Page 6 of The Mountain Man's Retribution
“So I am no longer a stranger?” she asks, letting me know our minds are on the same wavelength.
“No stranger. Good company, pleasant conversation.”
Her cheeks glow, and she smiles from ear to ear. “Really? You find my conversation pleasing?”
Honestly, I find every fucking thing pleasing about you but the piss smell.I bite my tongue, jealous to guard the trust I’ve gained with her. “Yes.”
She beams, catching me out of the corner of her eye again and again. It makes tiny sparks sizzle up and down my body. I don’t know why. But I like it.
Holding pretty purple berries against her pink fingertips, she says, “These are elderberries. A real treasure for us up here. They’re good for a cold or fever, although you need to take care because they can induce fever, too. They stimulate your immune system.”
“Doctor Fawn?” I ask, crossing my arms and smiling at her.
She laughs, blushing and looking down.
I generally hate the company of other people. They weird me the fuck out with their superficial desires and gossip, always following trends, never thinking deeply. But this woman feels downright old-fashioned, as though she’s traveled through time. I eye her again, cheeks warming and savoring her natural radiance.
“You keep looking at me,” she observes. “Why?”
“You’re beautiful.” Her eyes widen, bottom lip trembling. I sense I’ve stepped on a landmine. “No worries. I would never hurt you.”
She looks down at the basket I brought for herb-collecting, her cheeks glowing. “I don’t know if your words should worry me. They seem nice, though. Like a compliment.”
“The truth.”
Her head drops again, her face burning.
You’re not like other girls.I long to say this, knowing this statement is accurate on so many levels. But I don’t want tomake her feel self-conscious or overstep any boundaries. Lord knows what it’ll take to get her to trust me enough to take a shower and exchange her filthy clothes for something that smells decent.
“You’re not like other men,” she says, stealing the words from my brain.
“Why not?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest and clenching my jaw.
“Other men want to use women for their personal pleasures and to make babies.”
Her words stun me into silence, and I can only imagine what she’s endured. I feel bad suddenly for making her help me with the herbs. I don’t want her to think I’m using her. But I also don’t know how else to draw her out, get her to trust me enough to climb into my truck and head into town to figure out what’s going on with her. This remains the ideal outcome under the circumstances.
“Am I using you now?” I ask, motioning towards the herbs, and sensing I can’t take anything for granted with this woman.
“Oh, my no,” she laughs. “I mean using like, you know …” Her cheeks darken, and she looks away. Her hands tremble, and I hope I haven’t triggered something unpleasant. Fisting my hands at my sides, I make an internal promise to destroy anybody who hurt this lovely woman.
“Why are you balling your hands like that?” she gasps, stepping back and inhaling sharply. She reminds me of an abused dog that crouches when someone tries to pet it.
Through clenched teeth, I say in the gentlest tone that I can muster, “Someone hurt you. Now, I must hurt them. Make them regret it.”
Her eyes dart to mine, fear and intrigue swirling in them. “So, you want to protect me, then? Keep others from hurting me?” Her doe eyes round, her breath catching in her throat.“Like Rochester might have protected Jane from her cruel aunt, if only she had confided in him sooner?”
My head swims for a moment as I recall the storyline. “Yes, precisely like that. As well as how Rochester might have protected Jane from the headmaster at Lowood had he known of her existence sooner.”
She eyes me gravely. “You would change the whole course of my life if you could?”
“Yes. But barring that, I’ll keep you safe now. Hurt those who’ve hurt you.”
Fawn laughs, a thin, wispy laugh, like the fuzz from springtime cottonwood trees blowing in the breeze. It’s the last thing I expect from her. “I cannot express to you how different my life was twenty-four hours ago. The change is unbelievable, almost comical.”
I nod. “Take your time adjusting.” This is the most I’ve spoken in years. At least since Flint’s death. My voice and mouth feel exhausted.
She grins. “We are friends, then?”
