Chapter 9 #2
“Papa, when will Mommy be back?”
He startled and jerked to face his daughter. “What?”
Summer’s blue eyes beseeched him. “When is Mommy coming home?”
“Soon.” He lowered to his seat near the open door that gave him a view of the entire valley. Picked up his rifle. He’d seen a few elk and mule deer. Rabbits and squirrels. No people yet. He planned to avoid people for a few weeks until the fuss died down.
“Mommy wanted us to have some special time together, just the two of us.”
Summer sat up. Finished her drink. Sucked moisture off her lips. “But for how long?”
Jesus. Would she ever stop asking questions?
“A while.” He shrugged. “Enough about your mother now.”
He didn’t want to talk about Michelle.
“What about school? I’m going to lose my perfect attendance record. Maisy Focinelli will win the prize.” She sounded as if she might cry.
Shit.
He scrubbed a hand through his short, wiry hair. Placed his hat back on. He wanted to snap at her that he didn’t care about school. He’d be her teacher now. But she was only a kid.
And he had to adjust. He was her provider now. Her protector. She’d learn. It was a lot to take in all at once, especially when she’d been mollycoddled since birth. “What was the prize?”
Her bottom lip stuck out. “Looking after Miss Piggy and Kermit over summer.”
“Piggy and Kermit?”
She looked shocked he didn’t know who they were. “The class guinea pigs!”
He snorted.
What a racket. Those teachers had it made. Get the kids to do the hard work while they had half the year off.
“I’ll buy you some guinea pigs.”
She pouted. “Mommy won’t let me have a pet.”
“I will.” She beamed at him. “How about you get up and move around some. That’ll stop you from getting cold and build up your strength.” The kid was a weakling, but she was a girl and not very big. She’d grow, and he’d teach her how to live off the land and how to survive.
One day she’d be grateful.
Summer put down the empty cup, threw off the blanket, and crawled noisily out of the survival bag. She pulled on her boots. Jumped up and down then immediately clamped her knees together. “I need to use the bathroom.”
“You know where it is.”
She glanced nervously into the darkness.
“Take the lantern but don’t drop it. Otherwise, you’ll be going in the dark from now on.”
“Is there any toilet tissue?”
What is this, the Ritz?
Glenn sighed and went over to the metal cupboard, which he’d filled with emergency supplies. So far, no one had broken in or stolen anything. He had padlocked the main door and installed a warning sign saying the mine was dangerously unstable.
Not a lie, necessarily. It had initially been carved during the 1800s. Gold Rush days. But he’d done some work to shore things up, and he was pretty confident that the mine wouldn’t collapse around their ears—not unless he wanted it to.
He had a few hidey-holes in these hills. Places off the radar where no one would ever find him. His emergency had come in a different form than what he’d expected. Less of a revolution and more of a victim of circumstance.
But that was the whole point of being prepared for the unexpected.
He tossed Summer a roll of toilet paper.
She dropped it.
Of course she did.
“Don’t use too much. Ain’t no supermarket out here, and with this snow, we might be out here longer than I planned.”
She clutched the roll in one hand and the hurricane lantern in the other. Headed into the darkness like it was the pits of Hell.
There was a blind tunnel off to one side the original miners had abandoned.
He’d brought a gas stove, a few buckets and other things out over the years.
Had a buddy fly in with a bunch of supplies a few years ago.
Thankfully, Thom had passed away last year.
Sad for Thom, but it meant Glenn didn’t need to worry about any loose ends.
Not that Thom would have ratted him out, but you never knew how the Feds might twist things up and make him seem like some kind of monster.
Summer reappeared and hung the lantern back on the hook. She bent down and stroked Trapper, who wagged his tail.
Glenn pulled out his favorite 1911 pistol to clean. Laid out the pieces and got out his gun oil. Couldn’t be too careful in the cold. Guns sweated when taken from cold to warm to cold again. Mechanisms froze.
Summer giggled and then squealed as she and Trapper wrestled on the floor.
“Goddamn it. Keep the noise down!” He didn’t raise his voice, but the sharpness of his tone was enough to have her hunching her shoulders and gathering the dog to her. Tears formed in her eyes.
Christ.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He came over and crouched beside her, mortified he couldn’t control his temper for five minutes. He dragged her into his arms and squeezed tight. Trapper squirmed from between them.
Her sobs filled the air.
Shit. She was loud. Too loud.
“Hush, Summer.” He pulled back and stared at her face. “There are bad people out there. Bad people who want to hurt you if they find you.”
Her back went ramrod stiff against him. Her red-rimmed, blue eyes were massive and leaking tears.
She clutched his jacket. “What bad people? Why do they want to hurt me?”
He rubbed her back and rocked her. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not the wolves, not the bad people. But you have to be quiet, just in case they’re nearby.”
He stroked the dog’s head. “Trapper and me won’t let anything bad happen to you.” He kissed her forehead. “No one’s gonna take you away, Summer. Not while I have breath in my body. I love you, baby.”
She gripped him tighter. “I love you too, Papa.”