Under the Northern Lights Page 18

  Just a few short months ago, I’d been heartbroken over how far away spring had seemed. I’d been hurt, stranded, and forced to live with a stranger. I’d been scared for my life and missing my family. But now . . . now, I was kind of at peace here, and Michael was the reason for that.

  He’d taken me in, taken care of me, made me feel safe and secure. And loved. We never spoke about our feelings, but every time we kissed, every time we locked eyes, every time we pulled back when things became too heated, we were silently screaming our affection for each other. It was torture, but as much as it hurt, I wasn’t ready for it to end.

  I felt gloomy and despondent as I trudged back to the cabin with my two buckets of water. Setting them down, I checked that the latch on the door was still securely locked before I unhooked it and stepped inside; I didn’t want to run into any more unexpected visitors. After depositing the water in the corner, I decided to follow the trapline and go find Michael; I suddenly felt the need to be with him as much as possible.

  The trail was easy to find. It hadn’t snowed in a while, and Michael’s daily path to work was stomped flat. The mounds of snow around the line were smaller than before; the warmer days were quickly melting them into sodden, soggy heaps. I could even hear water droplets falling from the branches of the tall trees surrounding me, could see the myriad holes in the snow where melted flakes had struck like wet meteorites. Everywhere I turned, I saw signs of winter’s demise. It further dampened my mood.

  As I trudged along the trail, I came across something that stopped me in my tracks. There was a paw print in the snow just to my right. By its direction, the creature it belonged to was crossing the trail, heading back toward the cabin, and it was huge—grizzly bear huge. Were they already emerging from hibernation? I thought we’d have more time before we had to worry about them again. I felt over my shoulder for my rifle, but it wasn’t there. I’d set it down in the cabin when I’d dropped off the water. I’d been so focused on getting to Michael that I’d forgotten to pick it back up. That was a huge mistake, one that could cost me my life out here. Going back to get my gun was just as risky as going forward to find Michael—riskier, actually, since that was the direction the bear had headed. I’d just have to continue forward and hope that the bear hadn’t circled back to this location.

  I was on high alert as I moved up the trail. While I walked, I noticed more tracks, smaller ones, belonging to animals that didn’t terrify me. Ignoring them, I swept the trail for signs of creatures higher up on the food chain.

  When I finally spotted Michael, I breathed a sigh of relief. He swung around, gun raised when he heard me approaching. Apparently, he was on high alert too; he must have noticed the paw prints. Seeing a gun being pointed at my chest made me involuntarily raise my hands. “It’s just me,” I quickly told him.

  He lowered the weapon, but his eyes never stopped scanning the defrosting landscape. “I didn’t know you were coming out today,” he told me, a small smile breaking his hard demeanor; he was happy to see me.

  I resisted the urge to tell him I’d rushed out here because I’d missed him and instead gave him a nonchalant shrug. “I changed my mind. I take it you saw the grizzly tracks?”

  At the mention of the tracks, a look of pride and admiration crossed Michael’s face. It was quickly replaced with concern. “Yeah, I spotted a couple of sets. They’re out early this year, which means they’re probably hungry. We need to be extra careful.”

  Fear shot up my spine, and I stepped closer to Michael. I knew how I got when I was superhungry; I could only imagine how cranky a hungry bear would be. “Should we go back?” I asked him, watching the trees now too.

  Michael pursed his lips as he thought, and for a moment, I was so distracted by him I forgot all about the bear. He’d let me cut his hair and his beard a few times now, keeping it short and neat and oh-so-sexy. I hadn’t cut it again while he’d been bathing, though—that had been too tempting for both of us; dreams of that night often woke me up panting and clutching at my blankets. Since that night, I always cut his hair while he was fully dressed and sitting at the kitchen table. While I looked forward to every time he let me take a pair of scissors to him, I couldn’t deny that I preferred the nude version . . .

  “Yeah, we should go in. All the traps were empty anyway.” He indicated the bare basket on his back, and putting my inappropriate fantasy away, I frowned. Michael needed the money he earned from furs, and while he had a decent stack of them back at the cabin, I wouldn’t say it was enough to cover the commodities I’d used or the damage the wolf had done. Michael was going to be hurting next winter, and that didn’t sit well with me.

