Page 7 of Out on a Limb

“People in town said this cabin was abandoned.” Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, I pluck at the sheets. “They all thought you were probably dead, or at least not coming back. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, I swear.”

Stig nods, still sweeping. The light from the bedside lamp gleams gold against his hair and beard. “Understandable.”

I snort. “No, it’s not. You’re being way too reasonable about this.”

“Well, I am going to make you cut me a new key.” Stig winks, then crouches down to pick up the dustpan. He ferries it to the trash can under the kitchen sink, weaving a graceful path between the furniture.

His furniture. Because this whole cabin and everything in it is his, and even if this man is insanely forgiving, I am still homeless once again.

Where am I gonna sleep tonight? If I hike down to the bar, could I crash in the back office at Flint’s? Would my boss kill me if I took that liberty?

Over by the sink, Stig fills a glass with water, drinks the whole thing in one go, then fills the glass to the brim a second time. His throat shifts as he swallows, forehead creased in concentration, and I finally realize the state the adventurer must be in.

He arrived here in the middle of the night, dusty and sweaty and tired. He’s clearly thirstier than a demon, and I bet he’s hungry too, and probably desperate for a hot shower and some sleep.

But instead of his own quiet cabin, kitted out for his needs, Stig Hansen got home and found new locks on the door and me, sleeping in his comfy bed.

Guilt launches me off the mattress, and I flick on another floor lamp as I hurry across the room. “I can cook! I’ll cook you something. You go shower and change and, and relax or whatever, and I’ll cook you a meal. Then I’ll leave and never come back, I swear.”

The adventurer wipes his mouth on the back of his wrist and sets down the empty glass with a thud. “I have a better idea. Let’s make a deal.”

I yank open the refrigerator door, checking our ingredients: eggs, tomatoes, onions, cheese, spinach, hot chilies. Nothing too exciting, but there’s something here. “Oh?”

“You need somewhere to live, and you already like this cabin—enough to break and enter, anyway.” Stig leans closer to my shoulder, his voice dropping low. His eyes are such a ghostly shade of blue—like the underside of a glacier—and they’re fixed on me, intent. “You should stay, Jana.”

Let’s pretend the full-body shiver that coasts down my spine is because of the cold refrigerator air. Fumbling for the top shelf, I squeeze the biggest tomato to test for ripeness, trying not to get my hopes up already.

It’s too good to be true.

There’s always a catch.

“And what do you get out of this deal, Stig Hansen?”

The adventurer props one elbow on top of the refrigerator. “Simple, really. Nothing crazy.”

My fingers find tomato number two, pressing at the taut flesh. “I’m listening.”

Stig grins, those blue eyes crinkling at the corners. “I need a wife.”

Five

Stig

Iknew this deal was crazy before I offered it, but still, seeing Jana reel back with shock makes laughter bubble up my throat. She shakes her head back and forth, one forgotten tomato clutched in her hand as she backs up toward the center of the cabin.

“A wife? A wife? You’re insane.”

Yeah—guilty as charged. This is an insane proposition, just like it’s insane to climb mountains that reach so high the human body can’t withstand the thin air for more than a short window of time, or to canoe down crocodile-infested rivers and camp on lion-ruled plains.

But I’ve chased adventure for my whole life—chased this feeling, this giddy high that comes from leaping out of an airplane or pushing myself past human limits.

There’s no feeling like it. And the exact same sensation flooded my body when I flicked that lamp on and found Jana Kumara in my bed, the rush of adrenaline stronger than ever before.

My gut tells me: this is my next adventure. She’s my next adventure, and you’d better believe I’m buckling in. Listening to my gut has kept me alive all these years, saved my bacon in so many dangerous situations, and you’d better believe I’m not gonna stop now.

So, call the cops? I’d rather sleep in the trees and sign over my cabin to this woman right this second. I’d do it in a heartbeat if it meant she’d stay.

But why settle for living close by if there’s something better on the table? If I can aim for a higher mountain peak? If we could stay here together?

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