Chapter Twenty
Tiny ice crystals. Sparkling. Glittering on the glass in the last light of the ending day. Lucas threw another log on the fire, holding his hands before it for a minute, thankful for the wonder of warmth. Sometimes, still, the flames felt…holy to him, like the first time he'd felt them after living through so many miserable winter days and nights with nothing but cold. Ice. Suffering. Aloneness.
A rumble made him pause, tilting his head as he listened. A vehicle? Shock and fear rolled through him. He walked quickly to the front window, his eyes widening when he saw that same large truck Harper drove, moving slowly—carefully—through the woods toward his house.
He watched as it came to a stop, and a minute later, Harper climbed down, a heavy-looking bag over her shoulder, walking to the place where the fox den was and staring down into it. When she turned toward his house, she had a smile on her face.
He stepped back quickly, making his body still as he heard her climbing his steps. He shouldn't answer. Why is she here? What does she want? She knocked at his door, and he stayed still, trying not to answer, but in the end, a different part of him won out. The part that had come alive at the sight of her face, seeing that she'd come back. The part of him that knew she was his, even if he'd lived a life that could not make it be true.
When he opened the door, she smiled at him, moving from one foot to the other.
He waited for her to tell him why she was there, not knowing what to say. Hi? Hello? Why are you here? What do you want? He thought those questions might sound like he didn't want her there, and maybe he didn't— shouldn't —even though he knew he did.
"I've been advised not to do this," she finally said.
Advised. I've been…told. Someone told her not to do this. He frowned. "Do what?"
She looked away and then back. "Um, come out here." Her cheeks turned light pink like flowers had suddenly blossomed under her skin, and she moved the bag from one shoulder to the other.
He leaned against the doorway, and her eyes moved to his arms as he crossed them over his chest. His arms were bare, and he thought she must be looking at the scars that crisscrossed his skin here and there. Everywhere. It made him feel…naked even though it was only his arms. Those scars told too many awful stories about the way he'd lived. Stories he didn't want told. Ever. "Why didn't you listen?"
"Oppositional defiant disorder?" She let out a small, uncomfortable laugh.
Those were three words he didn't know and nothing to go along with them that would help him figure them out. Lucas tilted his head. "I don't know what that is," he admitted.
She smiled. "In my case, it just means I'm pigheaded."
He squinted at her. There it was again, three minutes into a conversation with her and he was already mostly lost. A gust of wind blew hard, and she held the bag tighter to her, moving her shoulders in and making her head go lower against the cold. "Come in," he said. "It's cold."
She looked thankful, not scared like she had the last time and she stepped inside. "No gun this time?" he asked as he closed the door and walked back toward the fire, looking inside the small glass window to make sure there was enough wood. Wanting to keep her warm.
"No. I'm…I'm sorry about that. I just—"
"I don't blame you. You don't know me. It was smart."
He turned toward her, and for a moment, time seemed to stretch out, long and thin. Breakable. Like a blade of grass pulled too tight. She moved in place again. "Anyway, I came to say thank you for what you did." She looked to the side for a minute like she was trying to find words written on his wall. "You helped me with something that was very, very important to me, and I'm grateful."
He looked down, wanting to tell her something, but not knowing if it was right to say. Not knowing the rules about things like that.
"What is it?" she asked, like she could read his face, knew his thoughts. It surprised him that he liked the idea of that.
"I wanted you to know that…I visited them. I…talked to them too. They weren't alone." He couldn't look at her. His face burned. But when he finally did, there were tears in her eyes, and she looked like he'd made her happy.
"Thank you," she whispered. "Those words feel too small. I… You've given me a gift. The gift of peace."
Lucas lifted his head, smiling. He'd given her a gift, and it had pleased her. "I'm glad it…helped you. To find them."
She let out a breath. "Yes, um." Her voice stumbled, and she cleared her throat, nodding her head to the bag on her shoulder. "Anyway, I also brought you this. A gesture of gratitude."
"What is it?"
She took the bag off her shoulder, moving past him to set it on the table by the back window, and then she turned to him. He took the few steps so he was standing beside her, waiting. She shot him a smile before opening the bag and pulling a few items out. Cans. She held them up to him one at a time. "Chicken noodle soup and pears." She set them on the table and then pulled out a few more items, listing them as she did. "Baked beans with ham, oh." She pulled out another item and held it up to him like it was the best of all. "Peanut butter," she said, her voice lowered to a whisper.
"I remember peanut butter," he murmured.
"Oh. You do? Did you like it?"
"Yes, I liked it."
