Page 93 of Last Light

“That makes sense. Fresh turkey would be nice, but I’m glad you didn’t kill the poor things.”

I’m still smiling as Travis scoots me over to make room for himself on the couch. It’s a tight squeeze with all three of us, and I basically have to lie on top of him.

I don’t mind.

He holds me in place with one arm around me, and the dog gives us a grumpy look when he has to get up and rearrange himself by flopping on top of our feet.

“How’s your book?” Travis asks.

“Eh. It’s okay. Better than nothing.”

“Should’ve come huntin’ with me.”

“I’m not a hunter.”

“I didn’t kill anythin’. But I saw a rabbit.”

“You did?” I lift my head to check his expression. He looks relaxed and content but also with a gleam of excitement in his eyes. He must have enjoyed his afternoon.

“Yep. A rabbit and the turkeys and a bunch of other birds.”

“What kinds?”

“A few cardinals. A blue jay. Three chickadees. And a couple of crows.”

“Wow. I can’t believe there were so many.” I rest my cheek against his chest. I can feel his heartbeat. Fast and steady. “I wish I could have seen the chickadees. They’re such cute little things. They used to come to my grandma’s bird feeder. The other birds would perch right on the feeder and chow down, but the chickadees would always grab one little piece of food and fly up to a branch to eat it. But when the other birds got scared off by a cat or something, the chickadees were always the bravest ones. They always came back to the feeder first.”

It sounds like Travis is smiling as he murmurs, “Shoulda come huntin’ with me. Could’ve seen the chickadees.”

“I like crows too. They have such attitudes. It always seems like they’re talking right at you.”

“They probably are. Crows are one of the few birds that can identify specific people.”

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

“Yep. Crows are real smart. When I was a kid, the boy next door used to scream and throw things at a couple of crows who would hang out on our street. Wasn’t long, every crow in town would squawk their heads off at that boy anytime they saw him. I’m pretty sure the crows on my street told all the other crows about him. They all hated that kid.”

I’m giggling at the mental picture his story has evoked. “Sounds like he deserved it.”

“Sure did. Never liked anyone who’s mean to animals.”

“Me either.” I rub his flat belly absently, enjoying the feel of his firm flesh and tight muscles. “You smell all outdoorsy today.”

“Yeah?” He nuzzles the top of my head. “Thought I always stink like Travis.”

I was teasing him a couple of days ago about his Travis scent, and he evidently hasn’t forgotten. “I never saidstink. And you do always smell like Travis. But there are different kinds of Travis smells.”

“Oh yeah? What kinds?”

“There’s the hot, sweaty Travis smell. And there’s the just-took-a-shower Travis smell. And there’s the ready-for-sex Travis smell. And there’s the outdoorsy Travis smell—the one that smells like dirt and trees and air. That’s how you smell right now.”

“Ah. Got it.” I feel a brush of something against my hair, so I tilt my head up to see what it is. But Travis isn’t doing anything when I look. He’s got his eyes closed and the corners of his mouth turned up.

“How’s your ankle?” I ask.

“Good. Still a little sore, but with it wrapped up, I can move fine.”

I put my head back down on his chest, still idly stroking his side.

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