Uncaged (10 page)

She woke to the rumble of an engine on the street below. After prying her sleep-weary eyes open, Christy glanced out the window. An icy-gray sky shone against early morning light. A snowplow blew a white rooster tail of snow into the air. Tapping the mattress beside her, she discovered the bed warm but empty where Mitchell had lain.

“Mitchell?” She reached for the glass of water on the nightstand.

He walked into the room dressed in wet boots, jeans, and a down vest that accentuated the breadth of his shoulders. His cheeks flushed from the cold. Slicking a palm across his hair, he looked at her and smiled. “Good news, I found your car before the snow plow did. I dug it out.”

“How did you know it was my car?”

“The tangerine paint job and a red silk daisy in the cup holder tipped me off.”

“Ah.”

“Guess what I’m thinking?”

“I’m going to hope it involves coffee.”

“It can. Do you have to be anywhere this morning?”

“I should go home, do some laundry and say good-bye to my mom. I have to be on campus tomorrow morning.”

He crossed the room. “Let’s have breakfast and take a short hike.”

“All I have is what I wore. I don’t have hiking clothes.”

His eyes shimmered. “It’s not a hike so much as a walk to the edge of town. Your boots will be fine. I’ll loan you a coat.” Leaning over, he kissed the top of her head. “Get dressed and meet me downstairs.”

“Okay.” She watched in silence as he left the room. Reaching toward the nightstand, she grabbed her purse. Digging through the deep tote, she located her phone and then clicked it on to call her mom.

Breathless, Mara answered on the second ring. “Christy, are you okay? I’ve been tracking the storm on the Weather Channel.”

“I’m fine. I’m waiting on the snowplow. If you have errands to do today, go ahead. I might be back later than I thought.”

“How late?”

“I’m not sure.”

A long pause. “The reason I ask is Bob wants to take me to a movie.”

For years, her mother denied herself anything like a social life. “Bob the contractor?”

“Yeah, it’s not like a date or anything, it’s just lunch and a movie.”

“Really?” Bob was a good-looking man in his late forties and a former Marine. “It sort of sounds like a date.”

“He asked last night, and I said I’d think about it.”

“Mom, go and have a good time. It would make me happy to know you’re having fun. I’ll call you from the road, okay?”

“All right, sweetheart. By the way, where did you spend the night?”

“Ummmm.” She stalled. “Above a bar.”

“What?”

“Bye, Mom!” Clicking the phone off, she climbed out of bed then gathered her clothes and went into the bathroom to dress. Brushing her hair from her face, she saw Mitchell had left a rosy love-bite on the side of her throat. The mark wasn’t pronounced or vicious-looking, but an observant eye would notice. Hunting through her purse, she wished she’d brought some concealer but found mascara and lip gloss instead.

Once she exited Mitchell’s room and started down the stairs, it became impossible to avoid a comparison to last night. A post-apocalyptic quiet hung over Gee’s Bar. The billiard tables were empty and silent. No music played. In the bar area, the blinds were closed, but a light shone under in the kitchen door. The clatter of pans alerted her others were busy inside. Just as she prepared to call out to them, an indignant growl behind the kitchen door brought her to a halt.

“Those are my blueberries,” Gee grumbled. “I picked those and fought off the damn sneaky raccoons. Put them back in the freezer where you found them.”

“Come on, Gee.” Mitchell’s voice floated under the door. “Don’t be such a hard ass. I promise I’ll replace the berries. I want to make pancakes for Christy. It’s a surprise.”

“It certainly is!” Gee spoke like he was chewing gravel. “Why does she get to eat my blueberries? Get her out of here! Did my warning not sink in? Boy, you’re sitting on a haystack playing with matches.”

“I want to do things right. Tell Drew that Christy spent the night in my room.”

“Technically, it’s my room. Drew won’t like it any better.”

“I couldn’t send her into the storm!”

“It got roaring wild downstairs, do you think she heard or saw anything?”

“No, we were together the whole time.”

“You’re young. I get it, but, Mitchell, don’t go stupid on me.”

“Can I have a few blueberries?”

“For pretty Miss Killgaren, how can I say no? But get her gone within the hour.”

She froze trying to sift through the confusing content of the conversation. Hearing heavy footsteps, she realized someone shoved the kitchen door. Leaping backward she scurried into the billiard room and hovered in the doorway.

