Chapter 16
It’s not oftenI’m caught off guard. I was fully prepared to defend my actions, expecting Renzo to grumble or yell or find some way to remind me how this was all my fault. Not that I think it’s my fault, but he certainly seemed to after the plane crash. It was a safe assumption that hearing how stranded we are would piss him off again. But it didn’t. He took the news with a grain of salt and moved on.
I’m not sure how to interpret his change of heart, though it has been an eventful few days. It hardly seems real that so much has happened in four short days. Four days that are somehow both the shortest and longest days I’ve ever experienced. Driving up to the docks in that truck feels like an eternity ago, yet simultaneously like it was only yesterday.
Sitting up with Renzo through the worst of his fever felt like it took a year off my life. I’ve never been so goddamn scared. Each new disaster we’ve faced, I’ve met head-on with determination, in part because of him. Because I know that no matter how sucky the situation, at least I wasn’t enduring it alone.
That’s why I almost fell apart completely when he finally woke. The relief was an overwhelming tidal wave of emotion. I had to turn away while I fought for composure because I don’t want him to see me as some blathering female. I don’t personally think crying is a sign of weakness, but I know most men see it that way. That’s how our society conditions them.
Don’t be a crybaby. Man up.
I know because I’ve lived my life in a man’s world and learned early that it’s imperative to speak their language. Normally, that’s not an issue. I’m not a particularly emotional person by nature, but those hours with him unconscious were horrifying. Merely watching him move around the cabin gives me new energy.
“We’ve eaten two of the ten cans of beans—one for each day. I figure that’s a reasonable rationing since we haven’t had any other protein source yet. Do you want to have our can now or save it for later today?”
“Now. My stomach is currently trying to eat me from the inside out.”
“You have your choice of baked beans, baked beans, orrr baked beans with maple.”
“Surprise me,” he says dryly. “You say there are tools on the back of the cabin?”
“Just a couple of things—the traps and an ax most importantly.”
“I’ll check that out while you get the beans going.”
An hour later, we’ve had our meager breakfast and are on our way to check the traps I set. They aren’t far. My encounter with Smokey was still too fresh in my mind for me to feel comfortable wandering off alone.
I had no idea what I was doing when I “set” the traps. Because of that, I know as we approach that the chances of catching anything are slim, but I’m unexpectedly frustrated to see both traps empty. I would have loved more than anything to bring Renzo out here and present him with something solid for us to eat.
“Not sure how you’re supposed to catch anything with a wire,” I grumble. “What are the chances something will just happen to walk through the trap?” The whole thing seems impossible.
“These are snare traps, and you’re right, they key is knowing where the animal is likely to go. Plus, we need to get every single one of those traps out here. It’s about numbers. There are nearly two dozen snares, and we need every one of those rigged.”
“I thought you said you didn’t know anything about trapping.”
“Compared to the sort of person who comes out here intentionally, I don’t.” His eyes cut to me, and I see a hint of mischief glinting in their depths. “But the city has a lot of rats.”
My mouth gapes open. “Why on earth would you hunt rats? They make tidy little box traps for that.”
“A lot of us boys hung around in the summer with nothing to do. Sometimes we’d make it a competition.”
“I will never, ever understand men.” I shake my head slowly side to side, though I’m amused. I imagine an adolescent Renzo would have been pretty entertaining before the pressures of adulthood sobered him.
The sly grin he flashes me launches a score of butterfly wings flapping in my chest. “Fortunately, you don’t have to understand us to appreciate what we have to offer.”
“Oh yeah? And what’s that? Toxic masculinity and a patriarchy?” I know. I can’t help myself. At least my tone is playful.
Renzo glares, matching my teasing energy. “I was thinking catcalls and commitment issues, but you had to go and make it personal.”
His comeback is so unexpected, I burst out laughing. “I’m so sorry. You’re right. How could I have ignored the obvious?”
He grunts. “Try better next time.”
My eyes follow him with no small amount of intrigue as his gaze searches the area.
“You say there’s a creek nearby?”
“Yeah, over there about one hundred yards.” I point in the direction.
“Let’s head that way. We need to look for tracks. Any kind of sign that something is in the area. I figure that’s more likely around a water source.”
