Credence

I yawn, the warm smell of fresh coffee drifting through my nostrils as I arch my back on the bed and stretch my body awake.

Damn. I slept like shit.

I reach over on the nightstand for my phone to see what time it is, but my hand doesn’t land on anything, just falls through the empty space.

What?

And that’s when I notice it. The roughness of the new sheets. The whine of the bed under my body. The pillow that’s not the feather one my neck is used to.

I blink my eyes awake, seeing the faint, morning light stream across the ceiling from where it spills in through the glass double doors in my room.

Not my room, actually.

I push up on my elbows, my head swimming and my eyelids barely able to stay open as I yawn again.

And it all hits me at once. What had happened. Where I am. How I ran away, because I was rash and I wasn’t thinking. The uncertainty that twisted my stomach a little, because nothing is familiar.

The way I don’t like this and how I’d forgotten I don’t like change.

The way he looked at me last night.

I train my ears, hearing the creak of tree branches bending with the breeze outside and how that breeze is getting caught in the chimney as it blows.

No distant chatter coming from my father’s office and the six flat screens he plays as he gets ready for his day. No entourage of stylists and assistants running up and down the stairs, getting my mother ready for hers, because she never leaves the house unless she’s in full hair and make-up.

No phones going off or landscapers with their mowers.

For a moment, I’m homesick. Unbidden images drift through my head. Them lying on cold, metal slabs right now. Being slid into cold lockers. My father’s skin blue, and my mother’s hair wet and make-up gone. Everything they were—everything the world would recognize—now gone.

I hold there, frozen and waiting for the burn in my eyes to come. The sting of tears. The pain in my throat.

Wanting the tears to come.

Wishing they would come.

But they don’t. And that worries me more than my parents’ death. There’s a name for people who lack remorse. People who can’t empathize. People who demonstrate strong anti-social attitudes.

I’m not a sociopath. I mean, I cried during the Battle of Winterfell on Game of Thrones. But I don’t cry—not once—when both of my parents die?

At least no one in this town will care about me or how I’m coping with their deaths. The only person back home who’d understand is Mirai.

And then I blink, realization hitting. “Mirai…”

Shit. I throw back the covers and climb out of bed, heading for the chest of drawers where my phone is charging. I grab it, turn it on, and see a list of missed notifications—mostly calls from my mother’s assistant.

Ignoring the voicemails, I dial Mirai, noticing it’s before six on the west coast as I hold the phone to my ear.

She answers almost immediately.

“Mirai,” I say before she says anything.

“Tiernan, thank goodness.”

She breathes hard, like she either ran to the phone or just woke up.

“Sorry, my ringer was off,” I explain.

“You’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Chills spread up my arms, so I flip open the top of my suitcase and pull out my black sweatshirt, juggling the phone as I try to slip it over my head.

“So…are you going to stay?” she asks after a pause. “You know you don’t have to. If the house isn’t comfortable or you feel weird—”

“I’m okay,” I tell her. “The house is nice, and he’s…” I trail off, searching for my next word. What is he? “Hospitable.”

“Hospitable,” she repeats, clearly suspicious.

I clear my throat. “So how is the world?” I ask, changing the subject. “Anything that needs me?”

“Just take care of yourself,” she says, and I don’t miss the way she cuts me off. “I won’t bug you again. Call me if you want—I want you to—but I’ll stick to texts to check in from time to time. I just want you to forget about everything here for a while, okay? I got it handled.”

I look around the bedroom I slept in, thankful I have it to myself, because at least I have one place here that’s mine where I can go to be alone.

But the thought of walking out of this room and confronting new people makes my stomach roll, and I…

Just book me a flight back home, Mirai. I want to tell her that.

But I don’t.

Jake seems to be amenable to letting me be and not pushing too hard, but Noah is friendly. Too friendly.

And I’ve yet to meet Kaleb, so that’s another new person coming.

I walk for the double doors, needing some air.

