He works fast and neat. Hands don't shake. Hands don't linger either, but when his fingers graze along my jaw to check the edge of a bruise, I feel it down through my ribs into places that have no business waking up when I've just escaped a man with a rifle.
He finishes the bandage. Doesn't move back right away.
I'm close enough to see the flecks of lighter brown in his eyes. A thin scar along the left side of his jaw. The way his throat works when he swallows.
"Hawk."
"Yeah."
"Thank you."
"You already said it."
"I meant it more this time."
He studies me. Something moves behind his expression that I can't read. His hand is still cupped at the back of my neck. His thumb drifts once along the line of my jaw, barely.
Then he pulls back. Sits up straight. Becomes a ranger again.
"I called Sheriff Parker. He's running your name, running Crestview, running that claim. Nobody's coming up this road without my say. You're safe here, Delilah."
My name in his voice does something to my pulse that has nothing to do with the concussion.
"I believe you."
He stands. Crosses to the woodstove. Adds a log. Stays there with his back to me longer than he needs to.
Ghost puts his head on my good foot.
I close my eyes.
And the first real breath I've taken in seventy-two hours goes all the way in.
3
GARRETT
Three days in and I've got a problem.
The problem is sleeping on my couch with her braid undone across the pillow and one bare foot stuck out from under the quilt because she runs hot. The problem has a laugh like someone who hasn't used it in a while and is surprised to find it still works. The problem asked me this morning if I always stare at people when I'm thinking or if it was a her-specific policy.
I told her it was a her-specific policy.
She'd gone pink at the edges of her ears and ducked behind her coffee.
I'd walked outside and split wood for forty minutes I didn't need to split.
Now it's past dinner and I'm at the kitchen counter cleaning my rifle because my hands need something to do, and Delilah is in the armchair by the fire with her ankle propped on an ottoman, notebook open in her lap, pen between her teeth.
She pulls the pen out. "Can I ask you something that's not about rocks."
"Go."
"How long have you lived up here?"
"Alone in this cabin? About four years. Station job started six years ago."
"Before that?"
