Under the Northern Lights Read online

  “My ex-husband, Shawn, was a hunter. He brought back an elk once. Wasn’t near as tasty as this.” I gave Michael an appreciative smile, and he smiled back. Knowing I’d opened the door, I continued to walk right on through it. “Shawn and I were only married a year. Turned out being married didn’t suit us. We were much better as friends.” Although Shawn tended to forget that. Clearing my throat, I quickly asked Michael, “What about you? Ever been . . . married?” I wanted to cringe after the question left my lips. To me, it seemed so obvious why I was asking. It didn’t seem possible that Michael wouldn’t know what I’d done, what I’d found.

  He chewed on his steak silently, his eyes glued on his plate. Just when I thought he was simply going to ignore me, he swallowed his food and quietly said, “Once. But that was a while ago.”

  “Oh . . . what happened? Didn’t suit you either?” I added a laugh to try to lighten the mood; the cabin suddenly felt stifling.

  Michael’s eyes slowly lifted to mine. His expression was blank, but then he smiled. “Yeah, something like that.” Pushing away his plate, he stood up. “I should check your stitches. It might be time for them to come out.”

  I sighed as he walked my way. Having stitches removed sounded just as bad as having them put in. “Is this going to hurt?” I asked.

  He worked his bottom lip before answering me. “It’s going to be . . . uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt too badly.”

  Too badly. Great. While he grabbed a flashlight, I pondered his answer to my marriage question. I wasn’t an expert on human psychology like my sister, but it hadn’t seemed like an honest response to me. It was deflection, a safe way to avoid opening up to a complete and total stranger. At least he’d admitted to being married. That was something, and I felt fractionally closer to him as he knelt beside my chair.

  Wishing I had his bottle of whiskey in hand, I watched him undo the threadwork from when he’d sewn up my pants. “I could have just taken them off,” I murmured.

  He looked up at me with a half smile on his face. “It will give me a chance to practice my stitching again when I sew them back up. You’d be surprised at how little I get a chance to practice out here.”

  With a shrug, I said, “If you came back to the city, you could practice all you wanted.”

  Even as I said it, I knew I shouldn’t have. His expression immediately hardened, although his eyes flashed with pain. “Going back isn’t in the cards for me.”

  I wanted to know why, but I felt like I’d probed him enough today. Sticking the end of his flashlight into his mouth, he opened the hole in my pant leg wide enough to check out my healing wound. His lips curled into a smile around the light, a promising sign. Popping it out of his mouth, he looked up at me. “They look good. Let’s pull them out.”

  My heart immediately started pounding. “What’s this let’s stuff? I’m fine if they stay in forever.”

  Michael stood up with a laugh. “You won’t be when the skin grows over them and they get infected. I don’t have dissolving thread, so what goes in must come out.”

  I sighed again as I watched him get the supplies he needed. Mainly gloves, a pair of scissors, and a gauze pad. For blood. Awesome. When he came back to my leg, he handed me the flashlight. “Do me the honor?” he asked, his voice playful.

  Who knew he only needed surgery to turn his mood around. Made me wonder why he’d stopped being a doctor, why he’d stopped wanting to help people. As he propped my leg up on a chair, I held the light over the area. I wanted to close my eyes as he leaned in, but I had to focus the spotlight for him. Right before he touched the scissors to my leg, he glanced up at me. “You’ll be fine, Mallory. Just breathe.”

  Doing what he said, I inhaled deeply. The cool metal touched my leg, and I flinched. It didn’t hurt as he cut the thread—it just felt odd—but then he started pulling the threads out. The tugging was uncomfortable but tolerable, just like he’d said it would be, but occasionally the thread would stick on something. That downright sucked. I hissed in breath after breath, trying to endure the discomfort. When he tugged on a particularly stubborn one that clearly wanted to be a part of me forever, I let out a nasty curse.

  Michael’s eyes flashed to my cross necklace, an amused smile on his face. “Shouldn’t you not do that?” he asked. “Given your faith and all.”

  My fingers were holding the flashlight so tight my knuckles were white. “If I were perfect, I wouldn’t need God’s help, would I?” I said through clenched teeth.

