Page 3 of The Mountain Man's Retribution
“Were you hiking? Got lost?”
Nothing.
What else do I say? No conversationalist, I grunt, “Time for breakfast, chores.”
She nods, the exchange silent apart from the trembling of her breath.
I saunter inside, working quickly to fill two plates with food. I pile thick, rustic slices of homemade bread with raisins and walnuts, cubes of cured ham, slices of homemade dry salami, a few hearty slices of thick, white cheese, and two dark amber dollops of honey. Everything is handmade and locally sourced.
I fill two Mason jars with apple cider from last fall’s harvest. A little alcohol might take the edge off and help the woman quit trembling. Stacking the plates one atop the other and wrapping my other arm around the two Mason jars, I stride outside, setting everything on the forest floor where I plan to eat.
To my relief, the woman remains pressed in the log, not trying to make a run for it. I can’t help her if she disappears. She trembles like a brittle fall leaf as I draw closer with one plate and jar.
“Easy, girl,” I say in low, comforting tones. “Just food, drink. Brunch.”
I set the plate and jar down in grabbing distance of her hiding spot, hearing the terror in her fast-paced breaths. Then, I back up to the place where I left my plate, sitting cross-legged on the ground and diving into my breakfast.Why in the hell did I give her cider?I think about halfway through my meal. Calling across the space between us, I ask, “Coffee?”
She rounds her eyes, glaring at me, though her face relaxes ever so slightly. Like the earlier head nod, the action warms my heart, filling me with a gladness that sweeps my whole body. Our first communications.
Finishing my meal, I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth, berating myself for the speed of my consumption. I know better, though years as an Army Ranger ensured I can chow down quickly with the best of them. But this woman seems dainty, fragile, and I imagine she’s used to manners. Her eyes earnestly study me, her cheeks flushing as her dainty hand snatches a small cube of pink ham, sliding it between her lips.
She moans, satisfaction throbbing through her voice as her fingers go more rapidly to the rest of the plate, growing greedy as she grabs slices of bread, pieces of cheese, stuffing her mouth so rapidly I fear she’ll choke.
“Slow down,” I growl.
She freezes, face fracturing. “I’m sorry. Please don’t punish me.”
Her words floor the fuck out of me. To the point that I can’t believe I heard her right. “What’d you say?”
“Please don’t punish me. I’ll learn your rules. I promise,” she murmurs almost inaudibly, terror shaking her voice.
Good Lord, I’m frozen in my spot, brows furrowing, trying to understand what she means. The fire and the girl. The thought slams into me. They must have some connection to each other.
I rest my mouth on my hand in deep thought. If she came from the backwoods where the deep, dark secrets hide, there’s no telling what she’s been through.
“No punishments,” I answer roughly, watching her face relax. “One rule. Don’t run away.” I feel like a creep even uttering this. But if she runs, it could be into far worse danger than she may have already faced, whether animal, natural, or human.
The corners of her mouth turn up, and she nods.
“More food? Cider? Coffee?”
“Brunch.” She snickers, shaking her head and eyeing my face curiously. “Some of the words you use …”
Chapter Three
FAWN
After the plate of food and the cider, my heart soars. The towering giant must be a good man. The promise of no rules save one fills my heart with hope.
But when he finds out I’ve wet myself, will he change his mind? Beat me? Big Man would. If he survived the fire.
“More to eat or drink?” he asks in a booming voice.
“No, thank you.” Heart racing, I wonder how trusted this man can be. His eyes hold the kindness and reservation of Mr. Darcy, his choppy speech the grumpy concern of Mr. Rochester.
All I know with any certainty, though, is that I can never go back up the mountain to Big Man, Malaketh, and Kael. Yet, I am not ready to head into town. Last night’s adventure has shown me that, pushing me well past the edge of comfort. Perhaps this man’s home could represent a halfway point between my past and future?
With this new thought invading my mind, I resolve to never let him know that I’ve wet myself. My pants must dry before I come out of the log, and I have to take tentative steps towards acquainting myself with this man.
