I frown, turning my full attention to her. “I mean your...” I point to the spot where she’s wounded.
She turns frazzled, wrapping her arms around herself as she avoids eye contact and focuses forward.
“Like I said, fine.” Her tone brightens, but there’s something slightly off about it. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna cry about it.”
Clearly.
We walk in silence the rest of the way there. Mainly out of necessity, since the storm thickens. Water bashes us with the help of the intensifying wind, filling our mouths with water every time we try to speak, but I don’t miss the stolen glances, just as she doesn’t miss mine.
I wish I could find out what’s going through her head. If I ask, she’ll probably just glare at me, but I have so many questions. About her. What she stole tonight. What her father did with it. If this is a regular occurrence. What she does for a living. Why she fucked with me. And so much more.
All those questions will have to wait.
“There!” she screeches. She leaps toward the cabin, which appears in a clearing barely bigger than it.
It’s a small wooden building, slightly crooked, with only one window on this side next to its old, slanted door. The glass is still there, though, and that’s a good sign for now.
“Scarlet! Stop!” My sharp, guttural shout cuts through the heavy downpour as I rush toward her, managing to block her way into the cabin. “Stay here.”
“What? Why?” she asks, frowning. She recoils slightly as my stern gaze lands on hers.
“I’ll check it out first.”
Cocking an eyebrow, she considers my words, then nods, stepping back. I turn around and press the wooden door’s rusty, heavy handle. After turning on the light on my phone, I aim it inside.
The space is tight. Really tight. A basic kitchenette covers half the left wall, with a large storage chest filling the rest. As I step inside, I spot a wood-burning stove tucked behind the door, wood stacked high in the corner, and across from it, a small bed squeezed into the farthest nook.
Oneridiculously small bed.
“Oh shit . . .” I mutter under my breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing. It’s all clear,” I announce, making room for her as I walk further into the vacant space.
“Damn, when do you think someone came here last?” She swipes her finger over the kitchen counter.
“Hard to say. Dust settles fast in a place like this.”
Especially when the narrow cracks between the wall boards let the wind howl through. There aren’t many, but the leaking roof near the wooden chest doesn’t help. A puddle is already forming on the floor.
Scarlet stops before the blanket-covered wooden bed, the moments she takes to stare at it stretching uncomfortably. Her shoulders tense, mirroring my own uneasiness—we’ll have to share.
I’m bracing for a flurry of complaints—demands too—yet the woman startles me as she claps her hands together and turns on her heels with a spring in her step.
“Right, please pick up that bucket and come with me.” As she walks past me, she points to the old tin vessel tucked away beside the kitchenette, then disappears out the front door. “Chop, chop, killer-boy!” she calls out, impatient.
Tension builds in my temples. This damn woman raises my blood pressure so much that I might end up in the hospital before the night ends. Yet, intrigue takes over, and for once, I do as I’m told.
“Right, let’s see...” she mutters to herself as she bounces around me in the rain, attention focused on my clothes.
She takes the bucket from my hands, places it in the corner where the water drains off the roof, then hurries back to me. I flinch when she touches my back, brushing her delicate hands over my muscles as I frown, confused. But I tense further when they’re on my ass.
Is she wiping me?
She sighs, the sound sharp, and mutters something I can’t distinguish.
In the next second, she pops up before disappearing again, bouncing around me as she studies me. I’m too mesmerized to question her, realizing she’s trying to remove the mud from my clothes with quick and unsteady movements. But I’m more caught up in her slightly unhinged perkiness and the unexpected care she’s showing.
