Warrior Mine (10 page)

“
E
nough brooding
. Come on.” His big jacket landed in her lap, sliding smoothly between her arms, the cup of orange juice she’d been staring into, and the table.

“I am not brooding,” she huffed. “And you could’ve spilled my drink.”

“Nah, I’ve got mad skills.”

Mad skills? He did, no doubt, but did he have to say it like that?

“Besides, that OJ would do about as much good on the floor as it has been swirling around your mug for the last forty minutes. Let’s go.” The last he said with a drill sergeant’s burr. Crazily enough, it worked. She set the cup on the table, stood, and slipped inside his jacket before she even realized her compliance.

“Bring your plate,” he said from the door. “We’ll feed some critters.”

“I might be hungry later. Right now, I just can’t think about food.”

“Then I’ll cook you something later. Who the hel…heck wants cold eggs, soggy toast, and burnt bacon. Sorry about that, by the way.” He held the doorknob, but didn’t open the door. Like he expected her to bolt to the bedroom as she had after sending the message to her mother.

She didn’t dash away, figuring this time he’d break the door off its hinges and force her to face the day. When she made it to the door, his left hand—big enough to palm her head—came forward. She expected him to lift the plate from her grasp, but it moved higher. Warmth and solid strength settled onto her shoulder. It should have weighed her down. Instead, it lifted her from the murky sadness that cast itself over a day with such promise.

Yesterday, when Vail said they’d shot his wife and daughter she didn’t have to ask whether or not they’d lived. In the last two days, she’d seen him kill methodically, laugh with the most obnoxious roar, and run around like a teenager, whizzing past pitted holes of rotted out roots and flipping over fallen logs. In every moment she’d recognized his soul deep sadness, maybe because it had mirrored her own.

No, she hadn’t lost a spouse or a child. But she was a child who’d lost her mother. Hope lived, wild and ferocious, that she would get her mom back. Yet, it was only hope. More easily her mother could be murdered, tossed into a ditch, and Sophia would never see her again. She’d never have a grave to visit. The world would become her place to mourn.

“You’ve been so careful not to touch me.” She spoke the thought aloud.

“I didn’t want you to think I was trying to molest you.”

A breathy, nearly silent laugh shook her. The smile on Vail’s face told her he was about to join it, but before he could, her laugh distorted into a sob. His hand shifted, though not away as she thought her tears would drive him. He grabbed her shoulder more fully and it was all the invitation she needed. Whether an invitation or not, she didn’t much care. Her face buried in the itchy wool of his green sweater. Not the blood-stained black one, thank goodness. She laughed at that thought, then cried harder still.

Vail took the plate from her hand. Free, she threw both arms around his waist. His arm coiled round, enveloping her. The morning sun and the pitiful cabin lights disappeared in the harbor of his arm.

“I’m…sorry…about…your…family—”

His right hand smoothed over her hair. He must have dropped the plate or something because it wasn’t in his hand. “
Shhh
,” he soothed.

So, she quit trying to form words and spewed snot and fat tears on his shirt. After so long she feared her face had pruned, Sophia turned her head, dragged a ragged breath, and another. His mouth pressed into a narrow line and he squinted, as though trying to read her thoughts.

“I’m sorry about your family. I’m sorry my mom shot you. I’m sorry I’m crying on you because I’m desperate to see my mom, to know she’s okay. I’m—”

“No more sorrys. I’d like for you to tell me why you’re upset, but don’t be sorry. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

She waited a beat. “I’m,” she started. He glared. So she rearranged her sentence and began again. “I’m pissed at my uncle for taking me away from her. I’m pissed that I don’t know who my father is, much less where he is, or if he ever wanted me or even knows about me. I’m sad and scared and mad.”

“Scream,” Vail said.

“What?”

“Scream as long and as loudly as you can.”

“I don’t think—”

He pulled her arms from around his middle. She forced her hands to release their lock on his sweater. He stepped back and roared. Even though she saw it coming, her body reacted, jerking from the sound, but more so the raw emotion laid bare for the world to hear. Or, in this case, her to hear. His mouth stretched taut over his straight white teeth. If she were taller, she could probably peer inside his mouth and see all the way down to his stomach.

