Page 54 of Unwanted

“Cold?” He lowered his head, his lip tilting up a bit, teasing.

“Huh?”

He frowned again, his eyes running over her. She was obviously confusing him. She was just sort of…slack-jawed and useless with him standing there like that. A half-naked snow warrior, scarred and exuding so much testosterone it must be addling her brain. Unbidden, her gaze dropped to the sparse line of dark hair on his flat stomach, following it slowly downward. “You can use it…”

Her gaze shot to his, eyes widening. “What?”

“I keep it dripping so it doesn’t freeze.” He nodded back over his shoulder to where the pipe ran up the side of the house.

Right. She glanced at the still-dripping pipe and wondered if he’d stood under it naked only moments before. She swallowed. Of course he did, Harper. Who showers in their pants? “No. I mean…I…don’t think I could stand it. I’d die of cold. I’d freeze like an icicle.”

He smiled slowly, that unpracticed one that was boyish and sweet and totally at odds with his appearance. She did step back then. Away from that smile that made her stomach muscles dance.

“I’ll just wash up.”

“Okay.” He stepped around her, and she turned to watch him leave, letting out a gasp when she saw his back. He halted, turning his head.

“What happened to you?” she asked, moving closer and running her finger across a long, jagged scar that ran from his lower ribcage to the middle of his back. He had other scars on his back as well, but that one was by far the worst.

He turned toward her. “A pig. It tried to gut me.”

“A pig? One of those wild boars?” She shivered internally. She hated those things. They were crazy and unpredictable, and she’d heard awful stories about people being horribly maimed or even killed by them when they’d unexpectedly encountered one.

“He was wild. But so am I.” Something came into his eyes then, something challenging, though she wasn’t sure whether the look had to do with the memory of being attacked by the wild boar or a warning he was issuing to her.

She raised her chin, meeting his eyes. “Clearly he didn’t get the best of you.”

He watched her for a few moments, and then he let out a breath, turning. Over his shoulder, he said, “I’ll be inside.”

She stood there for a moment, watching him walk effortlessly through the snow, knowing he’d done it a thousand times, under a thousand different winter skies. Why had he made a point to comment about being wild? she wondered as she turned and made her way inexpertly to the water pump a few feet away. Was it a warning? Why? Did he want her to go because she bothered him by interrupting the way of life he’d become familiar with and had no desire to change? She thought about what he’d told her the night before. How someone had taken him from his baka and left him out there. She supposed it wasn’t much worse than what she’d already thought she understood: his parents had abandoned him to the elements. But didn’t he want answers to the questions of who? and why? Who had been cruel enough to do that to a little boy? And could it be a coincidence that he’d seen the helicopters looking for her parents on the same night he’d been left out there?

She pondered on what little she knew of the mystery as she splashed frigid water on her face, letting out a sharp squeal as it hit her skin. She smoothed the water back through her hair, rinsed her mouth, and used her finger to clean her teeth as best as possible. He had a toothbrush in a cup next to the water pump but no toothpaste. No products at all. Apparently, he hadn’t been willing to trade with Driscoll for shampoo. She used the other rustic amenities before heading back inside.

When she got to his door, she knocked, feeling uncomfortable with just opening it and letting herself inside. Jak pulled it open, now having put on the same long-sleeved shirt. She gestured over her shoulder. “It looks like a winter wonderland out there.”

He looked past her for a moment, his gaze softening. “Things aren’t always…the same as they look.”

She stepped inside, and he closed the door. “Yes. I know. I mean, it’s beautiful, but no less harsh. Is that what you mean?”

“Yes.” He turned away.

As she was removing her coat and boots, she noticed two long, flat boards sitting against the wall in the corner. As she eyed them, she realized they had handmade “straps.” Had he fashioned his own version of snow shoes from long pieces of wood? She was amazed. He really was…incredibly industrious. It was humbling to get a personal glimpse at the lengths he’d gone to to survive.

He set something in his bowl and mug on the table, and Harper walked to where he stood, sitting on one of the stools. He’d opened one of the cans of pears she’d brought and had put some of the smoked fish next to it. She smiled her thanks, and he looked pleased as he sat next to her. “Thank you, Jak. I appreciate your hospitality.”

His eyebrows did that funny thing where one went up and one went down. She was beginning to recognize it as the expression he made when he was trying to put a word he didn’t know into context. She resisted defining hospitality for him. He was clearly intelligent and possibly more well read than some people walking around Helena Springs, conducting perfectly successful lives, so she would allow him the time to deduce the meanings of words he didn’t know. Or he could ask her. “Speaking of hospitality, I hope you’re okay extending a little bit more.” She shot him a slightly embarrassed glance. “My truck is under a sheet of ice, and I can’t imagine those back roads ever get plowed. They’re too far out of town.”

His gaze was now focused on a pear as he sniffed it suspiciously and then, apparently happy with the scent, put it in his mouth. His lips curved as he chewed, his gaze meeting hers. Harper’s stomach flipped at the pure joy contained in his expression. His smile grew, and he said around the mouthful, “You can stay here as long as you need to.”

“Thanks.”

After she’d taken a few bites, she turned to him, wiping pear juice from the corner of her mouth. “Jak, what you said out there about being wild. You know, it’s nothing to feel ashamed of. The way you grew up was not your fault. You did what you had to do to survive. Most people wouldn’t have been able to.”

“Survival is the greatest training of all,” he murmured.

His statement confused her. “Training? For what?”

He shook his head as though bringing himself back to the moment. “What happened after your parents died?”

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