“We’re close to the road now. They’re going to plow eventually.”
“And how do we get to the road?”
She sagged. “Slog through the snow? What are you going to do?”
“Make snowshoes.”
She laughed.
“Why is that funny?”
“I don’t know, I thought you were joking.”
“How would that be a joke?” he asked as he got up and grabbed a knife from the kitchen. She felt a fresh spurt of fear and rolled her eyes at herself. He literally came with four knives on all of his paws if he wanted to hurt her.
He sat on the ground near the door and began to carve through the branches. As he carved, the scent of pine filled the air, making the room smell like a spice cabinet in a pine forest. She couldn’t imagine what he could smell with his superior nose.
She looked around and thought of the dried stores.
“I could get started on lunch.” It would take that long for unsoaked beans to cook. She turned toward the kitchen.
As she measured out beans and grains, she couldn’t help marveling at how deceptively domestic it felt, with him whittling away in one corner and her cooking in the other. It wasn’t that she wanted to spend her life like this; if they relied on him to survive, they’d be eating bark. But it was nice, for a day.
Just for a day.
7
Mateo crafted four round disks out of extra clothes and tree branches. At first, he tried to make them in the same square style as hers, until she reminded him that nature doesn’t really do squares. The challenge of designing something that would be strong enough to hold his weight, large enough to diffuse it so he didn’t sink into the snow, and light enough to walk for a long distance was refreshing. It made his brain itch.
He solved a thousand puzzles a day. That was what the CEO job should really be called: puzzle solver. Something went wrong, and somebody had to decide what to do about it. But it was always other people’s problems: mostly screw-ups, cash flow, or competition. There was something clean about pitting his strength against gravity.
They’d eaten rice and slightly crunchy beans for lunch, and then she’d immediately started on dinner. He suspected it was as much to give herself something to do as to make sure they were fed. He went back to his snowshoes, also spending more time on them than required.
She stopped every so often to poke the fire or throw on another log. He couldn’t help thinking he was witnessing something primal, watching her make food from nothing. He reminded himself that half his engineers were women, and this one could also survive in a blizzard, which apparently, he couldn’t, but he couldn’t shake his pleasure at the thought of her meal.
Between the smoke and the food, her scent faded, but never completely. He still couldn’t get over how delicious she smelled or why his wolf was so drawn to a witch. He had never heard of such a thing. Normally, the beast ignored human women. It was barely interested in shifters, which was part of the problem. Now he couldn’t turn his back on her for any length of time without the wolf poking at him and wanting to know she was safe.
Who are you?he wanted to ask her. Or more accurately,Who are you to me?But it was an unaskable question.
“Hey, look,” she said, leaning out the window.
It was only four, but it looked like the sun had set. There had been no sunset, not with the clouds in the sky; the light just leaked out of the world.
She opened the door and went out on the deck to look up. He followed her. The clouds were clearing, and there was a patch of brilliant stars above them.
It was bone-achingly cold. He knew it was probably just the contrast. He’d been wonderfully warm for twenty-four hours, but he couldn’t believe the temperature. His lungs hurt.
She shuddered and pushed him back inside and shut the door, wedging the box against it again.
“That is why we didn’t try to walk home today.” She rubbed her arms, and he stepped closer.
“Here, let me.” He rubbed her arms from her elbows to her shoulders vigorously. She stood quietly as his hand slowed, and they gazed at each other.
“Dinner is probably ready,” she said.
“Right.” He stepped back, and she went to pour the oatmeal into a bowl. They sat on the bed to eat.
“I suppose ground meat was too much to hope for,” he said and met her arched gaze. “This is delicious, thank you.”
