7
JOANNA
I needed to get a hold of myself.
I've always been a loner. I liked it that way. I keep to myself, nobody bothers me, and that's just the way things have always been.
Men were always coming around. Nobody from Elijah anymore (they'd all learned how futile of a venture that was) but occasionally men from the neighboring towns, or repeat customers to the hunting land who continued coming back to this area each year rather than try some place new. They were always friendly, but lingered just long for me to get an idea of what they wanted. And then I would politely turn them down, or make a joke, or any one of the other ways women have learned to decline to go to bed with a man.
It's not that I was asexual. I loved sex. But only with the right person. Fred and I had a special bond, like we always knew what was in the other person's head, even while making love. We knew each other inside and out, with a familiarity and comfort that no new lover could hope to match. I still considered every new sexual advance when the opportunity arose--who didn't?--but it was always a quick and easy decision.
But Eric?
Oh sweet baby Jesus was I attracted to Eric. I could feel him near me, like he had an aura that demanded to not be ignored. Beyond the muscles, and the strong jawline, and the eyes like warm almonds, something inside of me did backflips when he was near.
And something happened in that kitchen. It was like my imagination had a mind of its own, a movie I was watching without any control. When I came to it was like I'd blacked out and was reawakening somewhere else, out of breath and confused. And as horny as I'd ever been in my life. I had to face away from him until he left the room or else he would see the desire painted on my face.
Desire for a man I'd nearly killed in my car yesterday. Who I was now allowing to stay at my cabin for a few days.
So, yeah. I needed to get a hold of myself.
"How's Buffalo this time of year?" I asked to make conversation while we carried boxes of deer pellets out to the shed. Everything smelled dry and musky, and I noticed that Eric wrinkled his nose.
"Buffalo is nice," he said.
"Seriously? This time of year?"
He set down the box where I pointed and we walked back outside. The breath misted all around his face as he spoke.
"I actually don't know. Memory is fuzzy for me right now. It's as if half my thoughts were knocked out of my brain, and what's left doesn't make any sense."
"Well I did knock you flat with my truck." A sly grin crept onto my face. "I'm surprised you have any marbles left at all, to be honest."
"Only a few." He turned and flashed a smile that probably made all the women weak. I pretended like I wasn't one of them.
"Speaking of knocking you flat, I wanted to ask you something." I turned to face him, and hesitated. "Nevermind."
"What is it, Jo?"
The way he said my name, rolling off his tongue and lips like a kiss, practically stopped my heart. I ended up pushing forward with my question as a way to shove aside the feeling.
"When I hit you, I could have sworn your arm was broken. I thought I saw bone sticking through your skin, and through your shirt."
For an instant, the briefest flicker of time, Eric looked like he was going to nod in acknowledgment. That he was going to agree that my memory of events was correct. But something stopped him. Visibly, like when the power almost goes out and all the lights flicker.
His eyes got a faraway look. A computer program scanning memory and coming back with the right response.
"I don't think so." He pulled up the sleeve of the coat I let him borrow and showed his arm. "Looks fine to me."
I examined it. It did look fine. "Must've been my imagination," I said.
We loaded supplies for the better part of the morning, stopping only to make sandwiches. Eric wolfed his down like he had never had food before in his life, the same way he'd done with the stew the day before.
I told him I had a list of chores around the property to tend, and he happily tagged along to help. Mending the fence on the south end of the property. Restocking the bird feeders spaced throughout the woods. Repairing the shooting blinds that had taken damage in the last storm.
I had forgotten how useful an extra body was. Someone to hand me tools and extra wood boards while I climbed up into the damaged blinds. A second set of eyes scanning the fence and looking for snags. Hell, just having Eric carry the huge sack of seed around for me was an enormous luxury. And he hauled the sack on one shoulder without strain, looking as natural in my old husband's clothes as if he were born in them.
"You maintain this land by yourself?" he asked at some point.
"Sure do."
"Have you never considered recruiting additional labor?"
"What, like hiring someone part-time?"
"Yes."
