Chapter 8 #2
“I’ll help Topher get the fire made,” he said softly. “We’ll be okay.”
There went that rescuer’s voice again. And, fine, yes, it helped.
Still, twenty minutes later, after Jericho and Topher lit the fire in the hearth, after Jericho confirmed every window was locked, the cabin’s growing warmth couldn’t quite reach the cold place inside her chest.
Maybe the problem was simply that every surface held memories. The nicks in the pine table where she and Gabe had cleaned fish. The worn spot on the couch where Mom would read them A Wrinkle in Time and other books she loved. The rack by the door where Dad’s rifle used to rest.
No, she shouldn’t have forced her way in. Shouldn’t be here.
She’d found jars of dried barley soup mix and had melted snow on the cookstove. Now, the rich aroma of reconstituting vegetables and herbs filled the cabin.
Which only gave the past breath.
She stirred the soup, tried not to let her mind play games. Behind her, Topher wrapped Sunni’s ankle, his voice low as he explained what he was doing. Jericho had abdicated his first responder skills to their resident paramedic, although the man stood, arms akimbo, watching.
Orlando lay near the stove, but his head kept lifting at sounds of the storm, ears pricked toward something only he could hear.
“Found bowls.” Winter appeared beside Harley, setting down a stack of heavy ceramic. “Still in the same cabinet.”
“Everything’s where it’s always been.” She meant it to sound normal. It came out broken.
The wind moaned through the eaves, and Orlando whined softly in response.
“So”—Harley forced herself to turn, to face the room—“why were you really out here in weather like this, Sunni?”
The fire popped and hissed. Snow pelted the windows. Sunni shifted on the couch, something complicated crossing her expression.
“I got a message.” She wouldn’t quite meet Harley’s eyes. “I needed Winter to fly me out because . . . because . . .” She sighed and caught her lower lip.
“Because what?” Winter asked.
“Fine.” She glanced at Harley, something soft, almost gentle in her voice. “Because it was from Gabe.”
The spoon slipped from Harley’s hand, clattering against the soup pot. Heat rushed up her neck, then drained away. “That’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking.” Sunni leaned forward, wincing at the movement. Topher had finished wrapping her ankle in an ACE bandage, and it held a snowpack in a plastic bag to her injury. “He’s alive, Harley.”
She just blinked at her, the words not landing. What?
“It’s a long story, but most importantly, three days ago I found mountain ash berries in my mailbox. They were from Gabe. His signal.”
Signal?
The room tilted sideways. Mountain ash berries. “My mom loved mountain ash.”
“Yeah,” Sunni said. “I know.”
Harley just stared at her, blinked. “Six months ago on my birthday, I got a bouquet. White roses with mountain ash berries. Showed up on my porch in Juneau, wrapped in brown paper, no note.” Her skin prickled.
“There’s more.” Sunni’s voice had gone soft, urgent. “Last night, I got more berries, and this time, there was a picture of a cabin. I knew he meant here—”
“He’s dead, Sunni!” Oh, Harley didn’t mean to shout. She held up a hand. “Sorry. I’m sorry, I’m . . . just—”
“It could be Mars,” Jericho said, and Harley jerked. He looked at Sunni. “He always had a thing for you in middle school. And when he came back that summer—didn’t he ask you out?”
Sunni met his gaze. “Yes, but . . . I didn’t go. Besides, he wouldn’t know about the berries.”
“Your mother made jewelry with the dried berries.” He directed his words to Harley. “And holiday wreaths—”
Harley frowned at him. “I’m trying to wrap my brain around Mars sending Sunni berries because my mom liked them . . . that doesn’t . . . why?”
The room fell silent.
“My brain is probably too stuck on Mars,” Jericho finally said. “Given that he tried to kill you yesterday.”
Sunni’s eyes widened, and she looked at Harley. “He did?”
“It’s a long story—”
“You said you got the picture last night, Sunni?” This from Jericho.
“Yeah. I called Winter right away. She said we could make it here before the storm.”
“The road here isn’t plowed,” Topher said.
“Snow machine could make it.” Jericho looked at Harley, such a fierceness in his eyes.
Okay, that must be his military face. Because she’d never seen . . . well, maybe once.
Funny how life just kept circling back to that moment, the one where she blew apart everything she ever wanted, that moment when she walked away from him.
Right before he’d left for the military and took any forgiveness with him.
“Okay, so first, it’s lethal outside,” Topher said. “So, no one is out there in this storm. Second, Jer and I will take watches. We’ll be fine.” He glanced at Winter when he said it.