The least of my worries should be what people are thinking or saying about my absence back home—and what they’re thinking and saying about my parents—but I can’t help it. I feel like far away and out of the loop is suddenly the last place I should be right now. Especially when I’ve foolishly hung my hat in the middle of nowhere, with some guy my father hated, and on land that smells like horse shit and dead, rotting deer carcasses.

I pin the phone between my ear and shoulder as I throw open the doors. “I should be there for…”

But I trail off, the doors spreading wide and the view looming in front of me.

My mouth drops open. Suddenly, I’m an inch tall.

“You should do what you need to do,” Mirai replies.

But I barely register what she says. I stare ahead, absently stepping onto my large wooden deck as I take in the expanse before me that I didn’t notice in the dark the night before.

My heart thumps against my chest.

So that’s “the peak.” It didn’t cross my mind that the town was named so for a reason.

In the distance, in perfect view between the trees beyond my balcony, stands a mountain, its granite peak gray and foreboding, skirted with green pines and topped with white clouds that make the scene so beautiful I stop breathing for a moment.

Holy shit.

It’s just there. A cathedral, sitting in front of a blue sky, and before I can stop myself, I raise my hand, reaching out for it like I want to take it in my fist, but all I can feel is the morning air breeze through my fingers.

I inhale, the smell of the earth and stone drifting through my nose even from here, the memory of the dead animal smell from last night forgotten. The scent of water hangs in the air, fresh but musty where it soaks into the soil and rock, and I inhale again, closing my eyes.

The hairs on my arms rise.

I need to leave now. I don’t want to get used to that smell, because it’ll stop being special before long.

“If you want to be here for the funeral, then be here,” Mirai goes on as if I still care about anything we were discussing. “If you don’t, I don’t think anyone will question the only daughter of Hannes and Amelia de Haas if she’s too distraught by the sudden death of both parents to attend the funeral.”

I open my eyes, part of me wanting to smile and part of me disappointed in myself, because I know I won’t leave. Not today, anyway. I raise my eyes and look at the peak, not wanting to stop looking at that view yet.

I swallow, remembering Mirai. “Thanks,” I tell her. “I’ll take a few days and think about what I’ll do.”

The funeral wasn’t for four or five more days, at least. People from around the world would need time to get to California, as well as all the arrangements that had to be made. I had time.

“I love you, Tiernan,” she says.

I pause. She’s the only one who says that to me.

All the memories come flooding back, except now I catch things I didn’t catch before.

All the times she—not my mother or father—called me at school to see if I needed anything. All the presents under the tree I know she—not them—bought for me and the birthday cards she signed for them. All the R-rated movies she got me into that I couldn’t otherwise, and all the travel books she’d leave in my bag, because she knew they were my favorite things to read.

The first pair of dangling earrings I ever owned were a gift from her.

And I fucking nod through the phone, because that’s all I do.

“Breathe, okay?” she adds.

“Bye.”

I hang up, needles pricking my throat, and continue to stare at the beautiful view, my hair blowing in the soft breeze and the wild smell of the air so much like a drug. Heady.

A woodpecker hollows out a tree in the distance, and the wind sweeps through the aspens and pines, the forest floor growing darker the deeper the woods go until I can’t see anything anymore.

Do they hike? Jake, Noah, and Kaleb? Do they ever venture farther into the forest? Take time to explore?

A chainsaw cuts through the silence, loud and buzzing, and I blink, the spell broken. Turning around, I drop my phone on the bed and walk for one of my suitcases, digging out my toiletry bag. Walking for the door, I squeeze the handle, slowly twisting it.

It squeaks, and I flinch. My parents didn’t like noise in the morning.

Stepping softly into the dim hallway, the dark wood floors and paneling lit only by the glow of the two wall sconces and a rustic chandelier, I tiptoe past the room Jake told me was his last night and head for the next door, reaching for the handle.

But before I can grasp it, the door swings open, light spills into the hallway, and a young woman stands there, damn near naked. Her mussed auburn hair hugs her face and hangs just above her bare breasts.

