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Deb nodded. As a bubbly blonde, she was used to being underestimated. Since she was also curvy rather than waifish, she got ignored, too. She’d heard “she’d be so cute if she lost some weight,” more times than she could count. So if someone, usually a man, was dumb enough to believe she was stupid or naïve, she didn’t bother to tell them otherwise. And if they were distracted by her body, good or bad in their eyes, that was on them. She couldn’t control another person’s thoughts, and she wasn’t to blame for them, either. Lust was an emotion in the eye of the beholder. She never attempted to create such a feeling, but she’d taken advantage of it occasionally. It was a way to level the unfair playing field a little.
But that wouldn’t work with the mob. It might make things worse—organized crime was into trafficking people. She didn’t need to make herself a bigger target. Either way, Michael might be blunt, but he was right. She was smart and determined. And while she was thrilled to have helpful friends, the problem was her responsibility to fix, not theirs. “You’re right. I am smart and determined. I’m going to fix this.”
“With a little help from your friends.” He turned to the door and opened it. “Unfortunately, right now that means cleaning this place enough that we don’t sneeze constantly. Bring your duster, let’s get going.”
Deb rolled her eyes. Friends were helpful, but she still wasn’t entirely sure she could call Michael a friend.
Chapter 9
Michael unzipped the bag containing the futon’s mattress, pulled it out, and placed it on the frame. When flat, it would barely hold the two of them, but they had to share. Nights would be chilly, they only had his sleeping bag, and they couldn’t afford to burn all the firewood, because he had no way to cut more. He wasn’t Paul Bunyan, chopping down whole trees. Sharing body heat was the only way to survive. Unless he stayed up nights, watching, and let her watch during the day. But he’d rather rely on staying hidden until there was some indication they’d been discovered.
He was kidding himself. He wanted to hold her close and comfort her. And more. But that was dangerous. He pulled the futon into the couch configuration, and draped his sleeping bag across the back. The toasty scent of pancakes drew him around.
Deb stood at the plywood counter, pouring batter into a pan, a foil covered plate next to her. “Breakfast will be ready shortly. Wish I’d thought to grab some good bread on my way out.”
The woman had zero self-preservation. “Better alive and hungry than dead and covered with bread crumbs.”
She spun, glaring at him. “I’m not an idiot. I know what evacuation means. But that doesn’t mean I can’t wish for something better.”
He held up both hands in surrender. Again. He simply couldn’t keep his foot out of his mouth around her. “I’m sorry. I know you’re not stupid. I’m just worried.”
Her shoulders drooped and she turned back to the hotplate, flipping the pancake. “I found some syrup if you’ll grab it and get some plates and forks.”
“Sure.” He dug out the requested items, kicking himself for making Deb feel even worse. He should stick to practical things, and stop trying to make conversation, because he was lashing out rather than comforting her. Because he wasn’t sure how to keep her safe against organized crime. He had to stop taking his insecurity out on her. She deserved better.
She flipped another cake, then brought the stack to the table, giving him all but two of the flapjacks. Then she grabbed the butter, and two mugs with steaming dark liquid—coffee. “It’s only instant coffee, but I’m sure we can find a way to filter some real coffee soon.” She placed a small container of milk and the bag of sugar between them. “Eat.”
He waved a hand at the other chair. “You first.”
Deb picked up the syrup, pouring a generous amount over her small serving, and handed it to him. He frowned at his much larger stack. “Don’t you want more than that?”
She shook her head. “I don’t usually eat a lot of refined flour. I have to taste too much, so more just piles on my hips and they’re wide enough.”
He blew a raspberry. “That’s ridiculous. You’re perfect. And you should enjoy what you make, because it’s all delicious.” He cut a forkful of pancakes and ate. Sweet and fluffy. “These are great, and we’re going to need the energy. We need to clear snow from the woodpile, start the water pump, and find escape routes out of here. All of those plus the cleaning we’ve already done will burn a lot of calories.” He ate more, savoring the stack. “I don’t usually eat a lot of refined products, either, but survival demands a lot.” He hoped his words were true; he didn’t need a migraine slowing them down, and so much sugar would normally push his body into overload.
Deb nodded but kept eating, her eyes on her plate. Someone had really done a number on her confidence; if Franks wasn’t already dead, Michael would love to take him down, and smack Deb’s parents across the back of their selfish heads. “Finish up, we’ll clean up, then go clear snow. Wrap your feet in some of the grocery bags before you get into the snow. It’s not going to keep them perfectly dry, but it will help. The minute you feel wet or cold, come inside. You’ve only got one pair of shoes, and we need those dry if we need to leave in a hurry. Understand?”
Deb nodded, but kept her gaze on the table, rather than looking at him. He’d have to watch her, make sure she didn’t overdo it.
They ate the last of the flapjacks and drank the coffee, then put the waste items in a plastic garbage bag. Michael carried the garbage to the shower stall, hanging it from the shower curtain bar. If there were mice or rats in the cabin, they’d have to work for their meal.
In the main room, Deb zipped up his jacket and sat, a few grocery bags in her hands. He crossed to her, took the bags from her hands, and wrapped them around her feet, securing them with painter’s tape he’d found in the bathroom-slash-utility room. “It’s not perfect, but hopefully it helps.” He led the way outside and around the cabin, stomping down the snow drifts where he could. Unfortunately, his tracks would show someone was here, and as the sun rose and set, the snow would melt and refreeze, making the path slippery. But there weren’t any good alternatives; the snow was too icy and deep to shovel.
At the woodpile, he and Deb uncovered the bottom of the tarp, then worked it off. It was an old tarp, and it ripped apart more than it pulled off, but they finally uncovered dry wood and carried armloads to the front porch. By then, it had warmed enough for both of them to shed the outer layers, and Deb had to remove the plastic bags, because she was sliding too much. She fixed a simple lunch of soup and sandwiches while he drained the winterizing liquid, then started the water pump. It took a while, but eventually, the pressure tank filled and he was able to flush the system. He checked the batteries; charging, but still low, and using the water pump wasn’t helping.
He joined Deb at the table. “It’s all working, but charging the batteries will take hours. We might be able to take quick showers tonight.”
Deb smiled. “That would be amazing. I’m really not a fan of roughing it.”
He chuckled. “I’m not either. Not anymore. But if I have to, I’d rather rough it here than some lousy foreign country.”
She drew invisible patterns on the table. “I guess my complaints seem pretty petty.”
“No. You didn’t sign up for this. I did.”
She glared at him. “You didn’t sign up for this!”
He shrugged. “No, but I signed up for the Army, and they taught me how to deal with this kind of survival situation. And I’m happy to help you, Deb, because you don’t deserve any of this. It’s not fair.”
