“I don’t know. Nothing. I’m just too much in my head.”
He moved back and flipped up the edge of his bedroll. “Come here.”
“I don’t—”
“Just do it.”
She gave in, too tired to argue, too lonely in her thoughts. She slipped out of her bedroll, crawled over to his, and tucked herself inside. Both were fully clothed, but she could still feel the furnace of his body as she settled against him. His arms pulled her deeper into that heat.
She remembered the last time they had shared a bed.
No doubt he did, too.
It kept them silent for several breaths.
She closed her eyes and rested her cheek in the crook of his shoulder. He leaned his chin near the nape of her neck, his stubble rough but reassuring.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, his voice just an exhalation.
“No . . . not yet.”
She feared if she spoke her concerns aloud, gave them too much weight, it would slip away from her. She simply needed the problem to steep inside her, to brew into something more substantial. By now, she knew she could not force it. It would have to come on its own.
Still, the pressure of time weighed on her. Anxiety kept her taut. Perhaps sensing this, Duncan spooned closer, cocooning her with his body. She let herself fall into his embrace, relaxing into it. He hardened in turn, but she felt no demand in his bodily response, only support, a silent promise that his steel was hers if she needed it.
Recognizing this, the tension sighed out her.
She began to drift off—when another sharp crackle of wood drew her attention. Through lids barely open, she watched Russo toss another branch into the flames, retrieving it from the pile she had gathered earlier, the refuse left over from prior trespassers.
Sharyn stared at the stack next to the fire.
All that wood . . .
Her breath caught in her throat, as something suddenly struck her.
Could that be it . . . the missing piece?
Duncan must have felt the shift inside her. “Sharyn...”
“Not yet,” she whispered, repeating herself.
She still wanted to sleep on it, too exhausted to fully trust herself with this idea.
“In the morning . . .” she promised.
She knew she didn’t have the complete answer, just a possibility. Still, it was enough for now, enough for her to relax more fully. The strong arms around her and the warm musk of Duncan’s scent helped, too. As she snuggled deeper into his embrace, she felt his heartbeat as if it were her own.
“What about the morning?” Duncan mumbled back at her.
As her lids drowsed closed, she noted another set of eyes glowing out of the shadows and answered Duncan.
“Not sure... but I may need to borrow Russo’s cat.”
Sixth
50
November 4, 7:03 a.m. CET
