So. They were back to the grunting and silence. “You’re not big on communication, are you?” she asked, her eyelids growing heavy as she looked over her shoulder at the kitchen.
“No.” He removed food from the fridge and started a skillet. “You a vegetarian or vegan or anything?”
“No.” She rested her cheek on the back of the sofa and watched him.
He cooked quickly and efficiently, and soon the log home filled with the scent of scrambled eggs and maple bacon. “Do you need to call anybody to tell them you’re safe and waiting the storm out here?” He asked the question as he brought her a plate laden with delicious-smelling food.
She shook her head and accepted breakfast, her mouth already watering.
“Why not?” He moved back to the kitchen and returned with a mug of steaming hot coffee. “No sugar or cream. Sorry.”
She took the warm drink and sipped delicately. Delicious. “Thanks. I texted my mom while you were cooking.”
He sat in the adjacent leather chair with his plate and dug in.
They ate in silence for a while, and Laurel surreptitiously studied her surroundings. The home had that bachelor feeling. A flatscreen sat above the fireplace mantel, and older pictures of people had been placed carefully on the wall by the door. “Is this your family home? I mean, did you grow up here?” She turned to the one picture on the table near the sofa.
Huck’s grunt held a tone of affirmation.
She took the picture, which showed a sizable man with Huck’s bone structure next to a petite pregnant woman, the two of them standing beneath a snowy tree. She wore a gray crocheted cap over her blond hair and fluffy pink mittens on her hands. A gray dog sat between them. “Your parents?”
“Yes.” He set his empty plate on the sofa table and kicked back with his coffee.
“Are they still—”
“No.” He took a deep drink. “My dad died ten years ago from prostate cancer when I was in the marines and far from home. Didn’t even tell me he was sick.” He rolled his neck. “Hell. Probably didn’t even know or go to the doctor. Dad was stubborn.”
That was difficult to imagine. Laurel hid her smile. “What about your mom? She was beautiful, by the way.”
Huck shrugged. “Don’t know. She didn’t want a kid but agreed to have me when they discovered she was pregnant. She gave birth and was gone the next week.” He sounded like he didn’t much care.
Laurel lost her smile. “I’m sorry.”
“Nothing for you to be sorry about.” He tipped his head back and finished his coffee, his expression blank.
For some reason, she wanted to ease him. “What about the dog in the picture? He’s a cutie.”
“Never met him. The old guy died about a month before I was born.” Huck set his empty mug next to his plate. “My dad loved dogs. Huckleberry was his companion for fifteen years before I came along. We’ve always had dogs.”
“Huckleberry?” she asked, surprise tickling through her.
His expression was one of exasperation, not amusement. “Yes. I was named after the family dog. Dad loved that dog and figured he’d at least like me, so he named me Huck. Just Huck. No berry on the end of the name. Huck Delta Rivers.”
Her chin dropped. “Delta? Did he know you’d be a soldier?”
“No. My mother’s name was Delta, and he figured I should have something of hers.” Again, Huck sounded almost bored. Apparently a coping mechanism. “I always meant to change my middle name but didn’t get around to it.”
That was a landmine she didn’t have the energy to tiptoe through. “Oh.”
He was quiet for a few moments as if fighting an internal battle. Finally, he spoke. “What about you? Big family?”
Ah, so he’d decided on manners. Laurel yawned. “No. Just my mom and me, basically. But I do have two uncles and an aunt who also live on the family farm, which includes several hundred acres, so the houses are far apart, anyway.” It had been too long since she’d been home.
Huck studied her with those world-weary eyes. “No dad?”
“No dad,” she confirmed. They seemed to have the lack of a parent in common. “After my mother’s parents died when she was sixteen, she went a little wild and headed to Seattle to live wherever she could. I believe she partied and tried several street drugs. When she became pregnant, she returned home and gave birth to me at seventeen.” It was illogical to miss something one had never had. “She doesn’t know who my father was, and I’ve accepted that.” But sometimes, she still wondered. Was the heterochromia of her irises genetic? It was possible. Her red hair color, caused by a recessive gene, came from both of her parents.
Huck grunted and turned to look at the billowing storm outside. “I’ll take you to your mom’s when the weather subsides.”
