Page 17 of Song Bird Hearts (Green River Hearts #4)
Valerie
T he fire cracks softly in front of the cabin, the warm orange glow licking upward, sending little sparks dancing into the crisp night air.
We’re gathered around it like a makeshift family, an odd one stitched together with secrets.
Giden had coaxed the fire into a full, toasty blaze like he was born doing it, while Knox sat sharpening a pocketknife on a leather strop with slow, rhythmic strokes.
Wolf lounges cross-legged on a blanket beside me, seemingly relaxed, though that Rolex on his wrist glints in the firelight like it has its own agenda.
Keven snuffs in the dirt near the tree line, rooting through pine needles for something to eat. Occasionally, he gives the fire a wary glance, as if it might suddenly turn him into bacon like his name implies.
Gilden hands me a marshmallow with a flourish. “ Mon Rossignol ,” he says with a teasing bow. “For you, a delicacy of burnin’ sugar and nostalgia.”
I grin and skewer it with a stick. “You’re a poet.”
“Don’t encourage him,” Knox mutters, but the corner of his mouth twitches.
“C’mon, Knox,” I say, nudging him with my foot. “Loosen up. This is supposed to be fun.”
“Fun,” he echoes, clearly unfamiliar with the word. But I do notice he starts sharpening a stick to use as a skewer, so there’s that.
Gilden leans closer to the fire, flipping his marshmallow with precision.
“So, cher , what’s your verdict on this culinary masterpiece?
I call mine the ‘Crispy Cajun.’ Little burnt on the edges, sweet in the middle, and a dash of spice to make you dance.
” He grins as he adds something that definitely doesn’t belong on marshmallows. “Just like me.”
I laugh at him and wrinkle up my nose. “I prefer my marshmallows sweet.”
He wiggles his brows. “But when you get a taste of this Cajun flavor, cher , you won’t ever go back.”
Wolf, beside me, holds his stick just above the flames, a little too close. It’s like he’s never seen it before outside of a movie. The marshmallow starts to sag like it doesn’t know what it’s doing either. He watches it, his eyes thoughtful, almost. . . fascinated.
“You’ve never made a s’more before, have you?” I ask as I slap my marshmallow between chocolate and graham cracker.
“I’ve. . . observed them,” he says, which is the most Wolf answer he can give. “It never seemed essential to try it.”
Gilden chuckles. “ Le loup , you ain’t lived ‘til you’ve burnt your mouth on a chocolate marshmallow mess you can’t even hold together.”
Knox hands him a graham cracker with clinical efficiency. “Here. Try not to look confused.”
Wolf raises an eyebrow, but he takes it. I watch as he carefully assembles the s’more and then takes a dainty, careful bite. His eyes flutter closed. “Oh.”
We all laugh and I’m happy to introduce Wolf to something a bit more down to earth. The man always feels like he’s from Mount Olympus or something and trying to fit in with us mere mortals.
For a moment, the night feels still. There’s no danger here, no worry. Just firelight and the occasional cracks of pine sap popping in the logs. I lean back on my elbows, gazing up at the stars peeking through the pines.
“So,” I say, watching the few fireflies brave enough to come up this high on the mountain dance, “how’d you two get into the protection business?”
Knox answers first, surprisingly. Straight and sharp, like the blade he’d been sharpening. “Army,” he says. “Special forces. Two tours.”
His voice doesn’t waver, but I feel the air shift. “Oh?” I ask.
“After I got out, civilian life felt. . . fake. Like trying to move through water wearing your boots. Too quiet and too clean. And then the nights. . .” He trails off.
I look at him, but his eyes are on the fire and almost unreadable. “You couldn’t sleep?” I ask gently. I’ve heard that mattresses feel weird when you come back from war, that things are too soft. Maybe he had the same issue.
He gave a short nod. “Not without a wall to my back.”
“And a gun under his pillow,” Gilden adds, not unkindly. As if to say, “this is just how he is,” without saying it.
Knox doesn’t deny it. “I got offered the job after a failed meeting at the VA. I took it. The rest is history.”
I touch his knee, just lightly, and he doesn’t flinch even if he doesn’t look at me either.