  We turned to head back the way we’d come. Michael still had his gun out, was still surveying the land, searching for trouble. A forlorn sigh escaped me. I wanted to be somewhere with him that wasn’t quite so dangerous all the time. I wanted to hold his hand and go for a walk with him in a park, where nature was still abundant but the predators were kept in check. I wanted . . . a normal life with him.

  Michael looked over at hearing my weary exhale. Maybe mistaking why I’d made the sound, he gave me an encouraging smile. “It will be okay, Mallory.” He patted the butt of his superpowered rifle. “This thing can take out anything we might come across.”

  That hadn’t been my problem, but I smiled anyway. Michael didn’t buy it. “What’s wrong?”

  Feeling weary to the bone, I kicked at a pile of slush by my feet. “The bears . . . the melting snow . . . the empty traps . . . spring is on its way, and that means we’ll be going our separate ways soon.”

  Michael’s face fell, and he looked away from me to check the tree line again. “Yeah, I know. The part I ordered could come any day now . . . and then I’ll be able to fix the plane, get you on your way.” He looked back at me, confusion on his face. “But that was the plan all along . . . to get you home.”

  “I know,” I said, lowering my gaze to the soggy ground. “I just wish we were heading out together. I feel so close to you . . . I don’t want to stop getting to know you right when I feel like I’m finally starting to.”

  Michael stopped in his tracks and put a gloved hand on my arm, stopping me as well. “I know how you feel, Mallory. I wish . . . this wasn’t the end. I wish . . .” He sighed, then shook his head and kept walking. “We knew where this was going when we started, which is why I didn’t want to start this.” He didn’t sound angry, just sad. I understood—I felt the same way.

  “I know,” I repeated as I followed him. “I just never thought . . . when we started this, I never imagined how much you’d mean to me.”

  My voice had faded to a near whisper, but Michael heard me. He stopped again, waiting for me. When I caught up to him, he cupped my cheek. His glove was cool against my skin, but the warmth behind the gesture was undeniable. He leaned into me, and I eagerly lifted my lips in anticipation.

  Right when his lips were just about to touch mine, I accidentally poured out my heart’s wish. “Come back with me.”

  He froze, then pulled back to look at me. Pain was in his eyes. “Mallory, you know I can’t.”

  Disappointment hit me so hard I nearly stepped back from the recoil. “I know you won’t. I know you’ve given up on people, and for some reason that includes me too. But if you gave it a chance, I think you’d love Cedar Creek. It’s quaint, isolated—my parents know every single person who comes into their diner. Crime is virtually nonexistent. It’s just about the greatest—”

  Michael held up his hand, stopping me from selling him on my hometown. “If it is how you say, then it’s only that way because it hasn’t truly been discovered yet. More people will come, and it will turn into a city . . . just like every other city. You can’t change human nature, Mallory. Eventually, your little town will be ruined, and you’ll be left with the good ole days. I’m sorry.” He looked genuinely apologetic, like he’d looked into a crystal ball and seen his prediction as fact, and he was heartbroken for me.

&nbs
p; “Please, Michael. Everyone isn’t as bad as you think. There’s still hope in the world. Look at you and me.”

  I smiled, offering him encouragement, but he only frowned. “Our relationship was doomed from the very start. How is that hope?”

  His words, laced with razor-sharp truth, cut me to the bone. “Because we found each other. Literally, in the middle of nowhere, we found each other, and I refuse to accept that that means nothing. We saved each other . . . that means everything. And all over the world, that hope—that salvation—happens every day, every minute, every second. Have faith . . . God’s not done with us.”

  A slow smile brightened his face. “Your optimism is truly remarkable. And inspiring.” His smile slipped. “I think I’ll miss that most of all.”

  My eyes burned with forming tears. I still hadn’t changed his mind. “Kiss me,” I whispered, my heart cracking just as surely as the ice melting on the river.

  He stared at me for long, silent seconds, and then ever so slowly, he lowered his lips to mine. When our mouths met, I reveled in the sweet bitterness of our tender touch. Every part of me, down to the very crevices in my soul, ached with joy and pain. How could this be over, when it was only just beginning?