  “Yeah, I suppose that’s true,” he murmured, his face suddenly thoughtful.

  He was quiet as he finished tormenting me. Just when I couldn’t take another second, when I was about to push him away and make a run for it, he sat back on his heels. “All done.”

  Letting out a relieved breath, I looked down at my wound. The skin was puckered, irritated, and slightly smeared with blood, but it was holding together without the stitches. Considering that the stitches hadn’t been done in a hospital, the healing wound looked really good. “Wow, that looks great. Thank you,” I told him, my smile full of appreciation.

  Michael’s gaze was locked on my lips; then he turned away before sheepishly glancing at my eyes. “It was nothing,” he said, starting to stand. I grabbed his hand to stop him from leaving. His fingers were rough from years of hard work but surprisingly warm and comforting too.

  “No, it was huge. I probably wouldn’t have survived without you, so . . . thank you. For everything.”

  I held his hand and his gaze until he acknowledged my gratitude. With an uncomfortable nod, he finally said, “You’re welcome,” and I let his hand drop. I instantly missed the connection.

  Michael cleared his throat and ran his fingers through his shaggy hair. He indicted my leg. “I can put a bandage on that, unless . . . you want to take that bath now?”

  The air was thick with some kind of tension—awkwardness, nervousness, embarrassment, attraction—I honestly wasn’t sure. Maybe it was a mixture of all of it. The thought of undressing in this emotionally charged environment made my skin pebble with anxiety, but . . . a bath. I’d give just about anything to feel clean again. “A bath, please . . . that sounds like heaven.”

  He smiled, then nodded. “It really is.”

  He held gazes with me again, his small grin making my chest tighten. Then he blinked and turned around to start preparing the water. My heart was beating harder than it should have been, and the feeling of tension in the air didn’t die once we weren’t looking at each other. It was like an electric charge was zinging around the room, building in power instead of diminishing. If I mentioned it, maybe it would dissipate without exploding; things had a way of self-correcting when exposed to the light. But I wasn’t sure if I wanted the feeling to end, and I definitely didn’t want the embarrassment that would come from talking about it, so I stayed quiet while Michael boiled pot after pot of water.

  When the basin was full of steaming liquid, Michael indicated the door. “I’ll step outside. Holler if you need me.”

  I hated the thought that I was chasing him away, but I appreciated the privacy he was offering. “What are you going to do out there?” I asked.

  He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. “I don’t know . . . chop some wood for tomorrow.”

  A frown curved my lips. “I already chopped some.” And I planned on chopping more in the morning. He had his tasks, and I had mine, and maybe we’d only been doing it for one day, but I thought it was working. Why was he changing it up? I thought I’d done well, all things considered, but maybe he disagreed?

  Michael sighed like he knew he was stepping on my toes. “I’m not trying to steal your chore. I just—I need something . . . physical to do.”

  His eyes flashed down my body, and I suddenly understood. I had to assume it had been a while since Michael had been with a woman, and now one was about to be naked in his cabin—I was about to be naked in his cabin—and the thought of that was making him antsy; he needed to blow off some s
team with backbreaking labor. My reaction to him taking a bath had been similar. As soon as I could, I’d run out of the cabin just as swiftly as my injured leg had allowed. I was affecting him just like he’d affected me. That thought made me surprisingly warm all over; my cheeks felt like glowing coals.

  I stared at his shoes, just in case he could tell I was flushed. Then I peeked up at him. “Before you go . . . do you have a razor I could borrow?”

  His expression morphed into one of confusion and intrigue. “A razor? Why do you . . . ?” His gaze drifted to my leg, still propped on the chair. Setting it on the ground, I slowly stood up.

  I shrugged as I faced him. “I know it’s silly and frivolous, it’s just . . . everything in my life right now is so different. I want to hold on to some small shred of normalcy. I want to feel like I’m still me . . . like I’m still a woman.”

  Homesickness swelled in me, making my voice warble and my vision hazy. I’d never felt this out of sorts on any of my trips before. But then again, before now, I’d always had the option of going home whenever I wanted. I’d never been stuck in a survivalist situation with a stranger before. And while Michael was attractive, sometimes alluringly mysterious, and exceedingly generous and gracious . . . he wasn’t family. He wasn’t home.

