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“What are you planning to put with the pasta?” Shyla asked, maneuvering the conversation back to safer ground.
Dante just looked at her blankly and shrugged. It’s just pasta,” he said blankly.
Shyla looked at him and blinked, not quite understanding for a moment. Then she turned back to the larder. “Can you bring out the oil and the herbs?” she asked Lazarus. She leaned into Jericho so that he didn’t need to support her any longer and waited patiently until he put them onto the rather crude worktop.
“Oh, and the salt,” she added before Lazarus closed the curtain again.
When everything was ready, she gave the salt to Dante and suggested he put a little into the pasta while it boiled.
While he stalked off to do it, Jericho lifted her up. She let out a shriek of surprise that seemed to darken Dante’s mood even further, but Jericho simply sat her on one of the wooden surfaces.
“If you’re going to insist on cooking, then you need to be off of that foot,” he told her and somehow what was inherently bossy came across as protective and Shyla found she rather liked it. It was a long time since she’d been cared for by anyone. She’d almost forgotten what it was like.
“Now, tell me what to do,” Jeri insisted as Lazarus went to check on the fire and add a few logs to crank the heat up.
Shyla looked around. “Well, if you find a bowl of some description and add a couple of spoons of the herbs…”
She waited while he followed her instructions and Dante looked on with a face like thunder.
She felt bad for usurping him, but seriously, it wouldn’t be gourmet by any means, but they could do so much better than plain pasta.
“Now add a little bit of oil,” she added when Jericho was done. “And mix it all together.”
“The pasta is cooked,” Lazarus called from across the room. Dante grabbed a wooden spoon and stomped off to deal with the pan.
“Oh dear,” Shyla whispered. “I hope I didn’t offend him. I was just trying to help.”
Jericho waved her concerns away. “Don’t mind him. A close friend of his had a bit of an incident a couple of years ago when a person he helped during a climb tried to sue him. He’s cautious now.”
“But that’s dreadful!” Shyla replied, shocked. “Why would anyone do that?”
“It’s the damn blame culture we live in. The woman got into difficulties during a section which had a vertical climb up a rock face. Dante’s mate, Theo, came up behind her and she was sobbing and getting in a state because a few of the other climbers had just carried on past without stopping.”
Shyla frowned, wondering how anyone could so callously pass someone in distress.
“Theo helped her, physically, get through the section and to do so he had to literally push her up it, because she’d become almost hysterical and there was a sheer drop below,” Jericho explained. “He got her to safety, and she was airlifted down because of the state she was in. Next thing, she’s claiming Theo touched her inappropriately because he put his hands on her ass to save her fucking skin.”
Shyla’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god! Seriously? That’s just…” She shook her head. She didn’t even have words. No wonder poor Dante was a bit jumpy. His brothers had stripped her naked and provided skin to skin contact to warm her up. It had been a life-or-death situation. She’d been unconscious in a snowstorm, injured and without adequate survival gear. Shyla didn’t doubt for one moment what the outcome would have been if these three men hadn’t found her. The idea of holding them accountable for doing something that had undoubtedly saved her life was abhorrent.
“I hope the case was thrown out,” Shyla said mutinously, feeling angry on behalf of a man she didn’t even know.
Jericho nodded. “It was. The judge even went as far as reprimanding the woman for wasting the court's time. But Theo still went through months of anxiety while the charges were lodged against him. It affected his business, he lost clients, and it even caused issues in his relationship. Dante supported him through all that.”
Shyla sighed. “I don’t even know what to say. I mean, I could talk to him, but I doubt it would help. I’m a stranger. He has no reason to believe any assurance I give him. But for the record, I am beyond grateful.”
They dropped the topic by mutual, unspoken agreement when Dante returned with the pan of cooked pasta and banged it down on the work surface.
Shyla chose to ignore his bad mood. Especially now she understood its roots and knew it wasn’t personal.
Instead, she pointed to a slotted spoon in a pot on the countertop. “If we use that spoon to drain the pasta and add it to the bowl, I’ll use the cooking water as a soup base.”
“What the heck are you going to make soup out of?” Jericho asked in surprise. “I mean Dante’s right. There’s not much which is of any use in that store cupboard.”
“Oh, ye of little faith,” Shyla chuckled as she stirred the pasta into the oil and herb mixture from her perch. “If you put this stuff back and bring me the mushrooms, lentils and onion, I’ll show you.”
They sat in front of the fire eating their meal. Dante had served up four heaping bowlsful, and although hers was slightly smaller than the men’s, she didn’t think there was a chance she’d eat it all. Turned out she was hungrier than she thought.
“Mmm… this is great,” Lazarus complimented. “I certainly didn’t think the rations would be this good.”
