Page 11 of Seeking Shelter

“Look, Angel—”

“Evangeline.”

I close my eyes, breathe, and when I open them again, she’s got her arms crossed over her chest. Never a good sign.

“Right,” I grumble. “I need to look around. I’ll come back after I verify it’s safe. Stay here.”

I don’t wait for a reply.

Outside, icy air fills my lungs and helps clear my head. Yesterday’s kiss gave me hope that maybe we could have a reset. Now I’ll be lucky if she ever says my name again. I don’t have a damn clue how to make things better with Angel. For now, I need to focus on keeping us both safe and getting out of here. Then I’ll figure it out.

Carrying the rifle, I keep to the shadows under the porch. Maybe I’m deluding myself, but the clouds look like they’ve lifted a bit and daylight is lightening the darkness to morning gray.

I examine the fresh powder for prints but find only rabbit tracks. In the clearing, a trio of deer dig through snow to get to the grass. That they’re unbothered gives me confidence that no one’s lurking within the tree line.

In the corral, the horses toss their heads. They’d prefer to be in their stalls at the ranch but are doing well enough. I give them hay and grain and return to the cabin.

Escorting Angel to the outhouse, I ignore her rolling her eyes. I search the shadows of the trees for anything that looks out of place. There’s nothing and it makes me antsy. Abel and Denny have too much on the line to simply walk away.

Back at the cabin, I bring in an armful of logs and Angel stacks a couple in the wood burner.

I grab the water jug. “I’ll get water for us and the horses. Then we need to work out a plan.”

She’s rummaging through a bin and doesn’t look at me. “Yes, we do. I’ll give it some thought.”

I bring back the water, add the purification tablets, then head out again to fill the pails for the horses. When I return, Spam sizzles in a pan, adding to the aroma of something baking. “How can I help?”

“We need plates and utensils, and you can open this.” She sets a can and an opener on the table with a thunk. Sliced peaches in syrup. Will peaches always make me think of her?

Using a folded dish towel, she takes a cast-iron pan from the oven and sets it on the table. Pulling off the foil reveals golden brown biscuits. My mouth waters.

“How’d you make biscuits? They look great.”

She gives me a small smile. It feels like a beam of sunshine.

“There was a container of Bisquick. I had to use water instead of milk, so we’ll see how they taste.”

Feeling lighter, I pour us both coffee. My parents are all about whole foods so as a kid I ate a lot of nuts and berries. My heart probably benefited, but right now highly processed meat, biscuits from a mix, and canned peaches look damned good. Suddenly, I’m ravenous.

I take my plate and coffee to eat standing to the side of the window, keeping watch. Angel joins me to lean against the wall opposite of me, her gaze fixed outside the window.

Swallowing coffee, I glance at her. “I wasn’t rejecting you,” I say quietly.

“Right.”

She finishes her breakfast and moves to the table, where she sets about making the leftovers into biscuit and Spam sandwiches that she wraps in foil. She puts water to heat on the stove.

I move to stand in front of her. “Look at me.”

I wait her out. When she finally meets my gaze, the hurt behind her carefully blank features is plain.

“I want more with you, but not with Abel and Denny out there. And I need to talk with your brothers.”

Shit. Her face turns to thunder.

Wrong. Thing. To say.

CHAPTER SEVEN