2. Boone
Boone
" J esus Christ."
It’s all I can think to mutter to myself when I see her, sprawled at the bottom of the sharp drop that cuts off the edge of the path.
I wouldn’t have even come this far, if I hadn’t been filling my pack with the last of the summer berries now that the cold is due to start setting in.
The weather’s already bad enough, even for November, and what survives this chill isn’t likely to make it much further...
Including her.
For a moment, I just stand there and stare. What the hell is a girl doing out this far into the woods?
Not many people would dare to come somewhere so distant, unless they had good reason. But then, judging by the state of her, I’d say she didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.
Her leg is twisted painfully to one side, her head slumped over uncomfortably onto one shoulder, and I can see blood running down her bare calf.
Shit. I’d do better to just leave her there, let her get herself together when she wakes up.
God knows I’ve had enough in the way of people for a whole damn lifetime.
Ever since Anna died, I’ve done my best to steer clear of anyone at all. All those concerned faces and pats on the arm and promises that they would do what they could to help died a pretty swift death when they realized that I wasn’t going to just grit my teeth and move on.
And I doubt she’s going to be any different.
But I can hear Anna’s voice in my head, telling me that I don’t know what it’s like for a girl to be stuck out there alone. That if I leave her there, someone else might find her and have designs on her far worse than anything I could come up with.
With a grunt, I hook my satchel over my shoulder, and scramble down the side of the incline, knocking a few rocks and twigs loose as I go before I land beside her.
Reaching out, I plant the back of my hand to her cheek – she's frozen, must have been out here for hours. The wound on her leg has stopped bleeding, but the scarlet against her pale skin needs cleaning. She’ll end up with an infection if she’s not careful, and I know too damn well how quick those things can move.
Without bothering with much ceremony, I grab her and heave her over my shoulder, her limp body dangling there as I make for the path once more. I can feel the steady in and out of her breath against my shoulder, and that’s something.
Worst comes to worst, she’ll have to stay a night to get back on her feet, if whoever’s out here with her doesn’t come looking for her.
I can already guess how a husband might think of me helping her like this, but if I left her in the cold, she’d be gone in a matter of hours, her body carried off into the woods by whatever animal got to her first.
And besides...as her arms swing at my chest, I can’t help but notice the scent she gives off.
Not just the earthy warmth that rises from every inch of this forest, but something else.
Something sweet. I breathe in a little deeper than I exactly have to as I reach my cabin, and Woodrow comes running from where he’s been waiting at the front door, a snarl already on his lips as he investigates the new arrival.
"Woah, boy," I mutter, as I push open the door and carry her in. Can’t blame him for feeling some type of way about this. He hates when I leave the cabin as it is, and normally I bring him with me to avoid his anxiety – ever since Anna, he doesn’t like being walking out of here, because he thinks they won’t come back.
He trots at my side, his scrubby black fur chilly from the outside air, as I carry the girl towards my bed and lay her down there.
The moment her head hits the pillow, she lets out a groan, a little noise that hitches at the back of her throat, as though she is not quite willing for me to put distance between us quite yet.
I pause in the doorway, glancing back at the reddish hair framing her soft features, the slight part in her full lips.
Strange, having a woman in my bed after so long. ..
I push the thought aside as I go to warm a kettle on the stove, using the rusty poker to stir some of the smouldering ashes as I toss a handful of mint leaves into the water.
Might not be the best she’s ever had, but it sure as hell beats lying out there in the cold waiting for the animals to find her.
By the time I have decanted a little into the single wooden cup I keep in the cabin, her eyes have fluttered open – when she sees me standing in the doorway, she sits bolt-upright, panic widening her eyes.
"Where am I?”
"Nowhere you have to worry about," I tell her, and I hand her the cup. "Here. Have this. It’ll warm you up."
She stares down at the cup for a moment and I stoop by her side, pulling her leg towards me so I can examine the wound.
I have a couple of bandages and poultices that Anna used to keep scattered around the house – not much, but, when I pull them out, the look on her face tells me that it’s far from what she expected.
"What are those?” she asks, drawing her leg away from me as I go to apply one of the soaked rags to her leg.
I ignore her, and pull her leg out once more – and notice, for the first time, how strange the clothes she is wearing happen to be.
She’s wearing a pair of cropped trousers, or something like it, in a thick, soft white fabric scored with orange marks.
I’ve never seen anything quite like it, not can I exactly picture why a girl would want to be walked around in something so brazen, not least at this time of year. ..
Once I have cleaned her up, she tugs the covers up over herself, like she has noticed me staring a little too hard at her clothes. Crossing her arm over her chest, she regards me warily, clearly not entirely sure what to make of me.
"I need to go-"
"You need to keep the weight off that leg," I tell her, as I straighten up. Woodrow is pacing in the doorway, watching her, clearly still not convinced of her presence.
"No, I can walk, I-"
She goes to extend her leg, but then, she winces, clearly thinking better of it.
"Crap," she mutters, and the sudden curse brings a grin to my face. I didn’t think a girl as sweet as her would have words so sharp, but then, there’s a lot about her that doesn’t make sense.
"Drink your tea," I tell her, nodding towards the cup. "I’ll come check on you later, alright?”
She looks as though she is going to protest again, but she thinks better of it, wrapping her delicate fingers around the cup as Woodrow trots at my heels.
"Alright," she murmurs, resigned to whatever fate has brought her here. And, as I go to step out of the room, I catch a scent of it again – the smell of her, something in the air that doesn’t seem to fit with the rest of the world around me.
As though she is from a different place entirely.
Or maybe even a different time.