Even though I feel her eyes on me, she’s easy enough to ignore.
I’ve spent my whole life under every kind of lens, from microscope to camera, to the watchful eyes of my brothers and the controlling eyes of my father. Let her join the onlookers for all I care.
As long as she stays quiet.
Ten
Jordan
“You’re cold.”
Why does he always make an observation sound like an accusation?
I straighten from my curled-up position on a beached and capsized boat, making sure to look not cold, just to prove him wrong. “I’m fine.”
His thick, dark lashes come so close together it almost looks like he’s closing his eyes, but I know better. The wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and angry slash of his brows are a waving flag of irritation. “Your lips turn blue when you’re cold.”
I roll my lips between my teeth and nibble in hopes of bringing back some color.
The crunch of snow under his boots makes him seem even bigger than he really is. He shoves a metal bucket at me, where two fish he reeled in earlier have recently given up the ghost.
I take the bucket, and he jerks his chin for me to get up and start the small trek back to the cabin.
A frown pulls my lips, but I stand and follow behind him anyway. Truth is, being outside in the fresh air is the most normal and at ease I’ve felt since I got here.
Going back to those four walls in that tiny dark cabin with someone who refuses to engage in conversation makes my legs feel heavy. But he’s right, I am cold, and a case of hypothermia would make my already dismal existence much worse.
Why couldn’t I get rescued by an extrovert? Someone who thrived on conversation and insisted on sharing every detail of his life?
I watch his powerful, jean-clad legs move effortlessly through the snow, his big shoulders so wide I’m literally walking in his shadow. And his ass is a work of perfection, the way it moves with muscled power—no. Nope. I am not checking out Grizzly’s ass.
I tear my eyes away, insisting they look anywhere but forward. The snow-covered trees are like something off of a Christmas card. Even without the sun, the trees sparkle like a Cullen. I slam into Grizzly’s back. “What—”
“Shhh. Look,” he says quietly.
There, just a few feet in front of us is a bobcat. My heart pounds as my mind replays the warning signs at the trailhead. “I think they’re mean.”
Grizzly remains still but doesn’t seem alarmed. Of course he doesn’t. He has two emotions—indifference and fury.
The bundle of gray fur, teeth, and claws doesn’t move a single muscle but stares boldly at us as if challenging us to move first. Without being much bigger than a beagle dog, I have no doubt that, if tested, he will eat my face off.
I attempt to step around Grizzly, only to have his arm shoot out and hold me back. Is he worried about his face being eaten off too? Quick thinking has me reaching into the bucket and grabbing one of the fish.
“Fetch!” With my good arm, I fling the fish off into the woods.
The bobcat startles and runs off in the direction of the fish.
Grizzly glares down at me.
“What are you doing? Run!” I take off as fast as my feet will carry me, trying to stay on the same path of boot prints that we made on our walk to the lake. I imagine that ball of fur pouncing on me from behind and squeal. “Is it chasing me?” I run as fast as I possibly can, my heart pounding, finally reaching the cabin. My roommate is casually walking and shaking his head with disagreement. I stand inside, only sticking my head out to yell, “Do you want him to come back and eat your face off?”
He looks like he’s taking a casual stroll through the park. Meanwhile, my heart is beating so fast it actually hurts.
I scan the tree line frantically, hoping if the cat comes back, I’ll at least be able to warn him before it pounces.
When Grizzly makes it to the door, I snag his jacket, pull him inside, and slam the door behind him.
“Dude! What the hell?”
He recoils, gives another disapproving shake of his head, and leans his fishing pole in the corner. “You gave that thing our dinner,” he growls.
“Gave him our dinner?” My jaw nearly hits the floor. He can’t possibly be upset about me sacrificing a fish. “I saved your life!”
He slowly turns around, eyes glinting with something dangerous.
“Hold on.” I lean in and study his expression, which is most definitely pissed. “You’re seriously mad at me?”
His jaw flexes, molars smashed together. “My life was not in danger.” His voice is low and eerily calm.
“You don’t know that. I’ll have you know that bobcats can be very aggressive. Especially if they have rabies.” I point an accusing finger at his chest. “You should be kissing my ass for what I did out there.”
“Never.” He snags the bucket with one fish from my hand and leaves me gaping at his back.
“He could have eaten your face off!”
“So you’ve said.” He grabs a knife and shoves it into the bucket. “Now he’s eating our dinner.”
I shrug off my jacket and kick off my boots. “You know, most people wouldn’t be so ungrateful to someone who just saved their life.”
He slowly turns around and stares at me with an intensity that electrifies the air.
I frown. He continues to glare. Like a submissive dog, I drop my gaze.
Guilt presses against my chest.
I move to the woodstove, stuff it with wood, and then sit in front of it to get warm. When I peer up at him, he’s still glaring at me.
The man says so much without using a single word.
“Point taken.”
Only then does he turn back to the fish and leave me to my humble pie.
Alexander
The sun has gone down, and the wind has kicked up and is beating the old logs of the cabin. And the reason I’m able to hear the battering wind outside is that the inside of the cabin has remained quiet since we got back from fishing.
I spent the last few hours putting as much distance between the woman and me so that I wouldn’t say something to hurt her more than it seems I already have.
The bobcat was not a threat to us. All I wanted was to stop and watch it because I find any animal living in the elements fascinating.
When she tossed half our food to the thing, I nearly lost my mind. In a situation where food is hard to come by, wasting good protein like she did could be a death sentence.
I would’ve told her as much had she kept pushing, but thankfully, I didn’t need to.
The fact is, having an extra mouth to feed has taxed my food supply, and with the unseasonable weather keeping us locked in place, we could get into a dangerous situation in a matter of days.
I bring her a bowl of poached fish, rice, and vegetables and then take my seat at the table. The portions are pathetic, but they’ll have to do.
“Hey,” she says as she brings her food to the table. She takes the chair opposite me, and I flinch when her knee brushes against my thigh. This is something I’ve noticed she’s been doing more and more lately. Getting close. Too close.
I take my bowl into my hand and lean back to eat.
“I’m sorry about the fish.”