  I was staring at the floor, but I could hear Michael’s footsteps as he approached me. In my fragile state, I was hyperaware of his nearness. The woodsy scent of pine on him, the way his breaths were smooth and even, the way his hand started lifting to me before dropping to his side. I wasn’t sure just what I wanted from him, but I suddenly didn’t want him to leave just yet.

  His voice was soft when he finally spoke. “It’s not silly or frivolous.” I looked up to see him smiling warmly at me. “You didn’t ask for this life—not like I did. And while you’ve made the best of everything that’s been thrown at you, I don’t blame you for wanting a little piece of comfort. Why do you think I have the whiskey?” he added with a wink.

  That familiar look of unease washed over him, but it quickly morphed into a regular, untroubled smile. “I’ll get you a razor and some soap, but you get to wash all the tiny hairs out of the tub when you’re done.”

  He pointed at me with a playfully stern finger, and I laughed at the look of mock indignation on his face. “Deal.”

  We stared at each other for a second then, and I was struck by an overwhelming urge to hug him; I even almost took a step toward him, but somehow, I knew that if I did, he would get uncomfortable and turn to leave, and I just wasn’t ready for the connection to end.

  Eventually, though, I had to break the silence. “Thank you, Michael.”

  Clearing his throat, he averted his eyes. “You thanked me already . . . but you’re welcome.” Looking back at me, he indicated the tub. “The water doesn’t stay warm for long—you should get in. I’ll get your stuff.”

  Then he was gone, moving around the cabin, gathering supplies. He left them at the edge of the tub, then disappeared into the darkness of the night. The cabin felt colder without him in it, and a weary sigh escaped me. It was so odd to be holed up with a stranger, but . . . it had its moments too.

  Shaking my head at the peculiarity of my life, I peeled off my clothes and then carefully stepped into the tub. And just as I’d predicted, it was heaven.

  Chapter Nine

  As time went on, Michael and I settled into a nice routine. He stayed busy shoring up our food supply, while I chopped an impressive amount of wood. My body was getting stronger every day. Actually, aside from my ribs, I felt pretty good. My ankle was fine, and my thigh didn’t even ache anymore. I almost felt normal, and it was wonderful to feel that way.

  Things with Michael were getting better too. We were getting more and more comfortable around each other, not that that stopped the awkward, tense moments. We were just able to bounce back from them more quickly. Although bath nights were still strange for both of us.

  It had been almost two weeks since the crash, a fact I still found hard to process sometimes. I should be packing up to go home, but instead, I was hunkering down for the winter with a man I barely knew. Getting through the homesickness was an hour-by-hour task at times. But there was a light at the end of the tunnel—Michael would eventually fix his plane, and I would eventually be able to get in it and go back to my pets, my friends, and my family. I just had to be patient, something that was difficult when there were few mental distractions during the day and even fewer distractions at night; home seemed to be on my mind twenty-four seven.

  “You seem quieter than usual. Everything all right?” Michael asked. He was on his knees beside the metal basin we used as a sink and a tub, cleaning up our dishes from dinner. Whenever I saw the tub now, I pictured him in it, arms on the sides, head resting against the back. It was an image that stirred something inside me and made me incredibly uncomfortable, all at the same time.

  “Yeah,” I said. I was doing my part to clean up for the night by sweeping a floor that didn’t seem to get any cleaner, no matter how many times I brushed it with the broom. “Just thinking about winter . . . about being here.” Not wanting him to feel offended by that in any way, I quickly added, “Does it get bad? Lots of snow?”

  He paused in his cleaning to study me. “It can. The snow can come down so hard sometimes I can’t even go outside. I had to dig my way out once.” He said it with a smile, like it was funny. Being trapped, nearly buried alive by snow, didn’t sound humorous to me. Maybe realizing he was freaking me out, he raised his hands. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad this year. It was a pretty mild fall.”

  I knew from experience that using the previous season as a reference wasn’t a reliable way to forecast the weather, but I appreciated the attempt to reassure me. “What do you do when you can’t . . . do anything?”