Jesus… I turn my head away. What the hell? Is she my uncle’s wife? He didn’t mention being married, but he didn’t say he wasn’t, either.

I cast another quick glance at her, seeing her smile and fold her arms over her chest. “Excuse me,” she says.

Taut, flat stomach, smooth skin, no ring on her finger—she wasn’t his wife. And definitely not the boys’ mother. I have no idea how old Kaleb is, but Jake said Noah was his youngest, and she’s not old enough to have grown sons.

She looks only a few years older than me, actually. One of the boys’ girlfriends, maybe?

She stands there for a moment, and my shock starts to turn to ire. Like, move or something? I need to get in.

“The difference between pizza and your opinion is that I asked for pizza,” she recites.

I falter and turn my head to look at her, but she’s looking down at my sweatshirt. I drop my eyes, seeing the one I’d donned and the writing she was reading on the front of it.

She chuckles at the words and then slips past me, out of the bathroom. I rush inside, and I’m about to close the door, but then I think better of it and dip my head back into the hallway. Unfortunately, though, I just hear a door close. She’s gone before I can see which room she disappeared into.

Closing the door, I busy myself washing my face, brushing my teeth, and removing the ribbon I use to tie my hair out of my face every night. Years ago, my mother started doing that, because she was told it was healthier than rubber bands.

So I started doing it, too, for some reason.

After I brush out my hair, I open the door just as quietly as my bedroom one and peer cautiously into the hallway in case more naked strangers are around. I guess it’s good to know I’m not cramping their style.

Seeing no one, I dart for my room again, smelling the coffee that woke me up drifting up from downstairs. I make my bed, dress in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved top, and start to unpack my suitcases, but then I stop just as I’m pulling out a stack of shirts.

I might not stay. I put the shirts back and close my suitcase, deciding to wait.

I remain planted in the middle of the room for another eight seconds, but as much as I delay, I can’t think of anything else to do in here to put off making an appearance. Leaving the room, I blow out a breath and close the door behind me, not stopping before I dive in head first and descend the stairs to get this over with.

But as I step into the living room and look around, my shoulders relax just a hair. There’s no one down here. A couple of lamps light the spacious room, and I turn my head left, seeing the kitchen, dimly lit by a few lights hanging over the center island, empty, as well. I spot the red light of the coffee machine, though, and pad over in my bare feet, keeping an eye out for one of the guys.

Finding a cup in a dish rack, I pour myself a cup.

“Morning.”

I jump, the cup nearly slipping out of my hand as the coffee sloshes over the rim. Searing drops land on my thumb, and I hiss.

I glance over my shoulder, seeing Jake stroll into the kitchen and open the refrigerator,

“Morning,” I murmur, brushing the hot liquid off my skin.

“How’d you sleep?” he asks.

I cast another look, seeing him take out a drink, sweat already glistening all over his arms, neck, and back as his T-shirt hangs out of his back pocket. It’s only about seven. How early do they get up?

“Fine,” I mumble, taking a paper towel and wiping up the coffee. I actually slept like shit, but that will only open me up to more questions, so it’s easier to lie.

“Good,” he replies.

But he just stands there, and I can feel his eyes on me.

I take another paper towel and wipe the wooden countertop some more.

“Warm enough?” he presses.

Huh? I look at him questioningly.

“Your bedroom last night?” he says, elaborating. “Was it warm enough?”

His light hair, damp with sweat, sticks to his forehead and temples as he looks at me, and I nod, turning away again.

But he doesn’t leave.

He just stays there, and I feel myself wanting to sigh, because this is the part where people usually expect me to make an effort to carry on a conversation.

The kitchen grows smaller, and the silence more deafening, except for a bird cawing in the distance. I search my brain for something to say, the awkward seconds stretching and making me want to bolt.

But then he moves closer all of a sudden, and I straighten, on alert as his chest nearly touches my arm. I’m about to move away, but then he reaches in front of me, and I watch as he switches off the coffee maker.

“I was just keeping it warm for you,” he says, his breath brushing the top of my head.

