Page 149 of Painted Scars
“Then I’ll tie you to the chair, feed you, and ride you,” I growl into her ear, and massage her rigid shoulders to release some of her tension.
Her mouth lifts into a smile. “Threaten me with a good time anytime you want, Daddy.”
After the dishes, we spend the morning packing waterproof plastic bags with supplies, spare medical kits, fire starters, water purification tablets, weapons, and non-perishable food. Then we pack some sandwiches, water bottles, and doggy treats. When I clip PJ3’s leash, the terrier dances in circles.
Late morning sun filters through the thick cedar canopy as we commence our wild trail. I let PJ3 free, and he sprints for the tree line, taking the lead of our expedition.
“Tell your son to behave,” I tease, linking our hands.
“He’s your son now too, Daddy,” she counters with a playful smile not hiding anything behind it.
I’m fucking glad it’s just her and me, no secrets or barriers between us. For a long time, I told myself control mattered. Plans, backups, protocols for escape routes and survival. My transmission to the city wasn’t planned, it was risky and impulsive. But it saved her. She said if it wasn’t for me, she might never have gotten the upper hand and escaped.
That wasn’t the only thing that didn’t go according to plan. Loving her, letting her in, that was the only plan that ever mattered. I’ll gladly make another sacrifice for her to live… hence the business and pleasure hike this afternoon.
Kate’s gorgeous in her sweatpants and sweatshirt with a thick overcoat and glittery boots crunching on twigs and soggy leaves. I slow my pace for her, since she’s not used to the strenuous exercise.
“Is this training?” she pants, pushing sweaty hair from her face. “Or are you trying to kill me on a scenic route?”
I squeeze her hand. “I’ll make a hiker out of you if you’re going to become a Kelly.”
She stops, clutching the straps of her pack. “Is that Grumpy Daddy’s way of asking me to marry him?”
I pause mid-step and turn slowly. “We’re talking in the third person about me now?”
“I just want to be clear before I collapse from romantic hypothermia, Grumpy Daddy.” She’s gone back to that name since I’mpunishing her by making her hike, instead of playing naked Scrabble.
I adjust the weight of the bag on my shoulder. “Consider this proposal prep. If you can hike six miles with weapons and sass, you’re eligible to enter the Kelly Dynasty.”
She pinches my puffy jacket and twists my nipple, making me grunt. “You do not offer a Book Girlie a survival badge in lieu of a ring!”
I smirk. “One step at a time, Glitter Bomb. First, we stash the machete, then we talk about matching toothbrushes.”
“Ugh,” she groans. “I don’t do slow burns!”
I spank her on the ass to get her moving. “Keep it up, Glitter Bomb, and I’ll up your drills.”
We’re three clicks into the forest, high enough that the air’s thinner, and quiet enough to hear her heartbeat if I stop walking. Josh leaves a trail of footprints ahead of us, occasionally disappearing into the snow to sniff and pee.
“How far away from the cabin do you want to stash the weapons?” she pants behind me, crunching over the fine layer of snow, her cheeks and nose red with exertion.
I scan the terrain ahead and choose a hollowed stump by the ridge. “We’ll stash the first one there.” I point to it, and she squints, following my fingers.
At that location, I drop the canvas duffel to the ground.
Next, we navigate in a circle to the next drop, winding up a narrow ridge marked with discreet orange flagging. I dig a shallow cache pit, while she unwraps the lockbox and checks the contents. Steel knives, two spare pistols, loaded mags, painkillers, flares, two burner phones, all sealed in plastic. And a special bag of jerky for PJ3.
She nudges my shoulder. “You forgot the candy, Daddy.”
“You’re sweet enough as it is.” I kiss her cheek.
“Tone down the charm.” She covers her eyes. “It’s too bright!”
“Keep walking, smartass.” I spank her crouched ass and relish her squeak.
We keep walking for another two miles, and I point to the places I know well. Camping spots where we lay outside towatch the stars. The stream that always flooded every summer. Best vantage points to take in the mountains.
“I used to race my brother up that slope.” I point to the narrow track carved into the hillside. “Loser carried firewood back to camp. Spoiler alert: I lost a lot.”
