Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(73)

“Yes.” I bob my head rigorously to emphasize my agreement.

“That Zoe girl, she really loves horses. She lit up around our Felixes.” Ginny’s narrowed gaze follows the horizon out over the mountains. “My daddy always said that I lit up around the horses, too.”

What is it about this blanket?

I wouldn’t describe it as soft. In fact, it’s almost abrasive. Yet, leaning against a pile of cushions in front of the burning woodstove with a book from Amber, and wrapped within my checkered wool blanket from The Salvage Yard, I feel more contented than my limited memory can recall.

Perhaps I feel particularly cozy given the thunderous storm outside. Apparently we’re sheltered from the kind of rain that the east coast of Oregon gets, thanks to the mountains, but we don’t get away completely. The radio station playing at work today called for everything from catastrophic winds to clear skies in the span of an afternoon. Dakota and I made a bet—loser buys coffee. I, of course, chose clear night skies, both because I like to take in the stars from my balcony before I go to bed and because Dakota always buys coffee for both of us.

I’ll definitely be buying the coffee tomorrow.

A bolt of lightning zags through the sky outside and my attic apartment fills with light. The booming crack of thunder comes almost immediately after. And then the old brass lamp that shines over my book pages cuts out, along with the one other light I have on in my apartment.

Unease begins to slide down my back. The fire glow provides enough light to guide me to the kitchen drawer, where I know that there is a flashlight. It’s not big, but I can find my way around the apartment with it.

Another loud crack of thunder has me diving to the window to check the Welles property. There’s always a spotlight shining on one corner of their house—bright enough to cast a light to the fence line, emphasizing Meredith’s promise that I can come to their door at any time, day or night. Now, though, it’s as if that guarantee has been snuffed out. I don’t know that I could even make it to their house without tripping and injuring myself, the darkness is so consuming.

I look out the other windows. I even unlatch all the deadbolts and chains that I use every night and open the door. I meet only black nothingness.

That, and a cold, mean rain that pelts my face and dampens my shirt. Pushing my door shut, I relock the door and wrap my chest with my arms. I guess I’ll just have to wait it out. Taking my seat by the fire again, my blanket pulled to my chin and my knees pulled to my chest, I watch the flames lick the glass panel of the woodstove.

When footsteps pound up the stairs outside and someone knocks, I’m on my feet instantly, moving for the door. There are only a few people it could be—Ginny or one of the Welleses—and they’ll be getting soaked out there, so I begin unlatching the deadbolts again.

But then my hand falters. That voice in the back of my head adds another person to the list of possible visitors: the faceless man who showed himself to me once in a dream. Who hurt me terribly. I know it’s not realistic and yet, as I see the doorknob wiggle, a part of me panics.

A fist pounds against the other side. “Water! It’s me!”

My heart skips a beat.

I’m safe.

I fumble with the remaining locks and throw open the door, ushering in Jesse.

“Hey,” he says through a shudder. “Are you all right?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Oh, just because . . .” He lifts a hand to rub the back of his head. His hair’s so short that it barely messes it. “The power’s out. I don’t like when the power’s out.”

“I’m not sure I do either,” I admit. “How long do you think before it’s back on?”

“Honestly? Depends on where the break is, but it could be all night.” Flashes of lightning fill the room, and I can see that his flannel jacket and the T-shirt underneath are drenched.

I have the urge to find him something to change into, but nothing I have would fit him. My closet is full of hand-me-downs from Amber and Meredith, along with a few basic things from the secondhand shop in Bend. I forced Amber to go in. She wasn’t crazy about the idea but I enjoyed paying for some clothes with my own money, even if they weren’t new.

“Well, I guess we’ll just have to wait it out, then.” I wander back over to my spot by the woodstove and wrap myself up in my blanket, hoping he’ll stay. I like not being alone right now, but more than that, I like the idea of being with Jesse.

Without a word, he grabs another log, the handle squeaking as he opens the woodstove and feeds the fire. Hungry, the flames flare, casting a brighter glow and illuminating Jesse’s profile, his eyelashes long and thick.

I instinctively reach up to my scar, my index finger running along the thin ridge. I’ll never have an appealing profile, not from my right side, anyway.

When the tiny door screeches shut, he pulls his jacket off, exposing his T-shirt beneath, the front of it wet. I’m suddenly thankful for the relative darkness, as it affords me the chance to gawk at the ridges on his stomach without being too obvious.

“Don’t like the furniture in here?” he murmurs, stretching his jacket out on one of the wicker chairs—a skeleton now that I’ve confiscated the cushions for my nest.

“I do, I just . . .” I frown. “I felt the urge to lie on the floor, I guess. It makes me feel cozy.”