Page 8

When we reach the big house, Logan and the rest of the group have either killed or chased off the entire gang. We are now in control of the property, the building, and its stockpile of food and supplies.

Everyone has spread out, busily searching the rooms or setting up guard posts around it. Logan strides out to meet us when he sees our approach, and Burgundy quickly explains what happened.

Logan tells Trisha she’s welcome to stay with us as long as she’s willing to contribute. She immediately agrees.

For some reason, I was hoping Logan would have the same instincts I have concerning her. He’s a good judge of people. I’ve seen that firsthand over the past month. But he doesn’t appear wary or guarded. Just as matter-of-fact as ever.

Resigning myself to the fact of her presence and trying to talk myself out of the irrational antipathy, I do allow myself to say, “Maybe someone else can help Trisha. Deck took a really bad fall, and I’m sure he’s bruised if not worse.”

Deck gives me a small glare, which I ignore, and I’m relieved when Logan calls Micah over to carry Trisha into the house.

Burgundy goes with them, so Deck and I are left alone, staring at each other.

“You are hurt,” I tell him. “Act as macho stoic as you want, but you’re hurt.”

He gestures down at my right leg.

“That’s a pulled muscle. It’s not the same as you trying to tough out a fall like you had.”

He makes a face at me, but then his expression changes. He nods toward where Trisha and the others disappeared into the house.

“I don’t know,” I say slowly, answering his unspoken question.

“Something doesn’t feel quite right about her.

” At his look of concern, I add quickly, “No, it’s nothing specific.

Nothing that we can act on. I don’t know.

Just vibes.” I shrug and shake out my hands as if they had gone numb.

“It might be nothing. I don’t want to leave an innocent woman stranded merely because I’ve got my quills out. But maybe keep your eyes open.”

He nods soberly and then puts one big hand on the middle of my back to get me to walk inside.

The house is in such good condition and there’s so much food stored there that Logan announces we’re going to stay here for the time being.

It’s happened before, although not in the month I’ve been with his group. The only reason we travel is to find more sources of provisions and supplies. If there’s a place that provides both that and secure shelter, then Logan has us stay until we’ve used up enough to require traveling again.

I’m excited. I haven’t really minded riding in the back of a pickup for most of my days.

I’ve gotten used to the motion now, so it doesn’t make me queasy, and there’s always something new or interesting to see or do.

But it’s a luxury to stay in a real house that’s in livable condition.

It means I’ll be able to relax. Rest. In a way that’s impossible on the road.

Sure, there will be duties required. Cooking or housekeeping or guarding.

But Logan always puts us on rotation, so there will still be a lot of time left with nothing required of me.

It feels like a vacation, and I’m not the only one. Everyone’s spirits are up as we spread out through the house to find our individual sleeping spaces.

I try not to notice and then try not to care, but I can’t help seeing that Trisha almost immediately claims the small bedroom on the first floor with only one single bed in it. It’s the only spot that will offer real privacy since there are so many of us. Everyone else will need to share rooms.

Her explanation—that her leg is too injured to walk up the stairs—is actually a good one. It’s fair. Of course she can’t make it upstairs to share one of the larger rooms on the second and third floors.

I wish her presence wouldn’t rankle so much. I need to work on my attitude.

Maybe it’s because I’m still not used to being around other people. For so long it was just me and Hal, and then it was only me.

As always, I retreat into a corner to wait for everyone else to get their first choice. Deck disappeared somewhere, so I stand in the hall of the second floor and look out the window, waiting to see what’s left after everyone else has found their space.

I jump when someone touches my shoulder.

Deck. I wasn’t paying attention, or I would have known he was approaching. He frowns, visibly unhappy that I’m standing here instead of claiming a spot. He motions vigorously to follow him.

With a sigh, I do. He probably wants to inspect my leg to make sure I’m not hiding a secret injury.

He walks upstairs to the third floor and then down a hall and up a few more winding steps to a weirdly shaped room in one of the turrets. There’s a custom-made bunk bed built into the curved wall and nothing else in the space except a wide stretch of window.

Charmed, I smile as I gaze around at the adorable room. He motions me into the bottom bunk, and I immediately set my bag on the mattress.

The bunk beds were clearly designed for little girls. They’re still made up with pretty spreads and sheets featuring princess accessories like glass slippers and tiaras. It would have been a dream room for me when I was a child, and it’s still the sweetest space I’ve ever seen.

Deck is peering at my face, no doubt looking for my reaction. “I love it,” I say. “But maybe I should wait to make sure no one else wants to sleep here.”

He shakes his head.

“Okay. Fine. I’ll take it then. Maybe Burgundy will want the top bunk.”

With another shake of his head, he purposefully sets his pack on the upper mattress.

I snicker. “All right. If you want to beat out Burgundy for the pretty princess bed, then I have no objections.”

I really don’t have any objections. I’m used to him sleeping nearby now. He almost always does.

And I feel safer that way.

The house has a functioning well that still provides good quality water. That’s a huge advantage, saving us the trouble of boiling water from creeks and streams.

After I get my stuff settled in my bed, I go downstairs to volunteer to help with dinner preparations.

Micah likes to cook, so he and I have a great time pulling out ingredients from all the canned and dried food available in the huge pantry.

We make a big pot of chili with canned beans, seasoned tomatoes and chili peppers, and some sort of roast beef product that tastes surprisingly good.

We mix a fruit salad with cans of peaches, pears, and mandarin oranges .

Everything is delicious, and a couple of the men make a big bonfire in the yard. We sit outside and eat our meal around it, telling stories and joking.

I have a better time than I can remember having since Impact.