The door swung wide. Gee lumbered into the bar, his silhouette massive. He sniffed the air, his shoulders tensed. Turning, he looked at her and grunted. “We’ll have the road plowed to the highway by noon. You’ll need to leave before the snow turns to slush.”

Mitchell peered through the open door. When he saw her, a bright smile lit his face. “Christy, I made a fresh pot of coffee. Join me in—”

Gee lifted his palms into the air as if a gun were thrust to his back. “Hold on! My kitchen is a sacred space.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t go into the kitchen.” She walked to a booth near a window with the blinds drawn.

“I’ll get the coffee.” Mitchell returned to the kitchen.

“No. I’ll do it.” Gee ambled over to the coffeemaker, poured a mug, and brought it to her. “There’s cream and sugar on the table.” He set the steaming cup in front of her. “You like Mitchell don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Gee placed a broad hand on the table. “I know he likes you because it’s obvious to me that he’s never made pancakes before. Try to look pleased when you taste them.” He walked into the billiard room.

She sipped the black coffee. A few minutes later, Mitchell returned holding two steaming plates stacked high with pancakes topped with a lava flow of melting butter and syrup. Pride radiated from his face as he set a plate in front of her. “I hope you’ll like them.”

Picking up a fork, she smiled until her face ached. “I’m sure I will.” The pancakes were huge, each the size of the skillet and at least two fingers thick. Puffy and domed they resembled the caps of giant toadstools. Spearing one with the fork tines, she found it springy and resistant to cutting. The first bite confirmed something odd. “Oh, this is different, sort of like a blueberry omelet.”

He took a bite and frowned. “I worked without a recipe. Maybe I didn’t whisk the eggs long enough?”

“How many eggs did you use?”

“Fourteen.”

“Oh. More of a berry soufflé.” She took another bite and smiled. “Thank you. I love the blueberries, too.”

A big grin lingered on his face.

She ate as much as she could of the filling breakfast, stopping often to sip coffee and talk with Mitchell. His pancake triumph put him in a bubbly mood. Wanting to see him in daylight, she opened the blinds.

“Are you punishing me?” He squinted against the glare of snow and laughed. “You realize if others see us sitting here, they’ll want breakfast, too.”

Pushing her plate aside, she focused on him. “There’s enough left to share. I wanted to see your eyes in daylight.”

He leaned across the table and rested on his elbows, looking at her. “You have beautiful eyes.”

The way he looked at her teased every tender emotion. “They’re plain old hazel.”

“Not at all. I see a little blue-green, flecks of gold, and kindness.”

She gazed into his eyes, brushing her fingertips against his. He faced east giving her the advantage of looking into their liquid depths. Translucent shades of cinnamon and something resembling pure animal vitality shone bright in his gaze. She’d seen the same look before in the eyes of an impressive male wolf that had been lured inside Reverend Simon’s ramshackle compound and trapped. With a shotgun aimed at its head, the wolf stared at his captors with unsettling calm before springing into the air like a rocket and leaping over the compound fence. Shouts and gunfire exploded, but all shots missed. The wolf fled unscathed. Inspired by the defiant act, she began to believe she could escape, too.

He stood and cleared the plates from the table. “Let’s take a walk.”

“In all this snow?”

“We can drive my four-wheeler part of the way.”

“Hurray for that.”

Mitchell took the plates into the kitchen. She waited by the front door.

When he returned, he pointed to a red down coat hanging in the foyer. “I brought that downstairs for you.”

“What are you going to wear?”

Zipping his vest. “I’ll be fine.” He took her hand as he pushed the door open. “I’m parked in back. Be careful and don’t slip on the steps.”

They stepped into blazing sunlight. The snowplow left a hint of diesel in the otherwise-pristine air.

He led her around the side of the building. “The one good thing about a spring storm is a quick thaw.” He unlocked the passenger’s side of a big blue truck, opened the door, and helped her climb in. The interior had the chill of a refrigerator. She blew warm breath on her hands.

He entered the driver’s side. “I’ll get the heater going.”

“Please do.”

“This isn’t half-bad. I got up before dawn to dig the cars out when the temps were brutal.”

“What time did you wake up?”