I'd been single for nearly a decade. It was hard, but I'd gotten used to it. There was always something needing to be done, I went out and did it, and then it was on to the next item that had broken while I worked. I often considered hiring extra help when the list grew too long, but could never justify the expense to myself.
"Not really," I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
"You should."
I looked sideways at him. "You implying I can't do this myself?"
He shrugged one shoulder, the shoulder not hefting the bag of seed. "I imagine you manage just fine."
"Indeed I do."
"I also imagine you have a lot of male suitors coming around."
I pointed to a tree and Eric lowered the bag, resting it against the trunk.
"Male suitors? Who the hell talks like that?"
My comment seemed to wound him; he flinched as if he'd been struck. I wondered why he reacted like that and felt a pang of guilt.
But he recovered quickly, and said, "You're avoiding the question."
I dipped my fingers into the sack of seed and came out with a handful. I pulled the feeder down and checked it--sure enough, it was empty. We'd been getting more migratory birds lately, mostly meadowlark and mountain plovers, and the feeders kept them around. A small detail of wildlife for the land that I cared to maintain.
"I'm avoiding the question because it's none of your business." I stuck up my nose haughtily to take the heat out of the words. "There's no ring on your finger, but you don't see me interrogating you."
He looked down at his hand--his right hand, the wrong one--before shrugging to himself. But before I could point that out he was hefting the bag again.
*
We were both exhausted by the time the sun disappeared below the tree line. Eric collapsed into the couch while I prepared something to eat, a quiet understanding passing between us.
"Do you drink?" I asked while turning the steaks in the pan.
"Drink?"
"Alcohol. Beer, wine, liquor. Do you drink?"
"Oh." I could only see the back of his head from the kitchen, but I heard the frown in his voice. "Why wouldn't I?"
I opened a bottle of cheap Merlot (three dollar wine always tasted better to my tongue than anything fancy) and poured two glasses. Was Eric being coy with his answer, or was I making him uncomfortable?
I carried the glass to him and he took it with a smile, almond eyes locking with mine for a split second.
We ate dinner quietly and methodically, two hungry bodies refueling after hard work. Eric complimented me on the food. I said thank you.
The entire thing was weird. Like a date.
An awkward date.
"I dunno what you do for fun back in Buffalo," I said when the dishes were cleaned, "but it's mighty boring around these parts. No cable, and the public network waves don't come out this far." I fell into the couch with my glass of wine and let out a long sigh. "I've got internet, but it's about as slow as a cow's tail."
Eric poured himself another glass and sat on the couch next to me. Not the love seat catercorner to me. The seat right next to me. He didn't seem to notice that his leg brushed up against mine, but to me it was like electricity flowing from the point of contact. The warmth and strength of his muscles under the jeans.
"No worries here," he said, swirling wine around in his glass. "I'm easy to entertain."
His personality had changed in the past day; he was more, I don't know, normal. Before he'd seemed like a foreigner trying to translate words in his head, and then translate his response. Every eye-blink and word coming almost unnaturally.
Concussions are crazy, I thought, shaking my head.
"So now that you've had some wine, you want to tell me why you're all alone out here?" he asked, arching one dark eyebrow.
The question didn't feel as invasive as it had earlier today. With Eric's easy charm and disarming smile I damn near wanted to spill my guts to him.
"I'm a loner." I looked around the room for the words. "I just like it that way. I don't mind people, and certainly have friends, but at the end of the day I like to return to solitude."
"Solitude," Eric said, tasting the word.
"That's life out here in nowhere," I said, shifting my legs. It was impossible to make the movement without brushing up against him again. He had all that room on the other side of the couch, yet chose to sit this close. Where I could smell him, a combination of musk and the deodorant I'd lent him. "Better than living in a city."
"In a city," he repeated. He stared off at nothing for a long while, until I thought he might not say anything at all. "I miss my home."
His words were heavy with meaning. I paused before pressing him. This was my chance, so I had to be careful.
"What are you running from?"
His head whipped around to face me, eyes flames of intensity. I held up a hand soothingly.