My heart starts pumping harder. Keeping it warm…? Oh, the coffee. He left it on for me.

“You have pretty hands,” he points out.

I look down at them wrapped around the mug.

“Your dad did, too,” he adds, and I can hear the taunt.

I pinch my eyebrows together. Was that a dig?

“My dad had pretty hands,” I muse, taking a sip without looking at him. “So real men use chainsaws and pick-up trucks instead of Mont Blancs and cell phones?” I ask.

I turn my head, peering up at him, and he narrows his blue eyes on me.

“Well, he’s dead now,” I tell Jake. “You win.”

He lowers his chin, his stare locked on mine, and I see his jaw flex. I turn away and take another sip of my coffee.

Regardless of whatever bad blood was between him and my father, the orphan is the last person he should be targeting with his insults. Manners are a thing everywhere. This guy’s a prick.

Despite that, though, my stomach warms, and I sip my coffee to cover up my nerves.

I feel it. The need to engage.

After the sadness, anger was my constant companion as a kid. And then the anger went away, and there was nothing. I forgot how good it felt. The distraction of my emotions.

I like that I don’t like him.

“Alright,” someone calls, and I hear her footsteps enter the kitchen. “I’m out.”

I glance over, still feeling Jake’s eyes on me, and watch the naked woman—now dressed—strolling up to Jake with a brown leather backpack slung over her shoulder as she wraps an arm around his neck. She leans in, and he hesitates a moment—still looking at me—before he finally turns to her and lets her kiss him.

She’s his, then. I take in the smooth skin of her face, in shadow under her baseball cap, and her tight and toned body. She’s nowhere near his age.

The guys aren’t as cut off from civilization as I thought. Until the weather starts, anyway.

The tip of her tongue darts out and slips into his mouth for a split-second before she pulls away, and I turn back to my coffee, a strange irritation winding its way through me. Will there be lots of people coming and going?

“See you tonight?” she asks him.

“Maybe.”

There’s a pause and then he repeats himself.

“Maybe.”

She must’ve been pouting.

She plants another kiss on him and leaves, and I exhale, kind of glad he didn’t introduce me to another person.

“Wanna give me a hand?” Jake asks.

I look up at him but forget what I was going to ask. He looks a lot like his son.

More than I realized last night.

The full head of blond hair, freshly slept on. The lazy half-smile. The constant joke you can see playing behind their eyes. How old is Jake, anyway? My father was forty-nine, and Jake is younger. That’s all I know.

With sons who are at least twenty, I’d say he’s probably in his early forties?

Of course, he could be older. He seems to get a lot of sun, and he stays in shape. My father wasn’t overweight, but he didn’t look like this guy.

I face forward again and take a sip my coffee. “Help with what?”

“You’ll see,” he tells me. “Get some shoes on.”

He walks away, calling for Danny and Johnny, and after a moment, the dogs follow him out to the shop. I almost roll my eyes. His dogs are named Danny and Johnny? Another Karate Kid reference.

I take a couple more gulps of the cooled coffee, dump out the remainder, and spin on my heel, heading back up to my bedroom.

After I slip on some shoes, I grab my phone to slide it in my back pocket but think better of it.

I look down at it, hesitating for only a moment before I turn it off and plug it in to charge.

Closing the door behind me, I leave the room and head for the stairs, briefly training my ear on the son’s door—the one I met, anyway—and wondering if he’s up yet.

But I don’t hear anything.

Heading out of the house, I slow as I hit the porch, taking in the full view in the light of day and turning my gaze right to see the tip of the peak through the trees from this low level.

I breathe deep, my eyes falling closed for a moment and unable to get enough of the smell of wood and pine. The hairs on my arms stand up from the chill in the morning air, but it doesn’t bother me. Trees surround the house, and I take in the fat trunks and peer into the forest in the distance, the floor dark under the canopy. I have a sudden urge to walk. I bet you can walk for hours without seeing or hearing anyone.