“Makes sense.”
He eyes me for an elongated second before starting to walk, and I’d give my favorite left toe to know what he’s thinking, but there’s no way I’m going to ask. It’s probably best I don’t know. These next few weeks will be difficult enough as it is. No need to complicate things.
I have to repeat the thought three times to myself before I remotely start to believe it.
We spend the next two hours setting up all the snare traps he brought from the cabin. We stake broken branches into the ground wherever possible to anchor the snare or use low-lying branches suited for rigging a noose.
He’s worn down by the time we get back to the cabin. It worries me. I don’t want a relapse.
“Why don’t you relax a bit—have a can of fruit and some water—while I chop more firewood.”
“We need to get that bonfire going, though.”
“I have a couple of logs set aside. I’ll add any more that I see. Tomorrow, you’ll have more strength and can help me finish up.”
He gives a single nod and heads inside.
I’m struck by how grateful I am that he didn’t try to dissuade me or challenge whether I was capable. Maybe he was simply too tired to bother, but I don’t think that’s it. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I misjudged him. However, I will admit that time together has helped us understand one another better. Possibly even respect one another.
I’m not trying to imply that mutual respect has a deeper meaning. We have no choice but to be a team out here, and respect is crucial when relying on a team member. That’s all it is. Nothing to read into and certainly not a reason for me to be smiling while I exhaust myself chopping wood. Therefore, I should probably wipe this stupid grin off my face, but the damn thing’s like a virus. I have to let it run its course and hope it doesn’t mutate into something worse.
Slinging an ax is a fantastic way to expel unwanted emotions. It’s also a great way to end up drenched in sweat. The tiny bit of food we’ve had isn’t remotely enough to support the calories I’m burning. Adrenaline keeps me going, but I can tell I’m worn out way faster than I would be if I wasn’t starving.
When exhaustion prevents me from chopping any more wood, I collect an armful of logs and head inside. “What I wouldn’t give for a shower and a fresh set of clothes.” I plop down on the stool after setting the logs by the stove and pour myself a full cup of water.
“If you want to wash up with what’s left in the bucket, I’ll go refill it when you’re done,” Renzo offers.
“I guess I could at least wash my face and rinse my shirt.” I take off my coat, then lift my shirt over my head and kneel next to the water bucket. I wet the same towel I swept over Renzo’s forehead while he was sick and use it to wipe down my face and upper body. The cold water on my heated skin feels amazing, sending a shiver from head to toe.
As I submerge my shirt in the water, my back suddenly feels warm. The preternatural warm that happens when being watched. I left my bra on, so I’m not naked, but I’m more exposed than I’ve been in front of him, and I sense his awareness.
His stare rakes over me like a physical touch—the back of my neck, my shoulders, the indentation of my spine. I imagine an intimacy to it, though I shouldn’t. We have no choice but to live openly in front of one another.
I chide myself not to read into anything because these aren’t normal circumstances. He’s not watching me clean up because I invited him to my place. He has no damn choice. And even if he did, enjoying the attention is such a bad idea. What happens when this surreal bubble pops and we return to reality? He goes back to his world, and I go back to mine.
Our cousins may have married one another, but Noemi isn’t part of the family business. Her marriage to my cousin Conner didn’t create a conflict of loyalties. I’m different. I’ve worked so hard to be accepted as an equal in the Byrne business. I’d never let that go just to be with a man or anyone for that matter. And if that’s the case, it would be idiotic to let myself fantasize about someone like Renzo, even if we’re stuck in a place where the rules from back home don’t apply.
I squeeze out my shirt and find a place to hang it on the wall, then put my coat on to keep me from catching a chill.
“Not sure what’s going on in that head of yours, but I don’t think I like it.”
“What do you mean?” I finally let my gaze drift to his.
“While you were sitting there—your whole body deflated. Don’t like seeing that. We’ll find a way back, you know. It may take a while, but we’ll get home.” He thinks I’m worried and is trying to lift my spirits. It’s unexpectedly sweet but reinforces what I’ve already been thinking.
“Yeah, I know.” I can’t keep the sadness from my voice because before long, this will all be a distant memory.