“The law doesn’t know what you did to me.”
“No,” I agree. “It doesn’t. But even if it did, it wouldn’t change anything.”
The moment stretches between us, taut and dangerous. Then she turns and walks away toward the next section of fence.
I watch her, the way she moves through the landscape like she’s always belonged here. Like the land recognizes something in her that I’m only beginning to understand. We work through the morning, stopping only when the sun’s directly overhead, and hunger becomes impossible to ignore. I pull out the sandwiches I made before we left from the toolbox, nothing fancy, just bread and meat.
We sit and eat on sun-warmed rocks, even as snow is piled up around them, with the valley spread out below us like a promise.
“Can I ask you something?” Saint’s voice breaks the comfortable silence.
“Depends on the question.”
“Why did you kiss me back? That night. In your truck.”
I force myself to swallow, mainly to buy myself some time. “I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. For just a second, before you stopped. I felt it.”
She’s right. I did. And I’ve regretted it every day since, not because I kissed her, but because I didn’t kiss her properly. Didn’t take what I wanted when she offered it freely, before everything turned dark and twisted.
“It was a mistake.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only answer you’re getting out of me.”
She studies me, those dark eyes searching for cracks in my armor. Then she nods slowly, like she’s figured something out. “You wanted me then. You want me now. That’s what this is really about, isn’t it? You took me because you could. Because Roman gave you the excuse you needed.”
“Don’t do that,” I warn. “Don’t try to make this into some fucked-up love story. I took you to keep you alive, period.”
“And the rest of it? The way you look at me? The things you did to me in the cabin?”
Heat floods my face. “That’s different.”
“How?”
“Because it is.” I stand and pack up the tools. “We’re done here. Let’s go.”
Saint doesn’t move, though. She sits there on the rock like a saint in a medieval painting, haloed by mountain light, utterly unmoved by my anger.
“You’re a coward, Calder Bishop.”
The words hit like a fist to the gut. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You talk about survival, about doing what’s necessary. But you won’t even admit the truth to yourself.” She stands, faces me square. “You didn’t just take me to save me. You took me because you wanted to. And now you don’t know what to do with me.”
“Watch yourself,” I say quietly. “You’re forgetting who you’re talking to.”
“No. You’re wrong. I’m finally remembering.” She moves closer, close enough I can smell the soap on her skin. “You’re not Roman. You’re not your brothers. You’re just a man who’s been playing a part for so long he forgot who he really is underneath.”
“And who’s that?”
“I don’t know yet, but I’m going to find out.”
Before I can respond, before I can process the challenge in her voice, she turns and starts walking back along the fence line. Not toward the cabin.
Just walking, like she needs the distance.
