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Determined not to be awkward with Shep, I stride into the kitchen to find him elbow deep in a giant mixing bowl full of dough.
He looks up, and I brace myself for weirdness. Is he embarrassed about sobbing in my arms last night? Does he regret telling me about his suicide attempt?
I force a smile. “Morning. How can I help?”
His face lights up, and his eyes twinkle. I bet his irises match the northern seas when the winter sun hits the waves just right. If he’s feeling awkward, he doesn’t show it.
He wipes his hands on a dish towel and closes his massive arms around me.
“My flower.” He kisses the top of my head. “Thank you for the best night of my life.” With a content-sounding hum, he lifts me and spins around before setting me down again.
I blink. “Really?” Weeping in my arms was the best night of his life? That’s…kind of depressing.
His booming laugh fills the kitchen. He spreads his arms wide, indicating the long, dim aisle between stainless-steel counter tops. “All I’ve known for two years is dis. Cooking, tending animals, gardening. For what?” His eyes sober, and I see the fine lines at the corners. I remember how young I am compared to these men. But even though they’re much older than me, they’re all fit and healthy. They all look amazing. Content. But sometimes, when they don’t know I’m watching, I catch them staring off into the distance. In those moments, I can see every second they’ve lived in their faces. I see every moment they spent in prison, every trial they endured, every heartbreak they suffered.
I see that look in Shep’s eyes as his arms drop to his sides.
“For what?” he says again, and he finds me with those ancient eyes. “Just to live a little longer, then to die out with the rest of humanity?” He sighs. “Before you, it was all meaningless. Now, I have hope. Last night—it was the first time I felt glad I did not succeed.” With the fingers of one hand, he rubs the studded leather band on the opposite wrist.
“Oh, Shep.” I throw my arms around his neck, and he holds me against him, my feet inches off the floor. “I’m glad, too.” I inhale his scent of sugar and freshly turned soil. His beard and moustache tickle the side of my face until I pull back to look at him. Up close, he is incredible, ruddy and fierce, like a conquering Viking, but with gentle eyes that smile at me. His facial hair frames his firm lips, guiding me into a good-morning kiss. It’s our first kiss, and it’s sweet and perfect.
We’re all good. Everything’s good.
“I wouldn’t mind getting in on that action.”
I recognize Doc’s voice, and I smile against Shep’s shoulder as he sets me down.
“My turn?” Doc scoops me into a hug, and his scent of leather and spice envelops me. He lands a kiss on my cheek and greets Shep. I’m relieved he didn’t kiss me on the lips after I just kissed Shep. That would be weird, wouldn’t it? Even though I really like Doc’s kisses, I shouldn’t kiss two men within a single rotation of the clock’s second hand. Right?
Shep doesn’t give me time to dwell on the question. He sends me and Doc to the garden to pick a bit of mint and the last of the late-ripening tomatoes, which he intends to serve atop his eggs Benedict with Hollandaise sauce. I can’t wait to dig into another of Shep’s amazing breakfasts.
This is only my fifth day at Eagle Peak, but I’m already gaining weight. My hip bones are less prominent, and this morning, I couldn’t see shadows between my ribs in my reflection. My skin looks healthier too, less gray, no dark circles under my eyes. And my lips are no longer chapped and cracked, thanks to the petroleum jelly Doc found for me. He promises to get me “girly things” on the next scavenge and tells me to make him a list. Though I’ll miss him like crazy when he goes, I’m eager for the next scavenge so I can get my hands on some luxuries like lip balm and pads—I’m hoping my period will start back up now that I’m returning to a healthy weight. I kind of need it to—the human race needs it to, or that hope Shep has found will be for nothing.
In the cool of the morning, mist shrouds the garden and keeps the fresh scents of herbs and loam low to the ground. I kneel to pluck barely-ripe heirloom tomatoes from beneath disguising leaves and feel so very grateful I stumbled across this place.
Doc and I make benign conversation while we gather what Shep needs. I enjoy listening to his stories, his laughter. He puts me at ease in his unique way, and I find myself a little miffed that I have to wait several days for another “turn” with him.
When we’re done harvesting, Doc takes the full basket from me. I turn to head back to the kitchen, but Doc snags me with an arm around my waist. He sets the basket on the ground between garden rows and looms over me. All remnants of laughter and easy conversation flee as a prickling of awareness charges the air between us.
Doc is cover-model handsome with his blond hair, brown eyes, and trimmed beard over his sculpted jaw. When he looks at me like he’s doing right now, my legs go weak, and all I can think about is how he played between my legs the other night and made me melt with relaxation and explode with pleasure all at the same time.
“I miss you, chér.” His growled declaration is cut short when he attacks my mouth as if he’s been starving for my taste.
I grab onto him and hold tight as his kiss deepens. Our tongues tangle, and one of my legs hitches up like he’s a tree and I’m trying to climb him.
Doc must have the same idea, because he lifts me with hands on my bottom and settles me with my leg spread around his hips. I hold on around his neck and grind myself against the terrifying and tempting ridge behind his zipper.
I’m lost in Doc. My attraction to him is a living, vibrant thing that refuses to be caged until our scheduled night together. I don’t know what my right hand thinks is going to happen between us here in the garden, but it dives between us and jerks at his belt.
A harsh, high-pitched alarm cuts through my desire. As soon as I hear it, it’s gone. There it is again. Wait. It’s not an alarm. It’s some kind of animal call, and it’s coming from above us. I hear it again and am reminded of a dog’s bark and a frog’s croak. In bursts of four, it reverberates through the sky again, low and chirping and angry-sounding.
Doc is breathing heavy when he tears his mouth from mine and searches for the source of the noise.
“What is that?” I ask.
On the brittle bough of a fir tree no higher than the roof of the barn, I spot a huge white bird with a slender neck and a long, pale beak tinged with pink at the jawline. It’s so heavy that I worry the branch will snap beneath its webbed feet.
“Is that…?” Doc’s voice trails off. His arms tighten around me. I’m still latched onto him like a monkey.
