, and I look back, narrowing my gaze towards the coop.

Pain in the ass.

As roosters go, he really is the worst.

Once I get closer to the house, the sound of the wind turbine overtakes all else. The light from the front porch flickers in the distance, telling me the power is going strong.

Should be, there's plenty of wind.

Planning to be comfortable here was essential for me. I'd done all I could, and learned all I could. I knew I wouldn't be going back. Even if they find me, my decision stands.

There's nothing they can do.

Aside from killing me. They could do that. But going back to that life, that world, isn't for me.

I don't fit.

I'm like a square trying to shove into a round hole.

Once I lay the eggs out on the counter, I wash my hands in the sink, thanks to the well the turbine runs. It's an hour until sunrise, and I know I shouldn't, but I want to go back and see if the other creature survived the night. The one I couldn't stop thinking about before bed. The one who haunted my dreams.

Every time the wind howled, I tossed and turned. It dipped into negative temperatures last night. She's got to be frozen solid or damn near there.

I growl as the decision makes itself when my boots carry me toward the door with no further deliberation.

Herman is crowing to rouse the entire wilderness when I set off. I haven't yet decided how I'm going to get her off my property. All I know is that she has to go. Especially when all I could think of last night was finding out what was under all those layers.

Peeling the skin off of my prey has always been my favorite pastime. It's what made me good at my job. But I'm a new man. A different man.

At least, I'm trying to be.

Five years sober. That has to count for something. And it does. One slip doesn't count.

Won't count!

I remind myself of the fact that I'm not slipping. That I'm going to leave her alone. That I need her to go.

When I finally approach where she's set up camp, the faint outline of her red sleeping bag becomes visible from the triangle open end of her makeshift lean-to. Her fire is dying, and I swear I hear the chattering of teeth.

Fuck's sake.

Trudging away from the camp, I make quick work of gathering firewood, returning to drop it silently onto her fire, breathing life back into it.

I assess that her head is what's toward the fire. As I get the fire blaring, I notice she's stopped shifting inside her sleeping bag, telltale signs her body isn't having to move to warm itself.

Damn it, why is she out here?

All I can do is look at her thick eyelashes covered in snow. It's all that isn't zipped inside her red sleeping bag.

Even snow-kissed, she's the most beautiful thing I've ever laid my fucked-up eyes upon. It might be the solitude, or it might be her, but obsession is growing in my veins. I know I can't let it run rampant, though.

It'll turn into something I can't control.

Like it always does.