Chapter 15
Hannah
By the time I look up from the folder in my lap, the light has changed.
I blink at the window.
The bright afternoon has faded into evening, long shadows stretching across the valley below.
“No way.” I check my watch. It’s nearly seven.
I’ve been up here for hours. My legs have gone numb, and the floor around me has disappeared beneath photographs, old maps and paperwork. At some point I abandoned the desk altogether and started making piles on the rug.
I laugh under my breath. “Oops.”
Getting to my feet takes some effort. I stretch until the pins and needles ease, then survey the mess I’ve made.
I stack the photographs and straighten the papers enough that nobody could accuse me of ransacking the place. The rest can wait until tomorrow. Then I make my way downstairs.
The lodge is deserted.
“Torin?” I call.
No answer.
Warm evening air drifts through the open front door. I follow it outside and find Orson sitting on the porch with a mug in his hand.
He glances over. “Finally.”
“I got a little carried away.”
“I noticed,” he says, but not unkindly.
I look across the clearing. Torin’s truck is gone.
“Where’s Torin?”
“Went out.”
I turn back to him. “He did?”
“Couple hours ago.”
“He didn’t tell me.”
The words come out more plaintively than I intended.
Orson takes another drink. “Said you were busy.”
I suppose I was. And why should he have to tell me where he was going?
Still. I would’ve liked him to.
My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly enough for Orson to hear.
“You hungry?”
“Apparently.”
He pushes himself to his feet. “Come on, then.”
I follow him inside. Orson heads into the pantry and comes back carrying a huge parcel wrapped in butcher’s paper, with a sack of potatoes tucked under one arm. He drops everything on the counter.
I look at the parcel. “What are you making?”
“Food.”
I wait. Apparently, that’s the full menu.
He unwraps the paper. A large piece of dark red meat appears. Then he pulls out a potato, and stares at it.
I watch as he turns it over in his hand.
“How exactly were you planning to cook this?”
His eyes lift to mine. There’s a hint of distress in them now. “Hadn’t got that far.”
I laugh.
He puts the potato down. “Usually, I just eat in the forest, but Torin told me to feed you.”
I get a little pang in my chest. “What is it?” I ask, indicating the meat.
“Deer.”
“You hunted it?”
“Yeah.”
There’s a touch of pride in the way he says it.
I glance from the venison to the potatoes.
“I’ll cook.”
“You sure?”
“Very.”
He considers that, then steps away from the counter. “Tell me what to do.”
I find a peeler in one of the drawers and hand it to him.
“Start with those.”
He takes the sack of potatoes over to the sink while I see what else I can find.
There’s butter in the fridge. Garlic. Carrots. A bunch of rosemary wrapped in damp paper. Better than I expected.
By the time I’ve chopped the onions, Orson has peeled half the sack.
“You know there are only two of us, right?”
He looks down at the pile. “You said peel the potatoes.”
I laugh. “I did. Maybe stop now though.”
He drops it back into the sack.
I get the venison browning while he chops the carrots. He doesn’t ask why I want anything done a certain way. I tell him what size, he cuts it that size. I ask for the rosemary, it appears beside my hand.
“You’re very good at following instructions.”
“Torin trained me.”
That makes me laugh again.
Orson slides the last of the potatoes into the roasting tin.
“How’d you learn to cook?” he demands.
“My mom taught me.”
The answer comes automatically, and for a moment, I can see her hands instead of mine. Her wedding ring flashing as she showed me how to hold a knife, then taking it away again because apparently nine-year-old me was trying to remove a finger along with the onion.
A memory so ordinary it hurts.
I turn back to the stove.
Beside me, Orson says nothing.
He just picks up the bowl of carrots and holds it out.
I take it from him.
“Thanks.”
I get the roasting tin into the oven and set the timer.
Orson looks around the kitchen. “What’s next?”
“We wait.”
He nods, apparently satisfied with that.
Then he rubs a hand through his hair. It leaves it sticking out worse than before.
“So, I got time to shower?”
I look at him. His hair is matted around his shoulders, and I think there’s some dirt crusted into it.
“Plenty. You could even squeeze in a deep-conditioning treatment.”
He frowns. “A what?”
I laugh. “Never mind.”
He gives me a long, suspicious stare, then disappears down the hallway.
I pour myself a glass of cold water and take it outside.
The sun is sinking behind the mountains, throwing long bars of gold across the clearing. I sink into one of the chairs and stretch my legs out in front of me.
I wonder what Torin’s doing.
Probably fixing somebody’s truck. Or helping out a neighbor.
Whatever it is, I bet somebody needed him.
I picture him coming through the door when he gets back. That easy grin when he smells dinner. Does he even like roast potatoes?
I smile into my glass. Honestly. It’s been two days.
The screen door opens behind me. I turn. Orson steps onto the porch, and for a second, I just stare. His hair is clean and damp around his shoulders, the dirt gone from his face and arms. He looks like a different person.
“Why are you staring at me?”
I bite back a smile. “Dinner should be ready soon.”
The timer goes off a few minutes later, and I follow Orson back into the kitchen.
When I open the oven, heat rolls over me along with an appetizing smell of rosemary and garlic. I check the potatoes with a fork, then set the roasting tin on the stove.
Orson appears beside me with two plates.
“I’ll serve.”
I hand him the spoon. “Go for it.”
He takes the responsibility seriously, dividing the meat and vegetables between us before carrying both plates to the table.