  Michael scratched his scraggly beard, and I wondered if he’d let me cut it; it was long past out of control. “I read a lot. Play games—chess, cribbage, checkers . . . poker.” A short laugh escaped him. “To be perfectly honest, I’m kind of looking forward to snow days this winter. It’s going to be a lot more fun playing games against someone else for a change, although I should warn you, I can be a sore loser.”

  His comment made me smile; my sister had once accused me of being petulant after she won the fifth straight game of Chutes and Ladders. To this day, I swear she cheated. “So can I,” I told him. “This should be interesting.”

  Michael was smiling as he went back to cleaning dishes. As I aimlessly swept the floor, I found that a part of me was almost eager for those lazy winter days when there was nothing to do because nothing could be done. But just as the anticipation swept through me, a sobering thought cooled me. My arrival had jacked up Michael’s plan for the winter, and he’d gotten a late start in making the proper adjustments. Would he be able to do enough before the heavy storms hit?

  “Do you think we’ll have enough food?” I asked, biting my lip. He’d be fine here if it weren’t for me crashing his party. I hated the thought of him starving to death because he’d saved my life. Of course, I wasn’t excited over the idea of me starving to death either. I wanted both of us to come out of this in one piece—happy and healthy.

  Drying a clean dish, Michael threw on a carefree smile. A very calculated carefree smile. “Hunting has been good to me lately, so as long as that keeps up before the weather turns, we’ll be fine.”

  Even though he was trying to disguise it as good news, he was basically telling me “maybe.” I tried to take solace in the fact that Michael had been living here for a while now, so he knew what it took to survive. He knew how to hunt and where to hunt—plus he had an almost superhuman amount of drive and willpower. He wouldn’t stop until we had what we needed. We would get through the next few months. We would be fine.

  Months . . . a quarter of a year. It sounded so long when clumped together in a block of time like that. It made me think of everything I’d be missing. Winter meant the holidays—Thanksgiving, Christmas,
New Year’s. It was a time when you were supposed to be home, wrapped in blankets, sipping hot chocolate, and chatting with loved ones. But now . . . everyone would be worried, sad, and scared. There would be a hole in the family get-togethers this year, a hole that no amount of turkey could fill.

  Thinking of my family mourning me made me tear up. Would Mom still bake? Would Dad still complain about the price of Christmas trees? And what about my dogs? Patricia had cats, so they couldn’t live with her. When it became clear that I wasn’t coming home, would someone take them in? So they weren’t alone all the time? And what about my home? My mortgage? My mail? My bills? What about . . . life? Would my family take care of everything I’d left . . . unfinished?

  Not wanting to worry or cry, I slapped on a smile and asked Michael, “I don’t suppose you have any turkeys or hams in your stores? Something we could carve for Christmas?” Saying the holiday out loud made a surprising wash of sadness sweep over me, almost pulling away my forced grin.

  Michael seemed to sense I was barely holding it together and looked truly apologetic. “Sorry, no . . . plenty of deer, though. And a couple rabbits. And scores of potatoes.” He grinned like that was great news. And it was. It might not be stuffing and pumpkin pie, but it was better than death.

  “I guess that will have to do,” I said, my smile finally feeling genuine.

  While my expression brightened, Michael’s suddenly fell. “I’m so sorry you have to miss the holidays with your family this year.” He gave me a weak half smile. “At least you’ll get to be with them next year.”

  That was surprisingly comforting, but yet sad too. I’d be going back home, but Michael would be here alone. That didn’t seem right. Holidays were meant to be spent with people, not alone. “Yeah, unless I come back to visit you,” I told him, only half joking.

  He gave me an odd look, like he wasn’t sure if I was serious or not, and for a second, I wasn’t sure if I was kidding. Maybe I could come see him for the holidays next year, just so he wasn’t by himself. But no . . . it wasn’t feasible to fly out here during the thick of winter. I’d crash again or worse. Holiday visits . . . just weren’t possible. And besides, my plane was a pile of scrap metal. I wouldn’t be flying anytime soon.