Page 47 of Wild and Wrangled

The door opened a few seconds later, and I could feel the warmth coming out of his house. I guess he didn’t have any heating problems.

“Ash, hey,” he said. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “I’m sorry to bother you, but…”

“Your heater is on the fritz.” He shook his head and stepped aside. “Come in. Get warm for a minute.” I hesitated for half a second, but my chattering teeth and numb nose made it impossible for me to say no or back out.

I let the warmth of his house envelop me as Dusty shut his front door. My eyes wandered as I took everything in. Right inside the door, there was a small kitchen to the right with a half sink and the smallest oven and stovetop that I’d ever seen. His bed was pressed against the back wall. There was a patchwork quilt covering it. At the foot of his bed was a two-seat leather couch and a coffee table. There was a bookshelf in the other corner, as well as a small desk with a reading lamp.

The place was pretty bare. Still it felt homey. Maybe it was because of the size—or the temperature. I noticed that he had a wood-burning fireplace, too. It was a third the size of mine,on the wall to the right of his bed, and it was doing its job quite effectively.

“How long has the heater been out?” he asked.

“Oh, um, I don’t really know,” I said. “It was pretty cold when I woke up this morning, but started to get unbearable like an hour ago.”

“You’ve been in the cold all day?” I shrugged, and Dusty shook his head. “Why didn’t you come get me earlier?”

“It’s New Year’s Eve. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Dusty sighed. “Sit by the fire for a bit.”

“Can I take my boots off? I don’t want to track snow all over your house.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll make you some tea.”

I slipped off my boots, and when I looked down at my feet, I hoped he wouldn’t notice I was wearing his socks. Again. They were just so warm.

Dusty stepped into his kitchen as I walked toward the couch. When I sat down, I watched him pull out an electric kettle and fill it with water. I noticed that his hair was damp—like he’d just gotten out of the shower.

“Earl Grey okay?” he called over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” I said. “Thank you.”

Dusty pulled a mug out of one of his cabinets. “I’m sorry about the heater,” he said. “Sometimes, when it gets too cold, it starts to overwork itself and blows its own fuse.”

“When did you add HVAC to your extensive résumé?” I asked.

“Somewhere between Montana and Australia,” Dusty said. “You learn to fix a lot of random things when you’re not quite sure what your living situation is going to look like.”

I scanned the house again. This time, my eyes landed on the coffee table in front of me. There was a small wooden box on top of it, maybe the size of a shoe box. It was covered in stickers. I spotted a couple of bands, cities, and a “love your mother” sticker featuring planet Earth.

“Are these stickers from all the places you’ve been?” I asked as I reached forward and picked up the box. A few things rattled around inside softly.

“Yeah,” Dusty said without looking at me. “I didn’t take a lot from place to place, but I always had that box, so it kind of became my scrapbook.”

“Did your mom make it?” I asked.

“I made that one, actually. The workmanship is shoddy, but it did its job.” Dusty was walking toward me now, with one steaming mug in his hand. He set it on the coffee table in front of me.

“What’s in here?” I asked.

Dusty sat on the other side of the couch. “Nothing,” he said.

I gave the box a light shake. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Dusty swallowed. He looked…nervous? Only for a second, though; I watched him brush it off before saying, “Stop snooping, weirdo,” and he reached to take the box from me.

I pulled the box away, but one of Dusty’s hands grazed the top, and it slid back a few inches. It was full enough that a few folded papers fell out. They fell right between Dusty and me. It felt like slow motion. One of them landed on the couch, and I saw “Ash” written on the outside fold.

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