“Beer?”
“Please.”
He opens the fridge and comes back with two bottles. Before I can ask whether he has an opener, he puts the neck of one between his teeth.
There’s a sharp pop, and the cap hits the floor.
I stare at him.
He picks up the second bottle, raises it toward his mouth, then pauses.
His eyes meet mine.
Without a word, he turns, opens a drawer and takes out the bottle opener.
I pretend I saw nothing.
He puts the beer in front of me and sits down.
I take a sip of beer before trying the venison. It’s tender, the seasoning coming through nicely.
Orson takes his first bite and chews. “Good.”
I smile. “Better than eating it while its heart is still beating?”
“Not allowed to do that shit indoors anymore.”
I stop with my beer halfway to my mouth. “Anymore?”
“Alexandria.”
That requires more explanation, but Orson seems perfectly happy to leave it there.
“What did you do?”
“Butchered a deer in front of her.”
I stare at him. “Why?”
“Wanted to piss her off.”
I almost choke. “Did it work?”
“Not really. She handled it pretty well.” He spears a potato. “Gunnar was the one who lost his shit.”
“Because he knew you were trying to upset her?”
“Yeah.”
I take another bite, watching him across the table. “Why did you hate her so much?”
His fork slows. “I didn’t hate her.”
“But you wanted her gone?”
He looks down at his plate. “People were hunting her. Gunnar brought her here anyway.”
“And Gunnar didn’t care?”
“He cared.” Orson takes a drink of beer. “Just cared about her more.”
That quiets me.
“So, what changed?” I say at last.
He turns the bottle between his hands. “Watched them together, I guess. She was good for him.”
He takes another drink. “Plus, she was his mate.”
“Do you wish he’d taken a bear mate instead?”
Orson looks at me.
I almost wish I hadn’t asked. Cade’s sister’s voice comes back to me, full of contempt.
She’s only human.
“Maybe at first,” he says. “Would’ve made things easier.”
It’s not quite the answer I wanted.
“But not now?”
“Nah.”
“Why?”
He takes a drink of beer. “Because she’s Alexandria.”
I look at him.
He shrugs. “She makes Gunnar happy. She belongs here.”
I look down at my plate.
“So, being human doesn’t matter?”
“Not to us.”
He reaches for another potato.
“Still butcher deer in front of her?”
“Not indoors.”
I laugh. “Progress.”
“Gunnar thinks so.”
We finish eating, and when I start gathering the plates, Orson takes them from me.
“I’ll do it.”
“You don’t have to.”
“You cooked.”
I glance at the clock.
Almost nine.
“He’s been gone a while.”
“Yeah.”
Orson takes another beer from the fridge and heads outside. I follow him with the remains of mine.
He drops into one of the chairs on the porch, and I lean against the rail. From here, I can see the track until it disappears between the trees.
“You know where he went?”
“Yeah.”
“When’s he coming back?”
“Dunno.”
He takes a drink.
A few minutes later, my attention drifts back to the track.
“We’ll hear him before we see him.”
I glance over. “Hm?”
“The truck.” He nods towards the trees. “Even you with your human ears.”
Orson takes another drink, completely unconcerned.
By the time he finishes his beer, I’ve checked the time twice more.
He gets to his feet. “I’m off.”
“So early?”
“It’s nearly ten.”
I check my phone. He’s right.
Orson carries his empty bottle to the door, then looks back at me. “You coming?”
“I think I’ll stay up a little longer.”
“Don’t worry. He’s coming back.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Sure.”
He reaches for the door. “Can’t keep a bear away from his mate.”
The screen door bangs shut behind him.
I go very still.
His mate?
And then the pieces start falling into place.
The strange shock the first time Torin touched me. The same thing happening again when we shook hands.
A male knows immediately.
The way he reacted when I asked whether he kissed women he wasn’t serious about.
I only kiss my mate.
And then he tried to kiss me.
Oh.
I stare down at the bottle in my hands.
Orson hadn’t been teasing me. He’d said it casually, like it was something everybody knew.
Everybody except me.
Which means Torin knows.
So why hasn’t he told me?
I take another drink, but there’s barely anything left. Apparently, I’ve drained the bottle without noticing.
I set it on the porch rail and look towards the track again. Darkness has swallowed it completely now. Even when Torin does come back, I won’t see him until he’s almost at the lodge.
And I’m still standing here waiting for him.
What am I doing?
He’s a grown man. He doesn’t need me keeping watch for him from the porch.
I let myself back into the lodge and lock the door behind me.
The house has settled for the night. The dishwasher has fallen silent, and the only light left burns above the stove. I switch it off and make my way down the hallway.
I slow as I pass Torin’s room. At the door, I draw in a breath, wishing that, like a bear, I could pick up his scent through the closed door. That sexy, spicy, exciting smell of his.
I wish I knew what he smelled like to a bear.
I shake my head and keep walking.
In the bedroom, I change into my T-shirt, climb beneath the duvet and switch off the lamp.
Moonlight spills through the gap in the curtains, silvering the floorboards.
I roll onto my side and close my eyes.
Can’t keep a bear away from his mate.
I turn onto my back.
Then onto my other side.
Sleep never comes.
Eventually I throw back the duvet and pad barefoot across the room.
Outside, the mountains have dissolved into shadow. There’s still no sign of headlights through the trees.
I rest my forehead against the cool glass.
“Come home,” I whisper.