"It's alright. I'm not gunna call the cops on ya. But it's obvious you're afraid of something. I've seen people who are afraid of hospitals, and your insistence on avoiding ours was more than that. Ya know? So, I don't mind you staying here a day or two until you remember everything. Or until you're ready to go. But I do wanna know what's really going on."
He looked at me then, really looking at me with genuine consideration. He wanted to tell me, I could see it, yet he was afraid.
"It's alright." I put a hand on his thigh, and was shocked at how solid he felt. "You can tell me, Eric. I won't hurt you."
The conflict raged behind his eyes, and I thought I had him convinced. But then he made his choice, the silent decision passing over his eyes like a veil.
"I'm not running from anything," he said, and somehow I knew it was the truth. "You are very beautiful."
I almost spit out my wine. "Excuse me?"
His eyes moved over my body like fingernails, slow and caressing. "You are an extremely attractive woman. And yet you are out here, in solitude, by yourself without a partner. Is something wrong?" He furrowed his brow with concern. "Is there a reason you choose this life?"
I don't know why, but the question didn't offend me--though it normally would have. Maybe it was the day of hard work we spent together. Or maybe it was the wine.
Or maybe it's because Eric is fucking gorgeous. Good looks gave someone a lot of leeway.
"I had a partner, a husband, for years." I tried to roll my shoulders in a no-big-deal gesture. "He died. And I didn't want to start all over again. Dating, or courting. The awkward period where neither of you knows where something is going."
Like right now.
"I'm not against, you know, finding someone," I added. "I've just never had a good opportunity with the right man."
Eric took a sip of wine while he processed all of that. Sorting it into columns and storing it away like a computer program.
"I think that is a shame," he finally said with a nod. I waited for him to say more, but he only stared at me with that same intense gaze.
"Why is that a shame?"
He twisted on the couch, pulling half of one leg up with him, brushing against my thigh again. His eyes never left mine, and his face softened with care.
"As I said, you are an attractive woman. Such beauty should not go unappreciated. Like a rose garden that nobody has ever seen."
The line was cheesy, similar to something I'd read in The King's Officer, but it made me blush like it was the most romantic thing I'd ever heard. I snorted and looked away to cover the growing heat on my cheeks, but I could still feel Eric's eyes on the side of my body.
Do it, a voice inside my head insisted. Make a move. Jump his bones right here. We'd both had two glasses of wine, we were sitting close together, and he was giving me goddamn compliments like he wanted to take me into the bedroom and ravage me. All I had to do was make the tiniest move and I could have what I wanted--which I did want, I realized, wanted desperately in my chest and loins.
But that simple gesture was too much for me, and I remained paralyzed on the couch.
Eric put his hand on my leg.
Instantly, with the kind of immediacy of a light turning on, I imagined him making a move. Pushing forward to kiss me, his lips warm and soft, then more forceful as his need for me became known. He dropped the glass of wine but I didn't care, couldn't care, only had a singular ability to feel his body pushing mine back against the couch until all I saw was his olive face and those eyes like shining almonds looking at me with lust.
Eric removed his hand from my leg, and then the image was gone.
I was panting like I'd run a mile in the snow, flushed and spent. Eric was still staring into my eyes, and it almost seemed like he knew what I was thinking, that it was a shared experience and not something in my mind alone.
And even though that was ridiculous, I blushed deeper at the thought. I wanted it, for him to take charge and take me, the way I'd imagined in the kitchen or there on the couch or a hundred different ways, so long as he put his lips on my skin and tasted me like I were as delicious and intoxicating as the wine.
He continued to stare back, and I was almost certain he knew what I was thinking.
The vulnerability in such a moment made me feel raw and exposed, in a way I wasn't fully ready for. And even though Eric insisted he wasn't running from anything, I suddenly had to.
"I'm going to get ready for bed," I said, quickly rising. Eric stared up at me with a calmness I certainly didn't feel.
"Sweet dreams, Jo."
Where did you com from, Eric? I wondered as I went to the bedroom, closing the door against any further thoughts.