“Wait, snowmobile? Trade? What are you talking about, Tav would never—”
“Listen, I don’t know who Tav is, but I’ve got a car at the house he signed into my name and a snowmobile that needs replacing. Life on the mountain all winter is about impossible without access across that land bridge.”
“I feel like we have the wrong person.”
He shrugged. “Maybe the snowmobile broke down, was havin’ some issues with that belt the last few times I ran it.” His face turned tentative as he thought about it.
“Is he paying you to bring me food?”
“Of course he is, I wouldn't share my winter provisions otherwise.”
“How much?”
“Thousand dollars a box. Sundays only.”
My nerves quaked as the implications of the arrangement settled over me. “Do you have other people you deliver boxes to on the other days of the week?”
He narrowed his eyes, a quick shake of his head. “‘Course not.”
“Then...why do you address the boxes toThe Sunday Wife?”
He held up his big paw-like hands. “Listen, I’m just following orders. I’ve got no interest in your personal lives.”
More tears threatened as my heart rammed into my rib cage.
“He set me up with a postal box in town for payments, didn’t expect the love letters too, but I guess if I was away from my wife for weeks on end it might be a romantic gesture.”
“Love letters? A romantic gesture? You mean the notes that come with the boxes?”
His face bled with exasperation. “Not in my job description to ask questions. He sends cash, I’ll put whatever he wants in the boxes.”
“So...you’re my caretaker?” I finally asked.
“S’pose so.” He was walking again, quicker than before.
“Well, I don’t need one. Thanks for your help, but your services aren’t needed anymore.”
I heard his chuckle, but he didn’t bother turning to me. “Sure. How much food did you get at that fancy cabin, anyway?”
“Enough for at least a few months if I ration myself.”
“Last snow doesn’t leave until Fourth of July at this elevation. Rationing will get you starved up here. You have to be part of the ecosystem when you're on the mountain.” He shoved a hand in his pocket, snapping off a piece of jerky and chewing before throwing it my way. “Welcome to Deception Gorge, it’s kill or be killed, sweetheart.”
Twenty-Seven
Tav was here.
That was my first thought as I came upon the small trapper’s cabin.
Our car, the small utility vehicle we’d climbed up the mountain in, now sat in the backyard of the trapper’s cabin.
“Did he give you a title or anything?” I asked.
The man stopped at his front door. “Sure did.”
He disappeared inside the small cabin and my mind whirled. What would that title say? And had Tav really been so desperate to survive that he’d been willing to sign over our car? Or had he done it to save my life? As part of the payment for my caretaking? Did this make Tav my savior or captor?And where was the gun?
A headache pressed at the base of my skull. I tossed my ski poles into the snow and worked my neck muscles back and forth with one palm.