The front deck is huge, just as wide as the inside of the house with an overhang shading half of it and wooden rocking chairs and a swing adorning the space. A couple of trucks sit out front before the land spills downward to a vast forest with the town in the distance.

At least I think it is. The gravel road into the property comes from that direction. I haven’t seen behind the house yet, but I assume it takes me deeper into the forest.

Glancing right, I see Jake walking down the driveaway and stop in front of the stairs. He’s put his shirt back on.

“You know how to ride?” he asks.

Horses or…?

I just nod, assuming he means horses.

“Do you know how to shoot?”

I shake my head.

“Do you know how to answer in anything other than nods and one-word sentences?”

I stare at him. I’m not unused to that question.

When I don’t answer, he simply chuckles, shakes his head, and gestures for me to follow him.

I step off the deck and traipse across a small, sparsely green yard with patches of mud and sporadic puddles. The dew from the overgrown grass soaks through the bottoms of my jeans and wets the tops of my feet, exposed in my turquoise Tieks, as I trail behind him toward the barn. The gray wood is cracked and decaying near the foundation, and I look up, seeing the hay door open near the roof of the barn, but the main doors on the bottom are still closed. Before we reach the entrance, he veers left and slides open the door of a lower, attached structure, and I follow him over the threshold and immediately smell the familiar scent of the animals. It’s a stable.

He heads down to the third stall, and I hang back as he opens it, bringing out a brown mare with some paint markings down her snout and on her legs from the knees to the heels. She’s already saddled, and I look down at my flats, frosted with mud around the sole of the shoes. I have sneakers in my room, but if I stay, I’ll need to get some work boots in town.

And soon.

Taking the reins, he leads the horse out of the stable, and I follow, seeing Noah walk up to us and toss a couple of shovels into a pile next to the barn.

“Oh, my God, are you okay?” he blurts out, looking at me worried. “Was there an animal attack I didn’t know about?”

What?

And then I see his bewildered stare drop, and I follow his gaze, seeing the purposeful tears and shreds of my designer skinny jeans that my family’s personal shopper put in my closet a few weeks ago.

Slices of thigh peer out between shreds of dark-washed material, and Jake laughs under his breath as I look back up to see a lopsided smile on Noah’s cocky face.

I lock my jaw and look away.

He’s teasing. I’m just not in the mood.

Of course, I haven’t been in the mood for years, so I guess this is who I am now.

I tuck my hair behind my ear, and he eventually passes, his lips tight with the laugh he’s holding in.

“Tiernan,” Jake calls.

I walk over to where my uncle stands on the other side of the horse and follow his lead as he holds the stirrup toward me. Reaching up, I fist the reins in one hand and grab hold of the saddle in the other, slipping my left foot into the stirrup. Hoisting myself up, I swing my leg over and straddle the horse, fitting my other shoe into the right stirrup. It’s a perfect fit. I don’t need him to adjust anything. I haven’t asked what we’re doing or where we’re going, knowing it doesn’t really matter. I won’t argue.

I look around for his horse, but then, all of a sudden, he’s pulling himself up and plopping down right behind me.

What is he doing?

“I said I know how to ride,” I tell him.

But he reaches in front of me and takes the reins, forcing me to let them go. I grip the horn of the saddle with both hands, scooching up as far as I can, because he’s right there, and I’m practically in his lap.

My heart starts beating a little harder as irritation crawls under my skin. “I don’t need help,” I tell him.

He only clicks his tongue and nudges the horse, setting us off around the barn. We round the wooden fence and gallop into the forest as the horse climbs the steep hill, sending us under the shade of the trees, and I squeeze my fists around the horn to try to keep myself from sliding backward.

But as much as I try, I still feel his body there.

The day grows darker as the trees shield us from the sun, and the air cools, but something pleasant stirs at the feel of the animal under me. Her muscles working against my legs to get us up the hill. My pulse starts to race a little, but I don’t hate it. A little refreshing, actually. He’s solid behind me, and I feel secure. For the moment.

