Chapter 22 #2
Charlie flinched but didn't move.
"It's done," I said. "And it was quick. He didn't suffer." I turned my back to her. "Get on."
"What?"
"Hop on. I'll carry you."
"Mitch, I'm not—"
"You planning to argue, or you planning to eat? Because that rabbit's not coming to us."
A sound of frustration thrummed in her throat, then she gripped my shoulders and jumped. I caught her bare thighs, hoisting her up. Her arms wrapped around my neck, and as she pressed her breasts into my back, a wave of heat shot through me.
"Better?" I asked, my voice rougher than I meant it to be.
"Yes. Thanks." Her breath was warm against my ear. "Giddyup, cowboy." She wriggled against me, and every drop of blood in my body went straight to my damn groin. I tightened my grip on the smooth skin of her thighs and forced myself to keep walking.
"When was the last time you gave someone a piggyback ride?" she asked.
"Don't know. Decades, I guess. When my sis sprained her ankle."
"And here I thought chivalry was dead."
"This isn't chivalry. This is pure survival strategy. You walk too slowly, and I'm hungry."
She laughed, and the sound vibrated against my back.
At the trees, I set the rifle against the tree trunk and lowered her down in the shade. "What should I do?" She straightened her shirt, and my damn gaze settled on the swell of her breasts beneath the cotton.
She blinked at me.
Shit. She’d caught me looking.
"We need a fire," I said. "Can you gather some small branches? Nothing green."
"Sure." A sassy smile touched her lips before she limped toward the scattered scrub.
I watched her for a moment, impressed by the determined set of her shoulders. The way her ass looked in those tiny shorts.
Damn it. I forced my gaze away, collected the rabbit from the grass, and disappeared behind the trees to dress it for cooking. By the time she returned with an armful of dry twigs, I'd finished the messy task and buried what we couldn't use.
Charlie snapped branches over her knee and stacked them in a teepee formation like she'd done it a hundred times.
Where had she learned that?
I shouldn't want to know. But I did. I wanted to know everything about her.
"Here." I tossed her my lighter.
She caught it one-handed, then crouched. Soon, she had a decent fire going.
I skewered strips of meat on a green branch, propped them over the flames, and the smell of cooking rabbit quickly filled the air.
Charlie sat and pulled her long legs up to hug her knees.
When the meat was golden brown, I divided the strips between us. She took her portion, and I thought she’d hesitate. Nope, she bit in without pause.
"Oh my God," she mumbled around a mouthful. "This is delicious."
"Helps when you're starving."
"No, seriously. This is really good." She licked her fingers, and I liked watching that move way more than I should have.
As we ate in comfortable silence, the other rabbits returned to the thicket, bouncing around as if nothing had happened.
"Oh, look. They're back." Charlie pointed, and her smile lit up the whole damn world.
"Yeah. They don't even know grandpa's missing."
Her jaw dropped. "You're terrible."
"Maybe, but at least we’re not starving anymore." I patted my stomach.
She shook her head, fighting a grin.
With our bellies full, we settled against the tree trunk, looking out over the landscape, and after a few minutes, she released a long sigh. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For not making me feel like an idiot about the rabbit."
"You're not an idiot. You’re a city girl who's never had to hunt for dinner."
She huffed a laugh. "Thank God for that, or I'd starve."
I smiled. "So where did you learn to stack a fire?"
"Field work. I've done surveys at remote dig sites from Darwin to Adelaide." She picked a blade of grass and curled it around her thumb. "We usually took turns with camp duties."
"Doug?"
She snorted. "Hell, no. Doug couldn't light a match without setting himself on fire."
I chuckled. "Didn't see any campfire at your dig site."
She huffed. "No. We had a microwave and a generator."
"Lucky for some. So how long have you been searching for fossils?"
"Ten years or so. Finished my first degree when I was twenty-three."
"Your parents must be proud."
She let out a bitter laugh. "Just Mom, and no. She thinks what I do is a waste of time."
"Seriously?"
"Yep. Mom and my sisters don't see the point in digging up old bones.
Mom's a cashier in a grocery store. She’s been doing the same job her whole life.
" She paused. "She's practical and wanted me to do something 'useful.
'" She made air quotes with her fingers.
"Teaching, maybe, like my sister Mel. Or something that pays better than grant money. "
"But you did it anyway."
"Yeah, I did, and this dig was supposed to prove them wrong." She picked up a twig and snapped it between her fingers. "I'd finally made a significant discovery that would validate my life." Her voice dropped. "But now, my career's over."
Guilt twisted in my gut. "I'm sorry, Charlie. For Doug. For your site. All of it."
She looked at me, those golden eyes cutting straight through me. "It's not your fault, Mitch. You didn't conjure the storm or kill Doug." She paused. "You saved my life. Twice."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I looked away, watching the rabbits hop around the thicket.
After a moment, she shifted to face me. "What about you? It must've been hard, losing your mom so young. How did she die?"
The question hit me like a fist to the gut. I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached.
"Sorry." Her voice went quiet. "I didn't mean to pry."
Silence stretched between us, thick and uncomfortable. Charlie turned away and stared out at the horizon, giving me an out.
"We should get moving." I stood and marched to a nearby saltbush, tugged off a handful of leaves, and returned to the fire.
Charlie had pushed herself up and was brushing dirt from her hands. She didn't look at me.
Feeling like a bloody asshole, I wrapped the leftover meat in the broad leaves and shoved the bundle inside my tattered shirt.
I wiped my knife blade on my jeans, snapped the multi-tool shut, and slid it into the sheath.
The rifle was useless without bullets, so I left it there.
Maybe my rifle was still where I'd propped it against that bus before everything went to hell.
Doubt it. It was probably swept away in the damn flood, along with everything else.
As we walked away from the shade, her question hung in the air between us like smoke.
Truth was, I hoped my mother was dead. Because if she wasn't, that meant she'd walked out on my siblings and me and left us alone with our abusive father.
And that was so much worse than if she’d died young.