Afterward, there’s still some sunlight and the air is warm, so Burgundy and I wash up in the nearby creek with some body soap we find in the supplies. I wash my hair with shampoo for the first time in months.

I put on a loose cotton dress I found in the back of a closet with some other women’s clothes.

The dress isn’t at all flattering. It never had much shape—just falling straight down from short sleeves, and it’s way too big for me.

But it’s incredibly comfortable, and I don’t want to put my dirty clothes back on my clean body.

Burgundy found a dress to put on too. Hers is more flattering than mine, but I don’t really care.

I’m not trying to look beautiful for anyone.

Some folks are still gathered around the dying fire, but a lot of others have scattered. I see Trisha, and it looks like she’s flirting with Logan, which makes me hide a chuckle.

She can try, but the man is as impenetrable as a stone statue. I really don’t think she’ll have any luck with that.

At least she’s not still clinging to Deck.

Speaking of, I have no idea where he got to. He’s usually following me around, and it’s strange that he’s not in sight.

I check our bunks and see that one set of the clothes he keeps in his pack is gone.

He must be washing up like Burgundy and I did .

I wander around outside until I find him farther down the creek. He was indeed cleaning himself. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of worn boxers.

I’ve seen his chest before—just in passing in the mornings or evenings—but he looks naked-er than normal right now.

He’s sitting on a towel that’s spread over a big rock, and he’s working on his hair.

When he fell backward, he got twigs and brambles tangled into it. He’s pulled them out now, but the back of his hair still looks like one clump. I see why as I come closer.

He’s gotten a bunch of prickly burs stuck in it, and the whole thing has tangled into one enormous knot.

“What a mess,” I say, approaching him from behind.

I wouldn’t have thought it was possible for me to take him by surprise—since he’s always so wary—but I must do so right now. His whole body jerks, and he whirls around as he jumps to his feet.

“It’s just me,” I tell him. “Calm down. What have you done to your hair?”

He makes a series of grimaces and points back toward the house. He wants me to leave him alone.

He ignores me all the time when I tell him things, so I can ignore him in this. “I’m not going to leave. You need help with your hair. It’s all matted around those burs.”

For some reason—I really don’t understand why—my eyes keep dipping down to his broad chest. His mostly flat belly. His hips and thick thighs. His big, muscular arms. I’ve never gotten such a good look at him, and I want to see more.

He doesn’t have the perfectly developed, polished body that bodybuilders used to have in the old world.

No matter how big and strong he is, a lot of it is natural bulk rather than cultivated musculature.

He’s been physically active most of his life and even more so since Impact, and it shows in the strong shape of his arms and legs.

But he doesn’t have a six-pack. He’s actually got a little extra flesh around his middle.

And I like it.

I don’t know why, but I really like it. I kind of want to touch him there.

I don’t do anything so silly, of course. I control my straying gaze and keep my eyes on his face instead. “You’re never going to get the burs out like that. I can run get a pair of scissors if you want.”

He makes a growly sound—one I’ve only heard a couple of times.

“Okay, fine. I won’t cut it if I can help it, but you need to let me help if you don’t want those burs to be a permanent feature of your hairstyle.”

His grimace fades into a reluctant nod.

“You’ll have to sit down. I can’t reach you way up there.”

He does as I say, picking up the towel and sitting back down on the rock. Then I take the comb he gives me and move behind him. The whole back half of his hair is matted up with the burs .

“This is crazy,” I murmur. “How did it get like this?”

He raises his shoulders in a shrug. He feels strangely passive sitting like this.

It makes me feel… odd.

I try to focus on carefully pulling out the burs, combing out one small piece of hair after another on the edges of the mass. I am making progress, but it’s slow. It should be getting tedious, but it’s not.

There’s the strangest tension in my belly. Maybe slightly below my belly. A kind of tightness. Pressure. It’s not bad, but it’s deep. It makes me anxious.

Deck has helped me over and over again in the weeks I’ve been with Logan’s group, and he needs my help right now. So I resist the urge to get away so the weird twisting inside me will lessen. Instead, I try to breathe through it, removing the burs and combing out the tangles one by one.

It would be easier—less strange—if Deck were his normal grumpy but relaxed self. But he’s not. He sits motionless. Uncharacteristically stiff. He makes no sign or gesture to indicate a conversation, so we both breathe through the tension in the air.

I work on his hair, and he does nothing at all.

It takes a long time to get all the burs out and untangle his hair. The sun is almost down when I finally hand him the comb. He’s holding his towel loosely on his lap.

“Okay,” I say, shifting from foot to foot. That coiled tension below my belly is stronger than ever. It’s so strange. Intimate. I have no idea why I’m feeling like this from nothing other than combing his hair. “You’re fine now.”

He nods soberly. Doesn’t move.

“Should we go in?”

He taps his chest, points at the creek, then gestures at me before pointing toward the house.

I sigh. He wants to finish washing up, and obviously I can’t hang around to witness it. “Okay. I’m going to get ready for bed.”

He nods and waits until I’m a distance away before he starts to move.

It’s not even thirty minutes later when Deck comes into the turret room as I’m lying in my cozy little bunk.

He’s got his clothes on. He smells clean and feels a lot more relaxed than he was before. He leans over to peer in at me. When I wave and say good night, his mouth twitches up just a little. Then he turns off the flashlight he’s been using. It’s completely dark now.

He didn’t like me working on his hair. He’s relieved it’s over. Now he’s back to his normal self.

I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s a private person, always willing to help and do his duty but not letting anyone in. He stopped talking after Impact. He doesn’t want to open up.

Not even to me.

It makes me a little droopy, but there’s no reason for that reaction .

One thing I’ve learned is true about the world after Impact. You’ve got to take people as they are, or you won’t have any people at all.