Her face lit up so brightly that Lucas blinked. Each time she smiled at him, he felt good in a way he couldn't describe. Like I'm a man. She makes me feel like a man. She took off the top and peeled back some silver paper showing the smooth food he hadn't had since he was a little boy. He leaned forward, sniffing at it before dipping a finger in, pulling it out, and sticking it in his mouth.
Oh, God. Good. His eyes wanted to roll to the back of his head, but he kept them glued to Harper's, surprised by her eyes getting bigger as she watched him lick the peanut butter from his finger. The way she was watching him… Oh no, he was doing something wrong, acting…wrong. He dropped his hand to his side. Ashamed.
"Good?" Harper asked, and her voice sounded different than it had, deeper and a little slower. She reached into the bag, pulling something else from it. "Crackers," she said, the word rushed as she threw the box to the table. "And a few other things. Food. I brought you food because I was worried you might have a hard time getting out to hunt without your bow and arrows. And there's a storm coming too, in case you didn't know."
"Thank you. I have what I need. You didn't have to worry." He said it, but he didn't say that her worrying about him felt good because it meant someone remembered he was alive. It did him no good, but maybe he was still part human. And that mattered to him.
She tilted her head and looked long at him for a minute, her eyes moving from his eyes to his lips, staying there for a second and then moving over his jaw. It made him want to run a hand over his short beard to make sure he didn't have some peanut butter sticking to it. But he stayed still and let her study him. She seemed to like what she saw, and he was curious, wanted to know her thoughts, but had no idea how to ask.
What do I look like to you? I was human once, but now I'm part animal. Which one do you see? And why aren't you afraid?
He'd crawled.
He'd cried.
He'd eaten mud and bugs and dead grass when he was so starved he thought he'd die.
He'd begged.
He'd killed.
Could she tell? Could she see in his eyes how low he'd gone to survive? To live?
"I'm glad you have what you need," she finally said, turning her head and looking at the food on his table. "I'll leave this stuff anyway." She looked up at him. "Is there anything that you do need? Matches? Or…" Her white teeth caught her bottom lip and slid over it, and it made his body tighten with want, his muscles filled with that heat that made him want to move. Toward her. "I don't know." She shrugged, letting out a small laugh.
He tried his best to ignore his body. "I do need matches, but I don't have anything to trade." He frowned. "And I know that's not how things work in—"
"Oh, you don't need to pay me in any way. I told you, you've already given me a gift. Let me repay you for your help. Your time."
He watched her, not liking the idea of that, but not able to say why. He had always worked for the things he got. He didn't know how to take without paying. The way she was looking at him, though, with that something lighting her eyes and her lips pressed together like she wouldn't breathe until he said yes. And he wanted to say yes, not only for the matches, but because he wanted her to come back. "Okay."
She grinned, letting out that breath he knew she had been holding. "Great. What other foods do you like?"
He stared. He couldn't remember. His baka had cooked for him. Meats and vegetables wrapped up in something he couldn't remember the name of anymore. "Orange drink with bubbles," he said, feeling shy, thinking he was probably saying it wrong.
But her eyes lit up. "Orange Crush. Yes, that is good. I'll bring you some. What about bread? Do you like bread?" She smiled happily again, and his stomach flipped, all thoughts of food disappearing. But she was looking at him waiting, so he closed his eyes, trying to remember bread. Bread. Yes, he'd liked that. It was soft, and he'd eaten it with peanut butter. "Yes."
"Okay, great. I'll bring you Orange Crush and bread and…oh, I'll surprise you. How's that?"
Lucas gave her a small not-knowing nod. She said the word surprise with a smile, but he didn't like surprises. To him, surprises were not good. Surprises came out of the clear-blue sky and knocked your head for a loop. But she was still smiling, so he'd trust that her surprise really did only mean food, nothing else.
Harper looked at the cans. "I can heat this up for us if you don't mind sharing?"
He nodded quickly, and she smiled again, using the little ring on the can to pull the top open. He had one pot that he got for her, and she started heating the chicken noodle soup on the top of his wood stove. Lucas watched her as she moved, his eyes moving from the curve of her backside as she bent over to the female shape of her legs under her jeans, the straight line of her back. He loved the look of her, loved seeing all the ways a woman's body was so different from his own. He wanted to see her naked, undress all the secrets hidden under her clothes, wanted to know what a woman's skin felt like against his own. His male parts throbbed, and he turned away from her, pretending to be busy moving the cans uselessly to the other side of the table.
He wanted her to leave, and he wanted her to stay, but he didn't know what he should feel. She wanted to share food with him. She'd liked his smoked fish too. And because the woman standing at his stove was heating soup for them to share, he felt confusion, but the one thing he didn't feel was alone.