After more than half a minute it died an abrupt death and his strained neck relaxed. “Don’t think. Feel it, all your anger, confusion, hurt, and release it.”

She inhaled, held it, and abruptly deflated. “I can’t.”

“Bull shit. A girl who can nearly run circles around a former Navy SEAL, has the guts to find a gun to defend herself, and who speaks her thoughts and names her emotions can do anything she wants. Do you want to be trapped forever by your pain?”

“No,” she hollered.

“Do you want your insides to slowly rot until you’re an old maid with nothing and no one?”

“No,” she screamed.

“Why are you angry?”

“Because I have no one,” she yelled so hard her torso lunged forward.

“Let it out,” he hollered.

And she did. It swirled in her toes and shot from her body, deep and wrenching. A noise she never knew her small body could make. It rumbled and shrilled. It released the pressure threatening to crush her heart. It purged the weight from her shoulders.

Too soon her breath and overflowing rage vanished. She panted as though she’d run five miles. Immediately the spent energy recycled itself, renewing her spirit. Vail waited until she straightened before he grabbed the plate from a homemade sideboard, and then he opened the door. With a nod of his head and a satisfied smile on his face they stepped into the forest to greet a new day.

He didn’t say anything as cliché as, “You have me,” or “You’re not alone. I’m here.” Part of her wished he would, but then he wouldn't be Vail. Honest to a fault. Read your thoughts before you think them. Simple. Logical. Vail. That somehow would be more tragic than her perceived solitude.

Worrying wouldn’t do her or her mother any good. They couldn’t reasonably expect her until tomorrow. That was assuming she’d gotten away the night of Sophia’s message and she’d traveled through the pitch-black hours. She decided to enjoy this time with a person so unlike any she’d met before.

“So, what do you want to do?” she asked.

She followed beside him in the opposite direction than the one they’d taken yesterday. He swished his lips this way and that in thought. The food he chunked to the side near a bush and sat the plate at the corner of a small shed they reached.

“I was thinking fish for diner. Let’s go catch some.” He stretched wide, hands over his head, and groaned like a sleepy bear.

“I’ve never been fishing.”

His head snapped around, interrupting his yawn. “Say what?”

She shrugged.

“You lived on the Pacific ocean. That’s fantasy fishing area.”

“Sorry. We can do something else or you can fish. I’ll go read.” But she didn’t want to hole up in the room, even though she’d found on her fourth read through of
The Count of Monte Cristo
she enjoyed the journey and safe adventure of a book.

“Oh, no. We’re gonna rustle up some worms and you’re gonna learn how to fish.” He opened the shed and removed a plastic box and two fishing poles. “Tackle box,” he said, holding the rectangular box. “Fishing rods. Reels.” He pointed to the spool of clear line.

“I’m not touching a worm.” She went palms up and shook her head.

“I’ll give you a reprieve today. You can see how to find ’em and hook ’em. But tomorrow it’s all you.”

“Hook them?” Her voice went reedy. “Disgusting.”

Vail threw his head back and laughed as heartily as his roar had been. They made their way through the woods in silence, except for his chuckling. Several yards into the thick set of trees, he handed her the poles and box. When he stopped, dropped to a knee on the ground and scooted rotten leaves out of the way until he reached dirt, she broke.

“It’s not funny,” she protested. “They’re barf city.”

His laughter picked up again. She shoved him with a knee.

“Where are you from, anyway? I’ve never in my life heard anyone say, ‘critters,’ and, ‘rustle up.’”

“I’m an Army brat, from all over. But those little jewels come by way of Dale, Alabama. My parents were stationed at Fort Rucker when I was a kid.”

“So, you’re military?”

“My parents were Army. I was Navy.”

“And now?” she prodded.

“And now, I’m not.” He dug a bit deeper. “Ah, look at this beauty.”

Wet dirt clung to his fingers. Pinched between them hung the most disgusting creature in all the world. It wiggled and squirmed in his grasp. Her skin crawled with gooseflesh.

“Eew. I can’t imagine anything wanting to eat that.”

“Lots of things eat worms. Birds. Moles. Lizards. Snakes.”

“Please,” she said waving a hand, “stop talking. Or talk about something else. Anything.”

“You don’t want me to demonstrate how to hook your worm?” he asked with an evil smirk.

