The forest she’d known as a girl underlaid the matured trees and grasses of the present like an artist’s sketch visible through water paints. Grouse startled from the underbrush up ahead. The babbling of the creek to her right grew louder.
The forest was alive, and that life pricked her skin, lightened her flight, tore away at the caution and bitterness that held her in its grasp.
How many times had she run her fingers across that great boulder’s surface? Climbed that fallen log up into the neighboring tree? Counted the rings on that stump?
When Anna thought of home, it was never the small apartments above her father’s shop in London or her aunt’s house in Widmore. It was this forest, with the wind whistling through the trees, with... Jack.
She cocked her head, listening for his bearish pursuit. He’d accused her many times of having a secret route to the creek. There was no secret. Only his flawed thinking. Jackson played the game, racing at top speed through the brush and making a racket so loud, a child could locate him.
Sheplayed her opponent. Following his approach, throwing rocks to make him believe she was farther back. He always turned back, always was more interested in catching her off guard than winning the race.
Listening again, she concluded there was no sound of footfalls ahead or behind.
He learned to quiet his steps.
But not his tracks.
Anna smiled, excitement bubbling in her blood. The creek was visible through the trees up ahead; a quick dash and she’d be there.
But if he wasn’t making a beeline to the creek, that meant he thought to take on the role of hunter.
Foolish man.
Anna could hardly resist the challenge.
She made quick work building a rudimentary teepee of sticks, placing a large rock precariously over the top. Another combination of carefully placed sticks would set the whole structure toppling with the right pressure.
Finished, she grabbed a palm-sized rock and threw the stone into the canopy of trees some feet away before scrambling into a heavy thicket. Bits of broken sticks and sharp branches scraped at her exposed arms, but Anna ignored the pain and hid herself the best she could, knowing her white dress would be easily seen.
That was the right decision because not ten seconds later, Jackson crept into view, his steps light and his gaze sweeping the underbrush... instead of observing the trap at his feet.
Three steps away.
Anna extricated herself from the brush.
Two.
She circled around from behind.
One.
He kicked the sticks, and the rockthumpedto the ground.
As he whirled at the sudden sound, she sprang and pushed him to the side. She ran full tilt toward the creek.
Cursing echoed out behind her, and the heaviness of boots and a bigger frame came crashing through the trees and closing the distance.
Ten feet between her and victory.
Five.
Two.
Fingers brushed her arm as she jumped the last foot and landed in a crouch on the creek bank.
Jackson appeared a second later, his shirt’s sleeve ripped at the shoulder, his hair in mangled disarray. His breathing was ragged, his gaze wild.
She smiled. “I win again, Duke.”
