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“I’ll see you sometime tomorrow. Bar the door after me.”
Furious tears welled in my eyes which I viciously tried to pull back. The last thing I wanted was for Bryant to see me as a weak, needy, clingy female. He had obviously regretted our passionate kiss last week and was doing his level best to push us back into our separate corners.
Message received then.
Besides, I was fine on my own, too. I was a lone wolf, too, and had always been. Would always be so. I didn’t need some man to make my life complete. Certainly not a pigheaded and infuriating one, no matter how attractive.
The door closed after him, and I was tempted to throw something at it. Instead, I stalked over to the kitchen to pulverize some herbs that I had picked yesterday.
Finished, I viciously swiped away a traitorous tear that escaped down my cheek, then set down the mortar and walked over to the fireplace mantle to grab up the Colt .45. Blasting a few pinecone targets to splintered smithereens would help take the edge off.
An hour of this, and much of my furious steam evaporated. My aim improved greatly too, especially when I visualized one of the cones as the face of the jerky sheriff. Or a particular irritating mountain man.
Calmer, but sweating now, I decided to strip down and bathe in the deeper part of the creek. Dove-caller had taught me how to make a type of herbal shampoo that I retrieved from the cabin, along with the lavender infused lye soap bar Alice had sent to me through Bryant on his last visit.
Just as I dipped my toe into the icy water, bracing myself for the full plunge to my waist that was sure to freeze me straight to the bone, I felt the strange sensation of being watched.
Reflexively I crossed my arms over my bare chest and checked around. The bushes rustled, and I relaxed when spotting familiar blue eyes peering at me through the lattice of berry branches.
“Dang you, Luka,” I called out to him, waving him off. “Don’t sneak up on me like that. You nearly scared the bejesus out of me. Now, get.”
The bushes rustled as he darted back into the thick of the woods.
Renewed by my activities and bath, I settled that evening with a solitary dinner of roasted rabbit(it really does taste like chicken when prepared right), along with sweet potatoes and carrots and some of Alice’s special apple cider.
Belly filled, I sat down in front of the crackling fireplace in my chemise with a blanket around me for more comfort and warmth, then picked up the Dickens novel Bryant owned to escape into eighteenth century London.
When darkness fell, I lit the candles and lantern, but mostly for atmosphere since the fireplace and full moon beaming through the windows offered plenty of light.
I loved Charles Dickens, but his writing always droned on and on, detailing every minutest thing when a quick name would do the trick. A popular writing style during his time when people had no other entertainment to speak of. Too easy to lose my shorter twentieth-century attention span, however.
My eyelids lowered again and again as sleep sought to claim me. Finally, the book fell from my fingers into my lap, and I laid my head back in the chair to rest my eyes a bit.
The eerie howl instantly jolted me awake, the book dropping to the floor. The second ghostly howl made me jump to my feet, grab the gun, then race to the front window.
Silver moonbeams through the waving trees threw shadows onto the black landscape. I focused harder, thumbing back the gun’s hammer, then raised the gun to the window.
A dark creature darted from the trees and down to the rushing creek. It stopped, lowered its head to lap at the water, then suddenly perked its steaming muzzle up and turned to fix its reflective blue stare with mine.
“Luka,” I grumbled, retracting the hammer and lowering the gun. “I swear, next time you howl at the full moon this close to the cabin, I won’t be held responsible for accidentally popping you again.”
It was just because I was alone tonight, though. When Bryant was around, no matter if he slept inside on his makeshift pallet or out in the smoke shed, the nocturnal woodland noises never bothered me.
“This is stupid,” I stated firm, setting the gun back onto the fireplace mantle.
Because I was done with Michael Bryant calling all the shots for me, and tomorrow, I was going to the village to see my friends. Whether he approved of it or not.
FATED MATES
CHAPTER 12
Rebel Yell
“What are you doing here?” Bryant shouted, stalking up to me from the longhouse.
I batted my eyelashes, tucking my herb filled basket into the crook of my elbow.
“Like you, visiting my friends,” I answered sweetly. “And how are you this fine morning, Mr. Bryant? Did you have fun carousing out all night with the boys? Hope you didn’t get Black Crow too drunk and disorderly yesterday. Dove-caller will be miffed.”
