Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61868 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
"It's so beautiful," Skye gasps, her eyes flicking to mine before resting on the view again. We sit on the rocks nearby to take the weight from our feet. As the cascading water fills the silence between us, I think about what she said about not being able to bury the past.
"What made you sign up for the auction?"
She tucks a stray strand of hair behind her ear, staring into the distance. My mom had long, pretty hair like Skye's, and she used to do the same thing when the wind was strong. It's been a long time since I sat with a woman in the outdoors for nothing but conversation.
Skye swallows, her throat shifting to bury her truth. I can ask the question, but that doesn't mean she'll give me an answer.
Her desire for privacy stirs my protective instinct again. Whatever it is, I'm sure it's too painful for her to face. Whatever happened in her life before the auction is something I can't do anything about. All any of us can do now is try to make this year as good as possible.
"Money," she says eventually. "I did it for the money."
It's not the full story, of that I'm certain, but she doesn't know me, and she doesn't know my motives or those of Jack and West. I shouldn't expect her to open up so quickly.
But I can encourage her by being open myself. I don't have anything to hide from anyone. I'm not closed like West, and I don't wear my anger about life like a flaming shield like Jack.
"I always feel less alone out here. The trees, the birds, the clean mountain air. It's so different from where I grew up." I pause, trying to find the words to explain my history. "My mom died when I was thirteen. I ran away from the group home I was put into…I didn't have anywhere to go."
Skye studies me with a soft expression, which encourages me to go on. "Living on the streets was tough…always in the shadows, relying on the kindness of strangers. It taught me a lot about what's important, and I was lucky when Jack found me and gave me a chance."
"Jack did that?" Skye sounds surprised.
"He got me a job at the lumberyard and put a roof over my head."
She shakes her head like she can't quite believe that the man she met last night is the same good Samaritan I'm painting a picture of.
"I had a little sister, Carmel. She was only six years old when my mother died. She was quickly adopted, and there isn’t a day where I don’t wonder where she is."
Once again, I notice that Skye is clenching her fists, scoring grooves into her palms. I’ve said enough. She has an open wound; I’m sure of it.
I step to reach for her, putting an arm around her shoulder. She's stiff at first but then relaxes into my embrace. We stay like that for a while, then she turns, and her eyes search mine. There's longing in there, but I'm not sure what it is for. I lean in to kiss her sweet pink lips, and it's a warm and tender moment until we're interrupted by a skittish bird bursting forth from a tree branch nearby. She stands abruptly, rattled, and scans the wood for the source of the noise.
"It was only a bird.” I try to reassure her, and she lets out a relieved burst of air.
"I feel like I'm trapped in a weird fairytale retelling of Goldilocks, except instead of bears, I've got lumberjacks."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah. Grizzly, Macho, and Kindheart." I snort with surprise because she summed us up so easily. Her words are bittersweet because The Three Bears was the last book I shared with Carmel before we were separated. I linger on the memory for a moment and breathe in. This time, it's her turn to sweep me into an embrace. This woman senses my need, but as we close in together, I feel her body shaking, and I realize that she’s sobbing silently into my shirt.
"Hey, it's okay." I smooth my hand over her back, pressing my lips to the warmth of her head. When her breathing calms, she draws back, staring into the distance as though she wants to put some space between us before she begins to need me too much.
"Let's go back to the cabin."
"I'll make some lunch," she says, and I nod.
We return the way we came to make the short journey through the trees to the lodge.
Moments pass in silence, and she still clearly has things on her mind.
After a few more paces, she turns to me. "Why does Jack hate me so much? I don't understand why he was at the auction when he doesn't want me around."
It's a difficult one to answer because I’m struggling to understand his motives myself. I can't confess to her what I think, that for him, it's a need for sexual control and something even darker. So, instead, I opt for something that may show Jack in a more favorable light and allow her to see him as I do.