  The tears building in my eyes slowly dripped down my cheeks as our heartbreaking connection continued. When Michael finally pulled away, his eyes were as soft as his voice. “We should get going. That bear is still out there, somewhere.”

  As if the grizzly had heard him say that, a growl cut the silence somewhere in the woods. It raised every hair on my arms and dried the tears still wanting to form. Something was out there, and it was starving. I wanted to clutch Michael’s arm, hold him tight, but I knew he needed freedom of movement in case the creature spotted us and charged.

  We didn’t speak much the rest of the way back, but I dwelled on our conversation. With each step toward the cabin, it felt like we were drifting further apart. It tore at me, made me want to run the other way, foolish as that would be. Looking up at the sky, I prayed for snow, prayed for a storm, prayed for anything that might keep me here—keep me with him—longer. I’d always looked forward to spring before, but now I hoped it never arrived.

  When we got back to the cabin, Michael did a quick check around it to make sure the bear hadn’t found a way in besides the front door. He was smiling when he returned to me. “Everything looks good. Why don’t you go inside? I’m going to go check the shed.”

  Nodding, I watched him leave before I entered the cabin. The first thing I noticed when I stepped inside was my gun, exactly where I’d left it. God. Rookie move. Being unarmed out here wasn’t a good idea. Picking the gun up, I was just about to put it where it belonged when I heard a sound that chilled my blood. Shouting, followed by a gunshot. Michael.

  Gun clenched firmly in my hand, I scrambled out the door and raced to the shed. I was running so fast I couldn’t stop myself when I got there, and I nearly fell on my ass as I slipped and slid on the ice. What I saw in front of the shed door stole my breath. Michael was lying there . . . and the snow around him was splattered in blood; it looked like a crime scene.

  “Oh my God, Michael!” He didn’t move when I said his name, and for a minute, I was sure he was dead. No . . . he couldn’t be gone. As I slid to his side, he turned to look at me, and a shaky exhale of relief left me. Thank God, not dead.

  “What happened?” I asked, frantically searching him for the source of the blood. When I found it, Michael inhaled through clenched teeth. Pulling my fingers away from his leg, I stopped to study the torn fabric; the cuts were distinctly claw shaped. “Oh my God,” I repeated.

  Hissing again, Michael said, “Found the bear. It was trying to open the shed door.” He indicated the door, and I marveled at the long cuts down the thick wood. Jesus, that could have been Michael’s chest. As I folded back the rips in his pants to examine his skin, Michael flinched. “I nicked it, and it ran off. Lucky for me. Sometimes that just pisses them off.”

  He laughed like this was funny, but I didn’t see anything humorous here. “Can you walk?” I asked him, swiveling my head to take in the bloody tracks leading away from the shed. “We should go inside in case it comes back.” He might have scared it off, but that didn’t mean it would stay scared. Food was a powerful motivator.

  “Yeah.” Michael grunted, shifting his weight to stand. I helped him the best I could, but it was a challenge getting him to his feet.

  Michael cried out in pain when he put weight on his leg, and I instantly sympathized; it wasn’t all that long ago when I’d been the one hobbling around. His pant leg was soaked, saturated with blood, and fear gave me the strength I needed to get him out of there. He had to be okay—he just had to be. He whimpered, holding back the extent of his pain, the entire time we trudged back to the cabin.

  I nearly cursed out loud when I saw that the cabin door was swinging wide open. In my haste to get to Michael, I hadn’t closed and secured the latch. Well, I dared a wolf to be in there now. What I was afraid of at the moment had nothing to do with wild animals.

  Supporting Michael’s weight as much as I could, I kicked in the door, yelling loudly in the process. If something was in here, I wanted it to know I was coming. Thankfully, the cabin was as empty as I’d left it. Michael made a pained laugh as we stumbled through the door. “Remind me . . . to not . . . make you mad,” he said in strained pants.

