Page 91 of Wild Eyes
She nods, now serious again from head to toe. “You’re lucky to be alive. Bears are unpredictable apex predators.”
After a day of learning about wilderness survival, she spent dinner talking about different ways to start a fire and how to use a compass, but not bears.
“You wanted to tell me this now?”
“I didn’t want to embarrass you at dinner.”
Thatmakes me smile. She may be wild, but she is thoughtful. Just like her dad.
Her dad, who has taken me into his house. Included me in their dinners. Shared meaningful conversation with me—like he cares about what I have to say.
And over the past few days, he hasn’t even made fun of me when I ogle him while he works his training horses in the arena behind the barn. I’ve been sitting on the bleachers, attempting to find the words to express what I want to say. Turns out writing songs is about as hard as trying not to peek back up at West in his jeans as he talks in soft tones to the horse beneath him. His hands are gentle, and his patience knows no bounds.
I try so hard not to stare, but he usually catches me and tosses me a wink. Followed by a knowing smirk.
Still, West and his kids have made me feel more at home in their house than I have anywhere else in the world.
“That’s very considerate of you, Emmy. Thank you,” I say, rubbing her pajama-clad knee.
She reaches behind her back for a plastic bag and holds it out to me. “I got this for you.”
“You and Olliebothgetting me gifts? What have I done to deserve this?”
She glances around the room before oh-so-casually dropping, “We like you. And you make our dad happy.”
That strikes me silent for a moment. The plastic crinkles beneath my fingers and breathing feels just a bit harder after that offhanded comment. “I think your dad is just a happy kind of guy.”
She shrugs. “Yeah. But he’s happier with you here. Like when we came back this week. I can tell. Sometimes I think he’s lonely without us. Mom has Brandon, so I feel bad for leaving my dad.”
From the mouths of babes.
I stare at the girl. She thinks she’s just having a regular conversation, but she’s thrown me right off with her level of empathy.
She shoves her chin at the bag in my hand. “Open it.”
So I do. And what I find inside is… “You bought me a knife?”
“It’s a pocketknife. In case you run into another bear. I didn’t have enough money to buy it. My dad told me I need to be more responsible with my allowance and wouldn’t give me any extra, so Ollie lent me some. He says I’m in his debt now, whatever that means.”
“You think I’m going to staba bear?”
She rolls her eyes like my aversion to violence is childish. “I’ll teach you how. You go for the eyes or mouth.”
“I don’t think I’m equipped to fight off a bear. I’d just let him eat me.”
“Skylar, that’s quitter talk. Plus, my dad would be really sad if his favorite singer died.”
I laugh now, holding the cool wooden handle against my palm. “I’m not his favorite singer.”
The expression on Emmy’s face is pure confusion. “Of course you are.”
“I highly doubt?—”
“I’ll prove it. Be right back.” With that, she leaps off the bed and tears out of the room. All pretense of sneaking around has completely disappeared.
When she returns, she’s wearing the world’s widest grin and holding up a T-shirt.
My T-shirt.
