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Hulk smash, anyone?
“That’s not the point,” he says as he sets the bag to rights. His presence continues to invade mine, and I can feel the warmth of his breath on my shoulder. Even through the thick wool of my turtleneck, I shiver. What is the point, again? For a moment, I can’t remember what we were talking about.
“It’s not safe to hike alone,” he adds.
Ah, right. The axe murderer thing.
Swallowing back the heat in my mouth, I fold my arms and refuse to yield my ground. I deliberately eye him from the tips of his short, but wild hair to the inky black of his boots. Size equals power but not speed.
“I’m pretty sure I could have outrun you.” I challenge.
“Not in those shoes.”
I blink in surprise. Had the Wilderness He-Man just cracked a joke?
There’s not a hint on his face, but an intense shadow in his eyes tells me he’s laughing at me.
I twist one foot on its low heel as I glance down at my footwear. The little ankle boots are soft faux leather. I might have never had a doll house or played with My Little Ponies, but I’m female enough to appreciate a good Jimmy Choo. Or a pair that had once been good Jimmy Choos. Now they’re clumped with mud, scuffed from my tumble, and a razor-edged leaf is stuck in one of the zips.
“I didn’t see the point in changing them,” I say, almost to myself, as I turn the ruined things back and forth. “The old woman said it was less than a mile away.”
“The old woman?”
Before I can answer, he shakes his head as if deciding it doesn’t matter. A stiff wind seems to sweep a little more darkness about us with every minute and I follow his gaze to see the sun passing down behind the tree line.
I can see Big Foot’s thought process—how we both ended up here is less important compared to the encroaching night.
“What was a mile away?” he asks, eager to push me in the right direction, so long as it’s away from him and out of his business.
“The Walker property?”
The man seems to tremble in place like I’ve hit him with a body blow.
“Excuse me?”
“The Walker property,” I repeat. “Maggie at the post office said the guy who owns it is renting his spare room.”
“You want to rent Caleb Walker’s spare room?”
There must be an echo in this forest. The man seems suddenly incapable of speech beyond parroting my words back at me.
“Yes, I want to rent it. It beats sleeping on the street.”
“What about the hote—” He cuts himself off, his head reeling back in remembrance. “Dammit, the storm.”
“Yeah, apparently the East River Hotel now has an indoor pool it hadn’t counted on.”
“Mmm.” The man rubs a wide palm over the back of his head, sending his fair hair in all directions. “Ruined that carpet.”
Why he should seem offended by the loss of the local hotel’s carpet, I have no idea. But given the darkness that’s now eating away at the outline of his hair and blending his dark jacket into the shadows of the forest, I also don’t care.
“Look, carpet or no carpet, I just need a dry bed for the night. Maggie said that—”
“It’s not available.”
I nearly bite off my tongue as he interrupts me.
“What?”
