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I want to do my part, so I go around to the woodshed at the back of the cabin to chop up some kindling. I’ve been doing my best to bring back fallen branches that I come across in the woods, but I’m fully aware that I can’t haul the large logs around that the men do. I don’t like feeling as though I’m somehow inferior to them, or that they’re having to carry me. I want to do my part.
I might not be able to lift a log, but I can lift an axe and chop one. We got lucky in that an axe had been left in the woodshed. It was old and a little rusty, but one of the guys had done their best to sharpen the blade using a rock from the riverbank. There are still some orange spots on the metal, but it’s sharp enough for wood.
Lifting the axe, I get to work, splitting the wood down into smaller slivers. It doesn’t take long before my arms, shoulders, and back are aching. Sweat runs down my spine and from my hairline, stinging my eyes. In the time since we’ve been here, I can already see my body changing, and not only that I’m probably thinner than I used to be. I’ve got muscles where I’d never noticed them before. The men are also ripped with muscle from all the physical work, and it’s highlighted by the loss of body fat from no longer having access to all the hotel room service they’d been living on.
Something large and buzzing flutters around my ear, distracting me, just as I’m bringing the axe in a downward arch.
I strike the wood at the wrong angle and the blade glances off the wood
The axe slips and catches me in the leg, at the spot right above my ankle.
I let out a cry of pain and shock.
Dammit!
I take a couple of shaky breaths and drop the axe to check my leg. It could have been a lot worse. I’m lucky I didn’t lose my foot or chop off a couple of toes. I sit on the ground and check the wound. It doesn’t look too deep, but it’s bleeding, the blood soaking into my sock.
“Shit.”
I use the bottle of boiled water I’ve got with me to wash out the cut. In regular society, I might consider going to the ER to get stitches, but we’re nowhere near a hospital. I’m just going to have to wrap it up in a piece of torn t-shirt and hope for the best.
I don’t want to tell the others what I’ve done, which means I don’t want them to see me either, at least not until I’ve got my leg sorted.
I check for any sign of them and hurry back into the cabin. I find the first aid kit we took from the plane and carry it with me into the bathroom. I also grab a pair of jeans so I can change out of my bloodied ones. I’ll have to hide them, or the men are going to ask questions.
I slip back in through the cabin’s front door, go to my bag to grab what I need, and then hurry to the bathroom. I’m walking with a limp, and I’ll have to disguise that when I’m with the guys. I’d tell them that I twisted my ankle, but then they’ll probably demand to see it. Maybe I’ll say it’s my hip that’s hurting, that I slept wrong on it. They wouldn’t ask to see that, would they? I think of Cade and his flirtatious nature. Maybe he would?
I change my jeans and check my ankle. Spots of red appear through the piece of material that I’ve wrapped it in, but itdoesn’t look too bad. As long as the bleeding stops and I don’t ruin another pair of jeans, I’m sure it will be fine.
Reed enters the cabin just as I’m exiting the bathroom. I shove the bloodied jeans behind my back.
“Oh, hi,” I say.
He stops and studies me for a moment. “Everything all right, Laney?”
“Yeah, sure. Why do you ask?”
He angles his head slightly, lines appearing between his eyebrows. “You look kinda pale.”
“Do I?” I flap my hand in front of my face. “No idea why, ’cause I’m boiling.”
He gives me another curious look but seems to accept me at my word. A tiny thread of guilt winds into my heart. I shouldn’t be lying to him, but I know he’ll kick up a stink if he knows I’ve hurt myself. He’ll decide I’m incapable of doing anything and will try to stop me walking into the woods or going down to the river. I’m already trapped in a small cabin with three large men.
I don’t want to lose what freedom I have just because of a stupid accident.
I WAKE THE FOLLOWINGmorning and instantly know I’m sick. Fuck. My head is pounding and, though I feel hot, I can’t stop shivering. I still don’t want to let the others down though. There are chores to be done. I hope if I get up and start moving around, have something to eat and drink, that I’ll feel better.
I swing my legs out of bed and pull on my jeans, wincing. It’s like every muscle in my body aches and my skin is hypersensitive. I go to the wood stove. The logs have burned down overnight, leaving only embers, so I grab some kindling and toss it on.
Darius frowns in my direction. “Something is wrong with you.”
“I’m fine, honestly.”
“Bullshit. I can hear your teeth chattering, and something else is different as well.” He sniffs the air. “I can smell it.”
My cheeks are already burning, but now they turn molten. I’ve done my best to stay as clean as possible, given the circumstances, but have I been skimping too much on the soap, in the hope of eking it out?
“Look, we’ve been stuck out in the middle of nowhere with only the river to wash in, so I don’t really think—”