She shoved her finger toward her mouth and gagged.

“Eew,” he grimaced, “you’re way too good at that sound. How do you do it?”

“You’re such a boy.”

“No denying it,” he agreed while digging for more creepy crawlies. “We age, but only mature so far.” He added several tiny wigglers to his pile, stood, and swiped his free hand on his pants leg. “Ready?”

“I don’t think so, but whatever. They’re not very big. Don’t you want fat worms, so you can catch fat fish?”

“Being winter, the fish are lethargic with a low appetite. We want them to think this is a quick, easy meal, worth the effort to give a bite. A big worm will shy most of them away this time of year.”

They reached the water’s edge and Sophia watched as Vail tied fresh hooks to the lines. He placed fake bait on each line and cast them on the shore several times. Satisfied, the plastic worms came off and a real one went on.

“That poor thing.” It wriggled and squirmed, trying to escape the pain.

“Wouldn’t have pictured you such a softie, the way you socked the guy on the steps.”

“He wasn’t innocent.”

Vail
zipped
the line way off shore. The water rippled as the worm disappeared beneath the surface. “Casting is all in the wrist and timing. This is a spincast reel. It’s easy to learn on. You just hold down this button, rear back, fling forward, and release when you want your line to cast. Give it a go. On the shore,” he pointed. “Can’t have you chasing our dinner away.”

Was he baiting her competitive side? Probably. He was too smart for her own good. Sophia picked up the rod, pressed the button, and the fake worm plunked to the ground. She crinkled her lips at him.

“I didn’t say it wouldn’t take practice.”

She puffed out a breath and turned her back on him. The cranking was easy, like rolling up the window in mom’s secret—and really old—car. She thought that until the metal
clink.
The hook jammed into the circle at the tip of her pole. Irritated, she pressed the release button, but it refused to let her bait go. Over her shoulder, Vail flicked his wrist, reeled once, and waited, flicked, reeled, waited.

Sophia mashed her lips together, studied the line, and thought. She pressed the button again and tugged the line from the reel’s metal case. The worm slipped from the metal circle and hit the ground again.

What had he said? Hold the button down, rear back, fling forward, release where you want it.

Miracle of miracles, she cast the thing a good fifteen feet. “Ha! I’m ready to catch my first fish.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I am,” she corrected. “Look. I casted the line.”

Intent on the water, he didn’t even spare her a glance. “Pick a spot twenty feet from you. Aim for it. When your worm lands there three times I’ll give you a real one.”

“Yes, sir.”

What seemed like an hour passed with her muttering, failing, and trying again. She’d landed two. One by width of the lure’s tail, but she’d take it. Water sloshed behind her. She turned. Vail’s reel bowed like the curve of a J and a smile stretched his face. Slowly he worked the fish toward the bank, tugging and reeling.

“Oh my gosh.” She squealed and rushed to his side. “It’s huge.”

“Decent for sure.”

He snagged the line in his hand, ran it down to the end, and hooked his finger in an exceptionally large mouth.

“Won’t he bite your finger off?”

“He’s not a shark. Has teeth, but they’re nothing to worry about. Take a look.”

“Whoa, what is it?”

“Largemouth bass.”

“They got that right.”

He chuckled and reached his hand into the wide-open mouth.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking the hook out. Aaah!” His body jerked along with his cry.

Sophia’s heart lurched and for a split second she’d thought he’d pull his arm free only to find his hand had been gnawed off. Then her brain caught up. She shoved him with both hands, nearly stabbing him in the eye with her fishing pole.

He doubled over laughing.

“Jerk,” she laughed.

“That was bad. I just couldn’t help myself. Come here,” he managed between breaths. He offered her the wet wiggling fish.

“What do you want me to do, beat you with it?”

“No, we’re going to release him.”

“After all that time and casting, you’re just going to let it go?”

“It’s not good eating. We’ll move up the shore a little. See if we can find some brim.”

“How do you hold a fish without sticking your fingers in its mouth? Because that’s not going to happen.”

“Cup your hands around its belly and hang on tight.” She did as he instructed. Good thing too. The fish’s body was pure muscle, jostling her upper body with the force of its thrashing. “Good. Now, when you get to the water, lower it gently, and wait for it to swim from your fingers.”