The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)(42)

I couldn’t tell if she parroted the stories I’d told her or if she truly did remember. In which case, I made sure to teach her everything she wanted so if, heaven forbid, we were ever separated, she could fend for herself, light a fire, javelin a fish, and create a snare for smaller prey.

She even knew how to wield a knife without cutting off a finger and understood how to sharpen the point of a stick for cooking and other chores around the camp.

Overall, we excelled.

I’d always been strong thanks to the many hours of labour I’d been born into, but now, my muscles grew and height spurted and hair grew untamed or shorn.

Della often tugged on the slight patchy beard I couldn’t trim without a mirror, calling me a hairy monkey. I’d try to bite her fingers until she’d squeal and run away, playing hide and seek in the trees.

The clothes I’d stolen before leaving grew tighter as yet another growth spurt found both of us and almost overnight Della lost the chubbiness of her baby cheeks, slimming, sharpening, showing glimpses of the young girl she’d become.

On those rare moments, when she sat like an adult or strung a complicated sentence together like any well-read philosopher, I’d freeze and stare.

I’d flash-forward to a future where she’d be a beautiful woman, strong and brave and based in reality, where hard work layered beneath her quaint fingernails and outdoor living whitened blonde hair and browned pink cheeks.

I was proud of her.

So damn proud.

And to be honest, proud of myself that I hadn’t killed her yet through neglect or sheer incompetence.

Despite all odds, she’d flourished, and I only had myself to clap on the back and say good job.

Along with the many miles we travelled, we continued to supplement our rural lifestyle with quick forages where people massed and congregated.

Occasionally, we’d come across a small township where I’d leave Della on the outskirts while I slinked through oblivious city folk and help myself to toothpaste, packaged veggies, and canned fruit.

Della asked more than once if we could have lunch at a diner again.

It killed me to refuse, but I couldn’t risk it.

We were still too close to our previous town, and I’d hate to put her at risk all over again.

I was older now.

Old enough to know I’d technically kidnapped her, and if Social Services ever found out her real name, my future would be worse than just living without her. I’d be living in prison without her.

At night, I battled with wondering if that was why I kept her hidden—for my own stupid sake. But when she bounced from the tent in the mornings, bright and happy and excelling at everything she did, I allowed myself to hope that my selfishness was really about her.

I loved that she loved the life I could give her.

I worried she’d hate the life someone else would force upon her.

So, even though I refused diner and city visits, I did my best to cave to her every other whim. I came up with crazy hair styles with her ribbon threaded as artfully as I could. I indulged her whenever she asked for stories, even if it was on a hike to our next camp and not just as a tool to make her drowsy. I let her wear my clothes and stuff one of my socks with soft moss to make an ugly toy snake.

Some days, when summer made a reappearance and chased off the autumn chill, we’d forget about travelling or hunting and spend the day sunbaking by the river and jumping into the cooling depths.

Those days were my favourite.

The ones when no responsibilities could find us and the world where men branded kids as property and women permitted their sons to be sold no longer existed.

At first, I’d worried about the new needs running in my blood and the pleasure my body insisted on finding sometimes in my sleep. I’d refused to skinny-dip and didn’t let Della cuddle too close when we slept.

But gradually, the wariness I wore whenever we were around people fissured and shed, leaving me a boy once again.

A boy who might be turning into a man against his wishes, but out here…with nothing but trees for company and woodland creatures to judge, I could act stupid and make Della laugh. I could cannonball into the river butt naked and not feel as if I’d done something wrong.

I could be happy with my tiny stolen friend.

Nothing could make our life any better, or at least that was what I’d thought until Della rolled on her belly and poked my cheek as we lay side by side with our tent flap open and the sounds of night blanketing us.

“Hey, Ren?”

My eyes cracked open. “I thought you were asleep.”

“I faked it.”

“But I told you two stories, Della Ribbon. The deal is I talk, you sleep.”

“I never sleep when you talk.” She yawned. “I like your voice too much.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You like my voice, huh?”

“Um-hum.” She rubbed her chin where an indent of the sleeping bag zipper had pressed into her. “I like all of you.”

The starburst of affection she caused made me choke. I cleared my throat, turning to stare at the tent ceiling and focus on the lining and seams. “I like all of you, too.”

“No, you don’t.”

I scowled, risking another look at the blonde tussled kid who had every power to suffocate me beneath happiness and rip me to pieces in despair. “I don’t?”

She giggled. “Nope. You love me.” She blew kisses, then flopped onto her back and placed her forefingers and thumbs together to form a crude looking heart. “You heart me like this.”