Aw, Harley wished those two would just figure it out, start dating, but that was a conversation for another day.
Right now, the wind moaned and the generator’s hum seemed suddenly fragile against the storm’s growing fury.
Harley needed air. Just a moment to think. She grabbed an empty pot from the counter. “We need more snow to melt.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Jericho stood up to block her path. “Have you not been paying attention? You can’t go out there.”
She stared at him, her breath caught.
He was a mountain in front of her, sturdy, unmoving. Forbidding. But his voice gentled when he put his hands on her shoulders. “Take a breath there, Speed Racer. You’re going to be fine. We’re going to be fine.”
“I just . . .”
His hands squeezed her shoulders, his gaze holding hers.
Was she shaking? “I . . . I can take care of myself.” The words came automatically, but soft, almost comical.
“Yeah, I know.” He smiled and reached out for the pot. “But just for kicks and giggles, why don’t you let me get the snow?”
And oh boy, she nearly reached up and put her hand on his flannelly chest. He stood so close that she could see the gold flecks in his eyes. Close enough that it would be so easy to lean forward, to find out if he . . .
Well, if he really meant—“Today was a good warning of what I don’t want.”
But, as if the ghosts knew, the wind screamed down the chimney, and the fire flickered, spilling flaming cinders into the room, and the impulse died.
Orlando barked once, sharp and warning, as if in confirmation.
Danger.
“Fine.” She stepped back, trying to steady her breathing. “You get the snow.”
But as he moved toward the door, she couldn’t shake the feeling. “Just, be careful.”
He turned, smiled, and finally nodded. “You’re not the boss of me.” Then, as her mouth opened, he stepped outside.
And into the storm.
HARLEY POSSESSED the power to make him say ridiculous things.
“You’re not the boss of me”?
Jericho had meant it as something to shake Harley free of whatever had her freaked out, although he had a pretty good idea.
Gabe, alive? C’mon. But certainly Mars Sorros hadn’t pulled them out here to ambush them, right? Even Jericho could admit that his theory about Mars and the berries sounded far-fetched.
At least, it did in the warm house. Out here, in the wildness of the storm, maybe not so much.
Jericho scooped fresh snow into the pot and stepped back inside, already shivering.
She had waited, her arms akimbo, as if still shocked by his words.
“Thanks,” she said as he handed her the pot.
The room suddenly felt way too hot.
She put the snow into the kettle. “Dinner is almost ready.”
Winter set the table.
Jericho crouched next to his dog, who’d taken a place by the fire, his coat still moist from the snow. Orlando’s tail thumped, and he sighed, clearly nonplussed by his owner’s thundering heartbeat.
For a second there, it seemed . . . well, the texture of her gaze, the softening of it, a few memories suddenly flashed in her eyes . . .
She’d wanted to kiss him.
And he was right there, his stupid heart agreeing.
And hello—that was the last thing he should do.
Really.
As they ate, Jericho watched her push her soup around, noticed how she kept glancing at the windows, at the darkness. The generator hummed, and the fire flickered in the hearth, but if he were honest, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone watched. Waited.
Okay, now he was freaked out.
They finished dinner, then Topher helped Sunni into the back bedroom, after refreshing the snow in the plastic bag. Winter had climbed to the loft, claiming exhaustion, but Jericho had caught the look she’d thrown at Harley, so maybe she was giving them space.
Topher claimed the other bedroom.
Great. Now elephants roamed the room. The drama of Copper Mountain. He thought they’d worked together pretty well today, thank you. Except, that wasn’t nearly the problem.
They’d worked too well together, maybe.
Outside, the blizzard howled, but inside, the place turned cozy, the fire’s shadows flickering against the pine walls in shades of amber and gold.
Harley sat cross-legged on the braided rug, her hands in Orlando’s fur, lost in the firelight. The dog released a contented sigh.
Jericho sat on the other side of Orlando. “My dog likes you.” The words came out softer than he’d intended.
“I like him too.” A smile touched her mouth, real this time. Not the weirdly careful one she’d worn at dinner.
“You know, there’s this phenomenon with injured dogs.” He touched Orlando’s soft fur. “They always go to the person who makes them feel safest. Usually it’s their trainer, but . . .” He let the words trail off, not sure how to finish the thought.
She glanced up, firelight catching the gold in her eyes. Something inside him shifted and her words from earlier rose. “Sometimes all we need is someone to remind us who we are.”
Maybe. Being around her had certainly stirred up memories of the guy he’d wanted to be. And, of course, followed by the terrible moment when he realized he’d never measure up to his own expectations.
Let alone hers.