“When he doesn’t come back, they’ll probably send another scouting party, but it will be a group of two to four this time.”
He throat bobbed as she wrapped her arms around herself. “So, they won’t be coming for me yet?”
My jaw tensed. “It’s a possibility, but not likely. They’ll want to confirm your location before coming all the way out here, especially in this storm.”
She nodded, her eyes filled with unease.
The storm filled the silence between us — wind howling, walls groaning. She didn’t look away. Neither did I. I should’ve walked off, cleaned the rifle, started keeping watch.
But I didn’t. Not right away.
Because for the first time since we got came up here, I realized something I hadn’t wanted to admit: I wasn’t just guarding her because I was being paid to.
I was guarding her because losing her wasn’t an option I could live with anymore.
I woke to silence.
But not the peaceful kind; the kind that meant the storm burned itself out temporarily but left the world buried. The power had been going in and out, but the generators were doing their job, keeping the lights on and the cabin warm for the most part.
The fire had burned low overnight, the last embers glowing a faint red. I added a log, listening to the hiss and pop as it caught. Now that morning had come, I was content that no one else had been with the first scout. And if they sent another, it wouldn’t be for another day or so, once they were sure the first scout wasn’t coming back, so I relaxed a little.
But not much.
“Have you slept at all?” Gianina asked, drawing my attention from the window to her. She was standing in the doorway to herroom, wearing her flannel pink pajamas she’d bought on the way here.
“I’ll sleep when this is over,” I replied gruffly.
She snorted as she went to the kitchen and started the coffee machine. She only drank the iced shit so I knew she was making the hot stuff for me.
A small smile curved my lips at the gesture.
“Any sign of more?” she asked as she grabbed her iced coffee and my creamer out of the fridge.
“No,” I answered flatly.
“You think they’ll come back?”
“Yes.” I watched her as she made my cup just how I liked it. She must have been watching me every time I made coffee over the last week. The warm feeling in my stomach intensified at her thoughtfulness.
She brought the steaming mug over to me, and I didn’t miss how her hands trembled when she handed it to me. “When?”
I shrugged as I took a sip. “Two days; maybe more if the storm ramps up again.”
She nodded, exhaling a breath. “Okay.”
A grin tugged at the corner of my lips. She was stronger than she let on; no breakdown, no wallowing, just simple acceptance of our situation.
It made me like her even more.
After breakfast, I was restless. I hated waiting. Waiting got people killed.
To keep from thinking too much, I fixed what I could: checked the doors and windows again, swept the snow that had blown in under the door, patched a draft near the window with duct tape and a torn flannel.
Gianina sat at the table with her sketchbook, watching me move around like a caged animal. “You always this restless?” she asked.
“Only when I’m stuck.”
She chuckled. “That makes two of us.”
