Page 10 of Mountain Man Crush
“I’m bored without work and no TV. What do you do to pass the time?”
“I chop wood to keep it stocked up. I hunt. I fish. I garden in the summer. I read a lot and do odd jobs for the people in town.”
I wrinkle my nose. “That all sounds boring.”
He shakes his head. “Life isn’t all about fun.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“Why isn’t it?” he repeats the question.
I nod.
He lets out a long breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Some of us just work to survive.”
“When’s the last time you had fun?”
He shakes his head and opens his book, planning on ignoring my question.
“That right there tells me it’s been too long.”
He doesn’t look up again or say another word. I roll onto my side and watch the flames of the fire dance, letting the popping and cracking of the wood settle the anxiousness inside of me. Before I know it, I’m completely relaxed, and my eyes close. I drift off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Chapter Eight
JACK
Inever actually thought she’d let me stay even though I’m glad she did. It’s much easier sitting around when I know she’s safe. I can’t help but watch her out of the corner of my eye as she naps on the couch. Her long eyelashes are fanned across her cheeks and her lips are slightly pushed out with half her face smashed against the pillow on the couch. She has one hand up under her cheek and the other is resting in a relaxed fist in front of her. Her knees are bent as she curls up.
Watching her today reminded me of a caged rat. She’s trapped in the house due to the bad weather and all the things she usually relies on to pass time have stopped working due to the power outage. So far today, I’ve watched her clean the bathroom, read, and pace back and forth.
I sit and read while she takes her nap, but she doesn’t sleep long. She wakes up, uses the restroom, gets a drink, and then starts pacing all over again. Eventually, she settles, and I watch as she rearranges her bookshelf. She waters her plants and then turns to face me.
“It’s about time for dinner. How does tacos sound?”
I look up. “I haven’t had tacos in years,” I confess, trying to think back on the last time I ate them. It had to have been before I moved up on the mountain.
“Tacos it is then,” she says, heading for the kitchen.
I listen to the sounds of her cooking for a while, then decide that if I’m going to eat the meal she prepares, I may as well help by pulling my own weight. I put my book back inside my bag and go into the kitchen where she’s browning the beef.
“Anything I can do?”
She looks up with a smile. “Sure, you can chop the lettuce and tomatoes if you want.”
I agree and she gets out everything I’ll need. As I chop, I watch the way she moves around with purpose. She takes a bag of tortilla chips out of the cabinet and pours some into a bowl that she sits on the table. Then she pours a bowl of salsa to go with, putting it next to the chips.
She adds the taco seasoning into the beef and lets it simmer while she mixes up drinks.
“You can’t have tacos without margaritas.”
I don’t reply, but now that my job is done, I take a seat at the table and dip a chip into the salsa. She hands over a margarita on the rocks with the rim of the glass salted. I take a sip and shake my head at the overpowering taste of tequila.
“Is it bad?” She sips her own and shrugs. “I like it strong.”
“It’s not bad, but it is going to take me a minute to get used to. I don’t usually drink anything except coffee, water, milk, and whiskey.”
She giggles as she goes back to the stove, stirring the meat mixture.
