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“No. Damn the fire! Come back to me.” And then, as if the word had been forced from him, “Please, Rowena.”
I heard myself babbling, to combat the weakness that flooded through me.
“We have to have something to drink—to eat. And I must find something to wear, don’t you see? I—I’m so cold!” My teeth were chattering suddenly, and I heard him sigh.
“There’s a shirt of mine. Hangin’ on that peg to one side of the door. Do you have to put it on?”
“If I caught a chill it wouldn’t help either of us, would it?” My voice sounded stronger, and I made myself avoid his eyes as I snatched it down, slipping my arms into sleeves that were far too long, my fingers fumbling with buttons.
I glanced at him once, over my shoulder, and his eyes had closed again. I threw chunks of wood from the untidy pile in one corner onto the almost-dead fire, blowing on it until I saw a red glow in the ashes.
The coffeepot was dry, and the canteen I had filled it from during the night was empty. I went to the door, opening it into a curtain of steady rain; shivering as the cold, wet air blew in. Water ran off the edge of the roof, and I held the pot under it. I could still hear the steady, roaring gush of water, the same torrential stream that had fought so hard to take me, as I would have been taken if Lucas had not heard my screams. And now, for the first time I became aware of our utter and complete isolation. I felt as if we were the last two people left in the world—as if the world had narrowed down to this tiny hut, and the rushing water and the steady beat of the rain. I remember sucking in deep breaths of the fresh, cold air, to clear my head of all the thoughts that scurried around in it, and behind me, I heard his voice, flat-sounding now.
“Better close that door pretty quick, or it’ll be as wet in here as it is outside.”
Stepping back, I let the door bang shut, and went quickly to the fire, which was just beginning to flare up again, sticking the coffeepot among the coals with an almost vicious gesture. I must have looked ridiculous, wearing a large, flapping shirt that reached to my knees, its sleeves rolled up; with my hair in snarls and tangles, and my scratched, bruised face. But surprisingly, I didn’t care. Carefully avoiding Lucas’s eyes, I measured out coffee, and finding a skillet left carelessly by the fireplace, I grabbed for the slab of bacon and the knife.
“Rowena. For God’s sake. Can’t breakfast wait?”
I resisted the pleading in his voice.
“Stop acting like a spoiled child! I’m hungry, and you should be too.”
“Better watch it, or you’ll cut your fingers again, the way you’re usin’ that knife.”
I looked at him, startled, and he was sitting up, watching me, the bandage showing a stain of red already.
“Will you lie down?”
His voice held a half-angry note in it. “If I felt a mite stronger I’d come over there and make you lie down with me. Damn you, Ro! What is there about me that makes you shy away like a scared filly? An’ what made you do a damnfool thing like coming up here in one of the worst storms I remember?”
I didn’t answer him. Perhaps I was afraid to.
But, having made room for the skillet in the fireplace, I went back to him, pushing him down.
He put his hand up, catching my hair in his fingers, pulling my head down to his. I stiffened, but he only brushed my lips with his, surprisingly gently. It was enough to make me weak all over again.
“Don’t, Lucas!”
“Why not? You know damned well I’m in no shape to force you to do anythin’ you don’t want to do. That was only to say thanks for what you did.”
It was inevitable, I suppose. I knew it then, just as I think I must always have known it. Love or hate, there could never be indifference between us. Kneeling beside him, I bent my head to his and kissed him until the smell of burning bacon jerked us both back to reality.
“Why did you have to think about food?”
“You’ll feel better when you have some inside you,” I retorted. My voice sounded ridiculously happy, and I thought I saw his lips twitch in an unwilling smile. This time he let me go without protest. It was as if we had scaled some kind of invisible wall that had kept us separate, and now there was no need for impatience, no more misunderstanding. We were content to wait, knowing what would happen in the end, and by some unspoken mutual consent neither of us talked of anything that had taken place in the past.
The bacon was half-burned and the coffee too strong. Lucas told me he had never tasted better. He showed me where to find another jug of tequila, and I spiked the coffee liberally with it, drinking far too much, and hearing myself giggle with a lighthearted gayness I had not thought myself capable of.
“I feel so—so domestic! What would you like for supper?”
“Must you keep thinking only of food?”
I frowned at him in mock reproof.
“But I want you to feel strong again. Look, I found some beans. Would you like beans and bacon?”
“Better soak them in water first,” he advised me solemnly, and this time I watched his eyes follow me as I moved around the cabin, and felt my heart beat faster.
