Page 10 of Christmas Captive

“You make soup,andyou kidnap women? What else do you do with your time?” She bites back a grin as she spoons into the meal.

“You’re lookin’ at it. The farm takes up most of my time and this body doesn’t recover from a hard day’s work like it used to, so that recliner gets what’s left of me.”

She glances up from her bowl. “This isn’t half bad. What is it?”

“Venison. It’s something I made up.”

Her lip curls and her brows narrow. “Like… a deer?”

I guess they don’t eat deer in San Diego. “It’s protein, and deer are abundant around here.”

“So, you hunt?”

“I forget you’re a city girl.”

“I also love animals, so…”

“You can still love the deer.” I bite into the stew, realizing now why I’m alone. I didn’t think to ask her what she wanted for dinner. That would’ve been a smart choice. Maybe she doesn’t eat meat. Maybe she would’ve rather eaten pasta or something more mainstream.

She doesn’t respond, but her eyes are telling a story. A story that says she’s irritated and frustrated with me, though I don’t know why.

“Did I say something wrong?”

She shakes her head. “No. I just… I didn’t know that about you. I’m learning a lot tonight.”

“Does it bother you that I hunt?” I’ve never even thought of asking a woman that question before, mostly because I didn’t care whether they liked it or not. It’s what I do. It’s a way of life for me.

She shakes her head. “Not a lot of that going on in San Diego, but my dad would take me out skeet shooting on Sundays. We never killed anything.” She stares down at the table then up again. “Does it bother you… to take a life?”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t like it, but I like knowing where my food comes from. People disconnect themselves from grocery store meat. That cow still had to die to feed you, but for some reason the guy who eats it without blood on his hands is better.” I brush my hand down over my beard. “I don’t buy that. I use every part of the animal and honor its life.”

She nods and sips her beer. “I never thought about it much. How often do you hunt?”

“A deer will last me about a month, so I go every three weeks. I also keep a harvest of fruit and vegetables in the root cellar. Got more apples down there than I know what to do with.”

“My grandma made the best apple everything. Pie, cider, butter, tarts. You name it, she made it. She lived in Washington and her backyard was an orchard. I used to love spending summers up there. She taught me so much. Do you have orchards here?”

I nod, desperate to drag the apples up from the cellar and see what she can do with them. “On the other side ofthe property. We do u-pick apples in the fall with the best donuts you’ve ever had. In the spring and summer, we focus on wildflowers.”

“Wow, you’ve really got stuff figured out. I’m impressed!”

“You shouldn’t be. I have nothing figured out. I have a family tree farm, a family farmhouse, and a load of fucking apples, but no one to share any of it with.”

She leans back, taking her beer bottle with her. “I thought you liked being alone?”

“I do for the most part, but there are days when I wish I had someone to come home to. Someone to tell the stories of my day to, ya know?”

“I do.” She picks at the label on the amber colored bottle. “That’s why I’m afraid to give up on Wyatt.”

“Yeah, but it’s not about having just anyone. It’s about having the right someone.”

“Right,” she nods, “but there are people that spend eons looking for the perfect someone and they miss out on great things because they’re so afraid of choosing poorly. Hell, even the right person could come at the wrong time and then you lose them for good.”

“You can’t lose the right person,” I groan. “That’s the point. They’re the right person. The wrong person would leave, giving you space to find the right one.”

“Not true. Those are the lies we tell ourselves so that heartbreak doesn’t hurt as much, but you can meet the right person and they can leave for a variety of reasons. The time has to be right. The circumstances have to be right. Both people have to be ready for a relationship. It’s a lot of drama, and I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore. I’ve been contemplating a shack in the woods. Do you think solitude would suit me?”

“You’d be lonely,” I nod, pulling a sip of beer. “Besides… love doesn’t always equal marriage. People fall in love all the time and it never amounts to more than a year of memories.”

---