“Are you uncomfortable?” he asks.

His voice vibrates against my back.

But I don’t answer.

“Are you comfortable?” he presses instead.

Still, I stay silent. What does it matter anyway? He imposed himself despite my protest. Will it matter if I’m comfortable with him on the horse or not?

He doesn’t care. He just wants a response out of me.

His sigh hits my ear. “Yeah, your father could piss me off without saying much, too.”

But I can’t hear him. His legs rest against every inch of mine as I sit nestled between his thighs.

Snug. Protected.

Are you uncomfortable?

I don’t know, but I’m aware that maybe I should be. This is weird. We shouldn’t be sitting like this.

We continue up the hill, the rock and dirt kicking up under the horse as I look around, seeing the house behind us down below. The terrain evens out, and Jake pushes the horse a little faster as I relax into his hold around me, both of us bouncing up and down in the saddle.

He blows a couple times, like something in his face, and then his fingers brush my neck. I tense, the touch making me shiver.

“Do me a favor, okay?” he says as he swipes my hair over my right shoulder. “Keep your hair tied back as much as possible. We have lots of machines that can snag it.”

I take over, smoothing my hair over my shoulder and out of his face.

We stop at the top of the hill. “Water tower, barn, shop…” he calls out, pointing as we turn and look over the cliff to his property below. “There’s a greenhouse over that hill, too.”

I follow his gaze down to where the house sits through the trees in the distance below us, getting a decent view of the entire ranch. The house is happily situated in the center, the back of it facing us, with the attached garage to the left—or shop, I assume he’s referring to—and then a barn on the other side of that. To the right is a water tower. The rocky hill we sit atop of sits behind the house, and I’d imagine there’s a propane tank and a generator somewhere on the property.

The leaves dance with the morning breeze, and something flaps its wings to my right as a steady, soft noise pounds in the distance. Water, maybe?

Jake pulls away from the edge, and we keep going, still farther away from the house and deeper into the forest, and I look down, seeing his fingers wrapped around each strap of the reins, nearly resting on my thighs. His arms lock me in, and despite the chill of the morning, I’m not cold.

“You can’t take the truck up in here, but the horses and ATVs do well,” he tells me. “Have Noah show you the ropes with the four-wheelers before you use one, okay?”

I nod. I did a camp for extreme sports one summer, but he’ll probably want his son to show me the ropes anyway.

We keep going, and even though I’m a little hungry after not having eaten for so long and craving another coffee, because my eyelids are weighing heavy with the relaxing rocking of the ride, I stay quiet. I’m not thinking about anything out here, and it’s nice.

I close my eyes.

But after a few moments, the rush of water grows louder, and the horse stops. I open my eyes, seeing we’re at the edge of a cliff. I look into the distance.

The peak.

My heart thumps, and I stop breathing for a moment as I take in the now unobstructed view.

My God.

A narrow valley runs below us between two mountains, a long waterfall rushing over one of them and into the river. Between the two mountains, in the distance, stands the peak. Dark gray rock, skirted with greenery. It’s beautiful.

“Like it?” Jake asks.

I nod.

“Do you like it?” he asks again in a stern voice, and I know he wants me to use my words.

I just keep staring ahead, only able to whisper. “l love it.”

“You can come back as much as you want, now that you know the way.” I feel him move behind me and the saddle shifts a little. “But you need to carry protection with you when you leave the house, you understand?”

I nod again, barely listening as I gape at the view.

But he takes my chin and turns my head to face him.

“This is very important,” he insists. “Do you understand? This isn’t L.A. It’s not even Denver. We have black bears, mountain lions, coyotes, the occasional rattlesnake… You need to have your eyes open. You’re on their turf now.”

I pull away from his grasp and face forward again, but then I see him bring something up from behind me, and I tear my gaze away from the peak again to see that he holds a gun.

Or a rifle.

Sliding the chamber open, he shows me the long, sharp golden bullets and then yanks the bolt back, chambering a bullet and making sure I’m watching as he does it.