“I never actually slept.” He tapped a fingertip to his temple. “My mind wouldn’t stop working.” Leaning close, he kissed her cheek. “You smell good, Christy.” A blinding smile lit his face. “What’s your ancestry?”

She laughed. “Wow, that was random! I wish I had a dollar for every time someone said, you smell good. What’s your ancestry? I’d have a dollar by now.”

“Well?”

“Scottish-Swedish on my mother’s side. I never really knew my father. He was Canadian with a little Native American mixed in. You’re part Lakota-Sioux, aren’t you?”

He put the key in the ignition, turned the engine over, and put the truck in reverse. “Yep.”

“Another thing we have in common.” She glanced ahead. “Where are we going?”

“A couple miles up this road and over the next hill.”

She shivered. “A couple miles? I’m freaking grateful we’re not walking the whole way.”

“We still have a short hike.”

“It’s a lazy Sunday. I’m full of pancakes. Don’t go Adventure-Man on me. I won’t be able to keep up.”

The road leading away from Los Lobos had already been plowed. Mitchell’s truck rumbled uphill with ease. At a turnoff, they headed up a steep, snowy road into thick woods. A slow bumpy climb ended on a ridge crowned in pines. He turned off the engine and set the brake. “We’re here.”

The ridgeline looked exactly like the last. “Is this place special to you?”

“You can’t see it yet. The cabin is on the south side of the hill.”

They walked in thick drifts of snow. He noticed she struggled. Patting his back, he motioned for her to jump aboard. “I’ll give you a piggyback ride. It will be faster.”

“Okay.” She leaped onto his back, grasping his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his hips.

He swayed and staggered a step, laughing.

“Are you sure about this? Yesterday you walked with a limp. This morning you seem fine. Don’t overdo it.”

“I’m good.” He tromped through the snow on sturdy legs. Soon, they crested the ridge. Tucked within a grove of pines she saw a rustic cabin. “That’s my family’s home. I was born there. A road used to lead straight to the cabin from another ridge, but it washed out and hasn’t been repaired in years. The cabin’s remained empty.” He bent low to set her gently on the ground and dug through his pockets for keys. Approaching the front door, he kicked a drift of snow aside with his boot then unlocked it. When he pushed the door open, chilled musty air enveloped them. “Come in.”

She entered and looked around. Though dusty and neglected, the cabin had big potential. High exposed-beam ceilings and lots of south facing windows made it beautiful. Two glaring flaws were also present. Red spray-painted graffiti on a wood-panel walls that read
Fuck Runners
and a hole in the paneling as if someone punched their fist through it.

Tracing her fingers across the angry words. “Vandals? Why are they so mad at runners?”

“Runners were….” He appeared to be searching for words. “Community members who decided for whatever reasons they weren’t going to put up with shit anymore and broke from the leadership of the group.”

“I’m not sure I understand. Are you a Runner?”

“Yes, as a child. Both my parents lived most of their lives on or near this mountain, and they would have stayed except things got bad. A man named Magnum Tao took charge of the group—”

“Magnum? Really? God, that name sounds like a problem right off the bat.”

“Magnum abused power and did all sorts of evil shit.”

“Why did people put up with him?”

“They were intimidated. Why did those other men join Reverend Simon?”

“The weak and wicked draw together.”

“My parents didn’t want my sister and me growing up around this crap. So we moved—
Ran
to Sioux Falls. For several years, we rented the cabin to family or friends, but Magnum couldn’t bear it. He scared off every tenant and tore the bridge down that crossed the gully. Cut the power. Took a hatchet to the water heater and the stove, blah, blah, blah.”

“I’m not saying he should have, but why not burn the cabin down?”

“That wouldn’t have worked for Magnum. He wanted us living under his thumb, especially my poor mother. He was dangerous, but he’s dead now. A few months ago, I came back here. Took a look around and promised myself I’d start fixing the place up as soon as spring came.” In the kitchen, he pulled out a beautifully crafted drawer. “My dad made these. He did great cabinetwork. That’s one reason I want to reclaim this place.”

She opened and closed several solid drawers. “Beautiful work.”

“I wanted to show you this.”

“I’m flattered. I can see it means a lot.”

“Christy, I want you to know you’re not alone. I had a….” He glanced at his boots. “Not a normal childhood. We kept secrets. Lived on the run. My childhood ended too soon.”