Gilden breaks the heavy silence with a grin and a flaming marshmallow waving around. “Now me? I got recruited after I wrestled a twelve-foot gator outta the swamp for stealin’ my mama’s chicken cutlets.”
Wolf raises a brow. “You’re joking.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Gilden says proudly.
“Little man with a big hat watched the whole thing from his airboat. He said anyone who could stare down death and still cuss it out in Cajun French might have some use in his organization. He gave me a card. Next thing I know, I was takin’ apart landmines in Bolivia and flirting with assassins in Monaco. ”
“That. . .explains a lot,” I say, trying not to choke on the laughter around my marshmallow.
Knox mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “damn swamp rat,” but I catch the smile he hides behind his marshmallow as he finally stabs it on a viciously sharp stick.
My gaze drifts over to Wolf, the man who seems unshakeable and immaculate. He feels like he was designed in a lab rather than born. He’s certainly dangerous and devastating all at once.
“And you?” I ask. “What do you do, really? Besides stalk people. That Rolex doesn’t exactly say ‘humble beginnings.’”
He stares into the flames a long moment before answering. “Family money,” he says. “And a long list of expectations I didn’t care to meet.”
“That’s not really an answer,” I point out.
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not.”
A silence settles between us. It isn’t exactly heavy, but it is curious.
“You did mention you had information about the Foundation,” I decide to bring up. “What particular information do you have?”
His eyes find mine. “I can offer names who are a part of it. I can tell you exactly how large it is.”
“How large is it?” Knox asks. “We talkin’ country-wide or world-wide?”
Wolf’s eyes trace over to his. “World-wide. There’s not an industry they don’t have a part in. There isn’t a government they’re not able to influence.” He looks back at me. “We’re taking on an empire.”
I swallow. “Are there any. . . Is there anyone from Steele in the Foundation?”
Wolf shakes his head. “Surprisingly, no. I checked before I arrived.”
“Like a damn ghost,” Knox grumbles. “You don’t even have a car. You can’t tell me you hiked up the entire mountain to reach us.”
Wolf shrugs. “I like hiking.”
“In leather dress shoes and a high dollar suit?” I ask, surprised. “You weren’t even a little dirty when you arrived.”
Wolf shrugs. “I don’t like to be dirty.”
All answers and yet somehow, non-answers.
Wolf is a puzzle, one I’m not sure if we’ll ever really put together.
He’s dangerous, clearly, and he seems to know a lot about the people who are hunting me, but getting more information out of him is like pulling teeth.
I wonder what it’ll take for him to crack.
We fall into a comfortable silence after that, mostly because Wolf doesn’t seem to want to add talk right now and the rest of us seem comfortable just to lean back and enjoy the night for once. Danger is around every corner, but up here in the mountains, it’s peaceful.
“You ever notice,” Gilden says, stretching out and letting his voice roll lazily through the night, “how the stars look brighter when you’re sittin’ with the right kind of people?”
I look up at the three of them, taking it all in. An ex-soldier with haunted eyes, the Cajun who wrestles gators and talks like poetry, and a Wolf who watches me like I’m carved from starlight.
“I think,” I whisper, afraid if I speak too loudly, it’ll ruin the moment, “that this might be the first time in a long time I’ve felt safe.”
Knox’s jaw clenches at my words, and he doesn’t acknowledge them. Gilden smiles like I’ve handed him a crown. And Wolf, of all people, reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“So, what kind of specialist are you exactly?” I ask Gilden, knowing I’m gonna get some innuendo wrapped up in charm. I’m not disappointed.
“The kind that’ll make you scream my name, cher. I’m happy to show you.” He winks at me, and I know he knew I was fishing for just that kind of response. I smile, glad that we somehow just fit together as easily as breathing.
A firefly lands on my knee, drawing my attention away from the smooth-talking Cajun.
I let it sit there, let the heat of the fire and their presence soak into my bones. There are shadows waiting for me around the corner. I know that. But tonight? Tonight, there’s just this, a campfire, s’mores, and good company.
A burnt marshmallow never tasted so good.