Page 11 of Willow Embers
Thankfully this lookout isn’t one of the suspended 120-feet-in-the-air kind. This one is just a shack in the woods, something from days before they started building the towers. But it’ll do the job just fine.
“In my pack, in the top zippered pocket near the handle, there’s a set of keys. Can you grab them?” I ask, trying for a neutral tone. It doesn’t help that the whole time I’m thinkingthrough my next steps, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m stepping out of the frying pan right into the fire.
Nixie’s fire.
She digs out the keys, and they jingle in her hand as she holds them up.
“Good. Hand them over.” I nearly tell her that we need to hurry, but I catch myself.
Whatever the source of her ire, there’s nothing to gain from injecting more panic into the situation.
I shift Tiberius in my arms so I can sort through the keys with my free hand. He’s been awake and alert for the whole hike, which is good. But he also hasn’t fought me at all. It definitely made the climb easier, but his eyes are wide enough that the whites are showing, and he’s been trembling non-stop. That combination has me worried.
I hold out my keyring by the skeleton key that’s used on all of the fire watch cabins up here. “This is the one.”
She takes it back and tries to open the door. Her hands are shaking too badly to get the key in the lock the first time. And the second. And the third. Then she pulls in a big breath, lets it out slow, and slips the key in as she exhales.
It’s fascinating watching her pull herself together. Pride wells inside me, but not for me. I had nothing to do with the woman she’s become. No, it’s because this Nixie is clearly stronger than I’ve been giving her credit for.
“That’s my girl.” The whispered words are out before I can claw them back.
Her shoulders go rigid. Damp hair clings to her cheeks, her curves wrapped in soaked clothes that hug every inch, but she doesn’t respond. She just pushes into the cabin like she didn’t hear me. Which, honestly, is probably a good thing.
Because what the hell was I thinking saying something like that out loud?
“Where’s the light switch?” Nixie asks from the open doorway, her voice hard.
“There isn’t one. No electricity.” I step past her, ignoring the cold stinging my skin and the fire burning in my veins, and scan the cabin.
It’s a single room with a set of bunk beds against one wall. Beside them is an enormous wooden chest and a delicately carved rocking chair that sticks out like a debutant at a redneck bar. To my left is a small kitchenette with a gas stove and a weathered kitchen table with two mismatched chairs. And to my right is a tattered plaid couch that’s situated in front of a small stone fireplace.
I turn and spot the lantern hanging on the wall by the door, but that’ll have to wait. First things first.
“There should be some blankets in that old chest.” I don’t even need to ask the rest. Nixie tosses my keys on the table and is already headed across the room as I try to make my way closer to the fireplace without taking all the light with me.
She throws the lid open, grabs an armful of folded blankets and quilts, and meets me in front of the fireplace.
“Grab whichever one looks like it’ll be most absorbent,” I say.
Nixie follows orders without a word, digging through the layers of blankets until she finds the one she wants.
“Alright, big guy, I’m going to put you down for a minute.” I lower to one knee and set Tiberius on his feet. Only he doesn’t stay up. The second his paws hit the floor, he crumples, his legs giving out beneath him. “Whoa, hold on, buddy,” I say softly. “Nixie, I need that blanket.”
She comes closer, dropping to a crouch in front of Tiberius. Maybe she’s just cold, or maybe it’s the way the light from my headlamp catches in her eyes, but I’m pretty sure I see a glimmer of tears before she blinks them away.
“What can I do?” she asks. Her voice is soft, like she’s asking Tiberius the question and not me.
“He’s struggling to stand, but we need to get him dried off a little before he lays down. So, I’m going to hold him up, and you’re going to dry him off.”
She nods, unfolds the blanket, and sets to work rubbing it over his fur as she whispers to him. “Good boy. You’re such a good dog. Don’t you worry, we’re going to get you warmed up, and tomorrow morning we’ll get the hell out of this place. To hell with the house and the estate. It’s just stuff.”
I grind my teeth listening to her, my jaw so tight it aches.
What is it that’s got her ready to run out of town at the first opportunity? Is that just who she is now? A woman who runs when things get tough?
Or was she always that woman?
I know those thoughts are uncharitable, but I don’t know what else to think. She acts like I’m the enemy here when all I’m trying to do is help. And yeah, I fucked up back then. I should have called. My plan to make something of myself and surprise her went to hell in the worst way, but I wasn’t the one who gave up on us and never looked back.