“Do you see the broken rope bridge hanging over there?”

I look across the river, seeing the remnants of a wooden rope bridge hanging down the rock wall.

Jesus. My heart skips a beat, taking in the drop below. Was that bridge actually a thing at one time?

He puts the rifle in my hands. “Aim for it.”

I grip the long firearm, the steel barrel tucked into a dark wood casing, and I’m kind of thankful. At least he’s not wanting to talk.

Did he shoot that deer with this?

I let out a breath.

Not likely. The mountain man probably has a whole cabinet of these things.

Hesitating a moment, I finally lift the rifle, positioning the butt against my shoulder and wrapping my hand around the guard with my finger on the trigger. I close my left eye and peer down the line of sight, toward the muzzle.

“Okay,” he tells me. “Now calm your breathing. The bullet is already chambered, so just look down the sight, and line up—”

I pull the trigger, the bullet firing out of the barrel, echoing into the air, and a pop hits the rock wall down the opposite side, kicking up rock dust and cutting the board in half. Both parts fall and dangle by their respective ropes against the cliff.

A breeze kicks up my hair a little, and I lower the rifle, opening both of my eyes as the thunder of the shot disappears in the distance and the peaceful sound of the waterfall fills the air again.

Jake sits behind me, still, and I hand the gun back to him and turn my attention back up to the peak, seeing some kind of a large bird breeze past my line of sight.

He clears his throat. “Well…I was going to suggest the boys empty some beer bottles for you tonight, but…looks like you don’t need the practice. I thought you said you couldn’t shoot.”

“I can’t shoot animals,” I tell him. “I thought that’s what you were asking.”

The peak is massive. But so close. Such a strange feeling, something so big, reminding you that you’re small, but also reminding you that you’re part of a world full of magnificent things. What a great thing to be able to see—and relearn—every day.

Jake dismounts the horse, and I ease back in the seat, which is still warm from his body.

“I’m going to check some traps, so I’ll walk home,” he says.

I look down, meeting his eyes as I take the reins now.

“Start breakfast when you get back to the house,” he tells me. “After you unsaddle the horse, of course.”

I narrow my eyes without thinking. Cook?

I have no problem helping out, but why that?

I look away. “I’ll pitch in, but I’m not staying in the kitchen.” I’m not sure if I have a problem with cooking or because that’s where he wants me.

Put the girl at the stove, because of course she doesn’t know how to ride a horse or shoot, right?

“Do you know how to tend crops instead?” he asks.

I straighten my spine, already knowing what he’s getting at.

“Weed, water, fertilize?” he goes on. “Aerate the land? Plant? Do you know how to prepare to store some of those crops to feed the horses and livestock over the winter months?”

I still don’t look at him.

“Milk cows?” he continues, enjoying himself. “Train horses? Operate a chainsaw? Skin a deer?”

Yeah, okay.

“Can fruits and vegetables? Drive a tractor? Build a motorcycle from scratch?”

I lock my jaw, but I don’t answer.

“So cooking breakfast, it is,” he chirps. “We all do our part, Tiernan. If you want to eat.”

I’ll do my part and then some, but he could ask instead of give orders.

I turn my head toward him again. “You’re not my father, you know? I came here of my own free will, and I can leave whenever I want.”

But instead of walking away or ignoring me, a hint of mischief hits his eyes, and he smiles.

“Maybe,” he taunts. “Or maybe I’ll decide that you’d benefit from some time here and that you can’t leave, after all.”

My heart quickens.

“At least until I see you laugh,” he adds. “Or yell or scream or cry or fight or joke, and all in more than nods and one-word answers.”

I stare at him, and I feel my eyes burn with anger.

He cocks an eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll decide to honor your parents’ wishes and keep you until you’re of age.”

“I’ll be ‘of age’ in ten weeks.”

“We’ll be snowed in in eight.” And he laughs, backing away from me.

I feel the ghost of a snarl on my lips.

“Burn the bacon, Tiernan,” he instructs as he walks away. “We like it that way.”