Under the Northern Lights(23)

I could hear rustling outside, boots stomping on the ground to loosen the snow on them, and knew Michael had finally returned. Shoving the photograph into the bottom of the bin, I closed the lid and slid it back into place on the shelf. Humiliation and embarrassment rushed through me. I shouldn’t have been searching through his personal belongings; it wasn’t any of my business. Spying on the man who’d saved my life was no way to thank him. But that photo had ignited my curiosity, and it was killing me now. Was that woman his wife—had she driven him to live out here? Did she know he was out here all alone, isolating himself from everyone? Would she return for him one day?

I hoped so. Michael seemed like a nice-enough guy; he didn’t deserve to have to spend his entire life alone. Even if that was what he thought he wanted, I was sure it wasn’t. Loneliness was crushing; that was why isolation was used to torture people. And no one wanted to be tortured. No one.





Chapter Eight

All through dinner I wanted to ask Michael about the photo and the rings. I had to stop myself from doing it about a hundred times. There was just no good way to explain how I’d found them other than saying, I was totally spying on you while you were gone. All I’d get from him was irritation or anger if I mentioned that. I might even spend a night out in the cold. Well, maybe not, but I was sure he wouldn’t be happy.

“How did your chores go?” he asked as he cut up his moose steak. “Any problems?” By the way he raised an eyebrow at me, I felt like he had cameras stashed in the woods and he’d somehow witnessed my near debacle.

Feigning nonchalance, I shrugged and shook my head. “Nope, no troubles. Everything was fine. Easy peasy.”

He stopped chewing at that, and I knew I’d gone a little too far with my casual answer. I wasn’t about to admit how hard it had been, though; I’d tell him about losing the bucket later. Trying to move along the moment, I grabbed my glass of water and asked him, “Any problems on your end?”

With a smile that stirred something deep inside me, he shook his head. “Nope. Easy peasy.”

His remark made me grin. Michael’s humor was elusive at times, but when it seeped out, it lit up the whole room. I again wanted to ask him about the photo, but I was still blocked by the unlawful way I’d obtained it. As I chewed on my dinner, I tried to think of vaguer ways I could ask the same question.

“My ex-husband, Shawn, was a hunter. He brought back an elk once. Wasn’t near as tasty as this.” I gave Michael an appreciative smile, and he smiled back. Knowing I’d opened the door, I continued to walk right on through it. “Shawn and I were only married a year. Turned out being married didn’t suit us. We were much better as friends.” Although Shawn tended to forget that. Clearing my throat, I quickly asked Michael, “What about you? Ever been . . . married?” I wanted to cringe after the question left my lips. To me, it seemed so obvious why I was asking. It didn’t seem possible that Michael wouldn’t know what I’d done, what I’d found.

He chewed on his steak silently, his eyes glued on his plate. Just when I thought he was simply going to ignore me, he swallowed his food and quietly said, “Once. But that was a while ago.”

“Oh . . . what happened? Didn’t suit you either?” I added a laugh to try to lighten the mood; the cabin suddenly felt stifling.

Michael’s eyes slowly lifted to mine. His expression was blank, but then he smiled. “Yeah, something like that.” Pushing away his plate, he stood up. “I should check your stitches. It might be time for them to come out.”

I sighed as he walked my way. Having stitches removed sounded just as bad as having them put in. “Is this going to hurt?” I asked.

He worked his bottom lip before answering me. “It’s going to be . . . uncomfortable, but it shouldn’t hurt too badly.”

Too badly. Great. While he grabbed a flashlight, I pondered his answer to my marriage question. I wasn’t an expert on human psychology like my sister, but it hadn’t seemed like an honest response to me. It was deflection, a safe way to avoid opening up to a complete and total stranger. At least he’d admitted to being married. That was something, and I felt fractionally closer to him as he knelt beside my chair.

Wishing I had his bottle of whiskey in hand, I watched him undo the threadwork from when he’d sewn up my pants. “I could have just taken them off,” I murmured.

He looked up at me with a half smile on his face. “It will give me a chance to practice my stitching again when I sew them back up. You’d be surprised at how little I get a chance to practice out here.”

With a shrug, I said, “If you came back to the city, you could practice all you wanted.”

Even as I said it, I knew I shouldn’t have. His expression immediately hardened, although his eyes flashed with pain. “Going back isn’t in the cards for me.”

I wanted to know why, but I felt like I’d probed him enough today. Sticking the end of his flashlight into his mouth, he opened the hole in my pant leg wide enough to check out my healing wound. His lips curled into a smile around the light, a promising sign. Popping it out of his mouth, he looked up at me. “They look good. Let’s pull them out.”

My heart immediately started pounding. “What’s this let’s stuff? I’m fine if they stay in forever.”