Love Me, Still(3)

Grief soared through her, leaving her weak and limp against the makeshift bed. Her body still hadn’t healed from the attack three weeks ago, but her soul had suffered the most damage. Irreparable damage.

A thump alerted her to John Quincy’s presence in the old cabin. The front door opened, and a rush of cold air blew in before he quickly slammed it shut again.

She looked up from her pallet by the fireplace to see him hauling a small fir tree across the floor.

“Good morning, girl. You feeling better today?” the older man asked.

She nodded just as she did every morning, and he harumphed as he did every morning when he saw the lie in her eyes.

“What’s that?” she asked as she struggled against the pain to sit up.

He quirked a bushy eyebrow at her. “What does it look like, a grizzly bear?”

She tried to smile but gave up. Smiling took too much effort.

He sighed. “It’s a Christmas tree, girl. Thought it might cheer you up. I have a few baubles we can hang on it to make it pretty. We can even string some popping corn if you promise not to eat it all.”

She did smile then. She loved Christmas. Had told him so during one of their long conversations on the cold nights in front of the fire.

“There, that’s better,” he said approvingly. “Smiling ain’t so bad, now is it?”

She looked down, wondering for the hundredth time what she would have done if the old trapper hadn’t come across her lying in the snow. Lying there wishing for death to come quickly so she could turn off the pain.

John Quincy set the tree in a corner and moved to the fire to warm his hands. After rubbing them together a few seconds, he turned his attention to her.

“Let me have a look at that leg I set. I reckon it might be time to take the splints off. You’ll more than likely walk with a limp for a while, but in the end, you should be good as new.”

She allowed him to pull back the covers, and he ran his gnarled hands over the sturdy splints he’d secured to the sides of her leg. As gruff as he looked, he was amazingly gentle.

“Well, what do you say, girl? Are you up to trying to walk on it?”

She bit her bottom lip then nodded.

“Let me get my knife,” he said as he rose back off his haunches.

He went to the area of the cabin that served as the kitchen and rummaged around in the cabinet before returning with a sharp hunting knife. He cut open the cloth surrounding the splints then gently eased the wood away from her leg.

“Move your foot around a bit,” he encouraged. “Then we’ll have you stand up and test it out.”

She flexed her foot, wincing when her muscles protested the action.

“It’ll hurt a little,” he cautioned. “Nothing to worry about, though.”

He curled his arms underneath her back and waist, and she put out her hand.

“You can’t pick me up,” she protested.

He chuckled. “Me, can’t pick up a little bit of a thing like you? How do you think I got you here? Girl, I’ve hauled an eight hundred pound grizzly out of the woods to skin.”

She found herself lifted as he stood to his full height.

“Now, I’m going to set you down nice and easy. Take most of your weight with your good leg. Try not to overdo it.”

Her foot hit the floor, and she gritted her teeth as her various body parts protested her being upright. After three weeks of lying down, her body was weak and shaky. She’d barely even sat up each time she had to relieve herself.

John Quincy held her around the waist as she eased her bad leg down. Then she shifted her weight to both legs equally. Her knee buckled and he caught her before she crumbled to the floor.

He half carried her, half assisted her over to the small table and plopped her down in the chair.

“There now, you just sit there and get your bearings while I rustle us up some breakfast. Then you can supervise while I get the tree all decorated.”

Tears filled her eyes as she looked at the grizzled old man. “Thank you, John Quincy. I can’t ever hope to repay you for your kindness.”

His expression softened. “Now, girl, don’t go getting all teary-eyed on me. That pack of yours ought to be hunted down, shot and made into fur rugs for what they done to you.”

She hung her head as John Quincy started puttering around the kitchen. She hadn’t wanted him to know about the wolves at all, but he’d known of their existence a long time before Heather had ever set foot in these mountains. He’d known Magnus himself when he was younger. Called him friend.

Once she’d realized he knew of her wolves, she’d poured out the whole story to him, going through an entire box of tissue in the process. He’d jokingly told her he hoped he didn’t catch cold this winter because she’d used his entire supply up and he wouldn’t get more until the spring.

She looked back up at John Quincy. “Will it ever stop hurting?” she asked in a soft voice.

Kindness softened the wrinkles under his eyes. “It will, girl. In time. One day you’ll wake up and not hurt as much as the day before. And the next will hurt less than that day. It takes time, but you’re a survivor. More importantly you’re a good, sweet girl. You don’t deserve what happened to you, but I have no doubt it’ll make you stronger.”

* * *

Cael trotted toward the spacious cabin that served as his and Riyu’s quarters. He’d run along the ridge of the mountain until he’d panted for air. But still, the pain squeezing his chest wouldn’t dissipate. He could deny it all he wanted but he missed her.