  Closing the door, I secured the inside latch. “Come on—let’s take a look at that leg.” I got him over to my couch bed, then made him sit down on it. The bear had clawed him in the thigh. I wasn’t an expert or anything, but it looked pretty deep. “You’re gonna need to take these off,” I said, tugging at his pants.

  He tried to smile, but it came out more like a grimace. “This sounds familiar,” he mused, undoing the button of his pants.

  A nervous laugh escaped me. “Yeah, except I’m the doctor this time.”

  “You’ll do fine, Mallory,” he said. “But maybe you could get me some of that pain medicine.”

  He nodded over to his supplies, and I knew he meant the alcohol. I hoped we had some left. While he took off his boots and pants, I searched for things I’d need to patch him up. Michael called out additional supplies and instructions. “Boil some water to clean the wound. You’ll need gauze pads, tape, scissors, antibacterial ointment. And a needle and thread—this is going to need stitches.”

  That made me pause. Feeling all the blood drain from my face, I looked over at him. He was lowering his pants over the wound, examining it as he went. It looked bad, looked bloody, but it was what he’d said that terrified me. “I can’t . . . sew you.”

  He gave me a pain-filled expression of encouragement. “Yes, you can, Mallory. You can do it because you have to do it. And if there’s one thing I know for certain about you, it’s that you’ll do what has to be done . . . no matter how much you hate doing it.” His sentence had an ominous feeling of foreboding about it, and I knew he wasn’t just talking about this moment anymore. I had a hard time swallowing the lump in my throat.

  I headed over to him once I had all the supplies he’d asked for. I gently placed a gauze pad on the wound and had him apply pressure before I began the process of boiling water. When everything was ready to go, I was fairly certain I was going to throw up. Taking a long gulp of the whiskey, Michael nodded at me. “It’s okay, Mallory. You can’t hurt me any more than I’m already hurting.”

  Again, that sentence felt overly full of meaning. My heart couldn’t take it. I began with cleaning the wound. In addition to being the first thing I needed to do anyway, it seemed the easiest task. Michael flinched and squirmed the entire time, clenching his jaw so hard all the veins in his neck were bulging. I didn’t stop, though. I knew the best way to get through this was quickly.

  The seeping blood was nauseating, but even worse was the knowledge that I was inflicting pain on another human being. That made me feel sicker than anything else. By the time the wound was as clean as I
could get it, I had tears in my eyes.

  Michael let out a relieved sigh when my ministrations stopped and took another swig of alcohol. “You’re doing good,” he said. “Now for the stitching.”

  My heart sank, and my stomach roiled. “I don’t think I can . . .”

  Michael gently put his hand over mine, and I locked eyes with him. “Don’t think of it as skin. It’s a quilt . . . just a quilt.”

  Even though his leg was probably radiating with pain, he looked so encouraging, so filled with positivity, like he knew with absolute certainty that I could do this. Like it was no more complicated than learning how to trap animals, collect water, chop wood . . . live his life.

  Inhaling a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “Okay,” I told him, feeling stronger. “I can do this.”

  My hands shook a little as I tried to prep the needle. Stopping, I flexed them and tried again. The thread successfully slipped through the eye, and I said a quick thanks. Holding the wound closed with one hand, I hovered the needle near the skin with the other.

  Michael had his eyes shut when I looked up at him, his face a mask of concentration. “Michael,” I whispered. He popped them open to look at me, and I shook my head. “You know you can’t live like this forever, don’t you?”

  He opened his mouth, and I expected him to tell me he was fine, that he preferred living this way, but instead of speaking, he shut his mouth and looked . . . thoughtful.

  While he was distracted with pondering his life choices, I slid the needle into his skin. A pained whimper left him, and I instantly wanted to stop hurting him. I wasn’t finished, though, so I choked back the empathy—the guilt and regret—and fixed him to the best of my ability. And that felt full of meaning too.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Michael took it easy for the next few days, letting his body heal. I checked his bandages every chance I got, and I had to say, for my first time sewing skin, it looked pretty darn good. That entire scenario was something I’d never imagined myself doing. Ever. Blood and gore, they weren’t my favorite things. But even still, the worst part was having to put Michael through that kind of torment. If I could have knocked him out, I would have.